Log in

Screw The Machine!

They monitor your every move.

~ ~ ~

Wait six months for an MIR,
Your husband is dead and your son is high.
Your daughter got fed up and ran away.
You wait for the money from Fed every day.
Your house is taken; you wait on the street.
You can't find a job and have nothing to eat.
Didn't listen in school, you're on full vacation.
Living your life in Abomination.

(Say it slowly)


Because the government never worked.

~ ~ ~

A flailing voice
In a herd of sheeple:
Who can hear you now?
Will they lend their ear?
Do they even hear?
Or is their faith too strong to rend?
A shot,
And our voice is silent.

Something Powerful

Do you ever feel spirits come upon you? Like some otherworldly thing that breaths into?

I just got that, like a Kaiba-fan-girly-feel. Like some apparition is urging me to read reader insert one-shots and hunt down fan service screenshots.


*makes a Crucifix*

. . .

[sleep deprivation is bad, kiddies]



And here you thought I was dead. X]

Since I haven't posted in centuries, here's a few things that have changed or happened:

*I'm writing a diary. (the first one that I've written more than one chapter in)

*Harley Quinn is frickin' rad.

*I'm taking a P.E. camp course over the summer to get my physical education credit, so I'll get my abs back!

*My pug is blind and fat.

*I'm getting a new cell phone, the Samsung Rant in purple! (now I feel like a dork.)

*There are cucumbers in our back yard. (Yes. I do plan on dressing one up like Larry-Boy and enacting my fantasies with it.)

*I updated my fan fiction!!!

*Sailor Venus makes me smile.

*I'm no longer depressed!

*History Channel is addicting.

*I went to see Glenn Beck's Common Sense simulcast. And LOVED IT!~

There. Now that you know what I've been doing with my irrelevant life, tell me how you feel, nonexistent reader. How is your life? How do you feel? Isn't this world a beautiful place!!!??


The Nature Of Insanity

I've always been a little strange. I've known this.

My thoughts as a child were erratic and my logic flawed. Somehow, pants-ing my kindergarden crush, stealing a chocolate bar I didn't want, and running out the back gate when someone left it open to go let my neighbor's dog out to return right back home all seemed like good ideas.

It wasn't as though I didn't think about what I did, I just thought about it differently. Then, when worldly sense returned to me, I wondered what the hell I did.

The same goes for now, though my apparent insanity shows itself in different variations.

For starters, I prefer The O'Reilly Factor to anything MTV has to offer, though that is something I'm not ashamed of in the least. The things that entertain most teens that I know(i. e., texting, reality shows, Forever 21, etc.) I deplore.

Then, of course, what torments me with the most severity is that I cannot, in the slightest, bear the chains of school.

Sure, I'll talk to people-- make conversation so that I'm not alone-- but the only true friend I ever considered so has recently proven to me my own foolishness in trusting her and therefore, even amongst a crowd of people, now, I'm alone.

Oh-- it's not like I don't enjoy going to movies and such, like a regular teenager, but I'll always feel upset and impatient when with other people, a sort of burnt, static misery. Maybe I'm all hormones-- but the only company I truly enjoy is my own. And you, of course, internet.

It's not something I mourn, really-- despising the people I know-- but when I'm forced to school and I find myself sifting through hordes, with hours spent in a silence of ne'er but the teacher's wretched voice-- my faculties deplete. I become angry and I don't know why.

It's not as though I hate people. On the contrary, I can think I many reasons to like them. But when I'm amongst a crowd, I involuntarily assume a mind set of vexation, though my actions mostly give no clue as to this.

I guess it's because I'm a character person. I love characters(story wise), and when I'm bored of people(because in this one horse city, there's little for me to care about), who're lifeless and conformist, I become-- contemptuous.

But it doesn't last long, because as soon as I get home to me, myself, and I, I can be content.

