miss_dridier

I think I'm going to make a smiley face out of safety pins on my jeans

I like me some safety pins. They're handy for rips and tears, and they're shiny. I mean, who cares about pointy and shit when they fucking SHINE?!

And I have three gold safety pins. THREE. I can give my smiley safety pin face gold teeth! KICK. ASS.

More specifically, something you find ridiculous. Like, say, your mom might be angry at you for having acne.

And, you know, maybe it is your fault that you didn't keep up on washing your face as much as you should have, which lead to your outbreak. Yes. We get it. That's your fault. But considering that you have what you've been told several times is, like, SEVERE acne, you want to get it treated so it doesn't continue and cause more scarring that's already done, yeah?

And you know that your mom wants your scarring gone, but that seems to be all she wants gone. Not the disgusting cystic acne zitulars, but just the scarring. Which won't really help your face, but hey, you never said your mama's smart.

And you /know/ the cost is high. You're not a fucking retard, no matter what she thinks. Just a regular retard. Fucking duh you want to get rid of it at all costs, but you realize that you should take the cost into consideration.

And you know that this treatment is pricey, which is why you keep telling your mom to just CANCEL the fucking appointments if she doesn't want to pay for them, go see someone else about it for a cheaper, probably less effective means, but she says NOOOOOOO

Even though she's the one saying she doesn't want to pay for it.

Yeah. I really hate it when that happens to people. D=

So let's do a rundown of today's sugar intake, shall we?

Lunch:
None.

Dinner:
One can of Wired.
One chocolate, deliciously delivered by the love of my life from the costuming department who's name starts with A and ends with Y and is filled with amazing.

After-midnight cast party snacks:
One cheesecake slice.
One iced mocha.
Two sugar shots.


I'm shaking a bit right now. Perhaps I should try going to bed.

Let me tell you, internets, I'm not a whore. Oh yes, I know it's everywhere, contrived bullshit, "I do it anal so I'm a virgin so I'm not a whore yay!" Yeah. Okay. That's not me.

I'm the sort of "Oh gods he's touching my leg he'stouchingmylegwhatdoIdo oh shit it'smovingfartherup oh shit doItellhimtostop oh okay he's moved back down ohshithe'smovingupagainIshouldtellhimtostopstupidfuckingmouthsaysomethingdosomethingstopstopstopSTOP

Yeah. Just so you know, this was my actual internal monologue, paraphrased a bit because this happened sometime around three today, on the bus, and I've been through Singin' in the Rain and a subsequent twenty-minute cast party. Forgive the paraphrase kaykay?

And we all know who the guy was that was touching my leg. The guy I like. The guy I've liked for... what is it now, five months? Not such a long time. I still don't know much about him, other than that he's a pretty cool dude that's absolutely batshit. And I like him. And he's allergic to peanuts. And he has a rock hard stomach I kid you not my fucking gods.

So the guy I like had his hand on my leg, and he was sort of stroking it, and I know it wasn't because my pants are a cool material because they're just denim, but I add that they weren't a cool material because in eighth grade I had these pants that had all this fluffly on them and Kaysha liked to pet my pants now that I think about it I think I still have those pants if Kaysha wants them I should give them to her

I feel very rambly right now.

I talked to Drama people about it. Drama people are gods, because Drama people know everything. Basically everyone said to knock the shit out of him if he does it again.

I think this is basically a good idea. Basically. Seriously. Don't touch me like that if you're not going to fucking ask me out. What. The. Fuck. It's obvious that I like you; do you think that I just want in your pants and that I don't want to date? Do you really think that of me? I'm not going to jump to conclusions on this. Because that's bad. But I'm confused. And I have a can of Wired but it's in the other room and I have choccie-covered pretzels but THEY're in another room, and so's my carnation, and a Drama guy dipped me today it was fun. ^_^

Really rambly. I don't feel like editing it, though. See the words as they flow from the pads of my fingers; I say pads because I only type with the tips of my fingers for farther away letters and now that I think about it I'm not sure how many that makes up and now that I'm really thinking about how my fingers feel when typing, I use mainly pads of my fingers for my right and fingertips for my left.

