Yeah, so that was weird. I was about to "log in," and I saw this blog that said "Hot Ambercrombie Chick." So I thinks to myself, "Hey self, this oughta be a good laugh." *Click* Up pops pictures of "Amanda." "Hi, I'm a college freshman blah blah blah, I'm a philosophy major, let's talk about welfare." "Oh ya," I'm thinking, "Let us talk about welfare..." And then she turned out to be really smart and beautiful. It was humbling. It was ludicrous. I don't understand. How deceptive. Anyway. That kills me, seeing girls who are as equally intelligent as they are stunningly beautiful. I just think to myself, "That isn't right. No one should be given the full package." I mean come on now. What gives. Can't they have something wrong?! For real. I don't know. I suppose it shouldn?t matter. Comparing yourself to others never leads to any good. No good at all. Hm. I'm exhausted. I sure could go for some fun right now. Not even proverbial fun so much as, as something new. Oh, by the way, I have a plan for what I want to do in life. Yeah, I'm excited. So here's what I'm gonna do: Make films. Or movies, whatever. I was just thinking tonight about how I've made films in the past, and how much I enjoyed every second of it. Every tedious second. Hours and hours of editing were completely worth it. Because the project always got better, every second I was perfecting it. And the final outcome was magnificent. To me at least. I just really enjoy doing that. So that's what I'm going to do. Step one: Get camera. Step two: Get G5. Step three: Make movies. Now that's settled... I should be moved in by this week. Rapture. We're going to have a tuna party. My mom got me 5 lbs. of tuna for x-mas. Not in individual cans either. Oh no. Just one big can, with one big fuckin' fish on the label. Yup. Lenny and Carl are going to be euphoric. Licking their little kitty lips. And they deserve it. Because come this Saturday, their ovaries will be no more. [Insert evil laugh here] No, I really didn't want to take those away from them, but after seeing them in heat, I was grossly disgusted, and they just seemed miserable. I told them the other day that they were going to be inside cats once again. They said "yeay." In cat, of course. "Mew!" That's more like it. Man, I'm so bored right now. Just so goddamn bored. And unclean. Working at a pizza place, you just acquire filth by the minute. And I've worked all day today and yesterday. No shower since. Hm. Disgusting. Well... Hmph. I have a lot on my mind, but I can't really bring individual thoughts to the surface. They?re all just sort of buzzing about. Can?t catch them. Martha is bonkers, I'll tell you that much. I just had a stare down with her about ten minutes ago. I so won. And I think I scared her a lot. Who?s the alpha cat now, bitch. I think it will be nice to have an apartment to go to. A bit more personal, even though I'm living with someone. A place to go and be, instead of Grounds or... Grounds. That's sad. And ever so much more debauchery. Yesss! Looking forward to that. I think what I need right now is time alone, though. Solitary debauchery. A lot. Time a lot alone a lot... By myself. Sometimes I don't like only listening to my brain, but it needs to be done. And no more chicken. I'm quitting chicken, for real this time. Chicken is out! And I'm going to get my lip pierced. And I'm going to be honest all the time. And make friends. And I'm going to run ten miles a day, without stopping. Stay on a low/no carbohydrates diet. Write that novel. Win that nobel peace prize. Save that baby from that well. Eat my Wheaties. Fuck! I'm even going to start a band. And rock out. [cock in, thank you.] For real this time...

So, my friend Lauren was just telling me about how she was staring into her cats face earlier today, and as she gazed, the cat began to look more and more like a human being. This scared the shit out of her, and she proceeded to push the cat forcefully away. She was scared of her cat. Weird. Drama kills me. For real. It kills my brain and my heart. I've been having a really hard time dealing with it lately. Every time I encounter it I just feel like walking away from the people causing it. You know, just leaving. Or I have these thoughts cross my mind while the drama is occurring. They mainly involve me freaking out and screaming and jumping out car doors to escape the annoyance of excess human emotion. Salvation fantasies is what I shall call them. And as my face hits the pavement I'll breath a sigh of relief. I'd like to make more friends. Searching for friends. I've never in my entire life been in a social group. I've never had a "clique" or a steady group of comrades. I don't think I'll ever have that either. I can't tell if that's sad or not. I've just always had Lauren. I think that is more than sufficient. She's the only one who understands the way my mind works. I'm moving in with another lady, and I don't think she knows how bizarre I am. I was joking around with Lauren at work the other day, and she looked at us like we were psychopaths. Is she in for a treat. That was nothing. Lauren and I made up this game this summer that involved pretending to be different people, usually lovers, arguing. We would start screaming at each other, then laugh hysterically. I can't imagine what people watching us thought. It would usually be between two lovers who had drifted apart, and were berating one another. She would say,
"I haven't loved you for years!"
"Well, you know my work keeps us apart. That new archeological dig in Egypt is a big deal, and I have no time for your petty emotions."
"It doesn't matter, I've been seeing someone else."
"Not that sleazy pool cleaner, Lucas."
"Yes, don't act so surprised. It's not anything new."
"You mean..."
"Yes, that's right, we've been together for about three years now, ever since he saved me from that escaped tiger. If you even cared a little you would have known. We leave for Aruba in four days."
"I see. Well, in that case I won't bother to put you in the Will."
"What in God's name do you have a Will for?! You're perfectly well."
"I don't suppose you care, but, well, you see, I'm dying. The doctor says I have a brain tumor the size of a grape fruit. I have about two months to live."
"No..."
"Don't act so sympathetic. I could never believe another word you said after all you just confessed to me."
"It can't be..."
"Well, it is, and you get nothing. You heartless bitch."

