I NEED A JOB.

That is all.

George W. Bush.  Dubya. 

For me, the last eight years have been the hardest of my life.  Granted, I am 25, and didn't have the right to vote before him.  I hadn't experienced the world yet for my own before him.  

I will tell tales to my grandkids of the fast destruction of a great nation under a terrible ruler for years.  Unfortunately, I will be talking about America, and how quickly one man could:

+ destroy families based on his "War on Terror"
+ destroy families by ruining the economy.
+ ruin the economy
+ destroy other countries' respect for us [any they may have had left] by being a total nitwit
+ ruin the country, and our allies' positions in the world.

Not to mention the fact that he should be remembered for single-handedly ripping apart families, killing or crippling thousands of young soldiers, turning the other cheek towards the most poverty-stricken of our nation, spread our military thin to the point of anorexia, and generally not living in reality.  The People's very Real reality.

Congratulations, Dubya.  You will remembered in the history books.  

We hope you are proud.

UNHBVTHYLIROTHPI THWYI5UOERGIJERGHDAI
;HYKO. YHRGHJDNGJDFGJDFGSB AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH M

MOTHER FUCKING
JESUS FUCKIGN CHRIST OH MY GOD MOTHER FUCKING CHRIST JSESUS GOD LSAFJLAKJ TOWEA;DKGNFELATJ KWUJGRIOWVMIREUHTIOERTVO;DJFGSTJOHVTSEJGFGJ FJHG

I HSBR HAVE NOT BEEN THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS ANGRY IN FR FUUUUUUUUUUUCKIGN SOOOOOOOO LONG

ALFDSJLKAJFDJFKADFJADFJ


SO FUCKING PISSE
DOA SFLJFE VTJM WIN THNFREAKDFJAFDSKJAFKFJKNFKJFSD


GOD DAMNED MOTHER FUCKING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HOLY SHIT GOD ALMIGHTY JESUS CHRIST FUCKING MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!.

MAD.

MAD.
OH MY GODY
IFEEL INSANE WITH ANGER.

I am aware that this is a Republican video, but it's all I could find. Also, I find the conservative commentary hilarious.

Retard cowboy fella. HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAH. God, it's true. I actually threw my head back in laughter over this. God damn!

Wig? Wig? Reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally??

If other countries hate us so much....maybe we should change from being bullying fucking idiots into, oh...I dunno. SOMETHING ELSE.



By nature, I'm an anarchist. By reality -- Obama is the ticket.

If it's time for fucking change, WHY THE FUCK WOULD ANYONE VOTE FOR 72 YEAR OLD JSM?!

72 YEAR OLD MCCAIN:



Ugh. I've lost interest tonight.

I don't know if I would call my phobia remarkable. I'm horrified beyond all reason of water. Lakes, ponds, deep pools, and don't get me started on the oceans. I can't get in, and when I do, I get hysterical and have to be carried out.

Last summer, I was convinced to lay on a float in a lake. I got onto the float by placing myself on it from the dock. Didn't even touch the water. About an hour later a speed boat came through and made crazy waves, flipping my float over-- and into the water I went. It was about knee high and I panicked and started crying and freaking out. My boyfriend carried me out and everyone looked at me like I was insane.

Ugh. Water.

Shudder.

...the scent of you is bliss.

I don't really have anything to talk about:

I miss Waylon. I miss being in California, riding around on a beach cruiser, drinking mojitos and margaritas and Tecate beer. I miss hanging out with Waylon and having a blast and being best friends. That was corny, and I realize it, but I can't help it. I'm craving California. My heart is aching over it.



WAAAAAAAAAAH.

All we are saying, is give PEACE a chance....

Shawn is in North Carolina.  He is officially home in America.  There really aren't words for how I feel.  I stood up after I hung up with him, and literally felt dizzy.  I imagined myself having a large dumbbell just thrown from my shoulders -- the dumbell labeled "stress" in huge letters.  His relief at being home:

"I just stopped and breathed in the soil, the air...." 

I'm so thankful, grateful, ecstatic.  I was given grief on a community here for posting that I was so thankful, and denied posting.  But he's home, and I can relax and not worry and not look through newspapers scouring for news on Fallujah and cry and wonder and worry when he doesn't contact anyone for ten or 15 days at a time and not wonder if he's hungry or cold or tired or scared and hope he's getting my packages or wonder who he's spending Christmas with or if he's even going to

make it home.

Because he did.

