anger management

Which inevitably accompanies alcoholism.

I do truly hate you. You must know that by now.

Ugly casanova.

I miss Ace. Alright. Constant variable. K in equations. I don't wanna be soft serve, but summer is over. Summer bummer. I'm pissed for being bummed.

Some people think they're always right.

One day I'll have the balls for it, and you'll hate me for it.

This used to be a safer place, now I'm just pissed for everything.

"What could I possibly be happy about?"

dumps

"She's like a five-year old."

The passed two days. Goddamn. I hated having to sit still for hours on. I hated how many girls' voice buzzed in my ear even after they've stopped talking. I hated how many times I was told about how much fucking hair I had. I hated how hellish it was to endure. But fuck me for all the things I hate because I woke up this morning and felt sad that it's over. As much as I did cringe, after finishing my walk last night, I felt relieved and entirely grateful that Mikal chose me. I loved watching her do exactly what she loves to do. I loved seeing Tash and Kacie again because unlike all the other people there, they never talked at me to Mak. They literally loved me, whole-heartedly, physically into their arms. Hugs and hand holds. You name it. I haven't been that soft in...shit idk. I loved the feeling of accomplishment of not shitting myself or eating shit on the runway. I loved how concerned Mak was of my well-being the entire time because she knows my nerves can only take so much of people's BS. I'm glad it's over, but I'll miss it. That shit is a fucking high. For once, I understood fame. How fucking strange is that.

These are my feelings.

oeufs au plat avec jambon

"Why can't you want something that makes sense?"

On this forgetfully warm day, I wore a t-shirt, a flannel over, and a thick pair of jeans. My regrets are seeping through, one drop of perspiration at a time. I feel better today. Not like yesterday when all I can think was jumping off the balcony, while biting the filter of my cigarette, shivering and shaking from the unexpectedly cool night and weight of my chest falling down my stomach. It was shit, but I'm glad today is different.

Tomorrow, Mikal will do work on head. Specifically my hair. I am both thrilled and anxious because I have had this hair growing for so long that I don't know if I know anything else. But I do know that I want this. I also know not to expect a miraculous shift from it. Maybe it'll be cathartic. Maybe I'll feel alright for the next few days.

But now my stomach is boiling. Must be something I ate. Three bowls of that something I ate.

I once convinced myself that I made up the word 'troubadour.' I don't know how I convinced myself that, but I repeated it to myself for periods of time as my way of ownership. Stupid.

I'm still awfully wasteful with money. And still too lazy to save everything I earn. Lush girl.

horripilation

Wasteful

Hateful

Awful

Mournful

Hurtful

Falafel

12:26am

At this hour, Ace would be buying me Tacobell/Jackinthebox rn. She is the perfect wingman.

~I fell asleep on the couch. It is now 513am, and I'm hanging with the Roses~

It's not worth it. If I hesitate, it's not worth it. If it's for other people, it's not worth it. If it isn't for me, it's not worth it. I don't know how many times I have to get shafted/feel fucking shitty before I finally grasp the idea that it's not fucking worth it. Ever.

Kind of wishing I was in the Black Swan rn. There's no way I could disappoint in there.

"Do you have any advil? Tylenol? A rifle?" -on headaches.

Salt swell.

Lately, my coping mechanism for when I am home alone scared or am crawling around my house late at night or when I'm just have a scaredy pants moment, I think about how there's no reason to be scared because there's nothing paranormal that could happen to me that a human couldn't do worse. Humans can always do worse. Humans are the worst.

I have a sippy cup.

Finally had Umami. I dripped. Had a swell beer.

Nights are made for the brewing of misanthropy and misogyny. I really believe that. I hate myself and I hate everyone.

One day, maybe one day, I'll give in to being happy again. Like I did once before. That moment that changed me after high school. And I was fucking happy man. But I'm stupid so that only lasted a year and some odd months before I wanted to feel terribly again. I might always want to feel terribly.

My bed has not had bedding for a moment now. I really should do something about that tomorrow. Or now. Or never. Whatever.

Everyone is asking me about you.

I really fancy wearing black, sleepwear-looking clothes out for the night. They're comfy and excellent.

Turning red might be what turns me off from drinking shots (apart from the whole alcoholism bullshit and dying brain cells recklessness). I'm fucking dumb. Seriously, how and why am I still alive.

Everyone still asks me about you.

"I hate being around people who are sadder than me." Perfect.

How did I get those noodles?

I fancy that person. I find myself thinking of that person. But I am absolutely terrified of everything.

Six different ways inside my heart. Ye The Cure is coming out with a new album in 2014.

I hate you today. I hate you three times today. I hate you three times a day. This entry is really personal, isn't it? Unless they all are. I can't tell anymore.

Goddamn, I am always embarrassing.

what do you mean you made me a dashboard confessional mixed tape

The Rules of Attraction, a novel by Bret Easton Ellis (of the same author as American Psycho). Turned to film starring Shannyn Sossamon and that fella from Vampire Diaries and that other fella from Dawson's Creek. You will never actually know anyone, ever. Ever. What does that even mean?

waiting for my hair to dry, while my ipod plays on shuffle, and the song that I lost my virginity to begins to play. It was terrible, if you were curious. It was absolutely terrible and I nearly prayed it would end. Not that it was so bad as it was dull and stupid. Dull and stupid sex.

