"oy yag dam"

dear hall of flame diary,

i had this huge essay written and it turned out pretty good. i was happy with it. i spell checked it and then got it all ready to publish and i read, "dear hall of flame diary," and i realized, nothing but a picture and an explanation of why i deleted all of my words and replaced them with these goes here. but i have no explanation, but here is the perfect picture.

limbo

dear tree house diary,

being the independent child, i always knew it was possible to live in a tree. i thought building a small but sturdy platform was a good idea and something i should look into as an adult. i never have yet, but there is still time. trees are so beautiful. even a dead tree fits in about a third of the year. if ida been born a tree of some kind, i betcha ida been a bush tree, i just have that feeling. i'd really like to someday see the biggest trees in the united states in washington state and oregon. i've never spent any time in the northwest corner. maybe as an adult, it would be a good time to build that sturdy platform and sink my teeth into a big healthy limb somewhere in the northern territory.

inside a baby

dear baby diary,

call me 'baby' and i will puke instantly. it nearly causes my insides to turn inside out. if you cant remember my name, well, look in the glove compartment. i keep my insurance shit in there and my name is on that. or better yet, ask one of my kids, they'll be happy to tell you, but they're gonna tell me later- there's a price you pay for everything. i really don't even like my name, so iffin you want to rename me, feel free to pick any fucking name you'd like and call me that name, i don't really care what you call me, just make damn sure it ain't your wife's name, be consistent with it and make sure it ain't, 'baby.' i know why the last one called me 'baby' and at the time i thought it was just the cutest little damn thing ever in the world. he was fucking so many bitches and he called us all 'baby' so he didn't screw up names. i hope every woman who hears him say 'baby' now knows how special they are.

seven wrongs and one wife

dear wrong diary,

i was going to get up. wrong. i was going to put on clean pajamas after a shower. wrong and wrong again. i was going to brush my teeth because i didn't get around to it last night again before i went to bed. wrong. i was going to run by dads and get the sack of tiny potatoes i forgot and maybe cook them up this evening with the pork tenderloins i'd thawed to make for dinner. wrong. i even thought about participating in life today, even briefly, if possible. wrong. i'm not going to leave forty one posts on the menu for this week either because that would be absolutely wrong. this is the one thing i shall do right.

time swerved

dear emotional issues diary,

i think i would make a good prisoner in solitary confinement because i sleep so much and stay in one area all day. i don't mind being in a small dark room for long periods of time either, as long as the lights are off. the last time i was in the county lock-up, they didn't shut the lights all the way off and i had to cover up my eyes with a washrag that kinda smelled like dirty feet. i would think in solitary, the lights would be dimmer. i think i could prolly do about four years before it would really start to bother me. if i had a computer or pencil and paper, you could easily double that time. if i had to be locked up with others though and have daily interactions, i'd break down after about a week. i just cant be every one's friend. i'd rather have no friends at all. i cant trust anyone in jail.

during that time

dear romeo wants to meet diary,

i read something once that should have warned me, but like usual, i looked the other way. turns out that looking the other way is one of my greatest attributes. i wish crossing my legs would have been, but it is now and that's all that matters. i took a vote after i listened to the facts and i came up with the story i believe today. it all comes down to the oxygen levels in the air and the alcohol levels in the blood of the body. in my case the absence of the poison in my body leads me to believe i was prolly suffocated.

the payment plan

dear sitting up again diary,

going out to get the mail is always fun when there is none. i would much rather retrieve a box full of nothing than a box full of bills. even one bill can be overwhelming, depending on which bill it is. me, i hate all bills. i pay mine to keep my head above water, not to get my head wet like some. others have their own reasons for paying bills. some people may gain entertainment from paying their bill, but i don't. i wish i never had any bills at all, but i'm pretty happy with the ones i have left now. i got rid of the one that almost broke me and i'm hoping cuntface isn't having too many problems making the minimum payment, but i know she has help in the surrounding communities.