Short entry:

Shawn called, he's NOT IN IRAQ!!!! I'm thrilled. I cried, actually. I haven't heard his voice in seven months of unknowing horror -- is he alive, is he okay, how is feeling, is he scared, hurt, alone, cold, what? So when I heard his voice, it was pure and simple [over]joy. I hid it well until I got off the phone...then I completely broke down sobbing with tears of relief.

You didn't take this one, George Bush. Not this one.

My other good news:

I'm not drinking anymore.

Whew. I'm completely sober from here on out.

I will post longer tonight! Be careful and I hope you all are doing quite well!

Simple.  Waylon.  Mind games, attitude, yelling at me, and

we're just friends.

This girl does NOT need that boy.

Ugh.

Also, just to throw it out there -- President Bush.

But that's a duh.

Brief pause in my California stories to say:

My stalkers are at it again. It seems that every time I post in madradstalkers, modestmichelle, the MODERATOR jephuu and liable are all over me like Augustus Gloop in the chocolate River.

This time, I made an innocent comment about a girl not being ugly when someone said she was. That's it [I may or may not have called the girl who made the comment rude, but seriously...is it NOT rude to call someone ugly? A beast, actually]

You see, a few months ago, I was mildly intoxicated and I made a post about Hanson. I was THRILLED to hear them, and wanted to know who else was a pre-teen//teen Hanson fan. It's been literally ten years since I was a fan, so I was nostalgic. And these girls tore me up on the post! Made fun of everything from my Myspace to my pictures to the way I talk, look, act, write, etc.

I have decided they are maniacal and have long since forgotten. Until tonight, when I realized their goals in life were to harass other people. Total internet bullies.

I find it funny, lame, and a bit obsessive. I thought I'd share this because it's sort of weird how they all just jump on a person like FREAKS if you disagree with anything they say.

That is all. And no, Jephuu, that is NOT a haiku.

Day...Three? Three I think. The night. I think it's day three. Whatever. It's the night of the day that I last posted :)

We [we being Jake, Nate, this southern dude they called Country, Waylon, and myself] decide to go to a Game Stop bar, which was a bar filled with arcade games and alcohol! Schweeeeet! Let's not forget I'd been drinking at the beach, then the wine, and now at this bar. We decide to taxi it up the whole time, since everyone wanted to drink. I think I have two Jack and Cokes at first and we wander around, taking pictures. Jake decides to buy Waylon and me a drink, and they both force me to do a Jager bomb. Ugh. I hope everyone knows what that is, and how HARD it was for me to finish in under 8 seconds. I was drunk when we left a few minutes later. We waited outside for Nate, who had somehow acquired 2 tickets and thought he could get prizes with them. We laughed and dared him. Oh yeah, lest I forget: I kicked Waylon's ass at Rainbow Road Mario Kart :)
Anyway, a few minutes later, Nate came out with....SPIDAH RANGS!

Edit: This time I plan to save the pics for last, so you can enjoy them all simultaneously!

He gave each of us a spider ring and then looked at my nose hoop and immediately put this spider ring on his nose and yelled, "SPIDAH NOSE RANG!!!" Mind you, Nate is a giant and from Detroit aka incredibly ghetto. But, he's one of the nicest and most hilarious people I have ever met.

Anyway, we piled in the taxi, and went to a pub called Dubliners. I went in and ordered Guinness all around, like a rich person, which I am literally the opposite of. I drank Guinness and had to go through the whole, "Yes, I'm from Kalamazoo" story AGAIN. Sigh. I was too drunk to even sign my receipt this time without help holding the pen from Waylon [no joke] and then we went to sit down. While sitting, Waylon kept squeezing my knee, or my thigh, etc. He'd been doing that a lot the last few days, but I wasn't complaining ;).
A drunk woman [really beautiful] ran up to me and kept going on and on about how she loved my hair -- the headband, the color, the A-line cut. If I hadn't been drunk, I would have been embarrassed. But, I love when people call me unique, so I was alright. After we finished our drinks, we piled into the taxi van again, this time Waylon and I crammed into the short seat in front, Jake in the front seat, and Country had left. Nate left to find an ATM to pay the taxi once we got to the V Room, our next destination. Then, Nate slid into the backseat like he'd been greased [he weighs roughly 350-400 pounds]. I hadn't thought to let him sit in front.
We get to the V Room, and Nate can't get out.

No joke.

