I HIT 7000 WORDS LAST NIGHT.


I don't know why I'm so proud of that, because I should be so much further in my story, but oh the fuck well. Had fun recipedropping my (DELICIOUS) tofu scramble in chapter 5. If there anything I have at least somewhat confidence with in my life, it's cooking the best vegan food you'll taste outside a restaurant. And drawing terrible comics.

Speaking of tofu, eventually I'll put up the 5x9 doodle I drew on the bus yesterday if I can find a damn scanner anywhere (besides at school because that's just silly and awkward for everyone involved -- so I heard you like burlap sacks?).

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Happy NaNoWriMo!

Christ, I'm listening to Metallica. 2012 IS coming. :\

Update? What update? Seven days til school starts back up. Lovely, happy days now that Jewfro Samurai's off the map, right? Right? Riiiight?

Buzzzz. Wrong~

Bah. The summer went by way too fast. And how do I spend the seventh to last day of summer vacation? Curled up in a freezing-cold library with a computer running out of time and a Red Bull. Good for maybe the TWENTY-seventh to last day of break, but definitely not the seventh.

What do I do when I don't have any monies and all (well, most) of my friends are back in school already?

This is what I do:

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Besides hunt for part-time jobs anywhere I possibly can. Hollywood Video doesn't like me, apparently. I assume Bel Air doesn't either. Don't want to work on Rush River anyway, Tori's douchebag ex works the checkout line and that would surely lead to awkward moments and glaring contests -- just like summer school, only swap one Douchebo Baggins for another! Next, Zaryn pulls up with the Bitch Incarnate and buys all the Red Bull! AAAAIIIIEEEEEEE!!!

Well, there's always the local McCrack Shack for jobs, or that new Kentucky Fried Entrails on Florin. But maybe I have enough self-worth to stay away from any job that requires white-hot grease. A job at Baskin-Robbins beckons to my inner child... then again, that same inner child has a bit of an addiction to anything with the word SUGAR in the ingredients list (don't we all). Who knows what boring fast food slave labor I'll end up doing for my afterschool hours, either sweating or freezing over a cash register watching pigs become... piggier.

Fun.

What to do with the little brown box in my closet. It's creepier than my random collection of dolls that just STARE.

And stare.

And stare.

Know what I do at night when I can't stop looking at them?

I shut my fucking closet door.

Problem solved until I need a change of clothes. Maybe I'll just move them all out onto the floor. Then my carpet won't look so dirty and it won't hurt so much when I try to do situps.

What was I gonna say again?

The impurity's gone. No more of that.

Now I can sleep at night... maybe.

Til then I'll slurp my iced coffee and try not to think about my brain collapsing in on itself.

Tune out the white noise and try to get over things I thought I was over.

Why is it that when you think the coast is clear, and you begin to step out of the shadows, some monster's claw/tentacle/hand/noodly appendage has to reach out and drag you back? If I burn all the evidence, will it go away? Tried it once, didn't work, all your left with is ashes and angry neighbors. You can smoke/drink/snort/pop your way to ten minutes of a good thing, but it always comes down to more tears and a headache.

Sometimes all that's left is getting rid of everything. E. Ver. Y. Thing.

And that, dears, is why every Thursday night I have to sit in a circle and listen to people twice my age complain about how they managed not to stick their fingers down their throats today and it's tearing them apart with guilt. Or they ate a lick of an ice cream cone and it's tearing them apart with guilt. Or they ate the whole damn Baskin Robbins and it's tearing them apart with guilt. I guess everybody needs a pity party now and then, but weekly?

Updates? Hmm...

Well, my birthday cake from last month could become F00DP0RN#2, since I took some pretty up-close-and-personal shots of it. You could practically taste the Cool Whip and that hint of laziness the Pillsbury Doughboy adds to anything.

Baked lemon bars today but they were ugly. Once I make PRETTY lemon bars I'll post F00DP0RN#3.

Anything else I can whip up and drown in caramel and powdered sugar I'll be sure to shoot before I feed it to the masses. And by masses I mean my garbage disposal. Or my mom, whoever reaches it first.