Weird.

I should wrap this up before I ramble more. I hope I've said everything IMPORTANT that I've wanted to say.

I'm one of those people that really doesn't accept personal limits. I try to not infringe on other people's limits, or keep something up to the point of it being illegal, but I just can't stop myself from doing what I know I shouldn't.

What I'm talking about now: scary shit.

I seek it when I'm bored. When I feel the need to be scared. The days I can't find a good source, I'm disappointed.

But the nights I do find it. It's on those nights that I know the images will be worse than usual. There's the usual:

- Don't go near the closet any more than necessary at night, and no way in fucking hell is it allowed to be opened.
- Underneath the bed is not to be trifled with; do not look under, do not put your feet close to it, and do not let any limbs or hair dangle over the edge within reach.
- The window--fuck no, there is someone outside there looking in and he will come inside to kill you as soon as you spot him.

No exceptions.

Finding stories adds to this list. Sometimes they last for a bit. For a couple weeks, I could not walk on the floor of my room. At all. Not even in the mornings. Because then a rotting hand or thick, black tentacles of an unknown substance, or a hook would reach out and drag me under. Or cling to my leg and drag itself out. Uh, yeah. Fuck no.

Then there are permenant additions. Because of something I read last night, I don't think I can look out the backdoor at night unless someone from my family's in the room, close to the door. I'll never look out the window at night if I'm alone. ESPECIALLY if I hear weirdass noises. If Kelsey happens to be outside, she can damn well wait until my parents get home to let her in.

There's one of those trapdoor things in our hallway where you push the panel in your ceiling up and over to get into the attic. When I go down the hallway at night, or even if the hallway's too dim, I don't look up. Even if I feel like I'm being watched. And if I can, I run to my room. I HATE the hallway in my house.

In our family room, my desk is against the wall, next to the sliding glass door. My back is to everything. If I turn my head to the right, bookshelf. To the left, the door, the tv, the fireplace. Behind me? My brother's desk. The kitchen doorway, through which you can see all the way through the dining room and into the living room. The hallway's also at my back. I pretty much hate how this room is laid out. I'd hate to be at my brother's desk, though. It's RIGHT BY the hallway. But because of where the bookshelf is, you have to lean back to see down the hall. Just sitting in his chair a few times I've glimpsed shadows of things in the corner of my eye.

When we helped my grandma move last summer, I got to sleep in the guest/computer room of the new house. Piles of boxes. Crappy blinds over the window. My grandma lives in a town that would be perfect for small-town crime and sudden deaths and creepy, covered-up deaths and happenings. I could NOT sleep in there with the lights off. But I felt too exposed if I had the lights on. Lucky for me, the lights were the dimmer type, so I had it on enough to see and not be stalked by a creepy creepy creatureman.

Yes. I am a fucking coward. I could continue to rant about it. But I'm not.

Because I need to go find some creepy shit to read.

Sort of. More like: Random Rantings From A Delightfully Tired Retard About Her Two Days Spent Away From Home. It has spunk. I like it. Huzzah.

My trip started out with crying. No kidding. I hate myself for that, but I was panicking too much that morning. I woke up early enough, I wasn't very tired [something that would change an hour and a half later], and I had all my stuff ready at 5:56. Plenty of time to get to Hanford before 6:15, store my bag, double check props, and get a seat.

I wasn't able to get my mom into the car until 6:08.

On the way over the bridge, I'm going over what we're going to be doing for SitR. Then I screamed "I FORGOT THE PIES" (Trust me, you'll want to remember this; it's relevant for later.)

Go back home, head over to the school. Get called by Piffles twice, reminding me that the bus is leaving soon and if I don't hurry, I'm going to be left behind. Cue crying. Because I did NOT want to be left at my house. Not after I was so excited by the fact that I would not see my mom for two days. Fuck no I don't play that. D=

Got there, had to carry my stuff on the bus, had sore eyes from crying. But I made it. HUZZAH

So. Basically, we did photo shoots on the bus. I aborted Piffles' baby, and then when he was my baby, I beat him. I don't like me some babies apparently.