That was fun. I'm really tired. Stupid double shift. Stupid no fun that I had tonight. Stupid stupidness of people. Stupid song. What song you mean? Fuckin' bitches at the Holiday Inn. Augh. Get out of my brain. Well, all I have to say is that I... I don't know.

What to do. What to do. Antisocial evenings have been a rarity lately, but tonight I'll stay alone. Friends are with other friends and watching movies with boys. I sit alone. A much needed seclusion. What to do. There's always Grounds. But it's 12 am, which means I'll have to find something interesting elsewhere. Pisanello's. Talk. Tell some stories. I was just here for hours. I'll be on my way now. To Howard's. Picture this: Man in forties, wearing a silk shirt with yellow and orange flames, thick mustache, not proportional to large face and huge bonch. He dances alone. He plays air guitar to the blues music that's blaring from the stage. Air Guitar. He's drunk and hilarious. Must contain laughter. Can't stop staring at this large man playing air guitar. The music is just what I needed. A hippy dances in the corner. A release for him. He lets his hair down, and beats his hands on the wall. Getting something out of his system. A middle aged woman goes crazy on the frets of a guitar. Makes it sound like a violin. Makes it sound like it's backwards. Makes me smile. She was damn good. It's 2 am. Talk to my friends older sister for two minutes. She looks and talks just like my friend. I'd like to tell her, but she already knows. I'm sure she's heard it a million times. But it's so uncanny. I'm wearing sandals. Walk to the Grill. My usual booth. People swarm in. I can't stop staring again. Fat man with a tattoo on his left arm. He's wearing a denim, sleeveless shirt. His arms are flabby. What is he trying to be. A man with a small head chews with his mouth open. I start looking at people's teeth. They're all so different in every mouth. Weird. People are really pouring in. Should I move. I know if I ask Niki will tell me not to. It's always nice to have just one sane booth she says. Someone quiet and keeping to themselves. Only coffee to refill every once and again. A man with black gloves and a black shirt approaches. Mumble mumble. No they aren't trying to tell me to move. It's him and a girl. You two can sit here if you want. They do. Brian and Tina. She plays volleyball, he has a degree in Marketing. They met on the internet. She's going to be a math teacher. He lives in Ann Arbor. She, in Bowling Green. They met on the internet. We talk. It's beautiful. I don't have a clue who these people are, I'll never see them again. He wants to marry her, start a family, get a dog. White. Picket. Fence. The home fries are good. Extra crispy? Sure. They'll do that. They choose to stay and sit with me. She does this thing where she smiles and sticks her tongue out, and sort of bites it. Interesting. Does she think it's cute? Does Brian? It's takes forever to get their food. They finally eat. I have a smoke and tell Pat, the cook, about my new "friends." Brian and Tina leave. I wish them luck, and the best life has to offer. Brian tells me to keep writing. I wonder if they'll get married. Have kids. A dog. A fence. I'll never see them again. Strange. I'm at the computer. I start thinking:

What a great night. So full of wonderful interludes. I'm wondering a lot. About myself. I hate feeling like people are laughing at me. Part of me says, "Who the fuck care?" The other says, "I do." I wish so many things right now. I wish: I wasn't so talkative, I was in a different place, I could make new friends, Lenny and Carl were here, I was moved into my apt, I didn't say that I would work a double shift tomorrow, I was stunning, I could figure it out. Life, what do you have to offer me? I keep getting parking tickets. That's what pennies are for. I was thinking today, about how attractive boys are attractive, but full of themselves because they know their attractive. So that's out. Ugly boys are, well, ugly. I like the boys in the middle. The one's who have learned to depend on their mind instead of their face. Overtime, they become the most attractive. I smell like Grill. Ew. My brain hurts. Time for bed. Stupid brain. I'm beginning to think that's I have two parts of my brain that work against each other. I just wish I could figure it out. Know what to think all the time. Know when to stop. Mind reading would be a horrible gift to have. I'm glad no one can read minds. However, sometimes, I think people can. I get really paranoid about it. Someone will react a certain way after I think something, and I'll think, "What if they're reading my thoughts... I know, I'll think something horrible about them, like they smell like english muffins, and if they look up at me, with a strange look on their face, I'll know, that they can read my mind." Either I'm completely wrong, or those mind readers are really good at keeping control over themselves. I smell like Grill and many many Cigarettes. Man, sleep now. I wish I didn't care about what people thought. That's my last rant. I don't really care, but I'd really like to know. I try to be an honest person, but people really don't like that at all. They could at least appreciate it, don't ya think. Man, why can't we all just be honest. I think I'll get my lip pierced next Thursday. And by the way, it turns out that it's FebRuary, not Febuary. Coulda fooled me. Damn. Let's write something thoughtful to end this with... a resolution. I hate those. To sing at Howard's. That would be very cool. I think........ And I guess that's all that counts.

