Saturday, August 04, 2001

One Last Time

I took a purity test, I'm 74% pure, take that to all who say I'm not a nice girl! Anyways...I've compiled a list of things from the test of things I want to do before I turn good girl. *devilish grin*

-perform a strip tease (while I think I'd be a good stripper, it'd be hard for me to get naked for someone I actually liked...actually...I could say I've already done a strip tease, but lets not talk about that).
-have sex in a car
-have sex outside, on the ground
-play dess up (this is something I like to think about mucho...*sigh* role play *drool*)
-give head in a moving car
-have sex on a car (I think cars are sexy, okay?)
-sex in the rain (let's all blame Jessy for making me want sex in thunderstorms)
-have sex with more than one person in the same day (not sure why that's appealing...)
-eat sushi off a naked body (I saw that in a movie once...mmm, yum!)
-have sex with a stranger
-have sex in a swimming pool (although this is hard because the water makes more friction with the condom, and a water based lube isn't helpful, and an oil-based lube isn't condom friendly...)
-collection of underwear from people I've had sex with (you gotta pay the toll...)
-menage trois of same sex (one me, two girls)
-menage trois of different sex (as in, one me, two guys)
-participate in a fuck a thon (have sex certain number of times with certain number of people in a certain time span...)
-have sex in front of a mirror (have you ever been on a bed with a mirror on the cieling? it's a nice feeling)
-eat food off naked body (the one nice thing about Brian Q, when he's not saying I gave him head, was he had a way of telling me how he'd eat ice cream off of me *sigh*)
-use ropes, chains, cuffs (do I need to explain that?)
-use a ball gag (if you don't know, it's a ball that goes in your mouth, usually rubber, that has a strap to go around your head, very sexy)
-sex in a church
-sex in model home
-sex on a roof
-sex in an airplane
-sex on a washing machine (hey, it was on the test okay? it would be fun!)
-sex in a photo booth
-sex in a elevator
-sex in the snow (as long as I'm not on the bottom)
-had sex upside down (it'd have to be a quickie)
-dildo style (I think it would be fun to have a 10 dollar cock, oooh the possibilities!)
-more than 10 times in 24 hours

Who wants to help me check off the list? HeeheePixie


I need to stop listening to BBMak (remember? CJ introduced me) and I need to stop eating Progresso (used to eat it all the time in Boston) and I need to stop driving myself crazy thinking about happier times. Becuase I think of happier times and it makes me sadder that I'm not happy. The shit shall hiteth the fan tomorrow. My uncle's going to call my dad and ask him if I can stay in Boston for another week...my uncle says he might ask my dad if he has any balls or did he cut them off (!!!). Oh dear. Well, it would be better than staying with my aunt for 6 days, MUCH better. And it only costs 100 to change my ticket.

Chinese Jason was talking about his lovely Acsana (the girlfriend that he's so in love with it's starting to drive *me* crazy!), and then he asked me about Biscuit. So I told him about how we met...and like, the third day we met we ditched together. Jason pointed out that wasn't a very promising start. He's decided I need to find a nice good boy that will stay with me for a long long time. I agree. So we thought and thought, and I figured out the problem. Nice boys don't like me No, really, I'm not the kind of gal that attracts a nice boy. I attract bad boys, just like me. I have a facination with prostitutes and want to be a dominatrix when I grow up, I've smoked pot, I like to drink, I used to cut myself, I've made out with two girls at once, I'm bi, I like to cuss, I wear wacky clothing, I can tell you the procedure, cost, and jewlery for any body piercing you could possibly desire, I run around in pigtails, I run around unzipping my pants to show off my new thongs, I only wear thongs, I'm kinky, I beg to be put on a leash.

Do you see? I'm just not the kind of girl a nice boy likes. I'm the kind of girl a nice boy hangs out with (heck, I'm the kind of girl any boy hangs out with. I have trouble keeping girlie friends, but boy friends are no problem), I'm the kind of girl a nice boy asks for sex help or asks to know what a term means, I'm the kind of girl that a nice boy hooks up with. I am not, however, the kind of girl that a nice boy wants to date. And I'm certainly not the kind of girl that a nice boy takes home to his nice parents. Because they'll just see my baggy pants and tight shirts, and they won't see that I like to bake and I like kids and I make killer oatmeal cookies.

So I ask myself...what would Mz S do? She's probably not what you'd consider a nice girl, and she's definetly hard to introduce to parents. And I bet she'd probably ask me what's so good about nice boys anyway. Well...they're good when you want to cuddle and leave the paddles in the closet, and they're good when you want to take them home to dinner or you want to go to their house for dinner, and they're good for long term monogamous relationships - something bad boys aren't known for.

So maybe nothing is good about nice boys, but sometimes they're just who you want to come home to.

Speaking of my thongs...I should talk about this. I have an underwear fetish. Panties and bras and garter belts, oh my! I dream about opening my drawers (on my dresser silly goose) and having silk and lace and leather go a foot deep, overflowing. But, when one buys bras as small as I do, and when one wears only thongs (I don't know how this came to be...but they're super comfy and although I still have a good amount of bikini cut panties, I never wear them), it's hard to fill up that space. And because bras are so expensive, and so hard to find a good fit, and because I abhor shopping for them (and there's always the fear/hope that I'll get bigger), I'm left with fufilling my fantasies with my thongs. I have blue plaid and pink plaid and blue leopard print...I have red and black with silver handprints (cute cute), I have pink cotton ones that tie on the sides, I have white cotton with cute sayings, I have a lot so I'll shut up now. I just realized I have no green ones...hmmm...I love going shopping for thongs *sigh*. It's orgasmic *titter*. It's fun. Unfortunatly, I always buy "cute" ones, so when the time comes and I want something sexy...I have to decide what is sexier - baby blue clouds or pink kitties? The pink kitties always win out :)

*sigh* I'm going to go eat my soup now...try to decide whether I want to be a good girl or a bad girl. This is a constant inner tourmoil...sweet virginal Brittany, or slutty dominatrix brittany? (slut: (n)(adj) a bold, brazen girl who knows what she wants out of sex and always comes). Pixie
Dreams

I had a dream about CJ last night. And I had a dream about dance. For the dance part I was at this big meeting for Fern Adair (I'm assuming it was for Fern Adair, because that's where I dance you know) because we were going to do Alice in Wonderland (which is a play my high school did last year). I don't remember much, there were lots of people, lots of colors, a really cute girl that I was trying to figure out if she was hitting on me or not. And Zach H. was there, and he was like "you know, this is the greatest community ever, I can't wait!". Which was weird itself. Then...it was night time, and I was outside, walking through a construction looking place, my parents were there. I saw a tall figure in the moonlight, and I realized it was CJ! I was so happy to see him I forgot my parents and hugged him. My parents left to go to our beach house, and CJ was telling me how he just got off of work, and it felt so good to be in his arms (as always). Then we were walking back to my beach house (don't ask, my family most definetly does not have a beach house) and we saw the pool in the backyard. So CJ pulls of all his clothes and jumps in. I'm freaking out because my family is RIGHT INSIDE when he pulls me in. I pushed him away angrily and told him to leave, and went into the house. Hoping no one would notice my wet clothes or mention that I was just in the backyard with a naked guy I slink into the house. My aunt Gena and family are sitting on the couch, giving me knowing looks. I go into my room, except the doorframe is super huge, and the door only fills it halfway, so I still had no privacy. I opened the bathroom door to cover the big gap. I changed my clothes, and woke up...

