|
Homicidal Cat Anycrap, I quickly returned to where my mom was because none of the trendy shit in the juniors section appealed to me in the least. I had to pass the area with all the perfume and crap (I dunno the technical name for it, I don't belong there), and that disgusted me even more. There were all the chicks who looked completely perfect, but you know they spent hours making themselves look the way they do, so it makes you wonder how perfect they really are. Finally, I found my way back to Mom. I had to wait for her to try on some clothes, then she bought them. The cashier was another perfect person who looked oh-so-very-thrilled to be ringing up more clothes. I'm sure she enjoyed her job thoroughly (simply because she got money off all the hella tight clothes they have at Macy's, I mean oh my god!). It was quite an experience. In other news, my cat wants me dead. My mom and I were giving Lucky his medicine today, and he wanted down so bad he felt it necessary to scratch the shit out of me. I have these huge red lines going down my forearm. It looks kinda cool in a weird my-cat-wants-to-kill-me sort of way. If I had a digital camera, I'd show you. But I don't, so there goes that idea. Anyfuck, point is, it hurts like bitch. It's also really REALLY warm. There is heat radiating from my arm. Good lord! Perhaps I should put something on it. I'm sorry I haven't been writing all that often. Ever since I vowed never to write about my day unless I had a point, I've been lacking in the content area. I don't have the most exciting life, especially when I spend 4 hours a day reading (motherfuckinginvisibleman). I don't have much drama going on either, which is nothing to complain about, but it does make diaries more interesting. I do have one thing I'd love to vent about, but I can't do that cuz the main subject of the problem reads my diary, and I don't want he/she/it (don't question the it.. my cat is an it now.. there could be other living creatures who are neither male nor female due to penis-removing surgery) to know what I'm thinking. That kinda sucks cuz keeping stuff pent up inside of me isn't good for me. I feel like I'm gonna explode sometimes, but instead I just cry or write a buncha random shit on paper. (It's amazing how well that works!) Yeah, so what was my point? I dunno.. sign my guestbook. "Whoa hey hey, what can I do? My lungs are breathing open air, my spleen is dripping from my pants. Whoa hey hey, what can I do? You've left me here in the cold, and I miss you." ~Saves the Day I shall bring an end to this entry now. Ta! ~BOB 0 previous comments. (This doesn't work anymore; go sign my guestbook)
|
|
Essentials Recent Archives Profile Diaryland Extras
Feeling:
|