There's probably something horribly wrong with that. . . and most people wouldn't guess it. Everyone knows I'm crazy, but in a way that's bubbly. Frilly. Bubbles-from-the-Power-Puff-Girls-esque with an awkward twist.

But those aren't the times that I feel like blogging. :]

Now that's you're thoroughly creeped out, for further elaboration on the demolition of my life as I knew it, check out the latest chapter of my Naruto fan fiction, I'm No Princess. No, you don't have to read the entire thing to get it. It's basically a one-shot-ish recap.

This is what happens when I get my hands on a computer. D:


That's the URL, and if it doesn't work, go to Fanfiction.net and search the author KittyLo. I'm right there.

The only differences are that:

1) There was no boy involved. Only one specifically untrustworthy girl, whom, instead of two the of us fighting over, I chose to dislike and she chose to like. She could have been neutral, sure, but life's a bitch. So that's just my luck, finding out that just about everything I knew was a lie.

(Everything I knew, as in, the only thing I knew, being that I wouldn't be lied to be her, that I wouldn't be betrayed. Oh well! DX)

2) It wasn't so much that I was some flamboyant girl who reached out to a little mouse. We befriended each other mutually, but as we grew closer and my loud, hyperactive nature(that shines on the other side of life, where this depression isn't) rubbed away her inhibitious shell and she grew a little stronger. She told me so. :D And now. . . gah. DX

3) I'm not popular. Neither was she. (But I don't know now, nor could I care.) We were social rebels.

4) There's no "Takara" here. There kinda is, in two people, but still. You'll notice that Takara didn't replace Sakura(in said fan fic), but that only makes sense. It might take time or maybe I'll never recover. Even if I do find someone like that again, I'll probably be even more reserved in my inner thoughts(things that you don't even know, internet!).

5) No comas. Ignore that, it's just the plot. The admittedly cliche-sounding plot. But hey, the whole reason this story was written-- meh, that's a whole 'nother journal entry.

Aside from all those "but"s, the point is the same.

I'm losing my mind. . . let's hope I'm, like, a genius crazy person instead of a wacko serial killer.

That wouldn't be fun.

(But hey, I'm not all weepy wi-otch. I'm not the type to take things like this((though the nature of my friendship break up is a story for another day)) lightly, and if that girl I used to know was to ask for a friendship of any sort back, I'd((honestly?)) take the opportunity to make her feel bad or something, because she obviously isn't repentant of her actions((in killing me)) in the slightest. I am quite pissed, as per my nature. It may be childish, but hey, she can at least pride herself on the fact that I might never recover from this thing. It's a whole new kind of heart break.)

A Plastic Persona

Now, what girl here can honestly tell me that she's never played with a Barbie doll? I'm sure some of the boys may have beheaded those of theirs sisters, as well. Either way, this perky little blonde is without a doubt a household name.

Barbara Millicent Roberts, as she was originally introduced as, was "born" on March 9th, 1959. Her "mother", Ruth Handler, business woman, took note of real daughter, Barbara, who often played with dolls, and noticed that she pretended her dolls into adulthood, while no female doll had ever been produced as a woman before.

Ruth Handler suggested this to Mattel, though while at the time they were without enthusiasm. On a trip to Europe, Ruth came across Bild Lilli, a Swedish doll with adult features, based off of the character from a comic strip, Die Bild-Zeitung. The character was ambitious and let no society-bent qualms over gender hinder her in the least.

Returning to the US, Ruth had the doll reworked and debuted her in the American International Toy Fair in New York, on March 9th, 1959. Fifty years ago, last Monday, Barbie was born.

The very first Barbie wore a zebra swimsuit, with a topknot ponytail, in either blonde or brunette. 350,000 Barbie dolls were sold in the first year.

Right now, as the statistics go, three Barbie dolls are sold every second.

Over the years, though, just about every type of Barbie imaginable has come to life, from ditzy Teen Talk Barbie, who spoke ignorant phrases such as "Will we ever have enough clothes?" and "Math class is tough!", to the many variations of Doctor Barbies, Law Firm Barbies, even a CEO Barbie.