help is available

it ain't hurtin yet

dear punch my arm again diary,

the unibomber just woke up and punched me in my left arm and if it ends up leaving a bruise ima prolly call the police and have him thrown in the slammer for abuse of a whore. he got mad because here it is after noon already and i said "hi" to becky and woke him up. well becky was standing in the hallway outside the bedroom staring at me, just standing there FOR NO REASON, and i had to acknowledge her and it was NOON already, so WTF. becky is a sensitive creature and she craves attention and i had to speak to her- it would have hurt her feelings if i wouldn't have. i'm certainly not going to just let her stand there and wonder if i see her or not- when i know she knows i can. the grump was outside taking a shit or he would have bit the unibomber for punching me. it's bullshit he pulls the crap when the grump is off taking care of his own needs, because he wouldn't pull that crap in front of him. but i can still call the law anytime as long as the bruise pops up. you cant punch a whore and get away with it, even if you are the unibomber.

the rotten clam

dear i left diary,

my biggest mistake six years ago today was going back. you see, i had enough sense to leave once before any lines ever got crossed, but i returned. i often ask myself why i did that when i knew and clearly had the intelligence to leave, what made me do it? then, the ride home after it was done, boy, did i feel stupid. i felt worthless. i felt used. i felt dirty. i felt cheap. i felt like a whore for the first time in my life and i could NOT wait to get into the shower and wash my pussy out. but even that didn't help. it was after that one single first encounter that my sweet pussy began to smell awful, so bad in fact, that i could smell my own snatch while walking through the isles at target. i thought this was a sign from God and i know now that it was. i've not had any sexual encounters with that man who made my pussy smell in many years, and i would never expose my beautiful vagina to anything like that again, but it really is something even the most retarded whore can not forget, at least i never will.

cocktober's MENU

oh dear the cocktober diary,

about face, i'd rather do cock again- but if you must just hurry up or whatever. i love ending september with a big dick in my mouth. i better go outside and get to soliciting iffin ima meet my quota this year, the fatlegs seem to be in short supply. i have big hairy plans for tomorrow and beef and broccoli ain't part of them. i thought about some noodles but changed my mind and got pork tenderloins out. on a saturday too, october the first, just like it was and just like it will be again someday. three hundred and sixty five days from tomorrow, ima prolly smoke me a big fat huge blunt and suck a big fat huge cock, RIGHT AFTER COURT.

super soaker HE ball bat

dear feel that rush diary,

my dog becky just squirmed her way up on my bed and farted. she has the sweetest little sounding farts and they don't even stink that bad. i think they are so cute. when the grump farts, it will drive you out of the room. i believe his gas passing is calculated. i think the grump is fully aware when he is about ready to let his streams of horror rip because he waits until the best WORST possible time and then he does his shit. then that fucker looks around and makes sure everybody got a giant whiff. then if you don't make a big deal about his effort, that fat bitch will rip another. becky, she doesn't understand. becky doesn't like people who fart, except me, she likes my farts because i hardly ever fart and when i do it is a serious treat for everyone. becky gets worried when i fart because sometimes, especially lately, i shit my pants. the new whirlpool washer has done a fine job removing the shit from my pants. i do not shit my pants when i get scared. i keep a ball bat with me most of the time now.

beautiful view of nothing perfect

dear peeking around the corner diary,

needing new eyeshadow, i am seeing shades i like everywhere. unraveling the mystery of where to find some of that beautiful shit to smear over my top lashes is about ready to drive me insane. my teeth still ache sometimes, but my snot finally cleared up. i think the infection in my face has moved on and my chest is thinning out so hopefully by the middle of next week i should be all dried up. two weeks is a long time to wait to walk away from this shit, but it looks like it just might happen. nobody expects to spend this long hacking and sneezing their ass off while just trying to live, but it happens. i really should have packed up and went to disneyworld, like i did last time i was this sick, because i think that's what you're supposed to do when you're that sick. or no wait, you go to MEXICO when they announce that is where the SWINE FLU breakout started. dontcha CUNTFACE?