Long hair. Obnoxious, long hair. I might have developed a neck problem. Next week is Mikal's hair show. And I am terrified as fuck of walking down any runway. But on the bright side, hair begone.

A razor.

I nearly hit up Ace today. God damn.

Ran out of eyeliner.

Ye I'll probably miss my hair.

got the big bottle

I bawled everywhere. Like a sick, ugly cry.

My money went to pizza after being daydrunk. Sausage.

Mikal finished Orange Is the New Black. She did it.

We never got a proper family picture. I just wanted a fucking family picture.

That scarf is mine.

Tomorrow is the twins' birthday. We're celebrating with burgers.

When I saw that video, I got a little sad. Sad sads. Mostly from the shattering of a very wishful thinking. "I'm happy for you baby, but I don't wanna know." I was only smitten.

Don't like using the word 'juxtapose.' But sometimes I have to. Mostly because I can be a pretentious fucking mountain.

I don't love you.

I mean it.

Outdoor living room. We are honeycombs. She is a robot. And those guys are only human. They can fuck themselves.

I once knew a guy my age. We were friends. But now he's forty and creepy and desperate and disappointing.

Gen and I went ham to Doin the Knife Fight AND 505. But she had too much malt liquor.

Tits. Everywhere. I FEEL LIKE THERE ARE TITS EVERYWHERE LATELY. And I KNOW I'm an ass man.

I WANNA RUPTURE
I WANNA RUPTURE
I WANNA RUPTURE YOUR JUGULAR.

Bonani.

David, Catherine, and Marita in the Garden of Eden (and their bugatti and bars and beaches and arranged infidelity).

He named his lizard Wild, and he's her babysitter.

There are so many things we didn't get to do.

Someone break my heart. Seriously. Make me swoon over you and then stomp on my shit mercilessly.

I learned I like being bossed around. I'm a submissive masochist. Push me. Choke me. Fucking hurt me. If you push my button enough, I'll fight back (because I ain't no little bitch).

What if I get fired?

We bought Drodan a tiny tiny tiny bottle of Jameson so he can feel like a giant.

Luke dreamt about brother Jake dying and he help the dude dispose of the body. And he cried.

"She's going to come back," said my mother, as her way of saying man the fuck up.

Sof is tryna wax my vagina. She prolly just tryna see my vagina. But I'm shy and I ain't no vaginal-exposure ho. Damn.

I was pretty pissed about it, but now I'm glad it happened. Otherwise today wouldn't have happened and I would've had to be an adult. We all would've. But I got to be a baby. A huge fucking infant.

i'm dizzy and i don't love you i mean it.

must reevaluate life decisions

I'm tired of shitting.

The entire left side of my body smells like couch-butt and stale smoked weed. The right side smells like my sweet, sweet natural element.

Your loose jokes are inspired by the movie Mr. Mom, therefore your loose sense of humor is obvious and dry.

More than half of all my nights, I have no recollection of the shit I'd done and/or shit that occurred. Maybe that's why I can't write right.

I was informed that I punched a fella in the face the other night. That I wish I can remember.

Waterbeds inside bars make me focus on how much semen/vomit I must be sitting on. It smelled pungently like sugary semen slobber. Everywhere.

I saw a cute girl last night. But I'm a pussy so I'll always only see cute girls and never speak to them.

Must be a devil between us.

Dental dams. What is up with dental dams? Face condom.

"I will suffocate you with my asshole."

I really do love shitting.

head hurt

"Hi did you make it out of that bathroom?"

I didn't shower from hottubbing the night before. Now I'm at work with a very very very v v v minor hangover. I think? I'll get caught napping at work one day and I'll get fired and things will get weird.

Vagger plucked my armpits last night as one of her murky whims.  I could barely put deodorant on this morning. But it's alright because after the torture, I rewarded myself with a cream-filled... ... ...donut. 

I get annoyed of people and shit but I probably annoy myself the most (granted the whole self-loathing bullshit and all). Sometimes I think about shaking myself/slapping myself across the face. But as bad as that gets, Pinoys still trump that level of annoyance. Fucking Pinoys.

Sleep paralysis.

Tired.

I'll make pizza.

3:54am

Happy birthday kern.

The apartments recognize when we're colonizing the hot tubs at that one apartment. I nearly slept in my underwear in which I hottubbed/pissed in. I'm drunk. I have work in two and a half hours. I hate it all.

Luke is one of my most trusted people. I realized.

I have half a 40 left, and I'll take it down so I can sleep.

My buddy and I have a time limit as to when our separation anxieties kick in. My one and only softy.

Don't read this, but seriously, when my bro leaves, I'll be fucking insane and dull again. Over-looking her slander, she would never let me make-out with hurt hoes. I know that much.

It's four in the morning.

I'm feeling filthy as usual.