He says, "I think we have a weird situation here." said so quietly and calmly that only I heard. I turn my head to see a loosely jeaned leg flinging itself around in the back. I immediately start going into a spiel of hysterical laughter to the point where tears are falling from my eyes. He's struggling in the back, grasping the seatbelt attached to the van door for support and I'm dying with laughter. I have never laughed so hard in my life. Waylon starts cracking up next to me, and I'm just DYING, and the cabbie freaks out and gets out of the van. Lets not forget that there's a line outside the V Room, and people smoking and whatnot, and Nate is stuck in the backseat. Now, I'm not sure if I've explained, but I'm completely useless in a crisis. I laugh. Example: My friend Maggie got her belly button ring stuck in a door lock when I was 17 and it crammed up into her hole, and I died laughing while someone else called the hospital. A co-worker jammed a tortilla chip so far up into his gumline that he chipped a tooth and nearly bled to death and I just laughed and laughed. I think it's a nerves mechanism. Anyway, so I could have easily have gotten out of the van and the cabbie could have tipped the front seat and Nate could have gotten out. Instead, I'm spread across the seat, leaning back against Waylon, and hysterical. The cabbie flings the front back seat up, and Waylon and I go sprawling onto the floor before I get up and scramble out, still dying with laughter. The cabbie speeds away, and I'm still cracking up.

We're in the V Room, and I order Jack and Cokes for everyone, to pay back Waylon and Jake for buying me so many drinks. I don't really recall everything else I order, except that the bar maid loves me, and I keep ending up with drinks in my hand and end up paying nearly nothing.

I ask Jake to pick out some music from the Jukebox with me. The bar is filled with Harley type dudes and dudettes -- the real tough characters, and I'm in a blue shirt with a bird on it, pink hairband in, and crazy drainpipe jeans. And rainbow Keds. Heehee. So we mosey to the Juke, and to my utter delight and surprise, they have NOT ONLY the Ramones, and NOT ONLY Billy Idol, but my HERO IGGY POP!!!! I play all three [twice each, accidentally], and head back to the pool tables, where Waylon is on a winning streak. I take pictures, and Jake and Nate head off to a late night taco stand. Waylon keeps coming up and kissing me, and putting his arms around me, and I'm squealing with delight at listening to Rock N Roll High School and Dancing With Myself. Then, after the last game [I'm completely and totally trashed, almost numb] Waylon wants to leave. I have been introduced to world-renowned English John and his wife [the barmaid, it turns out] and I bade them all goodbye and Waylon and I are outside, literally making out the whole way. Outside, Waylon sees a little Mexican man on a tiny bike. God, my life is weird.
Waylon rides the bike around the parking lot, and then the Mexican rides it even better and next thing I know, Waylon and I are walking home, him stopping to kiss me every few seconds. I try to take pictures of palm trees but it's too dark and I'm scared to use my flash for fear of someone thinking its gunfire [quiet, I was wasted]. Waylon picks me a pile of bright orange flowers, and I lose all but two of them right away.
I get this brilliant idea that Waylon and I should stop in the middle of a four way and kiss, which we do. Then, he half carries//half walks me to a building, where he presses me up against it and we make out, for, oh...ten minutes or so like children.
We get back to his place, and go to the balcony. I'm brought a beer and Jake is out there. We talk, though I don't know what about. Jake goes to bed, and Waylon and I go inside. Inside, Nate is passed out sitting up and holding the remote, wheezing hysterically. Waylon tells me he will wake up if I take the remote, and I don't believe him. The dude was drunk and passed out! So I take it and Nate's up INSTANTLY, claiming he was watching the show and not to turn it. I laugh unbelievably, and Waylon takes me to the kitchen. I don't remember what he did in there, but I left to go to Jake's room to say goodnight. I give him a hug and I don't know what I said, but then I left and Waylon and I end up in his room. Or maybe on the balcony. I think he was on the balcony for a few minutes. Honestly, I don't remember how it ended up happening.
But I do making out for a very, very long time, after Waylon put on a playlist [oh God] that included the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Feist, and the rest was Nine Inch Nails. I think the YYY and Feist was just to butter me up. He knows that music is my life.
Anyway, I remember having difficulty with a necklace that I never take off. I wear it constantly to remind me that my previous scenester life was dangerous. Well, it was getting in the way of doing certain things and I made Waylon take it off me.
From there, it was ... well. It was what you all guessed. I had sex with Waylon. Accidentally, and I remember thinking that I didn't want to. But I did want to, as well. He is my FRIEND, not anything more, but I was literally so drunk that I don't remember going into the bedroom, how my clothes got off, where my hairband went, and I even lost a precious blue dichro plug in the mess. If the next details get too intimate for some, please stop reading [I don't mention anything that is too detailed, don't worry].
Facts I remember:
Waylon singing to me.
I bit his lip. He bit mine.
He pulled off my entire mass layer of clothing as though I were only wearing a thin tank top, and not tank, shirt, etc.
He took off my bra as though it were just loosely tied into a bow.
He counted how many times I uh. Well. Ya know.
The last thing we remembered before actually having sex was the condom.
I was loud. With other people in the house.
Waylon was loud. With other people in the house.