it's raining beanbags

dear pussy control diary,

gaining control over my pussy didn't take very long because i knew how to overtake it from the very beginning. it is all about the mind control and what you let inside of it. i've found that in my case, it's the smallest of things that give me the most trouble and i am speaking quite figuratively. quite relevant to the word 'little,' one would assume much couldn't happen from such a delicate word, but not so. this word and things related, can do 'tall' damage.

minute rice

dear minutes diary,

if five minutes in real time equals an hour in a dream, then i've spent a lifetime searching for you. never recreate places from your memory. always imagine new places because building a dream from your memory is a mistake. it is the easiest way for your subconscious to become confused and lose grasp on what is real and what is not real. that is what happened to me. now i run from you. while the minutes tick into years and my feet do as they are told, i find myself once again ready for a nap as i find myself tired and old. throwing garbage from the back of a truck is stupid. i have yet to dream about that.

twice he's fucked up

dear in my spot diary,

yeah. you're in my spot. but i have another one i can go to. have you had enough already? it seems like you might have. but i have not. i can continue this indefinitely. desire plays a large part in how we act. i have more desire in my life now than i've had for many years and that controls my every waking moment. the problem is here, desires can change within a lifetime. this is where my life may in fact take a drastic turn from the majority of many others. now- move along.

face down lay

dear hang diary,

i wanted to fuck every employee here. did you hear me? years ago, i wanted to fuck them. then i wanted detailed statements on how they feel afterwards. ida just cleared the work area and got the party started. does this look familiar to you? i got my head ripped off once and it never occurred to me, it's bad luck to throw a half burnt joint on the floor and now a days these kids leave bong hits just sittin. it's stupid. that's stupid. i've invested so much in this, i have to make sure nothing goes to waste. face up is good luck- always remember that, even when every penny counts- leave face down lay or give it away.

the lays go by

dear last day diary,

here we are again and i sit absolutely shocked at the calendar, but more so this year than other years at this same time. the air tastes funny in my throat as all the memories race to flood my mind and each one fights for the right to live again if only for a second. i ignore over half of the memories that surface because i have to, the pain is still so real. i've never known anyone who could have it both ways and the price you must pay would surly be high, but that's not for me to decide. but it seems like there would be severe and almighty consequences when- those two worlds collide. when the curtain falls and the villain goes off to jail and the farmer gets to keep his finest sheep, even the hungry fox sleeping in the woods knows he better find him a lost chicken for dinner.

my gift to you

dear like i cant see diary,

when people stare at me, i don't like that much. i want to stick my finger all the way up inside of my nose and start twisting it in the most absurd manner while staring at them. i have a really hard time being very quiet and still too, like in a library or courtroom or church. i find myself fidgety and restless and i often burp and become agitated. i do not notice these strange behaviors either, they just suddenly appear from nowhere. i feel normal- for the most part- most of the time- i mean- everybody has their moments, don't they? sure, every so often the carousel will come around a little faster than it did the time before, but it all evens out in the end usually. i never could understand why it is people want to hold me to a higher standard than other whores. what is so damn special about me? you want to judge me? you want to stare at me? you want to drive by my house? well..... here is my blog. hope that's enough for you.

handle to hand

dear choking the chain diary,

all i know is... i don't know. i have no idea and don't care in the least bit. i believe that so much time has been wasted already on the matter that nobody will even notice when even more time is given to it and we all might as well pack our lunches folks because we are in for a long haul. i don't eat a big lunch. i will if it looks good, but usually what i like is breakfast. anything with gravy will make my mouth water up and get all frothy. seriously, i could eat gravy on just about anything you could think of. when it comes time to acknowledge those issues that seem to define ourselves on an individual basis, that is the time to start caring. personally, it is hard for me to give a shit anymore, but that is just me and it doesn't have to be that way for you AND i hope it is not. this compilation of my thoughts may or may not give a better understanding on how i feel about the current situation that you know nothing about, but rejoice then because you know as much as i do and prolly care twice as much now.

