Discovered a new music love early this morning during my intense procrastination session.
Enter Steropony with your stylish looks and addictive beats. The drummer’s hair is so cool and looks great in PVs…makes me want short hair again. :P
The name is misleading, for my week is not very dead at all. It’s more like roadkill that is barely hanging on and somehow annoyingly attaches itself to your tires.
Drag, drag, squish; that is my brain right about now.
So much shit to do this week. I was supposed to be more productive these past few days but of course, I was not. Therefore, I have chosen to subject myself to inhumane amounts of stress and no sleep. How am I still alive?
Only two more weeks until I can say, “fuck this bullshit” and get away for an entire seven days.
SEVEN DAYS OF NO STRESS. The thought of this blows my mind.
You’d better agree.
My Spidey-senses are telling me that I should start blogging again for my mental health.
It’s strange; I think about writing at the oddest times. I still have a small stack of school-related work I need to accomplish by my first class, but I figure that a short paper on universal health care can wait. Really not excited to discuss the successes and failures of the nation called “USA.”
The combination of info that I’m picking up in my History and Health class are just reinforcing that the world is a sad place. Sure, there is lots of happiness bubbling up in certain springs but overall we are all screwed in our own special ways.
Ah, optimism…we were friends until I passed the second grade.
I figured I should eventually remove the Facebook application that broadcasts all of my posts via the live feed.
Meh. Another thing to add to my “to do list”, I suppose.
I feel like I’ve aged a couple of years these past months. The amount of stress has been almost unbearable at times. It’s hard to deal with a lot of things when they can change within a matter of minutes on a day-to-day basis.
In other news, I did alright on my CS exam. 80/100 points…I’ll take it.
The weekend is coming up. I will enjoy it.
I think some people have the wrong idea about who Marilyn Manson is and what his goals are as a musician. It pisses me off to no end when I hear people make lame assumptions about him (in a demeaning way, too) when they haven’t given him a chance. He’s obviously not going to be loved by everyone (DURR); but to rattle off random insults about him with no basis seems foolish to me. If someone has actually listened and observed first, then of course, they have the right to hate.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6n5Oi4714o
Manson is pretty intelligent man. Oh, and lol @ Bill O’Reilly.
The end.
So tomorrow I’m going to drive my mother to get her haircut by our hair-dresser. (And yes, I say “our” because I do get my hair done by the same person, thanks.) Veronica is totally right; my legacy of eventually getting a short-dyed-permed-middle-aged-Japanese-woman haircut seems to be unfolding before my very eyes. It’s quite ironic but more frightening when I think about it — similar to the feeling I get after I devour a whole tray of Oreos.
I think there’s an old phrase that says something to this effect: “If you want to know what a woman will look like in 20 years, look at her mother.” (I’m sure you could replace the numerical part of it with whatever you desired, depending on how courageous you’re feeling.) But true; I seem to be well on my way. I’d imagine that would be a compliment though, seeing as how my mother’s mane is still naturally dark and full. To add to her age-defying appearance she often receives the “you look so young” compliment. People usually don’t guess that she is in her 50s; but I’ll always remember when she was depressed because someone guessed her to be in her late 40s. Sad day, indeed.
Still, if people’s eyes can shave off a decade from my looks…I’ll take it! That means cheaper food, cheaper movie tickets, less blame, more perceived innocence, and younger men!
In the future, I’ll be an awesomely hip cougar slinking from bar to bar at dawn while good-looking fellows grovel at my feet. They will offer to buy me all sorts of pretty tropical drinks, topped off with multi-colored umbrellas and straws too thin to sip from. I will dance with them and steal their antique pocket watches to pawn off later for my at-home-aviary fund. The end.
As usual, I re-read my entry before I post it and think, “Seriously, how did I get here?” Here, as in away from my mom and her upcoming haircut to my savvy swindler-ville fantasy.
In any case, I need sleep. My brain feels (and probably tastes) like an undercooked, soggy strip of bacon. I hate bacon, by the way. Alright, shutting down now; my sister says my dark under-eye circles looked “greenish” today, and as strange as I am, that is simply not acceptable.
Ciao.
It’s official, baby. The state of Hawaii has formally granted me permission to take to the roads.
I need a lot more practice but I can honestly say that I’m quite satisfied at the moment. Finally.
I’m taking my driver’s test tomorrow for the second time.
I really hope that I don’t fail (again) because that would just be depressing. Seriously — I hate having to rely on other people to drive me everywhere, when I know that I should be (and am capable of) doing it myself.
So here’s to wishing for things to go well tomorrow. I know what I have to do and just need to take my time, concentrate, and not get discouraged if I make a mistake.
Can’t make more than three though; otherwise it’s back to PERMIT-ville for me.
And really, it’s no fun being stuck here.