Passenger

hear I lay
still and breathless
just like always
still I want some more
mirrors sideways
who cares what's behind
just like always
still your passenger
chrome buttons, buckles and leather surfaces
these and other lucky witnesses
now to calm me
this time won't you please
drive faster
roll the windows down
this cool night air is curious
let the whole world look in
who cares who sees anything
I'm your passenger
I'm your passenger
drop these down then
put them on me
nice cool seats
there to cushion your knees
now to calm me
take me around again
don't pull over
this time would you please
drive faster
roll the windows down
this cool night air is curious
let the whole world look in
who cares who sees what tonight
roll these misty windows down
to catch my breath again
and then go and go and go
just drive me home then back again
here I lay just like always
don't let me
go take me to the edge


This is one of my favorite songs. Deftones. And Maynard. I'm in a really weird mood. I think it's time to mix things up a bit. Make some changes. Which reminds me. I keep having this dream where I'm cutting all of my hair off, or shaving my head. It weirds me out. Sometimes, after the sheering, I feel a release, other times I start crying. That's one of the only dreams that has made me ponder whether or not it had meaning. When I was about seven years old, and my family lived on Prospect, I remember standing in the bathroom on a stool, and staring at myself in the mirror for what seemed like hours. All I kept thinking was that I'm a human being, an individual, and how bizarre that feeling was. I still do that. Life is a strange thing. I don't think I'll ever figure it out. Not ever. I can't think right now. Saturn comes back around. To show you everything. Let's you choose what you will or will not see again. Drags you down like a stone or lifts you up again. Spits you out like a child, light and innocent.

All work and no play makes Megan a pissed off lady. But I do need the cash. The kittens need their ovaries removed and their shots injected, my car is about 2500 miles over the suggested oil change schedule limit thing, and someone is going to have to start paying rent in about a week. Oh ya, that's me. Those are about all my "needs" right now. That and the required amount of daily coffee that keeps me stable. Oh stability through drugs. I hate new years resolutions. I think they're pointless. For the majority, they last about a week, a month max. I hate TV sometimes. I wish there were some way to make your TV play only the shows you wanted to watch, all the time. I would program mine to play The Daily Show, The Simpsons, Strangers with Candy, Clarissa Explains it All (Fergface, ha!), Rocko's Modern Life, The Adventures of Pete and Pete, Looney Toons, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, The Brak Show, Space Ghost Coast to Coast/Cartoon Planet, Harvey Birdman... Wow, there are a lot of shows I enjoy, and I'm getting tired of listing them. Maybe TV is more important then I thought... Hm. I think my first child, if it be of the male variety, shall be named Calvin. There aren't hardly enough Calvins. And I always loved Calvin & Hobbes. Oh, that silly boy, who uses words I don't understand sometimes. When will he learn. Or maybe, when will I learn. (sigh) Anyway, yes, I just wrote a paper on some speech of George W.'s, and I'm exhausted. Stupid English muffin boy not closing for me. Whatta punk. I'm getting bored. It's always the same thing. When is life gonna mix it up for me. When I move to Pittsburgh, that's when. I've often thought that if I was friends with Conan O'brian then I wouldn't have a care in the world. Maybe I'll give him a call, and see if he wants to be my friend... I'm thinking about getting my lip pierced. Maybe that'll shake things up. The only problem with that is my friend was thinking about doing the same. The problem lies in the crazy minds of women. If I was to get it pierced, before or after her, she'd say, "Awesome," but mean, "You idea stealing bitch." And the problem there lies in the fact that she would probably be the millionth person to get her lip pierced. Unbeknownst to her... Ugh, stomach making crazy noises. Maybe I just need to watch The Royal Tenenbaums again. I wish summer was here. Now, thank you. Then I'd feel better. I'd feel like a million bucks. Two million. I just need to shed some weight. Like 40lbs. Then I'll be as happy as a clam. Assuming that clams are always happy, even when being eaten. That reminds me, the phrase "out of your cotton-pickin' mind." Where does that derive from. Racial slur? Maybe. I think it all begins with a slave named Jeffery, who decided to escape one night, and told his friend Barnebus, to which Barnebus replied, "Are you out of your cotton-pickin' mind?!?!?!?" That's what I think. Well, bed is calling. I probably had a million other random things to say, but they just aren't coming to the surface at the moment. Why do I even write, though. What am I achieving? The only thing I find in these rants is more crazy in my brain. Well, at least I'm not crazy yet. Maybe that's what it's doing for me. Helping me sort, like a filing cabinet. This way all my thoughts aren't bottled up in my head, so I don't start screaming and yelling and throwing and breaking things, like a crazy would do. I feel like doing that sometimes.