But happy birthday kern.

burst

Coffee piss.
"Hi, I hope you're alive..." She was always sweet to me.
I've been questioning the structures of simple words lately. Very simple, commonly-used words are starting to become alien to me. Like I'd never seen them before. Like I have the yips. Like choking.
I once made Naj list who she thought were the most attractive people in our first semester nursing class. She used a yellow highlighter, and I think she felt bad about it after. She also used to tease me about my embarrassing crush for some married angel babe with red hair. I'm really just embarrassing. But I really just miss dat dude.
Salt is making me swell up. Salt and beer and being a turd.
Po boy.
My belly is a very large drum. Like I'm critically competitive of my father's large belly. Would I still have friends if I was bulimic?
[insert nervous breakdown]
I thought about that guy I was shoving and shoved me back.
Sometimes things are alright. Very brief, few, and far between.
I know of a man named Mr. Boop, and he said something harmless and alarming to me.
Darlin', your head's not right.

correlate

Don't change that fucking song.

I started to get sad about it. All of it. This fling we're all having with each other.

Death dreams.

Slam piece.

Crazy Eyes.

There's officially no more virgins in the family. We're all a bunch of whores. Whores in America. Good thing we're not dating inside the family. But then again we're not a pack of Asians.

I get cocky about my friends. And I'm proud that none of us have STD's.

(Keep it in the family).

Purchase an 'I love my boyfriend' shirt to ward off the dykes. A great advice. Except I love the dykes and I hate all my boyfriends. All of them. All hundreds of them.

I'm sorry about your netflix...

Thought about edging and considered giving it a go. But then I thought about how pissed it would make me, so instead I took a piss and stopped myself before the last trickles. Close enough.

Pissing while standing up is very relative to touching myself. And that's really alright.

Just friends.

Rose and Rosie.

Mom and Dad.

Egg rolls and burritos.

Self-induced/self-indulging perversity.

I think I need new glasses.

Bomb ass pussy.

lacerate

I surrender to the shit.
Vagger wants me to eventually get married. She can't get over my past relationship.
I tried to sing like Alex Turner the other day. The mere impersonation made me feel ten times more of an asshole.
Soft serve days only lasts so long until I solidify into shithead again.
Yes, I do want to be heart broken. Ace gets it.
Caffeine. Nicotine. Adderall. Alcohol.
Explosive diarrhea.
I'm aspiring to be a spider's girlfriend.
Das found my ipod. No. Drodan found my ipod. Das hasn't given it back, and it's making me tick.
Why is farting not OK? -"Because it smells."
I was brushing my teeth the other night, and Mikal walked in, sat on the toilet, put on my brother's glasses, then sang to me "Remix to Ignition." Swell as hell.
I'm waiting for cancer. Is that unforgivably terrible?
The twins are homophobes. But if I ever go steady with a girl, I'm sure they'd be real nice.
Ace's slander is still haunting me. I don't ever want to be recorded by sleezebags while making out with girls. But shit, that bitch got me good. Hats off to you, dude.
I might be over DailyGrace. Maybe.
My mother and I have the same taste in socks.
Should I test out the waters of sobriety? I'm afraid I'll be constantly bitter. Na. Not yet.
"What do you want to eat?"
I hope my biological clock won't try and fight me. I'm not tryna push out puppies.
Die alone.
"When you're having a good day, just remember... There's only one to a coffin." -Vagger.

I'm a lush

and my brain cells might be dying with me.

Brain dead. Life dead. Dead. You'd like to be a dead ...what? That's stupid.

My buddy

turns 21 soon
21 soon
21 soon
21
soon.

I am delighted
because I am alcoholic.

pray and swear

For as long as I can remember, Ipods have been passed down to me. Like charity case. The very first time was when Mich let me have her ipod. I didn't understand ipods then. The little shit frustrated me. So I gave it away to Aiz. After that I had a mini series of my past boyfriends giving me their ipods. Dean let me have a hold of two. And Adrian just passed one over my way. After those relationships crashed and burned, I was always left with a petty break-up and a lack of an ipod. That's up until I fused my existence with Mak and she lovingly gave me her ipod because God knows she earned herself a new one that week I'd received it. It took me about four years till I perfected and entirely filled that ipod. YEAH I'M STILL MOURNING. But now that I have stupidly lost that beautiful little shit, I have just been passed another ipod (for temporary purposes). But for the love of God, I will purchase my own ipod in the next few months and pour my blood into it, if it kills me. I'm sure I'll go nuts with 160gb and it'll be more beautiful than ever before.... ......... ... .. .. . .. . . . . .. . . .....maybe....

(These passed entries [along with my period of mourning] opened my eyes to the mere fact that I am a little bit obsessive about certain things). 

I'm watching Scrubs till my eyes bleed, recalling all my major moment of failures in life.

Sorry baby

You just stir up my wild mood swings.

That's all.

These bitches,

I realize (not that I've never realized), are the root of my misogynistic inclination. I could rip my own ears off. Or punish my eyeballs with a freshly lit cigarette. Or simply, pull my fucking hair right off my fucking scalp. I better quit before my back snaps in two, bending for these bitches.

This is stranger than I thought.