Hmmm? What does it mean? I have no idea, i never do. You will not guess which ex-flame just IMed me. Righties, CJ himself. Intersting. Strange dream. If you were wondering, yes, he was well endowed. *giggles immaturely* So...Chinese Jason is trying to analyze what these weird feelings CJ and Robert are giving me...and maybe I know. You know how I said Robert was warm? Well, it's not like he was warm, he made me feel warm...he would call me beautiful, and he meant it. And CJ...we were like giggly little teenagers around each other (wait, we were giggly little teenagers, well, you know), and it was just really happy. And happiness is one thing I'm running short on.

Well...I'll figure it all out next time I see Biscuit, which will be ooh, three weeks away :( Pixie

Friday, August 03, 2001

Oh, Again, Again

I did not get to sleep until 6 in the AM, leaving me snoozing until oh, 3 o'clock. It was good. I love that schedule, I really really do. And once I'm a stripper I can get on it. Haha, that was a joke there. Soo...my day...well, I was home alone most of the day so I did a barre and it felt really really good, although I didn't feel very limber or flexy which was dissapointing (flexibility is good, if you know what I mean...I need to shut up).

I printed out a ton of Audrey Hepburn pictures for my next project. I'm not sure what it will be, but...it will be beautiful. I have a slight obsession for Ms. Hepburn. I look at her pictures and wonder...how could she stand to look in the mirror? How could she stand her own beauty? Anyways...I found out she used to dance ballet, can you believe it? I found three pictures of her en pointe. *swoon* I also found out about her stats...her measurments were 32-20-35. Mine are 36-27-38. Rather disapointing. She was 5'7" and weighed 110 basically her whole life. She was stunning and talented....and then she became the latin american ambasador for UNICEF. Gosh....awesome.

So..then my parents come home, my mom is all cozy with me, she actually lays down next to me on my bed telling me about her day, I couldn't believe it. I was cordial, at best. So the four of us trudged out to look at a house, not good...we're all tired and sick of looking at houses. Then we went to go drop of the video, get groceries, and buy dinner. The movie was Sweet November, which we watched yesterday which was such a goood goood movie. Even my brother liked it. Sappy, but cute, but perfect. Love love love. And it just leaves you with a gooey feeling inside, and you want to go live happily ever after. Good movie, I strongly recomend to even the butch lesbians out there (the female star was cute too, and she did her hair with a vacuum, lol).

Then guess who I run into at Panda Express? Robert. I just had this feeling when we pulled up to the place and I walk inside and he looked familiar, but I wasn't sure until he left and he looked at me and we waved. Let me explain Robert...umm, first of all this isn't the ducky-gay Robert, this is theater-blonde Robert. He liked me (at a time when just about everyone had a crush on me...it was really really weird, freaked me out) and I liked him. He was really just different from all the kids I knew. Smart, but he liked to talk about smart things, and he was just really warm...yeah, that's a good word, warm. I'm not sure why it didn't turn into anything...he asked me out and I said no...I don't really know why. Well, probably because that was during the very worst part of my cutting...seven cuts a day, bad stuff you know.

I haven't talked to the kid in a really really long time, so I sent him an e-mail and asked for his number, lol. Ever since I got caller ID I haven't memorized any numbers...it's really horrible. ::does a little dance:: I'll be in Boston soon...Pixie
Dear Mom

I'm writing this because...well because all the signs point towards it. In the last few books I've read they talked about writing unsent letters. Letters that you write to someone, but you don't send them. It's supposed to be theraputic, you know, get out all the feelings. So...it's something I've never done and since I'm still broken I figure maybe I should try another way to fix me. Maybe I should get some professional help, I probably should, although I don't know what's wrong with me. Although you said so yourself that I need psychiatric help because I have problems, but then again, why am I going to listen to you now when I never did before? Today you noticed that my hair was french braided. You told me it looked pretty, and were surprsied when you realized that I had done it myself. You wouldn't remember the first day I learned how to do a french braid, because we got into a fight before you could notice. It made me angry...because you ignored me all day and said some mean things to me when you finally did talk to me. And then you're all "remember to brush your teeth sweetheart", as if we were back to normal. Well, TV-normal, since we've never been normal anyway. I just nodded to you, because I'm so sick of it. I'm sick of letting people hurt me. You know, I wake up some days, I just wake up and I want to scream and kick and shout and hit because I'm so sick and tired of hurting. Do you know the feeling? Sometimes I wonder if you do. For a long long time I've let people hurt me, and I've let myself do it more than anyone. Look at Sperm Girl, how many times did we get into fights? How many times did we get hurt? And I always took her back. Paco and Crystal and Alana used to yell at me...they said that she only hurt me because I always took her back, and if I stopped taking her back then she'd finally stop hurting me. I forgave her for a lot of things, but the last time she hurt me I didn't. And that's when she called you and told you I was cutting again. Except she didn't do it because she loved me, she did it because we had gotten into a fight that day and it was her only way to get back at me. It was her way of hurting me, and you know, it was the last time I let her do it. I miss her sometimes, I miss her a lot, but I'm happier I think. Because I don't have to worry about her hurting me anymore.

I want to do the same with you. I want to forget you and ignore you and have you out of my life, and I think sometimes I'll miss you, but most of all I'll be happy that you're not hurting me anymore. Maybe your only way of hurting me was letting me hurt myself, I don't really know. But I know when you talk to me and when you look at me I can't stand to be near you, because I hate myself. And you manipulate me and make me believe everything you say. And you leave the room and I start to think of how horrible I am, what a horrible selfish cruel person I am, because you tell me that that's who I am. It's my fault really, you always make me think it's my fault. But this time it is, because I let you hurt me. You've told me yourself oh so many times, someone can't hurt you if you don't let them.
For a scholarship I have to write an essay about someone I admire, someone who has made an impact on my life. I wonder if a lot of people write about their mom's, but I won't. I'm actually going to write about Heather Corinna, you wouldn't know who she is because...well, you're not a part of my life. You don't know about what I do online. Maybe if you had ever asked me to see my art you would have seen her. I have a picture of her on the back of my notebook, one that you've probably read a hundred times because it's my journal and it's in my room and you go through my room and you read my shit because privacy doesn't matter to you. Well, anyways, she's on the back of my notebook, a part of my collage, but you wouldn't know because you never ask to see, you never asked what I spent so many hours doing and planning and working on. And you say I'm self-centered.