Things I don't remember:
Stopping.
Falling asleep.
Condom Number 2
The music stopping.
His face during sex.

I woke up naked to Waylon waking up naked. I pretended I was asleep until he got up and got dressed. I looked around. My clothes were literally taken off in a line: Shoe 1, shoe 2, pants [inside out], and pile of shirts crumpled at the ground. I roll myself in the blankets so Waylon can't see me naked. He comes back in, and I peer through my eyelashes at him in his black underwear. He has water and he comes to lay with me and offer me water. I peek up like I'd just woken up, completely aware of my smeared black makeup and hair sticking up every which way and muster out a very hoarse, "Oh my God WAAAAAAAATER!" and drink half of it.
Then, I turn away and pretend to sleep again. Waylon goes back to sleep next to me.

But I'm up, and contemplating what I'd done. Fortunately, Waylon's breathing lulls me back to sleep and I worry about it later, when I wake up.

That was my night. Waylon told me later that he didn't remember a whole lot about that night either, because he had had many, many more drinks than myself. But he says he does remember almost everything about the sex.
More on that later.

Enjoy the pictures!!

Day Three: What up Sunday!

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! I woke up on the futon [as you recall] and pushed Waylon onto the floor to sleep. When I woke back up for good, Waylon is on the floor next to me on his back, hands folded over his chest. Probably cold. LOL...I don't mean to laugh, but that's kind of funny.
So it's beach day. The day I had been dreading. I didn't want to go to the beach, and I certainly didn't want to get in the water, what with my major phobia of water. Serious, ungodly fear. I think I've talked about it here before. So, I go outside and wander around with Jake for a few moments. Mind you, I look ridiculous, didn't even wash my face or take my contacts out before passing out.
We leave a few minutes later, and stop at a gas station for Gatorades [I swear by them for everything, and made Waylon drink them everyday] and the Mexican in there tells me to go to Venice Beach. By the way, my license says Kalamazoo, and I have to show it every time I use my debit...so pretty much everywhere I went I had to explain why I was in Cali and that yes, there really is a Kalamazoo [that's actually Kzoo's motto]. He says Venice has all the weirdos...Okaaaaay.
So I get back in and Waylon decides to take a new way to LB. This new way takes us past a familiar part of town to me. Then, nerdily, I realize I recognize it from Grand Theft Auto for Xbox. My ex boyfriend loved that game, and therefore I memorized the neighborhoods. Waylon and I joke and laugh hysterically about the purple gangs and taking over territory and whatnot, and neither of us realize we drove into a dead end and get basically lost. In San Pedro. We find our way back and head to the house. I take a shower and put on my bathing suit. Ugh. I realize AT THAT MOMENT that the bathing suit I had bought was wrong. The top was fine but the bottoms were about eight sizes too small. Yup. Really.
So, I put on a pair of skinny jeans and roll them up to 50's capri level with the top and pull a tank top over it all. I'm pale as fuck like a dead fish and not at a goal weight. Anyway, that's off topic. We bike all the way to the beach [about three miles I'd say, to this particular beach]. We get there and I hear it again: Do I want to kayak? I'd heard it for about a week straight. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Waylon takes me to the water and I stick my toes in and still say no. I tell him he can go alone, that I won't mind. I want some time to write and think and lay in the sun. He says no, then I say yes, and we debate. Finally, he says, okay you're a big girl and we go back to the tent where him and Ryan and everyone leave and I stay. I stay with a bunch of Aussie's that were at the party the night before and were incredibly nice. One girl offers me a Tecate and I can't refuse. Then, I chat it up with Aussie Thom [who was so drunk the night before that he fell and rolled down the driveway]. Aussie Thom is hot like the guy from Coyote Ugly and I won't lie: I wanted to take him to a Port-A-Potty or somewhere equally as exclusive. But, I don't and he leaves and I sit on a beach towel, drink my beer, and begin a pen and ink drawing in my journal. I call my mom and talk for a bit and Waylon comes back.
We bike to a few bars, including a packed sports bar where I look totally out of place [I usually do anyway, but more so here] and we sit on the balcony that overlooks a shop owned by Cher's gay daughter whats-her-name. I can't honestly remember what bar we visit after that. I'll think on it and randomly put it in wherever I think of it. It's driving me insane, but I won't remember now that I'm thinking too hard on it.
Anyway, we head back towards Waylon's at some point [I know I'm missing a huge chunk here, but I can't think of it] and I'm almost positive we get pizza and fall asleep on his couch watching Juno with his brother. I remember these things vividly. I'll ask Waylon about this gap between the two. I think we got beer and wine. Yes, we did. Both beer and wine. Watched Juno, fell asleep on the couch, Waylon in fetal position, me sitting upright like a prude, haha. Then, it was time to get up and get ready for the night, though we were already in a bit of a tipsy haze. The next part I think I should do in another entry, as the night is QUITE long...quite.
I hope you are all enjoying my moment to moment recap of the vacation :D
By the way, in case I am the only one counting, I've fallen in lust with at least...four people at this point :)

