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Intellectual Debauchery of a Thought Criminal [entries|friends|calendar]
IB's Resident Cynic

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[09 Nov 2004|06:58pm]


                          I am switching usernames! Comment to be added at </a></strong></a></strong>

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[07 Nov 2004|12:55pm]
[ mood | mellow ]

ODI et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

The play's over! Over is the play! No more must I wear this damn wig or recite my boring lines! Miss Marple is cast off from me and no more shalt I entertain her. The performance's went well, and I'm very proud of everyone who was involved. Kim really pulled it together with her quick memorization skills. But now it's all over and I have my life back. Poor Germans haven't been watered in quite a while, poor babies. Speaking of poor babies, Calen fell violently ill backstange last night. If you see him, wish him a speedy recovery. Poor Calen-baby. All the ladies love him.
Time for a hot shower and cup of ramen. Ahh, freedom.
I really don't know what to do with myself now.

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[02 Nov 2004|10:40pm]
This is the part of the program where Lucy says "fuck this" and gets in bed, still a virgin and still uncaring. Sleep well. Vote early, vote often.
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[30 Oct 2004|10:36am]
[ mood | ditzy ]

Homecoming made me go :-D. It was just that fun. Mad props to Amanda, who can actually dance, Lizzie who saved me a spot in the limo, and Kyle, who protected us from any man-beasts who might have wanted our digits. And Rick, for indulging me in my night of sin.
I have decided I don't like the term "losing one's innocence" in regards to sexuality. Innocence is the absence of guilt, implying that one should feel guilty about becoming sexual. And that's just dumb.
There ya go.
The play's in a week, and I cannot wait until we're done with this shit-hole production. I'm so sick of Mr. D's crazed rantings. We're doing our best, doofus. Remind me of my suffering when the next auditions come around.
Those brown chemical-spots on my hands still aren't gone, so it looks like I haven't bathed in a week. I'm ticked. I'm a clean person, dang it.

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The asprin were poisoned. [22 Oct 2004|10:44pm]
[ mood | discontent ]

Hard Love by Bob Franke
And I recall the gentle courtesy you gave me as I tried
To dissemble in politeness all the love I felt inside
And for every song of laughter was another song that cried
This ain't no easy weekend, this is hard love

It was hard love, every step of the way
Hard to be so close to you, so hard to turn away
And when all the stars and sentimental songs dissolved to day
There was nothing left to sing about but hard love

So I loved you for your courage, and your gentle sense of shame
And I loved you for your laughter and your language and your name
And I knew it was impossible, but I loved you just the same
Though' the only love I gave to you was hard love

It was hard love, it was hard on you, I know
When the only love I gave to you was love I couldn't show
You forgave the heart that loved you as your lover turned to go
Leaving nothing but the memory of hard love

So I'm standing in this phone booth with a dollar and a dime
Wondering what to say to you to ease your troubled mind
For the Lord's cross might redeem us, but our own just wastes our time
And to tell the two apart is always hard, love

So I'll tell you that I love you even though I'm far away
And I'll tell you how you change me as I live from day to day
How you help me to accept myself and I won't forget to say
Love is never wasted, even when it's hard love

Yes, it's hard love, but it's love all the same
Not the stuff of fantasy, but more than just a game
And the only kind of miracle that's worthy of the name
For the love that heals our lives is mostly hard love

I skipped the game. How was it? Tomorrow is homecoming and I'm not attending rehearsals. Bad me.
One week until the play and some cast members haven't even read the play yet. I must WTF now. We are so freaking doomed, there are no words to describe it. And also, I can't get my gait perfected. It's hard to walk like an old British woman. How do they do it?
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[21 Oct 2004|06:21pm]
I think my dad would have a hissy fit if I joined the Gay-Straight Alliance next year. So maybe I will. Also, check this. OMG Almond Joy cookies. This will give me a reason to live again.
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Stream of consciousness. [16 Oct 2004|10:52pm]
[ mood | drained ]