I'm not. I know you think I am but I'm really not. I was there for all the cancer scares, and for all the times you talked about some family member that was on your shit list for the moment, and for all the times you bambled on about this or that. I always listened. And all the times you talked about me like I wasn't in the room, I was there for those too, and I heard it too. You probably figure that I live in this little bubble, becuase I like to pretend I do, so you thought it was okay to talk about me but guess what, I heard it all, I always do. Or maybe you meant me to hear it all, I don't really know. For as self-centered as you call me, I know a lot more about you than you'll ever know about me.

It's really hard to be me, it's hard to be someone you hate. My friends think that I'm loud and happy and air-heady and strong, I think. Well, I'm 99% sure that they do, even my friends who have known me the longest and the best. It's so funny, because that's exactly who I'm not. I mean, I don't really know who I am, but I do know that I didn't get to be such a good actress by being who I was, I got to be this way by spending so many years pretending. I'm not strong...I'm so not strong that it's almost funny.I always crumble, I always break. Because I've always been broken. Some people put me together a little bit...all of my friends have helped put me together a little bit, CJ helped put me together a lot, actually, he finished it off, he finished me off. I was in Boston and I was happy for the whole summer and only cut myself once, and when I came back I was almost whole and I met CJ and he finished putting me together. And you know what happened? Yeah, that fuckhead broke me himself. So I always end up broken, because I'm not strong enough. And every minute I spend with you is a minute I crumble further. And I can't talk to you. I can't raise my voice or ask for anything when you're around. I just always sit there and listen to you because I can't talk to you, you wouldn't listen anyway. I despise weakness...I wonder if you gave me that trait, because I think you despise it too. I can't stand to be around weak people, people who didn't at least act as strong as I pretended to be. But when I had to lay in my bed at night I knew what I was, I knew that I was the weakest person, and so started my little spiral of hating myself. Of despising myself. It's really hard for me to write this, because it's like I'm letting out all these secrets that I kept from myself. I mean, they were all about me, but I liked to pretend that they weren't.
I remember the first time I got an F. Oh it was a horrible day. I was in fourth grade. That was before I started hurting myself. That was when Brandon was still here and before Sperm Girl started hurting me. That was when my best friend is Mishkah, is that even how you spell her name? I don't remember. She was very skinny and white with long blonde hair, she was really beautiful, actually, she had a cute smile. Well...it was on a math test, I was so unprepared, I didn't know any of the answers, I don't know how that happened. I was always so ahead of my class, I already knew all my multiplication and could do division...I can't imagine what the test was about, I can't imagine why I wasn't prepared. I ran away. During recess I ran to the 5th grade bathroom and I just cried, sitting in that damn stall (the same stall where I got my period the next year, not that you knew that either) crying. Dr. Long, the principle even came to talk to me. All the kids were worried about me so they got her because they didn't know what to do. She tried to talk to me, she told me it would be okay, but I knew it wouldn't. I knew that this F would be the end of it all, I would fail fourth grade, I'd never pass a class again, I'd never graduate from high school and I'd never go to Harvard and I'd spend the rest of my life living in poverty cleaning toilets. I wonder who put that idea in my head? Well...I didn't go to lunch either. The teacher sent all the kids to look for me, everyone was so worried, but that was before they had video cameras in the school, so no one found me. I always ran ahead of everyone, and no one could find me. In the end, Brandon did. And they let us stay out of class to eat the lunch that I missed, and I went to class and everyone looked at me like I was this freak, but no one ever mentioned it again. It was a feeling I got used to...

I wonder if you said anything to me. Did the school call you? I don't remember. Maybe that's when I got this fear of failure. This phobia that I couldn't fail, that it was better to be mediocre rather than risk trying my hardest and failing. I couldn't take the thought. That summer you put me in synchro. You did it one summer when you were a kid, you won first place at a meet, but you couldn't do it anymore because you had a shitty life. I always felt bad, I wished my dad would hit me or hate me so you wouldn't. I felt bad because my life had been better than yours. But anyways...I never practiced enough. You told me to practice more but I never did. It didn't matter, because five years later I was best on the team. I got the solo in the group meet. I was the best...I was the one asked to demonstrate moves for the younger girls. I was the best. But that wasn't good enough, you could never make it to a meet. You came for that one, for my solo....but it was because we had to catch the train. Oh you were so mad that it was taking so long. I'm surprised you didn't ask me to not compete. God and then you like to pretend that you came to so many of them. You only came to the ones that I needed a ride. You know who was there every time? Dee's dad. You've never met him though. How could you have come to sooo many of the meets if you never met the person that was there for me at EVERY SWIM MEET I DID!? He was the one with a towel for me, the one to help me out of the pool, the one that yelled and cheered me on. I wasn't his daughter. I wasn't even his daughter's friend. I was his daughter's friend's best friend. And that was enough for him. He gave me a ride to and from EVERY SINGLE meet, he cheered me on and bought me McFlurries afterward. And he was there at my last meet. The last one I ever did. The one that I did so horrible on. The one that I failed. And he was the one that hugged me and gave me tissues when I cried. And you didn't do anything. You just told me I'd do better next time. Maybe I failed on purpose. Maybe I did it because I knew I wouldn't be able to go to All Star's. Could you imagine? What if I had gotten first place and had made it to All Star's? But I wouldn't be able to go because we'd be on vacation.
So...I'm getting off track. The point is that I hate myself because of you, and I hate you for that, and I won't forgive you.I'm sick of forgiving you and letting you hurt me even more, I'm sick of you. I'm tired of waking up in the morning and being so angry that I lived through the night, I'm tired of feeling like a worthless piece of shit. I'm tired of being tired of living, I'm tired of being hurt and I won't do it anymore. I won't be hurt anymore, I won't go through life the way I have. And part of that means keeping you out of my life, and I hope you're happy about that. By the way, you're not allowed to see your grandkids. Whether they're raised by me and a man or me and a woman, I won't let you see them. Maybe I'm hurting them by keeping them from you, but I know that it will hurt you more than it will ever hurt them. And you'll probably hurt them more than you could ever help them. I can't wait to get to Boston, to get away from you for two weeks. Two whole weeks. I'm counting down the hours. I wonder will you hug me before I leave? You didn't come to the airport last time. When I left the house you said that you'd never let me leave again. I really do wonder if this is your way of making up for the rest of the year. I'm counting down the hours. Guess how many hours I have until I get on the plane? 97. Guess how many hours it is until I get to hug the one person in this family that I actually care about? The one person who has NEVER EVER hurt me? 103. And the first thing I'll do is hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. I haven't kissed you for years (excluding that one time a few weeks ago that I made the mistake of doing it). I haven't hugged you willingly for longer. And I'll give him as many as he wants because he never ever hurt me. And he never will.