Day 2: I wanna be a Cali Girl!

I had a beach cruiser -- white with a cute basket on the front. Waylon wakes up, grabs a beer. I bury my head under the pillow. He opens a window and the day is bright and sunny and perfect. I take a shower [I take forever to get ready, but I'm a girly girl]. Go out in the living room to get Waylon and we head out on bikes. We go to the sushi place.
Now I'm not a huge sushi eater. Actually, I'm kind of not a huge fan of Japanese food at all. So I have no idea what to order. But, me being the stubborn ass that I mentioned in the last entry, I refuse to ask for help. I order sashimi. Note to self: sashimi is RAW FISH. On a hungover stomach. 4 different kinds, and plenty of it. With wasabi. I got down some of it before Waylon [who is obviously being just as stubborn as I am, judging by his watering eyes and slowness of eating] says that the fish isn't agreeing with his stomach and we leave. To the liquor store for Gatorade. Then, to the pet shop where I fall in love with three pugs, a baby beagle and a teeny tiny puppy that looked like an Ewok. I name him Widget and tell Waylon its up to him to check on his every week. Then, we go upstairs to see the reptiles and birds. The strange thing about this pet shop is that nothing ever really moves. It's a mom and pop setup, and the guy is just fanatical about pets, so they are all living in luxury and outrageously priced because he doesn't [maybe subconsciously] want them to sell. Crazy. I watch him feed a baby mouse [or flip out rather and hide myself in Waylon's shoulder] to a giant flat frog. On the way out, the owner begins to tell us about a pink parrot he just got in. I stopped listening when I saw a giant cockroach crawl up the wall. Just huge.
Next [and I'm not 100% on this] we go back and sit on the balcony again, just hanging out. I make Waylon put on my rainbow slip on Keds and laugh hysterically. A boy from the band The West shows up and we all chill for a few minutes. Then, it's time to go to Ryan's for a barbecue and the subsequent show at the Anarchy Library in Downey, California.
Ryan is in the band Maryez Eyez, who are from Kalamazoo, and how I know everyone out there. I have been almost in LOVE with him since I was 17, and was crazy excited to see him again, since I hadn't seen him in roughly 2-3 years. I call him Mikey from the Goonies, and the next pictures will show why.
At Ryan's, we immediately begin drinkin beer while waiting for the brats to be done:

At this barbecue, I discovered a person I'd known for years was there: Jake. I knew him from a completely different place in my life, not even in Kalamazoo, and was beyond shocked to see him there. It was...surreal. We were both speechless and thrilled. After the BBQ, ten of us piled into a van, with all the band equipment and at least 40 beers to travel an hour away:
But, before we left, Jake decided he didn't want to be a loser anymore in khakis, and being that he was drunk [as were we all] he decided to change his clothes in the middle of the sidewalk, on a busy freeway:



Ryan is in the hat on the left. :D Also, did I mention that all of us were drunk? I should probably mention that it's legal to have open containers in a car, as long as the driver can't reach. This may be a load of bunk, but that's what they told me. My drunk ass was okay with that. Ten people+guitars, basses, amps, full drum set, etc+loads of beer+broken van door=paranoia and every time a cop came by, we all freaked out.
At the show, Mikey-I-mean-Ryan and I decided to race and match each other Jack and Cokes. Bad idea, as both of us were plastered and he still had to play. But we did it anyway, and things ended up a little like this:


This is where we were:

Then, Daddyo [the Maryez Eyez side project] played:


It was a horrible set, everyone was drunk and the club's drum line had broken, so the drums were hard to hear. We made 15 dollars that night, but I only spent ten, since people with the band drink free :)
After the show:

The ride home was roomier, as two of the guys left to go to a raunchy strip club. The strap holding the door together started loosening though:

On the way home, I was looking at the city lights, my head turned out the window. Waylon tugged on my hair and when I turned to look at him, he passionately kissed me and then said, "Sorry!". I asked why he was sorry, and he said, "I don't know. I'm just soooo happy you're here!" This next picture was my reaction. Why does he always look suave in pictures?!