So irritated. Ugh. I hate how fast the world moves. How I have to run all over the place sometimes. And how people aren't courteous. I think maybe they want to be, but they don't want to look stupid. Too self oriented. I hate cars. I hate having to buy gas. I hate having to drive for a half hour to get to class everyday. And then having to look for a parking spot. I just hate all this daily bullshit. I'd like to enjoy myself. And I try to not let all this bother me, but it accumulates and then I just can't takes no more. I wish I was a cat. And just sat around all day. Playing with pieces of string. Eating catnip. That would be the life. Stupid cats, having it made and all. At any rate, it's a very lovely day. The sun is shining, and I'm getting my kerotein. I don't know how to spell that. If I had a dog I would name it "Spunky." I miss Rocko's Modern Life. Oh, and the guy that I work with that smells like English Muffins got fired. No more muffin cravings. And I like crosswords a lot.

I was going to bed, but then I thought, "Hey, I'll catch up on reading people's blogs." And it was disapointing to say the least.

Well. That was dramatic. Sometimes I amaze myself. But anyway, the past is in the past, so let's move on to greater things. Like the solution. Pittsburgh is the solution. I am going to move there. Away from the monotony of this town. Apart from that, I don't know. All I can think about right now is sex. I'm sure everyone has heard the "fact" that every human thinks about sex every 6 seconds. Well, that's probably true. I'd like to assume that no one is going to read this, so I will continue. And in the event that there are in fact people reading this... I'm not going to apologize or anything, because you probably want to hear what I am going to say, not because you think it might be profound or anything, just because I mentioned the word sex. Anyhow, yes, What is it about sex that is so... That's a stupid thought, but I can tell you what sucks about sex, bladder infections. Man oh man. There is nothing in the world that exceeds them in annoyance and agony. They are probably the worst thing that could happen to a girl. They ultimately control you for about 3 days. Relentlessly. And when you think they are gone... BAM! They aren't, and come back in super mega full force. Sometimes I debate whether or not I would pass up sex if I knew it would result in a bladder infection. Oh yeah, and then there's pregnancy. Which is funny, because that's pretty much the idea behind sex, to get pregnant. If you ignore the perks and all. Think about it, that's really all that sex is for: making babies. In a matter of speaking that is of course. Dolphins and humans are the only two animals that have sex for pleasure, or so I've heard. Anyway. I'm tired. So, I'm gonna go to bed. There is something that I probably cherish more then sex however, which is just sleeping next to someone. That's probably my most favorite thing in the world. There's just something about it. I don't know. Bed.

Subject to change and transition. As much as I love these things, to a larger extent they are certainly the most painful aspects of life. I am completely and utterly numb. The only emotion running through my body right now is grief. The only word that runs through my mind is "alone." So this is what I've been yearning for, emptiness. Well, Megan, was it what you had hoped it would be? I really didn't hope for anything except independence. That has been the major theme of my life for the past two years, what I've been constantly striving for. This sense of self. But now I see what I've done, and it doesn't feel productive at all. Did this really just happen, because everything feels like a dream right now. I'm seeing life so differently, as if I'm in a fishbowl, staring out at everyone else. I don't feel like part of the living anymore. I feel dead. I feel empty and alone. I don't want anything. Except peace, which is millions of miles away. I am a ghost. Or at least, that's how I feel. Like nothing at all. Like I have nothing inside me. But here I am, taking breaths, blinking, typing. Is this what I wanted all this time? A feeling of voidedness. It's funny how life plays tricks like this on your emotions. One minute you want out, and when you feel the cold air and become aware of the emptiness and nakedness that you have placed yourself in, you despritely want back inside. Funny. All I can think to do is write at the moment. That's all my mind knows how to do. I just ripped my own heart out. I just killed myself. For what purpose. I don't want anything, except what I had, but I wasn't even happy with that, so what's the point??? These are the moments... I don't even know what's going on right now. Here I am, in this town full of so so many people, and yet I still feel so alone. The world has become something that doesn't interest me anymore. People walk by, I see them, but they aren't really there. Because it doesn't matter anymore. There's no point. I'm all alone. All alone. Even though you tell yourself that you have people, all it really comes down to is you and your brain. Friend or foe? I can't tell. I have never in my life, although short, felt this empty and futile as a human being. Because I don't want anything anymore. Not a damn thing. Except to be happy again, like I used to be. Nothing was too much. It was warm. It was a happy time. And now I can't stop the tears and I think I should go to bed.

