 | October 15, 2000 After work tonight we went to visit my aunt who said she had a couple magazines from her salon with my Paul Mitchell photos in them. One of them is Salon News and the other is Cut and Dry, of which I'm on the cover with Nicole. We're also on the Table of Contents page facing each other and doing that mirror-image pose. I called Jon to tell him about it and he was supposed to be writing a paper that he didn't want to do, so he picked me up and we went to Balboa Park where he rolled a joint on my magazine cover and I got really high. We were sitting on a bench and I was leaning on him but I kept falling off, and I almost fell over when we were standing perfectly still on a bridge over the street. I was always falling. I made the most hysterical jokes that made no sense at all. After that we left and good ol' Jon drove to Santanas to get Mexican food. He didn't eat, but I ordered a California Burrito and horchata and then we went next door to the 7-11 where I got NesQuik banana-flavored milk and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. *snicker* Jon said, "You're gonna eat all that?" but congratulated me on the fact that I was the type to really eat and not one of those chicks that pick at everything. Wonderful. Wait till he sees it on my thighs though, then I'll ask him what he thinks. |
 | I know I said this journal entry was in the works, but the truth is I haven't been working on it at all. I just ran over the whole night in my head a few times trying to think of a creative way to record it. A guy floating the crowd fell on me, that's about as hurt as I got. I had my picture taken with William Riley of Sprung Monkey, courtesy of his lovely goth girlfriend. I also got pictures of Dave Grohl and Chino (of the Deftones) at the Rock 105.3 booth...that was annoying...felt like the goddamn paparazzi. I basically wasted the rest of my whole camera on pictures of Brandon from Incubus, which was the only set I made my way up to the front of the stage for. Matt stayed in the back (of the pit! Arrrgh) and stood there with this chick he knew from school. Gleel. He said had some kind of bruised kidney or pancreas or gall bladder or something which probably kept him from mashing it up with me up towards the front. I was about three people away from being crushed into the railing, so the pictures of Brandon ended up pretty close. Woops, I have to go. I'll finish this later. |
 | Here is that picture of me and the guy from Sprung Monkey. |
How the hell could I still be getting hits. I haven't touched this website in about three weeks. It's probably the same people probably waiting for my ass to write something just to know I'm still alive. Either that or just to have something new to make fun of me about, huh Squeakster? ("Dude, Lolita's my favorite movie, dude.") I just added the scan of the Cut and Dry cover to this page.. could it possibly be bigger than my ego? Huhuh. I just thought it would make my journal page a little more animated seeing as how my life is already pretty.. still. I've had to work and go to school daily without a break from either one for what seems like forever. Not a big deal, Jon has the same kinda schedule, but I wanted to kill myself when I woke up this morning. Shit. I felt like Jesse Spano in that episode of Saved By the Bell, with the caffeine pills? Anyway I slept in till about 11:00, sent out the Halloween pictures I scanned, and went to school in a stress-filled fury over the paper I didn't write for English, "The Meaning of Success." Success is cranking out an actual interesting paper with a fucking lard-ass cliche-as-hell topic like that. I didn't get around to doing it last night. I spent the whole time listening to old cassette tapes I recorded in 1995 of Loveline, when Ricky Rachtman was still hosting it with Adam and Dr. Drew, until I fell asleep. Thank god I'll have Friday morning to stay in bed and listen to Howard Stern. Goddamit, that's all I want, is to stay in bed.
In other news, some chick that was selling a rare Green Day poster on Ebay wrote me and told me her auction ended without any bids, and she would give the poster to me for free if I just paid shipping. Rawsome. It's a huge 6 foot promo poster that record shops put up to count down the days before the release of Green Day's "Warning" album. I might be getting back into buying crap on Ebay again.
November 10, 2000
I whipped together a page for our halloween pictures, see link in above entry. Just added picture of me and William Riley, now my journal page looks like a fucking photo album. Got drunk last night with Jon. I threw up pretty hard when I got home today. (Doesn't that sound sexy? I think I was practicing to be a model.) I didn't get to stay in bed and listen to Howard Stern yesterday morning after all. But I got to spend a lot of time with Jon. I wonder if I'll ever get sick of sleeping in his bed so much. He's got really comfortable blankets and shit. I'm glad he doesn't mind just lying down with me so damn much. I'm in trouble tonight with my dad. Do we have a freaking president yet? What's going on in the world? I'm too sick from drinking Captain Morgan and red wine and Michelob. People that have read my journal page for a while know I can get really fucked up on Captain Morgan, huhuh. Kay bye.