Then it was the rooftop after party. We were all belligerent, trashed, tanked, and everything else you can use to describe a group of rebellious drunk kids. Someone brought up an old boombox and Waylon turned the radio on. We never listen to the radio, but everyone was too drunk to find CD's. The song was "Low" by Flo Rida, and Ryan immediately thinks he can breakdance:

3 stories up. With only a picket fence railing. Waylon bends down to turn OFF the dangerous radio, and Ryan climbs on his shoulders:

Again, 3 floors up, with nothing but a picket fence. So safe. Yes, Ryan is going, WOOHOO, YEAAAAH! And Waylon begins doing squats.
By the end of the night, my picture taking looks like this:

Also at the end of that night, I'm too drunk to move, the neighbors had come over to play rooftop pin the tail on the donkey, I kept drinking beer and Mikes Hard Lemonade, vodka, whiskey and I don't know what else Waylon handed me. Waylon was pretty much carrying me everywhere and Ryan and I kept racing. Then, suddenly, Ryan passed out on the beer cooler and everyone left him there. So, I woke up him, and helped him stumble him into his bedroom.
Earlier that night, after the show, Waylon had dared Ryan to punch him in the stomach. They were both so drunk that Ryan punched him in the chest really hard and Waylon laughed. Visit my myspace page [www.myspace.com/starlet] to see those pictures.
Then, I went back to the rooftop where everyone was playing waterfall. Waylon handed me a SmartWater, thank God, and I didn't play. Then, everything is a blur until I somehow get down the stairs [I don't remember any of this] and wake up on a futon with a zebra print blanket and Waylon cuddling behind me. I mean, right behind me. I don't remember how many times [if any] Waylon and I kissed or what else during the period of going downstairs and going to bed.
That is my Day 2. The next day will be posted shortly :D Or, this might be edited if I can think of anything else :)

Okay, so I haven't even written about my Cali trip. Someday I'll make incredibly detailed, but right now, being that I'm going through a rough time about the whole thing...I'll just highlight it:

Day One: The Flight.
At 9 in the morning I get on the plane. Half a Xanax and I'm out like a light until Denver. In Denver, I find my flight and almost miss it because my first plane was late [but I was too busy being asleep to notice]. A big burly black guy from Detroit and I were running down the moving sidewalks trying to make it. And cracking up.
On the Denver flight, I immediately ordered screwdrivers, and the super cute steward [is that still even PC?] gave me two for one. Being tipsy getting off the plane was pretty awesome. The weather was amazing and I was thrilled.
Met Waylon at the terminal and next thing I know I'm driving in a convertible with the top down the highway. We went to his house, I met his brother, and we ended up at a Maku Maki restaurant, drinking mojitos [I've never had one and they are this delish drink made with mint and tequila, I believe]. I had 1.5 of those and a margarita. 3.5 drinks and it's not even 1 in the afternoon. Next, we go on a long bike ride, and to be honest, I don't remember where we end up. Oh, yes I do. We went to the aquarium and couldn't use our tickets because they closed early, so we head up to the Queen Mary. There, we race around like kids looking out every port, Waylon trying to tell me how haunted it was the whole time. Then, we [of course] go to the bar. I have a screwdriver. I'm tipsy at this point. Next, it is time to head for home, drop off the bikes and head out to the bars. Not even joking. We hit up one called Cheapshots, to which Waylon is their pool league captain. I have...I have...something. Perhaps I will remember it later, something dark, perhaps a Jack and Coke. I meet a Mexican, a Scot, and a super adorable bartender. He's 21, name is...Eddie maybe? That may have been the Mexican, but we'll call him Eddie anyway. He was incredibly adorable, and I was really attracted to him. Next, Waylon orders me a bottle of Framboise, which is a sort of raspberry flavored, crazy expensive beer. I love it. Eddie gives me an adorable shy smile when he hands it to me, and Waylon starts pool. Let us not forget that for every drink I have, Waylon has at least two. I get into an argument about Michigan with the Scot, good-naturedly, and soon after, we leave.
Ferns is next, and we see the Jagermeister team there, handing out free Jager drinks to anyone who knows anything about Jager. Waylon apparently knows a lot and I find myself drinking more than my fair share. I don't remember how much I drink after this, but at least two more pints of beer and a giant Bud Light in a multi-colored bottle. I meet Waylon's roommate Nate there, who makes me laugh and we talk about a girl with bad extensions in her hair. She was playing pool right next to us, so I'm pretty sure she heard. I'm drunk, Waylon's drunk, and we go to his apartment after stopping by the liquor store for a 6 pack of beer.
At Waylon's, we go sit on his balcony and watch the people coming home. Then, it pops into our heads to listen to 80's rock [my FAVE, in case you haven't seen my myspace] and we begin singing Poison at top volume while the people below cheer. I'm completely tanked [did I forget to mention I threw up at Ferns, in a nasty, disgusting probably disease-ridden toilet? Well, I did, and the fact I was puking under such repulsive conditions just brought an onslaught of extra vomit] and shout, "Let's hear Warrant!!!" and Waylon says, "Oh my God I was typing that in as you said it!!!" and we sing Cherry Pie. After some NKOTB [and I remember my head falling forward and snapping back up as I was getting ready to pass out] Waylon decides we should go to bed. Well, we get in, and he says, "You're not sleeping on the couch, you're sleeping with me. Pants off, shirt on, underwear on, but here with me." I, stubborn as hell and not willing to have sex with Waylon, take an extra step and say, "I'm leaving my pants ON!". Such a bad idea, as I wear incredibly skinny jeans and a studded belt every day of my life. So, I climb into bed [ouch, belt, ouch] and Waylon says, "And we're cuddling!" and proceeds to snuggle up to me and puts his head on my shoulder.