You can't make this stuff up.

Many aggress that Barbie sets unrealistic standards for women, but honestly, no grown woman is looking to Barbie for her body type, but instead to celebrities who do the tummy tuck.

And though some might think a floozy of this Barbie woman, due to the fact that the September release presented her as the DC comic super hero Black Canary in fish nets and leather. To that, I can only answer with "Bratz". I would not buy those things for my sister.

Is Barbie a bad influence on little girls? All I can say is that I've never seen a more successful fifty-year-old woman, who accomplished all it must have taken to get the man and the Maserati.

Fashion icon, and an Olympic Gymnast, as well, Barbie's Dream House won't be foreclosed on any time soon.

[I originally wrote this for school, but decided to post it. :)]

Math + Me = No.

I'm no dumb blonde.

I'm good in classes like language arts, history, or anything with a good teacher.

But math. . . math and I have always had pretty much a hate-hate relationship. It bored me, I failed it, but we were always kept at a comfortable distance, only having to put up with each other for roughly forty-minutes a day.

Math is logical, exact, and all. . . rule-y. I'm more linguistic, more artsy. Rules never really appealed to me. [I hold the record at my school for most female detentions in one year! W00T!]

So when my parents decided to enroll me in an all-math, three week SAT prep course? Without telling me and just letting me find it on the computer history?

I flipped my lid.

[No, that's not worded well enough.]

I flipped my fucking lid.

[There, that'll do.]

You could ask my old math teacher, who put in my report card, and I quote, ". . . only comes to school to socialize," and she would tell you how badly this would go down.

Or, if you lived within driving distance of my house, you probably heard my blowing off a little steam, when I found my father outside and shouted until my voice was hoarse.

To which he laughed and dryly told me to take it up with my mother.

So cruel, too, because we all know how tactless an attempt arguing with his wife can be. [which I lovingly refer to her as when she is not present <3]

This class-- I have faith that I can weasel myself out of it before I learn anything[beg or pout to my parents? "vomit" during the class?]. The only thing I regret is that the cute boy who lives across the lake[though it's more like a pond] in our backyard heard me because I saw him fishing earlier.

:[ x 345, 876

That's a math problem I understand.

Old Reliable Heart-Mender

The phrase "teenage girl" goes hand-in-hand with many things. Things like stilettos, cell phones, bitching, and pads.

A most common association is back-stabbing, and I've faced that full force. Sucks, but I got over it, for the most part. Give me my Keith Urban and some Playtex and I'm fine.

Through thick and thin[little double entendre there], the only thing I've known to trust is my handy dandy[notebook?] iPod.

I've probably had five iPods in the past three years. Now I've got one of those new ones, a purple nano, and man, that thing can take a hit.

Any other device would have fallen apart with as many times as I've dropped this baby.

My nano[which I really should give a name] is my when I cry, when I laugh, when I dream. I couldn't live without it.

Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

Speaking of which. . .
It's sad and ironic when the girl who everyone expects to smile has to make that decision.

No, I'm not crazy. Okay, yes I am.

But this is the first time that I've ever considered either. Well, that's a lie, too.

I've actually tried the first before. Not that I'd tell anyone that. I chickened out, luckily. But things haven't improved.

My reasons? They would piss some people who have real problems off. Sure I've had my fair share of suffering, but not enough to make a move for suicide. No, my problems are far more. . . frilly. Problem, actually.

How do I say this? How do I put this into words? I don't know how. I'll just spit it out.

I. Want. A. Fucking. Fairy Tale.

Now I know you want to slap me.

Really, it sounds silly[or rather, beyond ludicrous], but all that I've ever wanted was something, some kind of romance, or adventure, or some tale worth telling. To take on an escapade, to have something of relevance.