I must say, seeing a cat without a collar is refreshing and freeing. Martha has had this stupid flee collar on for months, and I am possitive it doesn't work. So I just took it off. Oh, not to mention, it smells nasty. Like baby powder. I hate that smell. There's this new guy I work with named "Mike," and he smells like English muffins. It drives me nuts because I really like English muffins, but I don't much like him. I get really hungry when I'm standing next to him on pizza line. It's strange. I think Martha is relieved to not be wearing that pointless and unfashionable collar. Maybe she'll be a bit less crazy now. Yeah, so, I was at work the other day, and everyone is sick and coughing, with the exception of this one man named Bradley. B-rad. Yeah, and he says something to the affect (effect?) of, "There's so much coughing in this pizza place, it's like we're working in the mines or something." So I retort, "Yeah, we've all got pizzalung." And I thought it was very clever. But I find that I'm really weird, and people don't do well with weird sometimes. It doesn't compute with them, and makes me want to be normal and pretentious like everyone else or something. But I like saying what I'm thinking. For instance, I told that Mike character that he smells like English muffins. I don't know. Sometimes I just think life would be easier if I never talked at all. Just kept to myself, and didn't say much. Because people just don't get it. I really don't think it's me who's so daft and clueless. But I'm pretty sure that's what everyone thinks. It's a funny thing. I'm really hard on myself because of the way I look, and I think that really takes a toll on the capability of my mind. I think I have a wonderful mind. A creative mind. A wise mind. Sometimes I feel very old. I'm not trying to sound full of myself, I just need to be reminded. And very very few people can do that for me. Remind me of these things. Not many people know how. The majority of the world's occupants are far too focused on themselves. Hm. I had the craziest dream last night. It was distubingly, strangly beautiful. It wasn't as vivid as most. Maybe it had to do with me listening to ambient music on repeat all last night, I don't know. I think that may have had an effect (affect????). Anyhow, I was walking down the street, jaywalking I believe, and if I remember correctly, all these people were running around in a frenzy, and this older policeman grabbed me and threw me onto the ground. He was holding me down and staring into my face, shining this flashlight into my eyes, seeing if I was on Drugs. I freaked and started screaming at him to lay off, and quit treating me like some stoner hippy. Then it became weird and fast. Somehow in that ten second span he found out that I had done drugs because he did a hair test. So I started running and running, away from these officers of the law. Sidenote: I find that I'm either my ideal self or worst self (in terms of my figure) in my dreams, never the way I am. I think that has something to do with my selfconcept. Anyhow, I get to this gas station, and I've got to hurry before they find me. I buy some coffee, a lot of coffee if I recall correctly, and jelly beans, or maybe they were Mike & Ikes. I love those. I'm getting all this stuff because I have to leave, and travel for a really long time to escape these police. And I asked this random man for help in the gas station. He was really tall. And helped me carry the things I had purchased. The next part I don't really remember. Then I'm in these woods, these scary woods, dark and brown. And I find this old woman who's been expecting me. She opens this door, and in front of me appears this white staircase. This place is like a paradise of sorts, and I'll be safe in there. Everything is pure and white and beautiful. I just remember feeling whole. Then I realized that these men where still after me, and they had found this paradise and were coming inside. I think that was the end of the dream. It was just emotionally strange. Everything felt very odd and overwhelming. I enjoy my dreams for the most part. They're very interesting to me, and the majority of my friends. I don't know. I wish I understood them better. And by that I don't mean I wish I could interpret them. Because I really think that the majority of what you dream deals with what you saw during the day, and what was filtered into your subconscious throughout your waking hours. I just don't understand how they take form. How they make stories, still incorperating what you saw or heard, but at the same time maintaining a sense of originality that you yourself didn't come up with. Strange. I can't write anymore tonight. I'm feeling very unnerved. And it's late.