That was my first night in Long Beach California.

I will post a second post in a bit about the rest of the days. :) Enjoy!

Well, here I am, about to fly. I am about to fly to LAX. I am about to fly to LAX to see Waylon. Ugh. I'm so nervous that it feels like I may or may not have a fit of vomiting.

I'm nervous and then it ends. Then I get excited. I'm speaking and writing like a preschooler currently and it's weird. I'm trying to take it one thought at a time. The check-in gates were crazy, but they were for my own safety, so it's okay :) No shoes, no belt, laptop out, etc. Buuuut, I'm glad they were taking care of my safety. Whew.

Just wish I hadn't been wearing a studded belt and converse high tops. Unlace, take off, repeat. Then, take off my belt. Then, take out my laptop, LOL. But, I'm not complaining! My own stupidity put me in that situation :)

Okay, I'm off to go to the potty for the millionth time and then shutting down to sit and worry.

Hey, I just realized there's a guy up the aisle with a Mac :) Yay, Macs!

Alright, the dork in me is done for now :D

WISH ME LUCK!

I fucking miss Suicide Thom. I can't believe I'm saying this. But I truly miss him almost to tears.
Short story:
Jess + Thom = Best friends = BFF 4 Life :D
Jess visits Thom when Thommy needs her.
Jess and Thommy swear to move together, through thick and thin, never leaving each other again. [side note: we lost contact for about two years].
Jess and Thom plan move to Chapel Hill.
Thom has bad night, tries to commit suicide, sends pictures to Jess.
Thom blames Jess for suicide attempt.
Jess and Thommy argue.
Thom unexpectedly meets girl in Raleigh.
Girl flies Thom out to meet her.
Girl and Thom "fall in love".
Thom moves without Jess.
Jess is left with tears and broken promises on paper.
Jess hates Thom.
Thom hates Jess.
Thom writes Jess, tells her she's a jerkoff.
Jess thinks Thom is immature.

As from Snatch, "Shot, flight, England."

Ugh. I don't know why I have a lame tendency to miss people I shouldn't. I miss Adam, my ex boyfriend, a lot sometimes. I feel as though he's the only one to understand me, even though I actually have lots of friends who get me EVEN MORE. Doesn't make any sense. I suppose it's as though when times get confusing, humans retract into the memories that made them last feel comfortable, regardless of the situation of it all.

Journal Entry of 3/6/08 -- "And it hurts. Garbled mix. I'm confused. I hate you. To say I don't care is a lie. I loved you like no one else could -- when no one else would. And I was thrown away like a vast field left unnoticed.". Two days later: "Don't give me lies of new plans for life or excuses why you are alive."