I wanted to drive away in dad's car today. I went out to get the flower I picked, and I realized I had the keys in my had and no one to stop me. I wanted to leave. And I remember my dream, where I did leave, and you yelled at me. God how you yelled at me. I can't even escape you in my sleep. But there are bigger things than you that keep me from leaving. And if you do care about me somewhere in your shriveled little heart, if it would hurt you if I left, then you should thank the stars for the things that keep me here. And I can't wait until I leave, because I can't wait for the day I get to hurt you, and I won't even say goodbye.

Now all I want to do is hurt you. I want to hit you and torture you and pull out your hair. I want to starve you and eat your flesh. I want to make you want to die, the same way you made me feel. I want you to hurt as much as you've made me hurt. I wonder what the neighbors think of us. I wonder if they see me standing in front of my window, looking at my reflection in it, pinching my thighs and my arms, measuring and pulling and pinching to see if I've gained any fat. I wonder if they've ever seen me cut myself or pull out my hair or burn myself. I wonder if they've ever seen me crying. And then I realize that if they have, then they already know me better then you ever will. I wonder if they think you abuse me, the same way that so many people have. Haha, all the times I've been pulled aside to ask if I have problems at home. Well, goodnight mom, I have some work to do. An art project...not that you'll ever notice or ever care, but sometimes I like to tell you anyway. To see if you'll ask about it. You never do. And stop calling me "mija". Every time you say that I think of what it means. "my child" (my female child, actually). I hate being known and associated with you. I hate that you think of me as a possession (something you've admitted yourself). I hate thinking that I"m a part of you. Because I hate you. But I think that that's better than hating me. Brittany
[BigBody]
[BigBody]
[BigBody]

Thursday, August 02, 2001

Didn't Go

So...I didn't go. I don't know what my problem is, I just can't bring myself to ask my dad for anything. My mom either, actually. I don't know why I'm such chickenshit. *sigh* It was funny though, because we parked in front of Barnes and Noble and I looked up at the sky and said "wouldn't it be cool if it rained?" and my dad said it wouldn't, and I said "I know, but I want it to". And you know what, later on it did. It was so cool, the air smelled so fresh and clean and the sky was soooo blue. It looked like the ocean.

Anyways, at Barnes and Noble I read this awesome book, I'm about 3/4 done. It was about 4 girls with eating disorders...one bulemic, two anorexics, and one compulsive over-eater. But...I'm not done yet. Well...I don't know, I'm going to go. We rented Sweet November which I've been waiting forever to see. My mom's being...well, you know how she is. She took out some meat so I didn't take out the shrimp and fish for Thai soup because I figured that she had something planned. Well, she didn't and I got blamed of course. We've said about ten words to each other and that's fine with me, but I can't be happy and I can't be around her. I feel like she's burning the back of my head with her eyes when I'm not looking so I just have to get out of the room, out of her sight. Pixie

On Purpose?



I talked to Biscuit today, online. I had to go clean though, but I surprised myself at how giddy I was to talk to him. Eeeeh. And I talked to S. a lot, the girl tempts me, but...for now we're keeping it how it is. I skipped out on cross country today, and I don't regret it. Oooh, I got to sleep in. I got 8 hours of sleep, can you imagine? Actually, I got 11. My dad wants to go to Barnes and Noble...is it a coincidence that he always wants to go when I have youth group? My mom is still here, but she has school, so...I'm going to ask my dad if I can go, because I don't think that he'll say no. But...with her here, he might. It's 4 now, so we'll only get about an hour at the bookstore, but I want to go to youth group...I really do, otherwise I won't be going back for two weeks, y'know? Pixie

Wednesday, August 01, 2001

Another Time

listening to:MxPx - Punk Rawk Show

wearing:cuffed up overalls and a pink shirt (okay stop laughing)

last interesting thing said: Don't you know that means she'll kill us quick?

in response to: Today will be a short practice (Ms. Allen)

I used to do that ^^^ in my old diary, so I figured I may as well start doing it again. Speaking of which, if you're ever bored off of your ass and you want to read my old entries you can check them out at http://pixie69.diaryland.com. The pictures on the left don't work anymore, so you just have to scroll over them and it'll tell you where it goes at the bottom of the page. It's kind of confusing though because Half of it is done in code names and half of it isn't...I'm a geek.

Well, I went to cross country, and it was really really bad. We went to Harmon Hill and we were supposed to do it 10 times. I only got to 6, I just felt soo horrible and my head hurt so bad. There was all this pressure in it and once again I wished I had a drill so I could make a little hole to relieve the pressure. The rest I just sat on the ground with my hands pressed to my ears (to block out the noise, you know). Ms. Allen was so nice she drove me half way back to the school (only she would take you only half way). Oooh, she got made at me, wow! I got there really early (actually, I got there on time) and it was just me and Jeremy so I asked him where he had been (he hadn't come for the past two days) and he told me. Then Ms. Allen pulls up and she asks him where he's been and he explains it to her (he was babysitting until 4am on Monday, and wasn't up to it on Tuesday) and she's like "what? speak up" and I was like "he was babysitting!" and she gives me the most evil look and points at me and says "stay out of my bussiness". I was sooo shocked.

But anyways...so I felt really bad because it's like, I'm just sitting there and the rest of my team is busting my ass off and then they're like "good job" which just makes me feel even worse, y'know. Paco's sister gave me a ride home because my parents didn't answer the phone, but once we pulled up my dad was getting ready to pull out. He took me to get a slurpee...I told him about my headache. He went to breakfast with my mom and when he got home he was like "brittany, what'd you eat yesterday". Well, duh...I didn't eat at all yesterday. Just my slurpee and that was it. I don't remember eating the day before that either...I know the last thing I made was spaghetti and I didn't eat any of that...so that explains the headache, the ickiness I've been feeling, and the sudden weight loss (I weigh 125! oh my gosh!). However, I don't know if I'm willing to eat to get the weight back. When I was at 130 my uncle said that in the two weeks I was in Boston he could make me lose 10 lbs, but it would be keeping it off that's the problem. Well...if I go there weighing just 125 then he can take me down to 115, can you imagine? So I don't know if I'll eat...I'm sorta hungry, but not really. If my dad hadn't pointed out that I haven't eaten for a while I wouldn't be hungry, I'm sure. Errr....decisions. I don't want to go to cross country tomorrow, if I do go I'll eat some cereal or something today, if I don't go I'll wait until tomorrow to eat. I know I should eat, I'm burning a lot of calories, but I can't bring myself to gain the weight back...

