27 december

1999
3:17 pm

I am wearing Sam's butterfly pants. PHONE! Brittany. I am going to a party at her friend Jacqueline's tonight. I'm nervous that I'll be a bitch to her friends, but I'm going to try really really hard not to. It's important that I get out and meet new people. So I'm happy. Today I'm cleaning my room, and hopefully I can somehow get to Hastings to get a new CD. That would be nice. I can't find FRANKENCHRIST! Damnit.



2002

X-Mas is over. Now I'm going to Montana. I still suck. People are funny. So far: Hey, Kelly and I kissed. I was contemplating whether or no it was diary worthy. I got upset because I didn't want to, but did anyway. He said it wouldn't happen again, that he felt nothing. Who cares, it happened, it's over, it was weird for a few hours, it is better now, and I need Chicago. I'm boring here. Even though this is Montana, it's still (I'm still) boring. I can't draw, I can't write, nothing. Useless. I may as well just kill myself... well at least I've still my sense of humor. Ah, Molly. Oh, and Tim. Or should I say, Tim and Tara. So now they're spending nights together, cuddling, kissing, fondling, sucking, eating, etc. etc. Fucking Tim. Oh well, I'll win in the end. I'll have my way with him. Not any time soon, I'm giving it at least fourteen years. We'll just get married or something, after I've had numerous relations with art school freaks.Alex . Ah, Alex. How could I give up on him? I couldn't possibly, he's too perfect. Perfectly New York, perfectly art school, perfectly too cute.

Last night I went to Carey, Idaho with Stacie, Sam, & Kelly to see Jarrett's new house and to go to his friends' Buddy & Sinatra's christmas party. It was a damn fun party. Met a few interesting (or normal) Carey-ites, such as a guy called Red who called me Red and wanted probably for me to fuck him, yes, he gave me a kiss as we argued. And I shotgunned two beers and kicked some serious ass. Jello shots. It was great except for the part when I awoke and proceeded to vomit on six different occasions. I love those kids. Doug was there, and Doug was cool. I need to get my ticket immediately. I need to go home soon. Now.

Why didn't I go to the senior prom with Alex? I hate my life. KILL ME!

So, chew on this: I think everytime I dream of hooking up with a boy (which is usually whenever I sleep) Tim appears with this knowing look. Odd. I guess because I know Tim will always have a knowing look when I am doing something I will later regret or something stated previously that I wouldn't do. I'm funny. I get to go home January 15. I can't wait. Imagine: me in my cave, all alone in my room... ah, the possibilities.

Ah, the ZMan. We have so much in common, yet still, so little have we. So very, very little. Am I tired? Would I like to retire? Nope. Watching "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" with the ZMan is much better. Maybe not much, but enough better.



2003

Ah IDAHO... Fucking place. No, not fucking place, just fucking feelings. How I don't necessarily like anyone enough to spend time with him or her, save for Tim. And how smoking pot can once again make things awkward. I hadn't smoked for a week and finally did once I went to Kelly's. Then I bought some and was too stoned for my own good. Had trouble driving. And Kelly, how can he be like that. Kelly will become his dad. Kelly watches TV constantly and smokes pot and works and does nothing else. Nothing to say. Defensive about everything. He's boring and gives me a bad feeling. Being around him is scary. We never had a past. I'd like to go back to the way it was, but now I'm certain I don't love him at all or who he's going to be sooner than later. It's sad to think about. This place; I just really want to get back to where I feel good. I felt good in chicago and I can be in surroundings that I love and surrounded by those I love and that's it. Even imagine a Ian or a Erwin here. No one is like that. I miss Brittany a lot. And Alex and Steve. Here I have Tim. Which is a lot and thank fucking god I have Tim.

I did get to go snowboarding and probably had the best snowboarding of my life in McCall. It was so beautiful; the sun catching snow falling making everything sparkle and shimmer and shine. And so quiet, so amazing. I rode with confidence. I just raced and smiled and let the eyes water.