Hey, emo girl. It just seems that everything is tumbling after everything. I can barely walk without thinking of a stressful though, tripping over my own preoccupied mind.
On a completely unrelated topic [because I'm incredibly ADD, which is why I don't write hardly anymore]:

I'm fairly depressed to see Michigan closing up so quickly. It's easy to watch on the news, and sort of disregard if one isn't a resident, but when one is here, it's painful. As my home state, I find myself feeling defensive, depressed, and a bit angry. It's utterly heartbreaking to watch factories close one by one, their former employees wandering aimlessly home from work, wondering how they will tell their families. Then, as the factories close, the bright red "FOR SALE" signs emerge, as Michigan residents head to another state to find work in another factory, thisclose to retirement. Some families have no way to leave, and end up in homeless shelters, living with their parents again, lining up outside the welfare offices. It's shocking to see so many people lose their pride in an instant. Poverty is very real here, and President Bush talks about the recession so bluntly, so ... almost carelessly. And after the speech, he gets into his car [that is actually worth more than a lot of houses on the market currently in Detroit], and goes to sit in his plush office//home//vacation home. He has no real understanding of anything that's happening this instant.

Bleh. I visit Waylon in five days. I'm so nervous I feel like I could vomit. Mostly, I'm worried about the flight. I'm actually physically nauseous about the flight. Then, when I see him...ugh. Throw up. He wants to go to a BBQ on Saturday night, but I really don't want to go there. I don't know how to get out of it, and I know that he'll be quite offended if I plain out tell him I don't want to go. So, I'll go, and I'll bear with being the pale, angsty punk girl surrounded by happy go lucky beach bums and tan, blond jockettes. Yay! Aside from not looking like them [they actually look like this, I've seen pictures!], I also have a semi-thick Michigan accent. That I'm kind of proud of :/ Michigan pride. Does any other state have this? Nerves nerves nerves.

I love my pooch.
And my mom.
And my sister.
:)

That was randomly tossed in. I tend to get sentimental before carousing off on a trip.

I think the war in Iraq is too serious to be joked about. It hurts the feelings of people with family there, simply because the worrying and stress and constant reminders are enough without having it be made fun of. Does that make sense?

It's hard to joke about something so serious. Perhaps in time, when the war is over, and a sufficient amount of time has passed, veterans and family alike will be able to make fun of the "remember when's". I just feel that joking about it now is tactless and rude.

Okay. I'm about to post a very shallow, lame, complaint-filled post. But, I don't have anywhere else to go with this. So to give some background:

My family doesn't drive. We just don't. We're city-dwellers, and we don't drive. It's never been a problem for any of us, with public transportation and walking, or bike riding, etc. Well, recently my aunt decided to buy a new Jeep Cherokee and is therefore driving everywhere [despite not being rich and despite the horrific gas prices]. The next logical step in the showing-off process is to offer rides to everyone, including my mother.

Two days in a row now my Aunt has come over to get my mother to take her to the store. Two days in a row she's dropped off her son for me to watch. No warning, no asking, nothing. My mom goes out the door and he comes in the door. Totally unexpectedly and most unwelcome.

I know everyone must think I'm a horrible person, but just hear me out: My cousin is 11 [he might be 12] and is the spawn of Satan. Not saying much about my Aunt, I know. But he loves to slowly kill animals, hurt kids, swear, lie, kick dogs [I have two], trick, steal, cheat, etc. Again, most of this sounds like normal boy things [except the killing and hurting], but he does it worse in every way. My sister lost her top two teeth at the age of four because he pushed her down a FLIGHT of stairs. He's thrown a ball into a road that had an oncoming semi and then told my [then 5] year old sister to go get it. Which she tried. If I hadn't been there, she would have been hit. He's obsessed with guns, knives, killing, etc. He snaps and goes off on violent tangents, destroying everything in sight. I've seen him smash dishes, stomp on his mother's valuables, swear like no other and fling himself to the floor in a devilish rage. And I'm not even naming the worst of the worst he's done.

Needless to say, I refuse to watch him. My Aunt knows this -- I say no EVERY time, I refuse to be alone with him, I don't allow him in my kitchen when he's here even with his mother. He's not allowed near my dog, he isn't allowed to do basically anything except sit on my living room couch until his mom arrives. So when she does come back [and one time she did this, she didn't come home for almost 16 hours] he has nothing but horrible things to say about me, and thus falls into a FIT of anger and ends up ruining more of my shit. Then, my Aunt gets mad at ME and storms out.

This has become a cycle and I'm furious right now. Currently, he's here [reason why I'm finally getting this all out] and yelling at the top of his lungs while being ordered to stay in the kitchen chair. He got here less than ten minutes ago. He's saying words that I usually don't even use unless massively provoked. He's already pushed my dog down when Odie ran up to him, called him a name, and pretty much immediately started yelling.

I'm steaming. I don't understand what kind of parent just throws her kid out of the car and just expects someone else to watch them. What if I hadn't been home, or what if I was in the shower? So many things could have come up, and he would just walked in and trashed my house, stole my money and then walked out.

I'm stressed.