Bubble gum bubble gum in a dish

My Best Pretty Friend And Fake Daughter Punkie has a LiveJournal, so I am having one too. I never seem to write anything for my other bitchy little thing. After considering all pertinent factors, I have determined that this is because I am too lazy to upload the rant AND tweak the updates and peaches pages (I have four or five sitting in the My Documents folder growing moldy and obsolete). So we will try the EZ-Auto-Live-Type-Into-A-Box-Sent-Into-The-Void method for a while, even though it irks me, as a pookie major, to use something that is pre-packaged. Like how my inner Martha Stewart doesn't allow me to use cake mixes.

I am bouncing off the walls being bored and waiting to move back to my Primary Hole. Packing is a bitch. So will be unpacking. As long as Pookie makes it down there fine and ResLife doesn't try to shove twelve people into my SINGLE ROOM, it will be okay.

There is a Taco Bell there. Hell, there are five or six. Joy to the world, with pinto beans on the side.

I have a sandwich. Lettuce, onion, olives, feta cheese, and a little olive oil, in mini wheat pita bread. I could eat this twice a day until I die. Punker lives by Greek feeding grounds now. We are going to be fat little splutlings.

I ordered a bunch of crack CDs and am very impatient about them. But I will wait and obsess over those when they come.

My silly philosophy-major friend Hector who has known me since I was five played with me today. She gets to go to Greece for a semester and leaves tomorrow (HECTOR: SEND FOOD). I will miss her. She's been in Hawaii and Indiana for two years, though, so I won't miss her any more than I have been doing. I always miss the pre-Glut every year around this time. We're so spread out now, and I never talk to anyone but la Bisquit, who is my other best pretty non-technological friend. She was kind and is going to a college only ninety miles from mine, so I can see her sometimes. Everyone else is far, far away. I suppose it is appropriate for Splut to lack cohesion.

Princess princess. Someday I will be the Princess again. Mr. Holtz called me Princess. You can if you'd like.

Mama calls "Kittykittykitty!" when she wants me. Sadly enough, I come running.

oh well. I can console myself with Punkie, burritoes, my new crack CDs, and a fresh dormful of people to totally weird out.

And this, of course. Aren't you lucky?

incense and peppermints

One of my Lost Girls felt my angst and called me out of the pink. I hadn't talked to my Ginger-pie in over a year. She's working seventy hours a week and taking thirteen hours of classes...typical for her. I had a phase where she made me feel terribly inadequate, but she is just more...driven...than we are. I feel guilty because I was sitting there thinking about the nasty things we strongly suspect she's said about us behind our backs, when she suddenly launched into what a wonderful, brilliant, beautiful person I am. For some reason, praise from Ginger has always meant a lot to me. She always seems to have it so together, and I kind of flounder around, living off my parents and counting on decent grades to give my pseudo-life some kind of meaning. She's having a bad emotional time right now, and it also means a lot to me that she wanted to talk to (vent at) me, specifically, badly enough to call long-distance.

Given that she didn't have Biskit's phone number, but I won't think about that.

All of our little complaints are so petty, really. She's putting herself through school and bought her own new car, and I whine that my parents don't feed me an appropriate diet for a healthy coat and that my thighs would be better-toned if Earth's atmosphere were more similar to that of my home planet.

(they would be, but that's besides the point.)(if this has a point.)

bleah. College has killed me. I'm pretty sure I used to take a slightly more active role in my life. Now I just want to be entertained for as long as possible before I sleep again. I *know* I used to be more fun to hang around. My cult of devoted followers has tapered off so. We've got Bunny, who has to love me because I'm his mother; Sailorsomething, who regards me as a special kind of mutant for being a female pookie major; the Chamelaeon-boy, who is obsessively in love with me for reasons beyond my comprehension; Punker, who likes me because I know about the glitter and humor her constantly, also for reasons beyond my comprehension; Biskit, who was brought up with me and suffers most of the same psychological scarring and SEES the fucking CARROTS; Billsplut, who...is sweet enough to keep talking to me even though my conversation is decidedly rotten; and my mother, who has been given drugs since my birth that keep her from pushing me out of the nest as an alien baby.

whine whine whine. I think I should go to bed before I become depressed about American pop culture and eat something. That happens with alarming frequency.

bonne nuit.