Blah blah, we go through Ellensburg, it's gorgeous and amazing, we're dropped off at campus. It's like my imagination of what a college looks like. The first thing I saw at this college, as we drove by: Damien playing frisbee. So when we noticed, we all just screamed "DAMIEN OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU SO HARD" because we didn't know he'd make it. Oh gods, I love Damien. He's an amazing person, and fuck him for being a senior. HE'S GOING INTO THE BOX

Opening ceremony, very long, very boring. Name badges. Useless packets and a stupid, tiny map no one could read. She-Who-Sings still has my pen.

First cutting I decided to see? Camelot. I've heard about Camelot, and I knew that it's an amazing play. My mistake was not going with Kailehfufu to see "Run" and "Hard Candy". I'm just CRINGING the whole time I'm watching, noticing all of the mistakes and trying to excuse it by the fact that they performed it four months ago. I'm assuming they at least ran through it before bringing it to State. But... there are some things you just can't excuse.

Picking at your clothes onstage.
Wearing modern clothes when everyone else is wearing fancy duds.
Wearing socks when everyone else has boots.
Having the stupidest evil laugh I've ever heard. Seriously. Work on it, whoever played Mordred.
Sing a song about THE LUSTY MONTH OF MAY and not be in fucking high spirits. DO YOU LISTEN TO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING? ALL YOU DID WAS MOVE AROUND STAGE, AND SWISH YOUR DRESS A BIT. OOH, SCANDAL. DRESS ABOVE YOUR ANKLE. NOT. ENOUGH. MOVEMENT.
Not doing a sound check to make sure the music wouldn't be so loud that people in the first row couldn't understand what they were singing.
Not being able to project loud enough that, when you're not even singing, people can't hear you.

Maaaah, my list of horrors for that show could go on and on and on and on and on and on monkeybrains and on.

Yay getting Kailehfufu back to our room. Yay staying up to 2:30 in the morning to talk about anything and everything we feel like saying.

I wish I hadn't been too lazy to take my bra off before going to bed. Stupid wire. Poor Ab being allergic to metal; her boobs need the support.

Okay okay okay. What else. Bacon. Fuck yeah bacon. Give me some good bacon plz I craves it

Getting to see DD without makeup. Oh. My. Fucking. Gods. SHE IS THE MOST ADORABLE PERSON IN THE WORLD. IN. THE. WORLD.

We had a sexy party. My hair's still straight from when Kailehfufu did it this morning.

I wish I went to see Mama Ye Ye. She's an amazing person. There's always next time. ..Actually, I think she goes every other year, so there's always the next time after the next.

It's called Children's Hour. It talks about lesbianism. ...It had so much potential, and Kyle was talking about how it was so amazing the year before, and.. they didn't do it well. I actually didn't see a lot of good shows. I saw SitR [because we are amazing no matter how they judge us fuck damn them], Waiting for Godot, Drop Dead Juliet, and... like, that's all the amazing ones that I remember seeing. It was like I was going to all the ones I shouldn't have. Drop Dead Juliet had a midget. Fuck yeah. Too bad she kept breaking character and picking her wedgie.

It was funny when she got carried offstage and her legs were flailing in the air. I laughed hysterically, I will not lie. CHICKA-CHICKA

So many of the WIPs were awful. I know that they're not complete, but if you're planning on bringing something to State, COMMIT to it. Seven hundred kids don't want to waste their time on your shit. They wrecked Footloose. DAMN THEM

But yay the-mattress-play whateveritwas and the first Godspell. Not the second one. The second one was awful. The first one was funny, though, 'cause we couldn't even tell it was a girl until they said, "Do not stone this woman for adultery!" ...Lulz yeah.