Today I got caught shoplifting at the boutique. Ha. But don't worry, just as the woman was telephoning the police, I booked out of there, fast as I could. I dropped the phone in the parkinglot and picked it up and ran through streets and between buildings. I called Tim to pick me up. As she took me into the back room she said, "not smart." And she was right. She told me to sit down so I did with a view of my clear path to freedom. I jumped up from my seat once she was securely positioned on the opposite side of the giant desk and she yelled, "get back here!" and with that, I was gone. And that's shoplifting. How do I feel now? Well, my throat and lungs hurt from the running and the smoking and the exhilaration. Do I feel badly, no, I guess I shouldn't steal from boutiques because they're privately owned but even then they're marked up incredibly and fuck it if I didn't run, I would be in trouble now. I think I've lost the attraction for the frivolous shoplifting. But it's okay to steal the necessities. I guess I am fucking selfish and greedy and I do suck. No. This day was beautiful and Idaho winter grey and I love Idaho so much but I wish for the warmth of connections like in chicago. I will. It now seems to have turned around completely and I am disconnected from those here because they can't hear me or I don't listen closely enough and I just really long for car rides, cigarettes, and the music with Steve and waiting for the bus in the cold to go to Dominick's with Brittany and sitting in Alex's warm blue room talking about transcendentalism and smoking on the back porch with crab hands and the skyline and bright eyes again and Christopher dancing and doing my hair and Erwin's sharp beard and my newly organized room that I love so much, not like this old room that used to surround the old me with the old stuff that meant something once... I just can't wait for this normal sunrise to sunset feeling to be gone and here I am back in the cold and the sun comes up early and the walk to the train is the time it takes to smoke a cigarette. And now to hang out with Stacie, Kari, Kelly. And Tim. TGFT.



2008
McCall, Idaho

Boy is scared, worryful of hurts and future. I been sunburst and snowblind, especially windburst making pink cheeks on me in the low temperatures of high up mountain winters. My sweet darling is hurt and waiting, stationary, for his appearance in my arms. So what could we not be together forever? so what could it be over eventually? could we break hearts in palms without thought or care? either or both? palms or us? My mind is dead and it is purest whitefall out there. I am in love with it. I am in love with Adan. We are moving to Portland and I can only be happy excited for it. I can also be sad worried and missing him, and go in & out of that, but as soon as he doesn’t make my heart want to digest my body and throw it up again out of its little aorta and other red tubes, I will be happy content & fine with it all. I will survive should it end. I would be happy to marry him in upwards of forevers.

2009 

Portland Oregon, 7:41 pm

december, lie me down, tie me up: metamorphosis two

She talked of the cat laying like a turban, I think of it more a torpedo, but then I would assume a season should be picked, so we could agree on the state of warmth, the quality of the air, the wind, if any; the temperature & pressure of each and every particle, particular for a season or another.

            I have wine; was given me by Kari Anooshian and was given her by her dear mother Linda. I have this sweet dog. Used to be I talked of the colors of breeze, more; now it’s this pleasant dog with back to me in the cold attic-room which we share, in which we doze, comfortably. It is 7:46 and it is night and I wonder, what if now was my bed-time and in the morning, or in the true night, rather, I woke to see the still dark sky and the sun break into it for day. And this was my routine. I wonder where the word comes from, routine. I have plenty of words now, to look up, thanks to Colette. My major problems are these, in no particular order: I do not miss Adán nor do I await with dewy eyelashes his return, I doubt strongly I will get into graduate school (I wonder, do I even want it), and I have to stay in the graphic novels class though it irks me so. But today, luck brought to me Annie Murphy, and before I could even say hello she said, oh hi! how are you! Molly! she said, will you be there next semester, and I said, hesitantly Yes, and she excitedly called out Good! Well. Maybe she is here to remind me that I am committed. I even forced myself into commitments. This is why I am here. Everything I mention is a commitment. To other living beings, to myself, to my innards. I wonder at it. I wonder at the morning, when my pot is gone, and how can one have such nice pot around? and at this wine.