People are funny things. Sometimes I don't feel like a human being. I feel like I'm just watching these ugly looking animals that don't make any sense half the time. Like I'm a housecat. Just watching. Speaking of housecats, mine just fell off the couch. Oh, Martha... Anyway. I find that half the time, all I'm ever doing is watching, observing these creatures scampering, prowling all over the place, doing crazy things, and speaking this language that boggles my mind. For-shizzle???? Wha? I wonder if I'm crazy. Sometimes I feel like I'm a lot different compaired to everyone else. But at the same time, considering the fact that we are all on center stage/in the spotlight of our own lives, I'll bet that I'm just as boring as the next person. I'd like to think otherwise. I'd like to think that I'm interesting, that people think of me as something unique. But in the long run, I suppose it really doesn't matter anyway. Soon enough I'll get cancer, die, and be six feet under, forgotten by all. That's really depressing. Hmmm. Yeah, that's really really depressing. Yet, at the same time, I'm living a life. I'm a part of this big crazy world, and I'm just lumped into this big group of possible consumers. The only people who really care are companies it seems. For instance, the cigarette companies. Will I buy there cigarettes? They sure hope so, make some profit, a "replacement smoker" for my father. I hate this sense of mortality that I get. This sense of gradual death and decay. Like what the fuck does anything matter. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna be forgotten. I'm in this split second of time, which is pretty much ordinary. It makes me not give a fuck about myself. But at the same time, There are people I love, and they are all I have in life, and soon enough they will be part of the soil I stand on. As far as the things I own, I couldn't care less, as far as I go, I don't even know what I think about that. All that really matter are the people I love. It almost makes me wish I didn't care about anyone, not even myself for that matter. Life. Augh. I hate thinking the way I do sometimes. Stupid winter not helping. Sometimes it just seems like nothing will ever help me, and no one will ever get me. I've been practically alone in my own mind my whole life, and I suppose it just might stay that way forever. Wow, I'm being really introspective and depressing. Let's see...kitties are nice, and, yeah, kitties does it for me. If there is anything that keeps me going, it's kittens. They sure are cute.

Oh media...when will you learn. I find that whenever the TV is on, I don't hear what I'm supposed to hear. Sometimes I don't hear anything at all. Not in the sense that I'm zoned out, and everything is slipping into my brain subconsciously, but I see mouths moving, and it's all the same shit. And then there's Dave Chappelle. Oh man, I just watched this sketch about a "racial draft" and it was really funny. He slays me. Especially his white man impersionation. So, I just got a tattoo this Sunday. I like it a lot. People keep asking me what it represents, which is funny, because it was really just a doodle in my notebook that I thought was cool. And they say, "Oh, so it doesn't mean anything important to you?" And I say, "Nope." I think they think that's stupid. But the way I see it, yeah, I could get something emotional or whatever, but I don't really have anything like that. Maybe I could have done some research on Norway, and found some cool image pertaining to my heritage, but what would that really mean? Sidenote, Joan Rivers is frightening. Anyway, yes, so my tattoo is a simple cymetrical design, it has no specific meaning, and I like it a lot. I plan on getting many more all over my back. I just want a beautiful, inticate design. I have ideas, which I'll eventually put on paper. It'll be reminicent of hema. I'm taking my mom to get a tattoo on her 50th birthday this March. She wants something Celtic. I said, "Mom, you aren't Irish or anything." She agreed and told me she didn't care, she just liked the look of Celtic knots and crosses. When my friend Lauren turns 18, I'm taking her to get some of her mom's artwork tattooed on her left breast. Her mom died of breast cancer twelve years ago. I think it's gonna be really cool, and hott. I thought it would be corney at first, but I find that it's really expressive and beautiful. All she has left of her mother, and all she has really ever known of her, is her artwork. So I think it'll be an honerable way to remember her mother. It'll make something beautiful out of a tragic loss. Tattoo's are kind of like sex. You get it once, and you can't wait to get more. Man, you know, I hate when I'm about to say something in a conversation, and I get out a syllable or two, and the person I'm talking with interups me to say whatever the hell is that they wanted to say that's oh so much more important. Or when I tell someone something, and they say, "Well, I wouldn't do it that way, I would do it my way." And I didn't even ask for their fucking opinion in the first place. Wow. Well, I'm going to bed now. Maybe there won't be school again tomorrow.

For the most part, that is, with the acception of a few, music videos primarily suck a lot. People have such an opportunity to make really interesting and beautiful visual references to their songs, but 98% of the time they fail. I absolutely hate hate hate videos where you are simply watching the band or someone singing, who I might add is quite obviously dubbed, which I suppose it somewhat necessary, but with out a doubt obvious. I would much rather see something creative and, maybe subject to interpretation. Right now I'm watching a video where this man is singing into the camera while simultaneously having naked sex with some random chick. Yeah. Not to mention he keeps changing his clothes! Ah! Wonderful, now it's the memorable Justin Timberlake. Look, he wants to be like Michel Jackson. All these fabulously beautiful women hanging on him. Women certainly objectify themselves. Man, nothing is original anymore. Every song I hear on the radio, every "new" band I hear sounds just like the next. When will it kick in for everyone. Oh yeah, never, because that's jst not going to happen. Frusterating.