strike anywhere

dear it could be a match diary,

the subject really never changes, but who is writing this shit? i'll claim it, but are they really MY original thoughts? i could just be reissuing yet another gargled version of what i've already heard. that would almost be a more acceptable feature to this monstrosity, as i prolly couldn't come up with a third of what i've written here on my own, not being as retarded as i am and all, but somehow i do, and i do... and i keep doing it- nonstop. i like doing it and i must, or i wouldn't keep doing it. clearly something is driving me. but what is it? donut expect an answer. you're not going to get one because i don't have one. for inside my mind there is nothing. there is nothing for rent and nothing for sale and nothing to light a match to.

do it (before it gets done to you)

dear rejection for a lesson diary,

learning. it hurts sometimes. but learning is an essential part to the core of our lives. we all must learn. even the dumbest of people learn. true enough, this process may prove to be more stringent for some than others, but it can be done. many times extra ordinary efforts may be necessary to compliment the lesson to make sure learning has truly occurred. it also helps to use the new information right away to better retain the knowledge so it can be recalled later. there is a common and often overlooked form of learning some people don't like to use and i would like to see this practice incorporated back into mainstream society. it is a very simple plan and relatively easy to use and it really works in the most fundamental ways. it is called rejection. it feels damn good to reject.

crows defeat

dear defacing forward diary,

the early onset of facial depression begins at an age which may seem unreasonable to some and quite clear to others. in my research and studies, i have found that facial depression starts moments after birth. in fact, all mother's i have identified in my study, including myself, saw identifying markers indicating facial depressive features consistent in newborns and children, as well as adults and geriatric individuals. some of these indicators are, but are not limited to; snarls, sneers, glares, dirty looks, mad doggin', and those evil eyes. but with just forty four muscles stretched across our bony skulls, it's not hard to imagine someone up in the group of forty four being depressed because she ain't getting as much use as muscle number forty one. but you'd think she'd be used to it by now. because again, i have found that facial depression starts moments after birth. i hate to be ever so blunt about this, but, SHOUT OUT CUNTFACE! your face is tighter than EVER!

worm traps (for the bed)

dear up close diary,

not knowing exactly what it is supposed to look like close up, i wasn't sure what i would see when i stuck my head in there. i'm not ready to say i was comfortable with what i saw, but i lived on. i slept pretty good during my second nap, much better than i did at my first nap and i am still not sure why. the mud level was extremely high in my bed throughout my second nap and i think i even felt a worm crawling under the feather blanket. ima hafto change the sheets and shake things out before bedtime. the grump had prolly buried his red kong again in the back yard, bringing a mud clod under each claw. he favors the red one because it 's so different than all his 38 other black ones. but seriously, if i were to ever stick my head under the kitchen sink again and see a mouse with a broken neck, i don't know what further effect that will have on me. it might give me certain other ideas.

grind me to a fault

dear fun for some diary,

warm jelly on the boob makes for a very exciting feeling as the technician searched for the sex of the unborn growing inside my left bosom. she said we would both become very rich if she found one in there and as far as i know- she never did. i thanked my lucky stars as i left the building and figured i'd achieve great wealth in life elsewhere and then i made my way to the mexican food place where i always go to celebrate or mourn- whichever i need at the time. today i did neither. i just ate. i sat across from the unibomber and ate my food and then he paid and we left. here is the part where it all could have gone so differently. i wanted to pay the water bill, so i did, i got that out of the way and i made the house payment yesterday. this week has been a busy one and i am ready to slow the fuck down. nap time one again.