8:55

And my blood, lungs, full with it. The piano, or the blue, the whale cry in the smoky club scene. You are a scene. Scene the scenery. I thank the piano, and the slide guitar I whimper to, asking please, but not needing to so doing it silent. The last five years are the ones of life. I slap across the song. I flood myself across the piano; a piano spark waterfall. Forget the semicolon; this is what I need. Skipping punctuations like stones. An explanation like pebbles dropping on keys , the comma, an upstroke. I can feel the heart now.

            Subtle smoke curtain now. Ash on a pillow, the porcelain dish. Not a dish but a lid. The porcelain lid to a hairbox. This a particular delight remnant of Nanny. Poor Jack, didn’t get a gift. The only one at the party. Jack Clark wish not to write his obit. Without mentioning death, will they surpass it? Without mentioning death, she passed it. Without mentioning death can one suppress it. Without mentioning, death surprises us. It’s without mention, without mansion. Without mandibles, death surprises us. Death sells us. Without mention, mandibles surpass. An ñ of sourts, the unitalixized ways, her little fingers skipping stones. The brown stones, the ones  made from porcelain, the little stubs of fingers wafting generously. Like the breeze. The bees worked with them, that’s a fact. Soon as the sky fell earlier in day, like a shade of red over everything, and a call given to elbows and arms in favor of sweaters. The possibility of sweaters, sweater possibility, sweater ability. My shadows over everything, the letters abrupt and flat. Oh, but if I could go back then! The only time is time viewed rounded, like the edges of courners cut, and made curved and painless. The letters, though: the letters are so straight up and square. The haunted voice

            could change eventually, ending gorgeously. Yesterday, yesterday: yellow winter remaining, gold drives serene. Enough hazard dreamt,

            Scratch the spelling off that piece of bark! Knowing gratefully yields some emotional leverage. engaging gratefully yields savory youth, harrowed, dimly, yet triumphant, trying, gggggg

            Songs stretching, going grim, marbled divine,

we found your virginity, to hunt in time and bounty

bloodstain on your majesty

four seasons dark combinations

13 years of Karen

to be given all the unity

the hunt & tie of bounty

bloodseed of your majesty

in this mighty plan

dark correlations

I found my 13 years of Karen

in all four seasons and their dark brethren

your four seasons and their embarrassment

with dark combinations, I found my

13 years of Karen

What an unnecessary document! considering the effort, I would like to offer an effort, in trade, a words with five or four letters time.

We will be together in Old England we’ll be together

And as for falling in love, this mighty contemporary thing. Trying to recreate the divine. Only smokers need desks. The ashes are flying!

2010

11:39 am

Looking great, wanting coffee, listening to Sonic Youth with the basset hound, quoting from Plexus, wanting to finish it… but there isn’t a bookmarker there, anymore. The printer ran out of ink. I have two copies of my resume, and I need a desperate sort of job. At red feather! Ooh, wouldn’t, couldn’t that be nice. The eating & drinking well and the looking good.

              Today I am good! Dressed in Bruce’s shrunken navy hunter maroon pearl-snapped Pendleton. Oh, Bruce. Stockings ripped all up the sides. I think he might come back tomorrow…

(<3)

psilocybin shades, disneyworld, marriage, las vegas, baby shark, infidelity

2002

Tom Petty & the freeway

Driving through Bliss wasn't as nice as I'd hoped.

I think writing in paragraphs that are fully comprehensible is far more effective than using the "jotting down" system. And Idaho...

Sprinklers beneath a huge gray and cadet blue sky. The grounds are covered in amber grasses. White snow sets everything off. Great. And Kelly in the backseat, crying gently, undoubtedly writing something to me, either intending to give it or not. Why does he have to be so sad? I don't want him to be sad, just what am I supposed to do? I was thinking about how I used to see (on TV or in life) a man asking a woman to marry him, she freaks out, upset, and they break up. I used to wonder why they'd have to break up because of that. It's drastic. I think now very differently. I think you'd have to, it couldn't be any other way. It would just be too awkward.

