Everything I've written in the last four days has been overtly personal and incredibly angsty and sappy. I'd put it up, but Papi'd slap his forehead harder than I do and give himself a concussion, and I wouldn't want that.

Lifehouse = Vagina.

True story.



I have a psych exam tomorrow, which I haven't even studied for and I doubt I will. This complete apathy is just a little bit unnerving. WHO is this idontgiveafuckish during EXAM TIME?! No wait, don't answer that. What I meant was, I am not one of those people thankyouverymuch. I like to do well, or atleast reasonably well, on my stupid tests. Even if they're so totally full of shit, and I hate history. I really do. Mostly because our teacher is a stingy bitch when it comes to marks. She totally ruined history for me. Boohuckey.



Anyway, this weekend is beginning to look like it's gonna be fabulous. Fitzgerald came over today and MADE my day, he did. Fuck psych, yay for insane laughing bouts and freaking out innocent kittehs! Teeheehee!
Ooh, and tomorrow, is Dandiya night! WOO! It's just ironic though, I'm gonna be there with four guys and not ONE of them is my date. Bleddy. Such unluckiness in lurve I did not ask for, Jah. Either way, I'm glad they're all coming. It's been a while since I've seen Papi and Willy and Joompa. I miss you all, I dew.



A lot of people are going out of town now. So SAD it eej, I tell youse truly. No Pot, no Fitz, and Papi and Willy have school. These effing Christian schools man, don't know how to be nice to peeps of other religions. Ass'ols. Any, any. I always has Medicine to keep me company. And Joompa, when he's available.



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Meh, Phuket.I had funner and more important things to write in the recent past. 777777777778uuuuuuuuu86666666666666
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Well. Blub says hello, y'all.

I was thinking of writing something soul-baring, with undertones of angst and generally very pulling-at-the-heart-strings-y, but the ten million other bloggers out there beat me to it.

dammit.

Just.

I'm thinkin' my shitty mood is getting worse because I'm listening to Love Story on loop, and not the other way around. 

Sufjan Stevens, now. I already feel better.

Blub is somewhere outside right now. I should probably go find him and bring him back home, but I'm still in my nightie and I'm too lazy to, anyway. I really hope he isn't out killing birds again though, the murderous little feline. The last time he did that, he puked for four days in a row. And there were lots of feathers in his puke. "Ew" doesn't even begin to cover it.