the GREAT WHITE HOOTER HUNTER

dear today diary,

as unsure as i am sure, today is my biological father's birthday. SHOUT OUT MR. LEAKE! isn't that the cutest name ever in the world? my other donor could have been MR. PLUMBER! but he is a handsome black man, i am told, and thus rules this man out as a possible candidate. anyway, it was apparently a 'major' toss-up between the plumber and the leake and the leake got it done. i look just like my biological father, except i prolly have shorter hair as of last friday. when we met my hair was only a little longer than his and it got stuck every day in the bolts of my chair in college. i hate short hair but i am unwilling to sacrifice health for length. if it is fried and dead and split the fuck up- cut it off and DETACH from it. fuck i don't even look at my hair anymore, so it will just grow right on back in soft and healthy. that way, next time i see MR. LEAKE- i'll have some PRETTIER ASS HAIR THAN HIS- that mother fucker. wait. he did fuck my mother. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUH-DUH-DAD.

*special note.. as far as i know the 'great white hooter hunter' has never been here to this website. if anyone were to ever catch a fleeting glimpse of the 'great white hooter hunter' please let me know so that i can quickly change the names of all posts related to him.

what am i about to do? (let me know)

dear piss pour diary,

that lemonade tasted terrible coming out of the fountain and i wouldn't drink anymore after i took one taste of it. how curious i am of all agendas now. i catch on rather quickly and i have to. it's a new beginning for me, this life of secret paranoia. i am learning. what i have is not a standard case of the paranoia's though, i have secret people who watch me- which is so retarded because i already know about them. i'm not worried about these secret people watching me, but it does seem to classify as a paranoia because i know they are watching, so we'll leave it at that. just like i wasn't accusing anyone of pissing in the tubing or anything behind the scenes at the gas station where i got the lemonade from the fountain. i simply told the bitch several times it tasted like piss and it happened to be yellow. my bad. but i betcha the secret people woulda threw it at the bitch too.

pre-soaking a warm oven

dear dangerous criminal connections diary,

i would have eaten a banana split tonight, with a heaping mound of whipped cream and fudge spun up next to pineapple and strawberries and yummy vanilla ice cream. yummy. it hit me, i knew someone who would get that for me, but i don't need it. so fuck it. ida sure ate that bitch though. molasses cookies are what i really want, but i called my dad and he has gone and lost my mom's fucking cookbook. again. he can keep his great grandpa's original birth certificate from 1836, but not a cookbook from the 1970's. i need to clean my oven. cookies always taste better when baked in a fresh clean oven. i love to take pictures of my cookies during the different stages of their baking process. it is much more mesmerizing to me to view a picture of a cooking cookie than a syrupy sundae. it is true then, if bananas ruled the earth, then fudge (of all kinds) would most certainly be in short supply.

cukoo for cocoa treeS

dear stuck lid diary,

trees seem to grow straight up because the sun is way up high in the sky and that's where the trees are trying to get to.... the sun. i am blowing you guys away now with my levels of intelligence ain't i? oh fuck yeah.. i can tail. citizens of whatever country you are from right now, it doesn't matter, we are trees here and none of us are done growing and we cant blow this. every tree has a purpose. granted, some trees are better than others, more desirable than another, but every tree is important. the all important question, where did the sun go? all i see is stars.

before you come at me

dear looking behind me diary,

i've seen myself lately in a place i never expected. i'm not going to tell you where, but if you know me personally it wont be hard to figure out. so, believe it or not, when i was young i told these grandiose stories and some were true and some weren't, but they were all told with the same amount of passion and they were all pretty much just as stupid as the other- even the ones that were true. well, my mouth got me into a ton of trouble, at times, but it got me out of a lot of trouble too, some of my stories, i thought, were that convincing. i got out of a shit load of traffic tickets in my day, i really did, so all of my traffic stories are on the one hundred. i've told a story or two in my day that wasn't mine, but the trick is to always try and retell that story where you didn't steal it from. so hearing one of my 'all time greatest' stories told back to me was pretty flattering and it kinda made me wonder how many times (at that age) i got busted doin the same fuckin thing.