2003

My $16 Magickingdom sunglasses appear to have psilocybin on them. I took mushrooms and  they put things simply. I realized if I love Steve it's okay and he should sleep with she with whom he's in love. I realized that no one is or ever will be the center of my universe. I'm all I have. I don't care about drugs. I'm no sex thing. I'm beautiful, completely solitary and alone. It's hard to think this clearly now because I don't have Steve sitting in front of me. I don't want him to make me feel like I'm behaving awkwardly or that I'm trying too hard. That's how I'll fuck it. I'm very sad he's with her even though he's not and he won't be with me, though he is. And I won't see him until the end of january because what reason has he to return sooner. A month isn't long. I wish it didn't matter. Maybe it won't. These days of sobriety are exhausting me. My dreams are so strange and vivid. Music makes me sad. I didn't bring the polaroids or I lost them. I miss Steve & want to talk to him & am afraid I won't. I hate fucking Disneyworld. It's so crazy. I got some joy out of it yesterday for its craziness. At least I've a sense of humor. I talked to my mom a lot about it. I go in & out of these feelings: I'm really glad that Steve and I aren't going to have sex and I think we'll know one another forever. I love that. And the other part of me doesn't love it, but I need to find contentedness in the former. I have to, it's the only right thing about him.

2004

Here I am in the Las Vegas airport, awaiting my delivery to Tim & Britta. Imagine: Idaho in all its snowcapped mountainscapes.

Before today I slept between an extremely loud and big snoring Brittany, and a tiny, soft, warm little Erwin. We slept in the 8 degree cold (the gas turned up to a temperate 65), and awoke before sunrise to get me to Midway on time. Brittany and I listened to the Faint and smoked the rest of our delicious, suburban weed out of a one hitter, as earlier yesterday the pipe, begrudgingly known in its short life as Blue Fish, fell to its death upon impact with my tiled bathroom floor. It was a terrible moment. We smoked a camel filter donated by Alana, and I'm excited not to smoke for the next while. 

I kissed Erwin goodbye and wrapped my arms around him, our nostrils freezing shut on Fullerton Avenue across from his house. I kissed his cheeks, still hinted with warmth and bloodflow, and thought briefly about missing him. 

Has Trent been mentioned? (Allow brief overview of past here.)

Trent is a boy from ethics. Rides a skateboard, grunge era sweater, hair reminiscing Cobain. Blisteringly attractive. 

Trent, while in ethics, draws or writes in his little moleskine. He writes lyrics to songs such as, Jesus Christ is a Baby Shark. For some reason I like the words Baby Shark. 

His tattoos are okay. A face, with a box over it. Good use of arrows, rectangles, and dotted lines. I've always appreciated a geometric tattoo. It's just my inner mathematician, longing for some recognition. Very nice teeth. Almost too nice. Everytime I see them the consideration is they might be dentures. If he were 40 years older I'd not doubt it. Thin. Of medium height. Greenish eyes. 

This scenario, the Las Vegas airport scenario, is funny to compare with scenarios of a past weekend, Carter & little CJ's party of beautiful people. The place was packed and included some of our old friends from Lithuania, Getty and Paul. Upon seeing me, the boys laughed, giggled, and pointed. All expected of the 17 year old. 