Man, what to say... School has re-convened. I had my Astronomy class today. My prof is probobaly in his mid-seventies, was wearing a bright yellow cartigan, all buttoned, the hair that he had was properly slicked to his head and parted to the side, he sported a hankerchief, and had a fitting old man hunch. He was really dull, but overwhelmingly amusing. He reminded me of that telastronomer with the crazy hair and the nerdy voice. I appriciate the fact that he is very passionate about his teachings. He laughed a lot, after telling us some random fact. For instance, we were talking about Galileo, and he got really excited about trying to make us guess what Galileo's true, worldly profession was, then enthusiastically stated that Galileo had been the head of the coin minting company in his day, which was a great job, so he didn't want to loose it over showing his support of the heliocentric theory!!! After class I asked him a really silly question, but for some reason I had never thought about it before, so I had to know. My question was relating to the seasons; I asked him if it was summer on the other side of the world right now. I felt really stupid for asking it, but I have never really payed (paid...? I don't....know) much attention to those things, so I was ignorant and curious. He got really excited that I had asked anything at all, and began shaking his head violently and saying "Yes, yes it is!!!" I'm really excited about that class now. It's funny because it deals with geometry and physics a lot, things I have never been too good at, but my mind hasn't worked with those subject matters in quite a while, so it is nice to have those gears turning again. I have a new, fresh handle on them. And I love the stars, so this should be pretty fun. The history part I can deal with just fine. I'm excited to learn about the moon cycles and the zodiac's relationship to astronomy. Zodiac means "little animals" by the way. The more you know...

It's been a little while, but I'm writing again. I've been writing in this handy little notebook that I carry around with me, so I haven't had use for the computer lately. The exception of which being "web-registering" for my classes this semester, which has been painfully difficult. I've been out a lot too. Not doing anything, just out. I haven't really been able to sleep well until last night, where I slept from 12am until 1:30 today, and I certainly would have slept longer if I hadn't been awakened by my friend. She didn't really startle in me into alertness so much as the shirt she was sporting. It had Winnie the Pooh (What the hell is a "pooh"? I don't understand) and Tigger on it, and they were wearing "Santa hats" and the words "Merry Christmas" read below them as they seemed to dance. Weird and ugly. So the first thing I groggily said this morning was, "Where the hell did you get that shirt?" It was the epitome of everything I hate in clothing. Almost everything. I suppose if it were a sweatshirt or velvety material I might have abhorred it more. Anyway, everything is pretty much well with me. I've been really depressed this week. Just lonely and horribly bored with this town. But I'm going out of town tomorrow, and I'm hoping to go to Pittsburg this Monday, so maybe that will be refreshing. Let's hope so.

My final exam starts in about 40 minutes. That means it'll all be ovre soon. And I can sleep like a bear in hybernation. Oh Man, I am tired and hurty. Body is rejecting itself and I feel like shit. Assuming that since shit is generally disgusting, it feels really miserable all the time. 39 minutes. Better go.

But I suppose maturity levels have nothing to do with acting like a child. By acting like a child I mean, playful and happy. There is something depressing about striving to be percieved as older. Maybe people just act that way because they are that way. But pretentious people bother me like nothing else. Where's the fun? I can see it, but it doesn't seem too enticing to me. Where's the laughter? With the exception of that towards others who are less than brilliant. We act so smart. Like we know so much, and we are so interesting and thoughtful, analitical and open-minded. We are adults who know all. Why can't people just let go of all that every once in a while. By that I don't mean any sort of sedative either. Honestly, we all know how to act old, and with that in mind, and the fact that we do act old when we need to, why can't our minds race and our laughter echo. Everyone has to act proper. But I think that it's those people who, although seem to be "getting it right" in their own minds, are the ones who are missing the point entirely. And that point is living. Chosing to fret instead. Chosing to settle. Chosing to waiste a precious life. Growing old and realizing that all that time they spent worrying about doing or saying the right thing, acting the right way, presenting themselves as responsible, mature adults was a horrible waiste of time and effort. Maturity and dignity aren't the issue, having a good time and realizing your age is what should be considered. Where's the humility anymore? No one can admit to their wrongs. No one can take a step back and see where they fell. It's all about fitting in. Ya right.