So, yesterdays post was just about me and my mom's monsterous fight, but I'll save that for another time. Instead I'll ask you what makes a good daughter? OH MY GOD! Today, when we were running to Harmon Hill Anne and I were together and Sandra was like "brittany, wait up so you can tell me stories!" and I'm like..."what kind of stories" and she's like "ones about you giving head" and I"m like "what!?". Apparently big shot Brian Q has been telling people I gave him head. And Sandra is like "yeah, I heard you're sort of a slut" and I'm just like, in disbelief. And Anne was like "yeah, I heard the same thing" and I'm just like WHAT THE FUCK!? Anne was all "oh my gosh I thought you knew" and we all giggled because it's like, i thought you knew you were a slut. So I ask Sandra her definition of slut and she says that's someone who gives a lot of people head or gives head to people she's not going out with (very heterosexist narrowminded view, but I didn't say anything about that). I informed her that by her standards I'm not a slut, I've never given head to a lot of people and I never gave head to someone who wasn't my boyfriend. Well, that's not the whole truth, I've never given head at all, but I don't htink that's any of her bussiness. She's not even a half-friend. And actually, my sex life isn't anyone's bussiness at all. It's like, in this one movie, I forget what it's called. This chick is the vice president and everyone's wary about her because she's a chick and all...and someone pops out a picture of her in a drunken college orgy. She refused to deny or accept it on principle that it wasn't anyoen bussiness. In the end you find out that it wasn't her, and she could have proven it because she has a birthmark somewhere, but she didn't. Because it really wasn't anyone's bussiness, and I admired that.

So anyways, I'm just like wow. I wonder where people get these ideas about me. I find them to be amusing, actually. Annoying and amusing (in 8th grade the now-quarterback told this kid not to go out with me because I was a slut! I realized that if this dumbass kid believed him, then that was the kid's fault and not someone I wanted to go out with anyways, but why the fuck did the now-quarterback butt his head into it? I don't get football players or cheerleaders, I really don't). So, anyways...it's always a little fun to hear all the things I've supposedly done. Sandra was quite disapointed to find out none of it was true, although I cheered her up by telling her about the scandelous events between Brian Q. and my ex-best friend (not Sperm Girl, another one that I shall call Poodle Girl).

So anyways, I won't ramble about my mom and I's fight, but I propose the question, what makes a good daughter? To find out I went to the best resource I had, the internet. According to one girls rant, the Perfect Asian Daughter is gracefulI suppose I can be that, submissivenow this, this is just not in my nature, I can't help that, smartcheck, soft-spokenno...when I talk I'm loud and fast hard working and completely loyal to the familyno...sometimes your family doesn't deserve your loyalty. Her first and foremost duty is to take care of her parents and siblingsI can do that..., and she must do this happily and thoroughlyagain, no...I'm not good at hiding my feelings and while I'll do what needs to be done, I'll complain if I don't want to do it. Finally, the single most important characteristic of a Perfect Asian Daughter, and the one that I find most difficult to adopt, is obedience. I don't mean merely listening to your parents or heeding their advice; I mean following their orders without question or argument. No, I'm sorry no. Not only am I stubborn and rebellious but I won't do it. My parents orders are not necessarily the best for me and although sometimes I have to do it anyway I will argue it until I'm blue in the face

So, I'll never be the Perfect Asian Daughter, but I suppose that's okay because I'm American-Mexican anyway. And, according to this Catholicy (I'm assuming it's catholic, it's either that or mormon or some other cult-like religion) website, a good daughter is: obedient to parents well, unless they're being horribly unfair I'm mostly obedient. Well, If they tell me specifically not to do something I won't do it. They never told me not to take duct tape pictures, so there. Anyways, it's not too far out of reach, next, a good daughter must be modest, which has a few subdivisions. First of all: A daughter is not good when she barters her self-respect for popularity and fashion. Well, then I guess I'm good. I don't trade self respect for populartiy and fashion. I have self respect whether I'm wearing a corset or sweat pants, I never gave a damn about populartiy or fashion, I wear what I want. However, I dont' think this site will agree with me. Then: she will not appear in public in indecent garments, whether it be bikinis or form-fitting jeans Now this is just amusing. They say tight jeans are indecent, my parents say bondage skirts are indecent. Well, I'm not changing my wardrobe to be a good daughter, it's too petty and it defines me. Plus I like bikinis, even if they don't look great on me. And the final note on modesty: Sexual intimacy waits until marriage. To her, anything else is sinful sex. well, I know my mom doesn't believe that you should wait for marriage until sex, although she does think you shouldn't have sex with someone you're not planning on marrying. Well, this website says NO sexual activities, which I'm assuming is including masturbation, and that goes out the window. I'm not sacrificing double orgasms for being a good daughter, and I'm happy that my parents would probably never ask me to. As for other sexual intimacies, I don't think that they should wait for marriage, and since I can't marry a girl anyway...another point I'll never make.

The final point is integrity, a good daughter: will be completely honest, will not lie, cheat, or steal, will not be dishonest. Okay, no. I will lie sometimes, everybody does. Sometimes honesty is cruel, and I'm not a cruel person. They mention that you can't exaggerate your job qualifications, or tell a friend her clothing is nice if it isn't. Well you know what, somethings are so fucking petty it doesn't matter if you lie

So, I'll never be a Good Christian Daughter (turns out it was a Christian site, I apologize catholics and mormons). I'll probably never be any kind of good daughter, although I haven't figured out what a good daughter is yet. Have an idea for me? Sign my guestbook. No really do, it's so lonely. Just put it right above the "you give good head" asshole. Pixie

Fuck blogger. It did it, AGAIN!

Tuesday, July 31, 2001

Oh, and by the way, I've lost some weight ::does a little dance:: Now I weigh 126. Before my mom and I got into our little slam she asked me how much I weighed and I was like "ooh! i lost weight, now I'm only 126" and she gives me this look of disbelief and asks me where does all the weight go. You know what, I don't know either. I have no freaken clue. Maybe I have a tumor made out gold in my none-exsistant boobs. hmmm, you never know!

Will It Ever End?