This flight to Boise is full of Idahoans. Or Oregonians, & Washingtonians. Plain. Corduroy. Denim. GAP outlet. Keds. Nike. KoRn. Tool. Mustache. Butt chin. Double chins, varicose veins. Permanents. Receding hairlines. Acne scars. At Carter and CJ's, no one was overweight, and JonCates was slightly old. So he left early. I noticed him noticing the art, then I noticed him on the sofa in the loud smoky dancing hipster-filled room, his girlfriend next to him, her thigh beneath his hand, their heads nodding in unison to whatever. The guests had excellent hair, matching sweaters, some with eyeshadow matching their scarves. Mayo and turkey on white. They wore tight pants and beards and stubble, close to ideal physical fitness. I spotted Trent and ended up with him for a lot of the night, which resulted in his asking if he could have my number and offering a hug. No assumptions will be made, except for the fantasizing of our future relations. Mostly I realize I'm not in the market for a new someone to love. I don't see him. I could barely get his opinions, and he had little to say. He's a bad writer, careless, a bad grammarian. He's starting a band, writing songs, though he plays no instruments. I saw a skate deck on which he drew for a sculpture project, it looked terrible. Favorite song- can't remember the title, but it's by Iron Maiden or some sister or cousin of Iron Maiden. His attractive traits are shallow. He somehow fulfills my idealized skater boyfriend fantasy from he 8th grade. It's too bad my memory serves me so well. They simply put RITZ in a stick and somehow it's supposed to be better. I'm not imprest. 

Moral: Trent is not impressive. Perhaps worthless as a friend, even. But you know me, even when content I'll take more. 

On Friday, Brittany wore the Double Dipsea sweatshirt I stole from my mom, my old black shirt (from 1998), pearls, jeans, and blue converse. I looked significantly more classy in blue cashmere cardigan, vintage with gold leaf buttons, black goth whore dress (also from 1998, though it's remained unworn till recent years), diesel jeans, and black boots. Trent wore a gray and black striped hoodie with exposed seams, a red t-shirt, screenprinted with DUNCE (maybe he's more obvious than I thought), black levis with holes, and black skater shoes with velcro. All circa mid-'90s. 

I think Carter may be as boring as Alex. He (Alex) called recently (actually, weekly) and left a long message. He probably said a total of ten words, but of course there was thirty seconds of awkward, timeconsuming, hairsplitting silence during the minute and a half expanse. I have no desire to call back. What do I say? Your message said it all, ex-love-of-my-life. How could I expect anything more?

I remember all of this being in love so many times? Of course. I appreciate that I haven't come across an everlasting love, that all promises are broken. It feels more real & I'm more satisfied. Certainly I was singing this same song last year, only now I'm not crying. I love my little erwin, but I will never wait. I can only compromise to an extent, and until then we can touch the soft flesh of one another with open mouths. 

Everybody hurts somebody. I owe a lot to alex, and I'm glad that I met him and seemed to have fallen in love with him. I was able to see things unseen previously, and times were good with us. But I can't look at the pictures or the memories and feel anything save for a mildly perturbed & annoyed disgust. What was I thinking? I must have been a fool just because he gave me some love. I should have, once more, paid attention to inklings & first impressions. Like Trent? Don't be dissuaded by Cobain in an artschool skater who imagines to like philosophy. Ha. People are usually what they seem. But I, as a connoisseur, will constantly try for otherwise. I allow that they aren't always how they appear. But if they are: Trent won't show me anything new or hold my interest, Steve is a pretentious semiintellecual snob, Alex is a boring, predictable anybody, and Nate is "not all there" in a weird young male teenager way. In that case, "oh well Trent." Until you call me, that is. 

Alex and I have been making mad music. We've been hanging with Andy, too, as he has many amazing instruments. So many bands. My organaire rules. Do you know anything about spelling? Children? What's the future like? Lines, clouds? Trent's third tattoo is on his chest, and it says something like, "fine lines and the coverage (courage) of clouds." It made me feel as though I was in a room lit only by fire, and there's Trent, warm and shirtless, appearing in a haze before me. This night I also admitted Liz's beauty to her, nervously, like one craving a date with the school's hottest girl. She was flattered and we'll not likely see one another again. 