In a feeble attemt to regain any peace that she once had, she started to type again. Thinking about nothing and everything. Had she really been to work that night, and talked to the strangest people, and come to all those conclusions? I think so. There wasn't much to say anymore. It had all been said, and was about to be revised and listened to, but all was lost, and turned into a box in the corner of the screen. The issues that were touched were that of a man, acting the part of a child, even though, in all reality, he still was one. But we excellerate the maturing process so much these days. Well, not everyone, but those who see it do. A world were the children hate childhood. Striving to something new. Pushing for the possition of the wise, but posessing no wisdom. He was a child. His eyes were those of a child, wandering and hopeful. Or maybe he had managed to hold onto those feelings and dreams, whereas we have all been raped of those. You won't see these eyes sparkle any longer. But what was he doing? Where was he, and how had he managed to get here? And at the same time I saw in the face next to me something grand. I can't think to explain it now. But I've found that there is somthing that people must do to achieve affectionate reconition in my heart. I can't think of what it is. But tonight I realized it in the eyes of a friend. Eyes that poured out a connection that I recieved and sent back with warmth. So now I see it clearly, and the vail has been lifted, and revealed a clear night sky. I'll make sense later. Now's not the time.

Birthday thusfar: I've only been awake about an hour, and have managed to be bombarded with confusion every step I take. My mo came over around 8:45am. She brought me Fruity Pebbles (yEs! family size!) and a gigantic spider... She said, "Megan, I know how much you love spiders, so I got you thing big one." And she purchased a caard for the spider to give me, and it said, "I thought I'd tell you Happy Birthday, Megan... Before I EAT you!" Which made me laugh a lot. Then she gave me 3 other cards. Two sentimental, and one with a cat on it. The cat one was from my kitty Carl, who is presently living with the rents. The weird thing is that it was only from Carl, even though there are five other cats living there. But the card explained what the others cats were doing. Which confused me greatly. Anyhow, I'm gonna go eat my cereal. YeaH! Oh, I'd also like to add that the computer I am on doesn't have spell check for blogger. Which I don't understand, because every other computer I've been on has it... I don't understand. I'd like spell check for my birthday. Maybe in my brain.

So I keep loosing the "spirit" of things. I believe it started with Easter. As a wee child I loved going Easter egg hunting, but after a time it became dull and too easy. I still like Easter, only because Easter means Jelly beans galore, and man do I love jelly beans. So yeah, Easter was the first to go. Then came Thanksgiving I believe. Once I educated myself on what the early "settlers" were really like, and what really happened, and how Thanksgiving is the stupidest made up holiday ever, I lost the feeling of thanks and Americanism. I suppose it is nice to spend time with family, but the norm is that families only gather because of these stupid holidays. I can't determine whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. It could go either way I guess. Then came Christmas. Not only was it important in a Biblical sense to me (all lies) but there was also that warm Christmas spirit in the air come December 25th. Nat King Cole singing traditional Christmas song, the vents blasting warm air, the smell of cinnomin (no idea how to spell that) presents, and the idea of new things, candy, food, everything that is good and warm. I lost that about three years ago, and it makes me sad. I wish I still felt all these warm feelings. But one year I just never got into it. And then it was over, and I didn't really care, either. Now my birthday means nothing. It's a fun idea, but a stupid one. Yeah, one more year, alive and stuff. I don't feel old or anything like that. I just don't care. I think it has something to do with the fact that last year, my dad lost his job two weeks before my 18th birthday. That birthday was a big deal to me for whatever reason. I think everyone can understand the notion that there is just something significant about turning 18. And my family had great plans. We were gonna go to Chicago, and do fun stuff, and such. A fun birthday was at hand. But then daddy lost his job, and we didn't do anything. We couldn't afford to do anything. I think I got some earrings that I didn't like. And that was it, and a ring from my boyfriend. But that was a really excellent gift, so that was cool. The best gift however was from my little brother Mac. He was I think 14 at the time. He is so creative and funny. He Photocopied his face and made himself saying "Happy Birthday Megan," taped that to a lunchbox with the cast from the show "Taxi" on it (weird) and in that box was one of those tin cases for a trial AOL thing, and in THAT was twenty dollars. It was just so silly, and I loved it. I was just really depressed about the whole situation, and he made it so much better. My other brother didn't give me anything, until my mom made him give me ten dollars. I still hold a bit of a grudge about that. I just have this weird thing about getting gifts. It just seems like no one really thinks about gifts anymore. I don't know. People try, but don't put much thought into gift buying. They may think they do, but I don'y think so. I like getting gifts, but I'm used to not getting them. Even though I'm not used to it because it still disapoints me when I don't get them. I don't know if that makes sense. My mom buys really bad gifts. I know she means well, and is very sincere in her purchases, but she can never get it right. I'll bet I'm a bad gift giver too, but I love getting people gifts. I think that some of the things I get people are too weird. Like I gave my dad a Kenyan stone sculpture last year. I thought it was really cool. The design was intersting, but not too bizarre. And we own other things that it would match with. I wonder if he liked it... I dunno. I got my mother some silver earings. But she doen't wear them. I really love getting people gifts. It makes me happy. Man am I rambling. I think I'm gonna go to bed now.