Of course, my life is void of any thrill. Family vacations to the Grand Canyon. Day to day girl politics. Books and dreams. These are the closest things I've had. They've satisfied me for the longest time, recently, I've wanted MORE.

Something of meaning, something important. At least a soulful conversation, but NO. Nothing. Nada.

A black void where spiritual growth should be. I'm a Christian[not a gay-hating one, an open-minded one] and I've asked God, beseeched him for some kind of conceptual exploit, or at least a sign that there shall be one, but I'm always disappointed.

And the perpetual routine is beginning to drive some maniacal apparitions. Some that, if enacted, could end me in some very uncomfortable situations.

It comes to the point that nothing but my intrepid fantasies keep me stable. Though my papers do have some unbecoming stabbing pen holes.

What makes it worse is that it always seems as though I'm beating around the bush, that I could just step into the light of star and be where I seek to be, but when I make my way, I always find that I'm just where I was before.

On an eternal plane of procedure. Just a Beta-test for the beastly saga that I'm anxious to begin.

No one knows about this. Just you, LJ, so feel special.

I've tried so hard to make my friends see. I drop comments, I take them to a place alone and let them know, but it's so very insignificant to them that it bothers me to tell them. I've never been a closed book, but now I never tell them anything.

My supposed BFF since the grade that was fifth has completely dismissed me, only withstanding my company when others are around.

Maybe it's because our other[but my ex]friend is now more attractive to her as a confidant and I can't stand her. [This being because I can't trust her as far as I can throw her and boys always come first to her, before friends. Leagues before friends.]

This, in turn, is creating an untrustworthy person of the girl I once called a BFF. But maybe she just didn't like me that much, anyway.

Maybe it's because I'm becoming more distant, more lost in this dream I've created. The dream that I might someday become the heroine of a story worth telling.

And while I'm taking this opportunity to find some new[and admittedly easier to handle] friends, I can't help but be made entirely distraught by the fact that the almost-sister I used to trust completely gives me the cruelest of subtle jabs and proceeds even further into a state of being and sense of humor that is totally perverted, in comparison to a sweet and witty amiga I once knew.

How time changes.

But then, a protagonist can't expect things to be easy.

And this all brings me to stray that broke the fan girl's back:


Now, beggars can't be choosers, but I had always wanted a lovey-dovey romance to be my story. And what better time to begin such a story than at a Valentine's Dance?

Last night, on Friday the 13th[an innuendo?] of February, I attended the school's bonfire/dance social with a group of friends. While I danced carefree with my friends, the closest thing I got to a romance was trying to convince some guy to dance with some friend of a girl I know. And I failed.

So I went outside[unbeknownst to the chaperons] and wandered my large school's campus. I climbed to the top of the ladder of the gym and sang Can You Feel The Love Tonight? by Elton John[which I'll be performing at my music school's March recital] twice.

Nothing happened, but what did I expect?

While atop the ladder, however, I noticed that there were some figures running around in the dark. Sensing an adventure, I ran down and ducked behind bushes whenever I saw someone passing in the shadows.

When I arrived at the scene of the crime, I found that it was only some dance-goers sneaking over from the uneventful social to the soccer game on the other side of campus. A waste of time.

I journeyed woefully into the elementary playground, sat on a swing that was too small for me, and gave myself a depressing monologue.

My final hope was that maybe, at 10:00, my dreams would be enacted. I thought this, maybe, because I had been getting recent omens with the number ten.

But at ten, well. . . you can guess how well that turn out.

So, here's what I want to know:

Where's my author, whoever's writing this crap? And am I even the main character? I could just as easily be the bad guy. I'm kind of a bitch.

Hell, am I ever gonna have a fairy tale?

Yum, Curry!

What Flavour Are You? Hot hot! I am Curry Flavoured.Hot hot! I am Curry Flavoured.</b>

I have a spicy personality. If you can take the heat, you'll love me, if not, I'll probably make you cry. I am not for the faint-hearted. What Flavour Are You?