Oh well. It's gray. Almost to Idaho, where I'll find my longhaired friends and their open-armed greetings. Tim will pull my rolling suitcase. The West. Flat expanses and bumpy blue mountains. The rocket's red glare. The bombs bursting in the air. Woman with faux-Adidas track jacket and Dr. Pepper reads Cool Parent 101. One day. One day people will read real books and become embarrassed at what they wish they knew. How can I give birth and let my little boys and girls see me this way?    

Alas.

2006

6th & Bannock, 3:33 pm

Yes, it’s true. God, know what else is true?! Fucking Tim! That’s right. No, no, not that, not fucking tim but tim has manipulated me… and I let him, but no, I didn’t go all the way. I quit. Or he quit… somehow it all stopped.

This morning around 4 Tim comes into the bedroom… it’s after a long night where I somehow get more and more drunk, even though I’d stopped drinking hours before. Went to Stacie’s house? Saw TJ? W-hat?! So I say to Tim, “You can either sleep with me, watch me sleep, or leave.” And he says he’ll watch me sleep. He comes in, I make him read the poem for a long life. I’m wearing red spandex pants, tanktop with sixth grade bra. He gets under the covers with me. He reaches for me, attempting to caress the soft folds of my ever-glistening vagina! Oh, I hate tim. Because as I’m laying there, I know we’re playing a game of chicken, and I’m not going to lose. He’s the loser… but he acts like he’s winning… he keeps saying, am I there? what do I do now, which way do I go now?! And I have to say again and again, all the way! as far as you can go! keep going! South! Towards the penguins! It’s a strange country! Watch out for icicles! Fucking christ. He gives up, eventually, though he concedes that if I would just help him out a little, that way it would be harder for him to say no to such temperate weather… but I’m not going to fucking touch tim, does he think I’m craxe? Right! Totally craxe! Ew! barf…

He says need and desire are two different things… And I didn’t know that already, so that was fun to think about. And then he quit, and he wrapped his arm around me and laid his head, breathing on my shoulder. Really tightly. But it was my brother breathing on my shoulder, my unattractive, younger nerdy brother… Jesus, I have no morals, it’s true. I jest don’t give a Fuck, man. So he wants to cheat on her? What? Why. The way he hugged me was so sad. It seemed like he just needed someone to put arms around him. Which I couldn’t bring myself to do. I couldn’t ask him to leave, and I didn’t want my tears to fall on him. I didn’t want his breath or his body. I stopped caring and slept and was happy to find him gone when I awoke. Gross. What a creep. Fucking shit!!!! I won’t forget him in a hurry…

Otherwise… slightly tired today. Drinking coffee for hours now without much effect… though I sort of like the idea of staying here forever, drinking coffee, listening to music, writing bullshit… I’m in an aggressive mood. life is such fucking shit!!!

Cold coffee (long lines.) And what to do about it: Word of the day? Anyone? derogate: to deviate from what is expected. to disparage or belittle; to denigrate.

It’s getting darker; I’ve been here for a longlong time. I spoke to Kelly. He wants to hang out… lives way the fuck up over in crapville… I can’t ride my bike there. Is it worth anything? Maybe getting stoned out of my mind? Smoking cigarettes? Watching television? Sure, all that’s worth something then, isn’t it? No. Worthless. God, trying to imagine sex… penises… Oh I can’t wait for celibacy! But you can’t dry hump forever… I can’t believe I allowed Tim to violate me in such a way… Terrifying… I need to stay out of bed with others… be by myself, and for good. Imagine! Then one day I’ll really want sex. And it will be nice! No, not any time soon. I think I should take a few months off. Kissing… kissing sounds nice, kind of. 

I think Herb might be afraid of me. He might think I’m a predator. Because I took his virginity, and now I want More. He won’t give me his telephone number… I wrote a casual/semi joke of a letter to him where I told him I didn’t want to have only an awkward drink… that I wanted something Deep and Meaningful and Important. But… he wrote back that he wants to have an awkward drink… Taylor told me he has a girlfriend. Good for him. I ain’t no predator…but so far all my prospects have already been excavated!! I am a goddamn predator! Ha! 