pearl necklaces from your dick hole

dear stuff this diary,

expressing feelings can be difficult if you don't have any. someone has got to be a pretty cold and heartless person to pluck out everything up for grabs in another person's life and run away like a fuck. kaboom city. and i ain't talking about shoes and towels baby. i am talking about love. uncomfortable yet? i don't give two fucks what you are. i hate love and anyone who thinks they can pull that greasy shit on me. your dick hole was not symmetrical and therefore inhabited at some point by demons and disease. i've been to the camel back mountain by sky harbor airport in phoenix, arizona and something about the north side of that hill reminds me of your penis. it is bumpy and raw and small in the dirt and i hated it.

making janice happy

dear clues that become you diary,

when the phone rang today, i already knew who it was. true, caller ID helps out, but i knew beyond that even. i could have just let her go to voice mail, to my mexican greeting that throws even the best of callers completely haywire when they get it, but i got brave all of a sudden and pressed the little green talk button. janice didn't recognize my voice, but i sure did recognize hers. i've told you all a hundred and forty times about my facial recognition disorder and even if i'd had lunch with janice and she came to my door, i prolly wouldn't know who she was, but on the phone i knew exactly who she was the very instant she asked for me. isn't that strange? odd, that i have such a keen sense, even after two years of NOT hearing her voice? prolly not. i had clues and clues are important. let's talk about what a clue is and is not. a clue is knowing to seek janice out. a clue is to know janice would prolly call. a clue is seeing the number on the caller ID. a clue would be to answer the door when janice knocks.

cuff links are stupid (poppin' that collar)

dear the egg wont hatch diary,

sitting on an idea wont make the idea better and can sometimes make it worse. in fact, the more you think about something, the more you can talk yourself into something that may or may not make any better sense later. rolling something quickly off the cuff is what often works best for me, but this approach is not shared by everybody. some like to pick and craft at what they do until their project looks or sounds completely different from when they first started it. i don't like to rearrange things. i like to pull furniture, for instance, out and vacuum under it and put it back. change for me is difficult. i've often found that when i have the opportunity to have two of one item, it is much easier to change one if i can leave the other one the same.

the 50 yard dash

dear previous arrest diary,

today was an exciting day, to say the least. i getta have this day twice a year, free and clear, and there ain't nothing anyone can do and i love it. the world is just filled with hate and i am here to make sure it doesn't spill down the sides. my toothbrush started blinking today, but it didn't run out of juice. that's what i like most about my new toothbrush i think, it warns you before it dies. my old one just fucking quit. see, i look for those warning signs- little lights that flash that say, "bitch ima bout to blow up!" or "bitch, ima bout to die!" and when i see those, i will generally act appropriately. i'm not one to ignore the signals- even though i could have brushed my teeth a couple of more times prolly, i am charging my toothbrush now. i know it was the right thing to do. i am pretty satisfied with the choices i've made today and yesterday. i relish in the acts i've completed over my life and smile at the shadows in the lane behind me.

another quiet moment

dear better yield diary,

it's a better approach to stopping sometimes, but it is not a choice to yield. things often can obstruct other things that can hinder and that is where i come in. i often interpret things in a different way than others. blue isn't always blue and yellow isn't always yellow- under the right light. i don't use a night light anymore, but sure could eat a piece of cake. a warm german chocolate cake would be so good with fresh toasted coconut on the icing, like my grandma used to make all those years ago. i'd turn my nose up to it, taking a quick yield back then, but i sure wouldn't now. i might have to violate my restraining order tomorrow and i'm thinking that would be fun. i haven't really decided yet if ima muster up the balls to actually go through with it or not, but chances are i will. it's that time of the year again.

dehydrated raisins and elbow macaroni

dear not going to lie about it today diary,

the boob smashing appointment today went without incident, but i ain't gonna lie to anyone, it was a bit more uncomfortable than the last seven, or so, that i've had. i know i've had at least six of them, and i always brag about how they don't hurt at all and this one kind of did. now part of that could be my fault because i told the lady to go flatter and flatter and flatter and she did until i grit my teeth. now a good news letter will come in the mail or a bad news phone call will come tomorrow. mammograms on testicles sounds like a better idea everyday. it really does.