November 12, 2000 Fuck man, what is this?!
With as little time as I have to write this English paper that's stressing me out because of my work and school schedule I still have the audacity to sit here and tell you creeps about my day. Shit. I just concluded that updating this journal isn't such a damn pain in the ass when you get into the habit of it, which I have recently. This bastard keeps outbidding me on eBay, the cheap prick! UGH.. now i have to get off the computer to call Jon. I've been getting on the internet to research this bullshit paper I have to do about the harmful effects of rock music on kids, and everytime I try to search for an article about that chick whose ass was killed at the Smashing Pumpkins concert or something, I log on to Hotmail or Ebay and pussyfoot around wasting precious time. I can't find any shit about that kid that hanged himself to "Adam's Song" by Blink 182...Is that a myth? I logged onto their website yesterday and found myself in the chatroom. That alone made me want to kill myself. My only sources so far for this paper are Green Day and Marilyn Manson articles that I've collected over the past four years. Some kid named Howorth killed his parents and people thought it was because of Green Day since they found some "Having a Blast" lyrics in his notebook. Cockamamie. How the hell can I argue against rock music? I'm a kid, I'm supposed to be ridiculously impressionable. Anyway, time to get off the computer.
November 13, 2000 having a blatz.
I can't remember the last time I actually attended my math class. I ditched it again today to work on that fucking English paper....I don't want to talk about it. So I downloaded an old song I had recorded off of SkaToons on 92.5 a couple years ago when it was still The Flash, and it's the best goddamn little jumpy ska tune about anal sex I ever heard (maybe the only one)..."Back Door Open" by the Scofflaws. That song makes me really giddy. That's all I have to say right now. Urrgh.. final draft is due in two days. Oh yeah, Rob from Secret-Secret was in town the other day and brought me one of their shirts.
November 18, 2000
And so ends the week of stressing over "the goddamn" English paper. What a horrible fucking time... I want a refund. I think I'm going to take a nice hiatus from society and ball up in the fetal position underneath the steering wheel of my car. I need to spend more time in it anyway. I can't help but believe the worrying doesn't end with that due date, since the apathy-infused karmatic rule of my life requires me to fret over at least two more things before I'm finally worry-free.
Jon has seen me cry more in these last few days than he has in the last month we've been together.. Tell-tale signs of a psycho? Hopefully he understands. Throw a pain-in-the-arse thesis paper, sleep-deprivation, a fucked-up computer, and a menstrual cycle together and that's what you get. Instant bawling-baby. Regardless, the ol' chap still encourages me not to worry and let things get to me so much. I still think I have yet to moon more people with my pansy ass before I realize that blowing things out of proportion isn't a worthwhile coping mechanism. Fuck, man. The bullshit that I tacked on to the end of my paper that I called a conclusion was fucking horrible. If you wrote it, you'd be crying too.
November 19, 2000
How many times am I gonna have to think that everyone I work with is an incompetent jackass before it doesn't bother me so damn much.
November 21, 2000Rage Against the Mariachi
Ryan's in town. Thank god. It's so ironic how he always visits at the end of a shitty week and his arrival just tells me it's time to party. I should be bowing to his pictures and kissing his goddamn feet with the way he conveniently drops in at the last controllable minutes of my composure. If he moved back to San Diego I'd have him around for good, and he'd just be giving me faith in everything all the time. Kinda like a dashboard Jesus.
Today I dressed like a little goth for the first time in a while. It was back to being stared at by people wondering why I'm wearing a long black skirt and black sweatshirt when it's warm and the sun is out. That's easy. I'm a cold person. Black is a slimming color. I bought Papa Roach tickets and I had to look like the little punks in their video.(I blindly bought a couple tickets today for the Papa Roach/Strung Out show this Saturday for Jon, who's writing a paper on the punk sub-culture and desperately needs to attend a show before the paper's due date.) I was writing out the entry for the 18th when this kid named Jesse, a self-proclaimed artist and musician, came up to me just to tell me my hair was cool and that I looked "pretty" and "gothic." His handshake was flimsy. The guy had guts though. I normally don't like when people come up to me with their stupid, "Um.. sorry to bother you, but uh, (chuckle)..." Normally hate that idiotic bullshit. I asked Jesse what kind of music he played, and he brought up Rage Against the Machine, of whom of course I told him I was a big fan... but then he said something about mariachi. Mariachi? Hard rock perhaps with a little Tijuana brass? Tom Morello wearing a sombrero?