I dont' think it will....I went to cross country today, and wanted to quit, again. It's just like....whenever we go to that track I feel so horrible. Today we did relays. Basically, it was Auggie and Janelle (the fastest there) against me, Anne, Sandra, and Craig. What happens is they run 400 (a quarter mile) at the same time, and once the first person passes the finish line we all go run a 400. And when the first of us goes past the finish line then they go. And we did that 6 times. Basically, it's supposed to inspire you to be faster because the faster you are, the more time you get to rest. Unfortunatly...Augustine is really really fast, so we run for a long time and get very short breaks, and they run for a little time and get very long breaks. And after that we did 4 200's the same style.

And I went through my whole "I want to quit thing". Mostly because it's just so hard and demanding and it doesn't make me happy and I just don't have the strength or energy. I know I'd feel better if I just got 8 hours of sleep a night...and I know it's not going to get better for a long time. And I know that tomorrow will feel horrible because the 3rd day is always the hardest for me (just like the second to last sprint is the hardest). It's like the track has this magical bad karma energy field around it, and whenever I step on it I instantly feel horrible. Because the farther away we got from the track, the better I felt, and the longer we werer in the weight room, the better I felt, and then Ms. Allen called me a doll and I couldn't bring myself to quit. *sigh*

Patrick is back, yay! Sandra has apparently been flirting with him, which I find sooo amusing. Ms. Allen was like "sandra stop flirting and get over here!" And I'm just like, no way, heehee. Anne wanted to see his abs but he wouldn't show her, but I convinced him t show me (wow!). I talked to Ms. Allen a lot today...I told her how I knew Pat too well to flirt with him and Paco was like "that's right, you've known him for like ever" because I've actually known him longer than Paco (since 6th grade). And Sperm Girl went out with him, and I've gone out with Galen, and we sat at the same table for three years and just kind of knew each other you know? And then Ms. Allen and I were talking about my parents and she asked me to explain why we were going on seperate vacations (it really is just a coincidence) and she asked me about where they came from and did I speak spanish (no). So, it was cool.

I called my parents to come pick me up and my mom was especially chipper. Paco gave me a strange look and we knew something as up. I got a slurpee (yay!) and we went to breakfast (which actually means I watch them eat becuase I don't eat enough to order my own food anymore). I was chattering on, as I always do when my dad's around, and my mom interupts me with this stupid question. The question itself isn't important, but it's so stupid, and she interrupted me, and it's the second time she's done it, at the breakfast table, in public. And I'm just like "why do you always have to interrupt me? You do it all the time!" and she's like "well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black" but you know what, I don't interrupt her. I listen to all her late night blabberings about cancer and school and her job and her theories and everything, and I don't interrupt. Urgh, it just drives me crazy.

Then, when we get home she's all like "you know Brittany, you make me feel bad about myself and I just don't like being around you". I wanted to yell at her and say "like you *never* make me feel bad about myself, and why do you want to drag me along everywhere you go if you don't want to be around me!", but I didn't. Instead I just said join the club, to which she responded by asking me why didn't I just move out then. She slammed the door before I let her know I'm only 7 months away from petitioning to being emancipated. My dad came in for the last part and asked what was up with my mom and I told him what she said and I gave some examples of how she makes me feel like shit...but I went to my room, because he likes to pretend none of this happens and it's hard to do that when I'm directly telling him about it.

I mean god, my whole life I was never good enough. I grew up constantly hearing about how when she was my age she was 4 inches taller, stacked, and weighed sooo much less. And she was sooo skinny and blah blah blah. And it's always "oh adrian you're so good" and then I get a dirty look. "Why can't you be so neat and organized like Adrian?" One time in my entire life she said she was proud of me, and that was when I had a breakdown and brought up the fact that she never said it. It's always been "that A could have been higher, you could have done better, why didn't you...". The only thing she's ever complimented me on is being pretty. All my life she's told me how pretty she thinks I am, so what!? I didn't do anything to look this way and to tell you the truth I'd rather not. When my cousin Danny was in town it was all "Adrian's job blah blah, Adrian's school blah blah, Adrian likes to play tennis and volleyball and blah blah", and the only thing she ever said about me was wasn't I pretty? I mean of all the things I do it's the only thing that's good enough in her eyes. She got on the computer one day to delete stuff and came across some old poems I had written for a class assignment and she was like "wow these are actually pretty good, you should write more", and it's like duh mom, I've been writing poems since I was in sixth grade.

Okay...so she compliments me on some things, but they're on things I have no control over and they're not on things that I'm proud of myself for. But the things that actually matter to me she couldn't give a damn about. Urgh...

Anyways...enough sadness. I hate being sad, I've spent so much time being sad that it's enough for my lifetime and my kid's too. Ms. Allen asked me where I went to get my eyebrows done, I told her I did them myself and she's like "wow, they look really nice!". Ms. Pickett said that to me too...actually, a lot of adults say that to me. Haha, I'm proud of the way I pluck my eyebrows. Hmm hmm, I guess that's all of today...I'm sooo tired, I hope I can get some sleep tonight. Pixie

Monday, July 30, 2001

The Pixie Dictionary



One of these days I'll get around to putting this up on the little side bar on the left, however, for now you'll just have to click the link. The Pixie Dictionary is complete with a glossary of some slang terms I use, the names of the major charecters in my blog and a little bio of them, and Troopers of the major charecters so you can get a better mental image. http://www.geocities.com/pixiechick0404/dictionary.html

Pixie
This time it was my own retardedness that made blogger make my post go bye bye. It's really depressing because they're long posts, y'know? And then you're out of the groove and can't remember all the things you ramble on and on about.

Well...let's see. Cross country. There were only a few people there today (because of vacation's and stuff), and we all actually got our own carseats, with extra room in the cars, whee! Living large, hehe.

Then I was rambling on about cutting...oh yes. The Perks of Being a Wallflower has been banned from Boston school libraries, and this is such bullshit. Supposedly the book is too sexual, but you know what it's not. I know the reason, and anyone else who has read the book knows it too. It's because the book has two minor gay charecters, there's an overall acceptance for gays, and the main charecter is a little mentally ill. As my mom so tactfully put it when she said I couldn't see Girl, Interupted "people like you shouldn't watch movies about messed up people". Schools don't want their precious children to possibly read books about people like me. People who do bad things. Which is kind of the problem, well, it is the problems with the school districts. They leave us kids with no real knowledge for the real world. One of my best friends...she's 6 months shy of 18 and far far more experienced sexually than me. Yet, she calls me up when she's almost-raped wanting to know if she could be preggers. Because she didn't know when/how you could get pregnant. Well, she knew the obvious, but didn't know what her chances were of it. Almost 18...the girl didn't know how soon you could buy a pregnancy test.