After awhile she got too tired to stand while waiting for the bus. So she sat on the top of the storm drain, with bag next to her and the streetlight presenting the early-morning moth orgy to her. And it was a little cold, down by the curb, with no sign of the bus and no time to go home. She didn’t have a sweater so she knew that she’d be cold all day. About halfway down the street she’d realized that she’d left her chemistry homework on her desk, but if she went back to get it she’d miss the bus. So she sat in the dark with the moths, thinking about her homework and her sweater, and how she really needs a pair of closed-toed shoes. Then the bus came and she got on the fourth seat on the right and when she got to school she hit her head on Jack’s locker and died. So it didn’t matter that she was cold or forgot her homework. Because we all die and we all die alone and it won’t save you if your shoes match your belt.

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[15 Oct 2004|05:54pm]
[ mood | confused ]

This weather makes me want to go out and make love to someone under an oak tree. Maybe I will. I have nothing better to do. It's Friday, you see, and this has been one of the worst weeks of my life. I have a C in chemistry, a conceivable B in history, an unstable love situation and three big red spots right between my eyebrows. And also, Calen Angert is so fucking adorable.
In case you were wondering.
Super Happy Fun Night is Sunday. I'm only going because it's supposed to be super happy and fun, all at the same time.

Ok, confession. I'm in love with Wes and I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do about it. Although I suppose I should just sleep on it a little more. Perhaps I'll do that now.

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[09 Oct 2004|06:14pm]
[ mood | gloomy ]

 Let's give this another try.

I should be doing my Latin project. I'm not. I am reading Brave New World and appreciating it's message, which is more than my peers are probably doing. I prefer 1984, personally, but that's only because most of the science of the book escapes me. And any moron who thinks that today's society resembles that of Orwell's story obviously hasn't read the book. Illiterate morons.

Christianity is so backwards. Here's a few confessions: I tolerate abortion. I support the rights of gays and lesbians. I will probably have sex before I get married. I believe it is my choice to do so. I trust Darwin and science. I don't believe in Satan. I do believe in God and Jesus. Religion can evolve. To hell with me.

I'm going to write a story about a group of Christians who tie a girl to a cross and burn her alive and the police come and arrest them but a large mob of upstanding citizens come in and kill all the police officers and free the killers and the FBI tries to find them but once they come out and say that it was only to save the girl's soul because she trusted Darwin and had sex when she was in love and tolerated everyone equally everyone sees that this girl was obviously in need of salvation and the group of Christians was justified in killing her.

I'm going to bed. I'm a thought-criminal.

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[09 Oct 2004|09:30am]
[ mood | indifferent ]

Have you ever...?Collapse )

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[03 Oct 2004|09:27pm]
[ mood | discontent ]

Sometimes I don't believe in God.
I have the play to memorize, chem to memorize, English to do and French I didn't know about. Youth was not fun, and has not been all year. I'm starting to doubt whether or not I want to keep going, since I don't have fun, don't take interest in the message and don't have a relationship with most of the people anymore.
I'm so sick of all this shit and soap opera. I'm going to go get in bed and read about someone else's life and pretend I'm in the past.
Ahh, my past. So wonderful and so gone.
I'm rambling now. I'm such a loser. And who was I to think I could make things right again?
You can't. Ever. I'm not even sure I want to try.

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[29 Sep 2004|09:45pm]
[ mood | dorky ]

Tuesday, February 22, 2005 at 7:00 PM
Elaine Gazda, University of Michigan (Norton Lecture)
The Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii: Contexts and Meanings
Where: Bush Auditorium, Rollins College, Winter Park

WHO'S WITH ME, YA SCALLYWAGS?! Seriously, anybody want to go with me?
Funny how I'll sit through a lecture on wall murals in an Italian city, but I can't find the conviction to sit down and learn about Elizabeth I's religious policies. And my life depends on it.
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Well...Ok. [26 Sep 2004|10:43am]
[ mood | chipper ]

Well, this doesn't suck as badly as I thought. We haven't lost power or cable yet. The fence is down, but hey, nothing new. I hope everyone else is faring well. This hurricane has yet to start getting on my nerves. If anyone needs me, give me a ring. I'll be here. Duh.