taking a liking to me (he did)

dear shit wads diary,

today was weird because i know things i shouldn't and it is sometimes hard to compartmentalize my feelings about knowing these things and not let them creep in and somehow influence or interfere in my everyday life setting. i don't know what i am talking about right now actually, because truthfully the things that i already know don't effect my life one way or the other, but they sure kind of make the quality better, at times, more interesting. so the two words 'influence' or 'interfere' prolly wouldn't be the best two words to describe what knowing what i know does. but rather than go back and change it, i could accept that it could 'influence' me- in some way and 'interfere' in others. i'm writing some left handed shit now. did you know that left handed people live shorter lives? they have much shorter cock sizes too.

he avoids eye contacts (while wearing glasses)

dear go find one diary,

he acts like he cant see. he stares at the ceiling like there is something floating up there at times. maybe there is and i just cant see it. i already know of the apparition that hangs at the refrigerator, but are they other places within my house too? well, i hope so. people who have passed on to the next realm have rights, just like we the living do. but when those rights are infringed upon, well, that's when things get dealt with in a different manner. i am always a friendly medium to those who've passed on. in fact, i am open at all times to any communication i can give or receive on that spiritual level. i spend many hours in the cemeteries where i have family, and even in some where i don't. i find a strange comfort there. i think the grump can see the spirits of the animals who were and are so very loved by their masters, yet he wont even notice another living animal as he and i walk down the street together.

the bomb shelter

dear closed but open diary,

so nobody got any ideas hearing the wandering cats fuck between the houses last night at 3AM and somebody was getting their pussy tore up. frankly, i didn't think it sounded like a bad idea, but it didn't happen and i didn't dream about it either and this morning i woke up grateful about that. becky clung to me like we slept in a bomb shelter last night. i think she was cold though. she had her neck around mine and arms around me and everything else. she slept hard and solid and never hardly moved once. the grump, he slept down my side with his face at my feet and snored all night under the covers. it was difficult getting up the single time i did, but easy getting back where i'd been- i slipped right back in. i haven't given much thought about the rest of the day, but i prolly will when i get around to that later.

always thinking for my head

dear day of the smashing diary,

the day has finally come. my boobs have been really driving me crazy lately. i try to cut them some slack because they both have been under quite a bit of stress lately with my first grand pregnancy, but being this young i already know people will assume that baby will be mine, i mean HOW COULD THEY NOT? I STILL GET CARDED FOR CIGARETTES! maybe if she looks like me enough, i can just keep her. i'll have to think about that later because i gotta get my boobs worked on today. boobs sure are a pain in the ass. you know, i never gave much thought about my boobs. they've just always been hanging around. with october being breast cancer awareness month and with my boobs feeling like hot rods going through them at times, i figured i would beat the rush and get in there before they get busy.

cramping on vacation

dear buying from canada diary,

you never know what can happen on a lake. you spend two grand for a weekend on the shore, you don't expect to argue over a phone bill. leaving a day early wasn't in the plans and the idea here was to have a good time, not make plans to make more bad times. it just so happens i have a very close friend in the construction business, so we are off to a fine start. someone will need a new driveway with your face underneath it. i'll call the gravel company tomorrow. i don't like to go camping, but i like the material tents are made of. baby incubators may save lives, but do you know that simply paying attention can have the same effect on adults. you do understand your people have alot more to lose than i do.

dairy farming

dear little werd games we drew diary,

farming in all sense of the word, is an art of the absolute. it doesn't matter if a person farms animals or corn or crafts or Christmas ornaments, words or even thoughts, if you tend to something with any amount of passion at all, you're a farmer. while farming in my small and breezy world the other day, i tripped on the letter 'W.' that letter starts one of my favorite words, 'whore,' of course, and then that got me to fucking realize, from swinging and swapping (for lack of better farming skills) i could then spell the word, 'hero,' with the remaining letters of, 'whore,' with that funky little, 'W,' left off. that made me wonder why the word 'hero' wasn't spelled 'whero' and that made me laugh out loud because i don't giggle.