The schools do such a poor job of educating people, that everyone just walks around thinking that they're all alone. Take my cutting, for instance. I had been doing it for a few years before I found out what it was. I actually found out from Seventh Heaven. I don't normally watch that show, but I saw on a preview: Mary walks in the bathroom and sees Lucy's friend their, she has tears in her eyes saying "please don't tell anyone", and I couldn't figure it out. They had just done a show on bulemia...so what could the girl be doing that was so bad? Duh. She was cutting. And I watched the show and it was just like Wow, other people do that too? And then I had a name. So, I go on the internet and found sooo many cutting sites there, too many, and in the very begining all of them say that they made the site to tell people that they're not alone, because they thought they were alone too. So did I.

If my friends had even known what cutting was, I'm sure mine would have stopped years sooner than it was. But no one really knew what I was doing or why, or if it was serious or how I could be helped. The school just teaches us about division and pronouns and when people go out and see the world they are so shocked.

Urggg. It just makes me sooo angry. But it's not coming across right. The first time I wrote this it wasn't so choppy, it flowed into each other. Sometimes when I'm on the internet and I'm in a really sorrowfull mood I'll go looking for websites...you know, bad ones. Ones full of hate. Ones with names of godhatesfags.com (real site), just to looka round and read a little. I can see counters to say how many days Mathew Shepard has been "in hell" (if you don't recall, Mathew Shepard was a young gay man who was picked up in a bar, then dragged behind a truck, tortured, and left to die, and he did). Mmhm, it's really sad. I don't care if you are homophobic, how can you think it's okay for his murder? For the way he died? The fact that he died at all? How can you read this shit on the net and agree with it. I suppose that's my problem, I think it's so implausable to be filled with that much hate. But...it's everywhere, just look around. So...sometimes I go on the net, to give myself a little reality check about the world, to remind myself that there still is that much hate flowing around. You know, on those days when it's been too long since I've been harassed so I think everyone is different and okay now.

Hate is such a useless feeling. It's so pointless and stupid. All it does is breed more hate. Like...youth group. I love going there, everyone is happy, sadness is pretty much left at the door because most of us are finally in a place where you can hold hands with the same sex person sitting next to you and you don't have to worry. Most of us aren't used to that, so we get giddy with the excitement. The only time someone is sad is when they talk about things that happen outside of the GBLT community. Harrasment at school, being kicked out by your parents, having the shit kicked out of you from your parents. Sad, hurtful things. I wrote an essay about it, about all my memories of youth group and stuff, and the first time I heard the word "breeder". It's the hetero term equal to fag or dyke. Not a word you want to be called. I was so surprised when I heard it, and then I saw that I started to say it too. Eventually it will get so widespread, it'll be just like the prejudice against gays. You'll be called a breeder for holding hands in public, gay people won't talk to you because they judged you because you're straight. And in the end there will just be more hate. What's my point? That hate is pointless. Because when you face so much hate and anger you start to get bitter and then you fill with hate too, and that's not how this world should be.

Speaking of youth group, I need to go this week. I haven't gone for the past two, and I won't be able to go to the next two because I'll be in Boston. I need to get my weekly dose of gayness or I go crazy. I remember the first time I saw a girl kiss another girl (in real life). It was the most amazing feeling. It was just love and sex and no worries about other people, because anyone who goes to Gay Skate night is going to be okay with you kissing another girl. There's this one girl couple from youth group, and they kissed after a game of air hockey. It was just like wow! they can do that here? I love the feeling, I really do. I like to see Will huddled close to Andy on the couch, or Star's boyfriend licking his ear to get his way. I just can't see how people can see this as being wrong, as being a bad thing. Maybe that's my problem, even though I see hate everywhere I go, and a lot of the time it's directed towards me, I still don't get it...

Hmmm...what else did I talk about? I don't think anything else...well, I know I did but I can't remember. I did fall asleep for a few hours, which I shouldn't be doing, but...you know, it was an accident. I had three dreams. One I remember being really scary because my mom knocked on my door and I think I really did scream when I woke up, but I don't remember what it was about. Another one I was this old hick-type lady, just moved into a new house with my good hubby. He was a nice sweet man, and I was itchin' for a good time (c'mon, I was a hick okay?). This guy and gal asked me if I wanted to go out, so I ran out the door and said okay, and I just kept wondering if they were married. I don't know how, but I ended up with this guy (greasy and fat, mind you) on top of me. Not having sex, but still on top of me. And then he just kind of popped, like a bubble, and I woke up. In the last dream I kept sneaking out with Paco to go sleep up on the mountain (but I didn't see Ashes in my dream, hmmm...). It was really scary to drive up there, and even scarier to drive home, but he wanted to go home early and it was still night time. I didn't want us to do that because it was scary enough to drive down in the daytime, after 8 hours of sleep. So we decided to stay, and we're just kind of parked on streets of this little neighborhood, there were a lot of cars around with kids just like us. When a person came out of the house in front of us and invited us all in, so we all went. It was a nice air conditioned house. And I saw Timmy there. Timmy is my brother's ex-best friend, and he is the younger brother of my best friend (the one I talked about earlier...almost-raped). And we were talking and stuff, and he had these things on his arms. They were "anacondas" (according to him) for swimming, but they were like...plastic...just really weird looking. I asked him not to mention my appearance to my brother (although I have probably seen this kid more than my brother in the past few years), and he said he couldn't do that. So I was pouting and begging and pleading, and I was hitting on him. I kept pulling him down on the couch and then down on the floor and stuff, I couldn't believe it. IT was just really wierd. I mean, sure he's cute, and I did have a crush on him for the longest time growing up (does anyone not have a crush on a sibling's friend?), but...it was just weird.

And that's my little story. By the way, if anyone out there is gothicy, male, possibly goes by the alias "little joey", and has had a picture of them taken on a subway system (I'm thinking new york city), could you please e-mail me? I found this picture from the internet, from a gallery site, and it's just this boy. He has black hair, just a messy look, thin delicate eyebrows, light skin. Eyes are squinshed up, but I'd bet he's part asian, his eyes look almost sad. He's got fishnets on his arm, a ring on his finger, and cheap plastic bracelets over the fishnets. Wearing a black tee shirt, black pants, silver boots. I don't know why I like this picture, there's nothing too great about it. He's not fantasitcally beautiful or cute even, just your average teenager in black. But...for some reason it strikes a chord with me, and it's like, I want to know him and talk to him you know? Take him out for an ice cream cone. I wonder does he even eat ice cream? He has a black backpak and paper bag next to him, a bottle of water too, and he's holding something in his hands, but you can't see what it is. Maybe a deck of cards? Maybe a tape? I don't know. The little subway sign says "Porter". Was he coming or going? Por que? I'm a picture freak, yes. Pixie
thank you once again blogger.