I got three free hugs; they made me feel good. The guy was pretty big, and he lifted me up and popped my back. I blessed him with a Starburst. Bleeeeeess

And then there was this guy, over seven feet tall AT LEAST, with this /amazing/ white afro and beard. Group hug. HUZZAH. So much rape.

I'm supposed to be doing my homework. Screw it. I'll work all day tomorrow.

Let's look at this update, shall we?

The new prompt: not as absolutely retarded as yesterday's, but still pretty stupid. OF COURSE FUCKING DUH YOU DO NOT LIMIT STUDENTS TO HAVING JOBS ON WEEKENDS ONLY. DOUCHEBAG.

If I felt like being challenged, I could've wrote from the other side. But I'm.. tired. Really really really tired. Already I'm sick of SitR, and I can only guess how the /cast/ must feel. But, Ellensburg should be some much needed rest. ...If we didn't have to be at the school no later than 6:15

*Cries in a little rant for a moment* I have to wake up at 5:15, because I can't get ready fast in the mornings FUCK FUCK FUCK TIME FUCK YOU YOU'RE ONLY TWO HOURS AWAY FUCKING BITCHCAKETITTYFUCKERCHRISTLICKER *End rant*

I guess my bad mood from this morning is still affecting me a bit. Or at least sapped my energy. A few arguements with my mom, got really really annoyed, and took it out on my daddy. On the morning he was leaving for work. The last time I'd see him for another eight days or so. He could die in an accident, and the last memory of his daughter would be her, in a bad mood, grudgingly coming back for a hug, upset because the bitchings of a hellraiser made her late for the bus.

Then, I've been feeling bad for not getting to see Sora all week. I haven't even been able to talk to her very much. And I don't think I'll have a chance to talk to her tonight.....

My nail just broke. It felt weird.

Timer went off for the chicken nuggets. Yaaaaay

Is that even a word...? It is now. I will use it on tomorrow's writing prompt. Because they believe in real words. BARGH I say to that.

I've decided to jump out the window if tomorrow's prompt is as stupid as today's was. C will join me. I bet I can convince A, K, and Z to come with. It'll be a scream. HA. HA. HA. Ha. Tired.

Today's prompt? Write a multi-paragraphed essay to your teacher [what? what?! Isn't that basically a letter without the Dear -- Sincerely --?! BARGH] saying who you miss and would like to see again, and WHY you would like to see them again.

....Anger. Anger. Anger.

Halfway through, when Z and I were talking about the test during the break period [yeah they let us. ...What the shit?] I realized I could've written about how much I missed Kaysha. But this was after an hour, and there was only one more hour or so left in the testing period. I didn't want to have to go eat my lunch in the library just so I could finish. So I continued my original.

What was it about, my imaginary stalker asks? Excellent question, imaginary stalker, I award you with a piece of my fingernail!

I wrote about my imaginary friend, Quinn. I literally wrote about my imaginary friend [that I never had]. I wrote in my essay: yeah, he was my best friend, but people tell me he's not real. OMG HE IS TOO REAL I WILL PROVE IT TO ALL Y'ALL ONE DAY HO-BITCH CRACKER

Yes. I expect to fail. But maybe it was written well enough that I'll get a good grade. ...Do.. do they even read what we write? I mean, I used all of my pages except for the back of the last one. That's... uh, six sides I wrote on? Out of seven? They'll probably be all "tl;dr" and give me either a pass or fail.

I hopes I hopes I hopes.

I'm okay with knowing that not many, if any, people will ever glance through this.

I know that there won't be too many fics I actually like posted here, but I hope other people like them and help me improve on them.

As long as somebody out there likes them, though, I can't help but continue writing.

When I track down all the fics from various files and websites, I will cringe in horror at them before subjecting them to editing, the process of which may drive me mad. And in my madness, I will produce many many wonderful stories.

I'll probably never learn how people do that special little doo-bob where the entry features a list of title, pairing, word count, summary, and so and such, then you click on a link to read the rest the story.

Don't look at me like that, I really suck with computers and the like.

This journal will never be famous.

And I'm okay with that.