all hands on deck

dear main things about a diary,

putting myself inside an item i cant seem to find never helps me find that item, but it helps me deal with the loss of whatever it is i don't have anymore. i just think about myself being whatever it is i cant find and imagine myself living it's new life and it fills that empty place where whatever it was left. i wonder what it's doing now and who it could be with and if someone is taking better care of it than i did because obviously i didn't deserve to have whatever it was if i couldn't even keep it. oh i lose shit all the time. i'm pretty much used to it now. i've lost a bunch of shit this month. i lost a skillet. so lately i've been thinking about whoever is cooking with my new analon skillet and i wonder what they cook that i never did and i wonder if my skillet likes it better where it is now or wishes it was back home with the matching set. who can lose a skillet? i dunno, but i lost a bottle of windex too. it sounds awful fishy to me. it'd be hard to imagine myself as a plastic bottle of windex and having the ability of uniformly spitting a blue liquid onto windows to polish them, but if i sit here long enough i know i can do it. and i just did, but it wasn't something i'd want to do again- so i'll prolly just buy another bottle and forget about the one i cant find. the unibomber already replaced the missing skillet as an ass kissing effort for something else i've already forgotten about as well. if this doesn't make sense, ima have to fix it later cuz my shit is burning in the oven.

going back for one

dear decode a code diary,

ever since i was a little girl i've tried to read bohemian. it's nearly impossible. my dad sat his grandfather's birth certificate down in front of me at lunch today and asked me to translate it for him. my dad has entirely too much faith in my capabilities as his fearless daughter, the one who will tackle almost anything. i could tell it was written on the tenth day of a small month, i would guess april, but i could be wrong. i think in my next life, i'll learn about six different languages and make my next whore parents very proud. so, my aunt had steven on the 29th, david on the 28th, tommy on the 27th and their wedding was on the 26th and sharon on the 25th, but all in different months. i learned all that today. true to fashion, my aunt and uncle are the most organized people i have ever known in my entire life. my dad had all of this shit dug out to send my aunt because she wants it for something. i told dad just wait and i'd take it out there to her, but she wants the shit now i guess. sharon and her new husband are going to czechoslovakia and need some of the information to locate great grandpa's grave site. my family is so cool. i love them. i am lucky.

do as others do unto you

dear listening to the growl diary,

here we go....  the unibomber has just lifted his head and spoken. let us all note the time 8:37AM. he is fussing because i am awake and he has been disturbed at such the early hour. i told him that i intend on watching westerns until around noon or one and if this is a problem, maybe he should get up and watch them with me. so now i am a stupid fucking bitch and things are finally quiet again as i try ever so hard to type softly on this new keyboard he's making me use now- that he complains is loud. i would have never thought to even use a different keyboard in the first place, so when the moment comes and he bitches about the sounds this one makes again, don't think this fucker wont take a premeditated flight across the room and bust that cranky bitch upside his wanna be cowboy ass head. even if he bats it back at me with his guitar, i'll still have the mouse to throw next. 

solid oak grills

dear locked door diary,

what in the fuck do we need doors for anyway? doors seem a bit extreme. i mean big thick planks of solid swinging wood between every room, really? i'm so not that worried about people looking inside my bedroom. the front door to my house is butt ass ugly and i want a new one. but i ain't worried about it that much. it opens and closes, locks and deadbolts, so ima live with it another few years prolly. i'm the one that always wanted to take my doors off the car too, but i never did that. i don't know where i'd hang my foot. someday ima live in a house where i can have one of those half kind of doors. then ima have a horse that sticks his head inside and tells me jokes and wages complaints on a regular basis.