let's just say that my mom's declared my favorite skirt to be indecent (green plaid bondage skirt), even though it's a little past fingertip length (that's high school dresscode. when i pointed that out my mom said "do you want me to make a dresscode for you!? if you do it will be four inches above the knee!". ouch.

i saw america's sweetheart, which made me contemplate my relationship with Biscuit, and then i described how i met him and how i used to feel pre-sarah (basically i was smitten and it hurt to be around him because i always wanted to be closer, but i felt like we'd never be able to be close enough, not in any sense of the word) and how i feel now. and i keep waiting to feel like how i used to, but...it's not coming. and i wonder if maybe i'm jsut sorta blah because it's been a long time since i've hurt myself, and that's just kind of rough on me.

and that was it until blogger fucked up. i'm going to bed now, i have to wake up for cross country in four hours. to run for the team i want to quit. :/ Pixie

Sunday, July 29, 2001

Power Hungry



Are we seeing a trend here? Porn Star? Addict? Orgasm? Power? Hungry? Oh yeah, most definetly. Anyhoo, today was spent house hunting. I was supposed to go to the movies with Paco, but...we didn't expect that today would happen. My mom, bro, and I went to Summerlin armed with maps and slurpees (my treat). We used to live in Summerlin (if you're not from Vegas, it's a newer, nicer part of town), but we didn't like it and it soon became a wee bit expensive (my dad works in the casino, and they changed the laws so he couldn't get tips anymore...it was nice to have those 600 and 1k nights when we'd get lucky, and all that changed). Well, mom decided she wasn't going to be a nurse, so we couldn't afford the lifestyle. We looked at every neighborhood in our price range (and there were 6 or 7, times 3 or 4 model homes for each...), not a one we liked. Not one.

Fate took us back to Southern Highlands (an even newer, even nicer part of town). We were going to show my brother the crummy home my dad wants, but we took a wrong turn, and were led into this area. It was so....fate, it was just such a coincidence that we ended up there, because we truly weren't planning on looking at any more houses. We walk into the office...and smell cookies, fresh baked cookies. Mmmm, heaven. We were already sold, heehee. They had one model of a house we wanted (price range and one story). It's perfect. Gorgeous floor plan, not a thing wrong with it. The few changes we'd make actually came standard in the home. We spent a very long time driving around the neighborhood with the realtor in a golf cart (high class, baby).

It was so...perfect. We came home, waited for dad, and ventured back out. By then it was late, and we ended up sneaking into one of the almost-built homes (thank you silly construction workers). Well...dad was tired, and cranky, and had just gotten off of work, so he of course starts to point out all the things wrong with the neighborhood, but...the final conclusion is that while we probably can't afford the house (we could if they didn't charge you extra for everything. If you want toilets that aren't built for fucking midgets, they're like 250 a pop! It's like "oh, you wanted a front door? you'll have to sell you soul please") So, mom says we can't get that house, but she's decided that she doesn't want the crummy house my dad wants, and she doesn't want to move into a house that is "liveable" (how we described very few homes we saw today).

I suppose it shouldn't matter to me, I'm here for three more years, and that's at a max. Speaking of which, the Parentals don't think I should get a job...that I should just concentrate on my studies in order to get scholarships to go to an out-of-state school, which is funny because I thought the exact oppisite - that I should work to get money to go to an out-of-state school. Well, no matter what I'll probably try to work a few nights a week at a restaurant on the Strip (once again...where do teenagers work outside of Las Vegas?). I can get a job as a busgirl, and make good tips (think of the Bellagio. It could cost you easily 10k per night to stay in one of their rooms...they have Picasso's and Michealangelo's in their art gallery...how much are you going to be tipping your waiters? yeah, that's what I thought, and they'll be tipping me), and then work full time in the summers. My house now is perfect for that. I go on ONE bus and I'll be at the Strip fairly soon, then I just have to walk up or down the strip to the casino of my choice.

So, why the power hungry part? Because I could so see my heels clicking along the little walkways of the model homes, wearing a pantsuit, showing homes. I'd make an excellent realtor, yes indeedy. Well, I think so anyway. I was thinking, one day I should go buy some clothes of off the Saks 5th Avenue clearance rack, rent a Porsche for the day, and go up to these homes that cost more than a half million, get invited to some parties, and meet my mealticket hubby. If I were old and rich I'd want to be a sugar daddy, make some kid's life so nice and easy. I mean, could you imagine? Maybe that's because I always hoped someone would come and sweep me away and turn me into everything I wanted to be, and now I want to do that for other people. Personal trainer? Psychiatrist? Teacher? Foster mom? Ballet teacher? Ultimatly, if I could do anything I'd do that. I'd just want to take people, young girls, and turn them into everything they wanted to be.

That's the problem with how I grew up, I'll never be able to step down from where we are right now. My parents raised me that way. We're looking at new houses now that are bigger than what we have, cost more, and are in higher-class neighborhoods. My mom doesn't want to move into a place the same, she wants to move up. That's how it's always been from her (they did live in a trailer when she grew up. Excuse me, they owned the trailer park. Same thing. But anyways)...they've always moved up. From our first house to our second to our third, and even though we came back to our second I'd say it's just as nice (if not as new) as our third house. Even our cars...we used to have a green maverick and a gold nissan. We've gone up, and we're still trying to go that way.

Let's think of me, I started sorta up, will I just keep going up until I can buy a house for a half million? I almost hope so. But then...my kids. I don't want spoiled rotten kids. I want to be able to take them to a half million neighborhoods and have them go wow, that's what kind of house I want to be able to afford. But I mean, c'mon...how do you move up from a 5 bedroom 5 bath 1 library 4 car garage home? heehee, you don't. Not without buying a mansion. But anyhoo...I haven't even had sex yet, I don't think I really need to worry about my kids just yet

Although I did see Fast Times At Ridgemond High today (great movie, btw). Check out the bro...he was cool. If my bro had found out I had an abortion (let me make it clear: I haven't. I've never been pregnant, I've enver had sex. This is hypothetical - if I had an abortion. Just want to keep ya'll in check), he'd sooo tell my parents. I wouldn't be surprised if he slapped me if I refused to tell him who the father was. Urrggh. My mom thinks I'm prettier than J. Lo. She also thinks my brother and I inherited her and my dad's best features (she even said lovingly that "you don't seem determined because you haven't found anything you want enough, it will come"). That was quite different from calling me a snivelling ungrateful quiet horrible bitch. I think I have to live with my parents...I don't think I can afford to be emancipated and save up money to go to an out-of-state college. However, I could move for my senior year and take residence in whatever state I wanted to go to college in. But...it'd have to be a public school. Hmmm? Pixie