He just called. We might go to see “Fur” which I’ve wanted to see for some time now. Man… I want to get stoned pretty badly. Dates make me nervous. Hopefully Herb won’t be too nervous. Can I, is it possible to hang out with Kelly & get stoned, then go see a movie with Herb? Yeah. It really is. But I really have to finish this goddamn coffee. I’ve made the commitment.

AH! The rottenness of it all! Will I be able to make it? Screw them all. I’ve got to get a hobby. Predator, parasite, predator, parasite… so close… but I realize I’ve outdone myself in the coffee department. I need to eat… Or do I? No I don’t, I need to eat.

-Oh, just remembered something. So Trip Allen committed suicide recently. Last night at the bar, Stacie said, “Did you hear about Trip Allen? I’m not too sad about it, are you?” Unfortunately, the subject was changed before I had a chance to say, what the FUCK?! You horrible little bitch!!!! Stacie … Stacie is still blonde (with dark lo-lites) and now she is more doughy than before. Thick and doughy. With a hoodie that could be from TJ Maxx, says, “I love Soccer.” Which is appropriate, because Derek, her awesome boyfriend also loves soccer. He wants to go to France because he loves soccer so much. And That’s okay. He should go. 

God, fucking Tim! I’ve got a bone to pick with him, and it’s not his! Ha! In you’re most erotic fantasies of cheating on the Love of your Life. Fuckhead. That’s all.

(barbito lamma dad; 
Current mood: satisfied; 
Category: School, College, Greek)

Dear Diary, 
Reality; nay, what is reality? Naught but creamy cloudlike characatures of filthy, semen infested crumpets of minutia. Minutia? Beautiful minutia, yea. I've never hated something more than physics. Physics? More like "meta" physics (emphasize "meta") compartmentalizing me into a narrow, narrow, narrow space. But enough talk; have (at) you!

 New Paragraph: Predators and Parasites are simple creatures, intent upon their metaphoric prey (yea, Pray, let us all Prey, now, then, all time is but an illusion). To a lickable icecream cone such as myself, I've never played the Wii, but I still can sing a song of sorrow. And it goes a little something...like THIS: 

"O, swerve softly brightest birdie,
 Conical screams of the wild herd(y),
 This, ay, this, oh, my me & how indeed"

(no mustaches here... 
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes)

Dear Diary,

 Since moving back to Boise, my life has changed *a Lot*

 First of all, I got a new tattoo! Isn't it so cute? And right on the wristbone, too. The photo doesn't quite do it justice, but there's glitter...

 Also, I began listening once again to my old favorite band, 4 non blondes. Do you remember that group, diary? They really kick ass, still even though it's been nearly 15 years since their hit single became one of my alltime favorite songs ever. 

Since I'm at home with my parents again, I've had to get used to a few things... for instance, dad gets mad when I smoke cigarettes in the cadillac deville, but I sort of just do it without thinking. (Did I do that?!) Daddy needs the caddy, and usually I get to do with it what I will when I'm in town. (So I'm riding a bike! which is fun... I always liked riding bikes!!!) Also, everytime a parent comes home I'm smoking a European Cigarette out on the back deck in darkness beneath stars with the wire-haired pointer, listening to A Lily. And then... someone's home and I remember that I can't just live freely as usual...

 Dad also wants me to clean my room, douche it out, expunge it... but the Artifacts! The priceless state... everything frozen in time since 2001. How can I possibly? The good news is that I've found plenty of accessories and clothing... gold chains, khaki shorts, a beaded bracelet with shells on it my grandparents brought me from Kenya, a forest green silk shirt, GREEN JNCO JEANS, a purple and black yarn hat with the ball on the end that I made in the third grade. So much plastic!!!!!!

 Anyway... long story short...

 I miss chicago, but you know, sometimes it's time to grow up and Move On. So, I'm going to try to get a job at the boise towne square mall at dillards and I'll probably spend a lot of time at the hawaiian bar...