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Jeanne [25 Sep 2004|08:24pm]
I'm sick of moving my plants every two week for fear of the window cutting them into salad. I'm sick of the stupid furniture being rearranged in the living room. I'm sick of eating out of coolers for days. I'm sick of this whole fucking hurricane and I hate this so damn much. It's not even mildly ironic anymore. It's just a pain in my ass.
I'm going to bed. Hopefully I'll sleep through the initial panic. See you on the other side of the storm. Be safe and drink lots of Fanta.
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Passion of the Christ [22 Sep 2004|10:01pm]
[ mood | discontent ]

"Two Archaeologists Comment on The Passion of the Christ".

These women are correct. A good film, but not brilliant.

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[22 Sep 2004|07:07pm]
[ mood | exhausted ]

I started working out again today, partially because I'm so pissed at the world and partially because I'm fat. So now my abs hurt like hell and my biceps are burning, but I feel better.
Who's going to homecoming? Personally, I would rather kill myself with a pair of rusty garden clippers, but Wes certainly wants me to want to go. Yay. Another weekend down the drain. Laney's lacrosse game, shopping for a dress and volunteering at the church's bluegrass festival Sunday. I need some kind of break. Everyone and their brother thinks I'm depressed because I'm too negative, but I'm not depressed. I'm fucking tired. That's all. I don't need therapy or advice. I need a day alone in bed with no calls or homework. Sadly, I have too much on my plate to obtain that anytime soon. So if I don't seem chipper in the halls, its because I am suffering from lack of sleep. Sheesh. Bug off.

Screw you, Ms. Pearson. I've read the Bible. I'm not doing that tonight.

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Oh my God. [18 Sep 2004|08:57pm]
[ mood | disgusted ]

This makes me sick to my stomach. I did not think that people could be so damn stupid in today's world, but apparently they can. Venture over to the community hail_victory if you're in the mood to be totally sickened. I say flame away, these sick little insects deserve it.
People like this need a good shot of cyanide.

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Don't read this. [18 Sep 2004|03:44pm]
[ mood | dirty ]

These surveys are dumb, but damn I love them.Collapse )

If you read that, you should be doing homework. Just like me.

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Me versus Men. [17 Sep 2004|11:31pm]
[ mood | productive ]

God I love being a woman. Even though my periods leave me supine and unable to form complete sentences, I wouldn't trade my vulva in any day. Mm-hm, that's right. Breasts too, they give me power.
Anyway, the weekend is here, which can only mean that Madre will be whisking me off to learn to actually steer my car soon. I'm going to die. Why couldn't she have done this before the history test of doom? How many people failed that with me?
And now, the greatest woman ever, Dorothy Parker:

From A Letter From Lesbia
... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
Take any lover that you will, or may,
Except a poet. All of them are queer.

It's just the same- a quarrel or a kiss
Is but a tune to play upon his pipe.
He's always hymning that or wailing this;
Myself, I much prefer the business type.

That thing he wrote, the time the sparrow died-
(Oh, most unpleasant- gloomy, tedious words!)
I called it sweet, and made believe I cried;
The stupid fool! I've always hated birds....

That woman is my hero for all time. Go read her poetry, all of you independent ladies out there. Men, maybe not, as you probably won't understand her. Sigh. Ahh, men. I love them for their honesty and communal nature, and hate them for their lack of understanding. Still, every now and then, you find a good one. A guy with an endless supply of hugs and patience and just the right balance between fun and commitment. And that, my friends, is why I'm not a lesbian yet.

I think that's enough sexual-openness for one night. I'm going to go get in bed and write angry woman poetry. Goody!
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[17 Sep 2004|06:58pm]
[ mood | mellow ]

Hot damn, I love that boy.

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