Baby, the Stars Shine Brite
The secret life of a girl.the strange confessions and dirty little secrets of a girl.
29.8.05
My Bi Polar Boyfriend
with starshine in his eyes
disintegrates and metta thinks tonight
as I melt into the sky and am eaten alive;
Forever young and do or die
open your eyes and see all the love in me ... Take all you need from me and we'll be strong together
Base beats and green lights flash around
As we drift onto a plan of nothing but sound.
... And what do you (if anyone actually reads this) think of the new layout? .... Because I really don't like it but I got frustrated and am lacking layout ideas. I thought about maybe a Rainbow Brite theme but that was too colourful. Then I thought maybe Lucky Bear ... But often my LJ isn't extra candy kid-esq so .... I thought maybe not ... Then again, it might be cool if I could get an artsy picture of my piles of kandi. Of course ... A party photo might make a good layout ... If only Charlie had been there Saturday night to get a picture of me draped over Jon in the wicker chair. But I'm sure I kind of looked like hell singe I hadn't realised how really out of it I was until I was dangerously overheated. Maybe the picture of me at Charlie's in June could be good ... damn him for being slow in the e-mailing me Hulla photos or anything else!
Anyway I'm open to suggestions. I really liked the strawberry layout from tart graphics but then that's a fat girl layout and I'm in denial of my current fat-ness.
with starshine in his eyes
disintegrates and metta thinks tonight
as I melt into the sky and am eaten alive;
Forever young and do or die
open your eyes and see all the love in me ... Take all you need from me and we'll be strong together
Base beats and green lights flash around
As we drift onto a plan of nothing but sound.
... And what do you (if anyone actually reads this) think of the new layout? .... Because I really don't like it but I got frustrated and am lacking layout ideas. I thought about maybe a Rainbow Brite theme but that was too colourful. Then I thought maybe Lucky Bear ... But often my LJ isn't extra candy kid-esq so .... I thought maybe not ... Then again, it might be cool if I could get an artsy picture of my piles of kandi. Of course ... A party photo might make a good layout ... If only Charlie had been there Saturday night to get a picture of me draped over Jon in the wicker chair. But I'm sure I kind of looked like hell singe I hadn't realised how really out of it I was until I was dangerously overheated. Maybe the picture of me at Charlie's in June could be good ... damn him for being slow in the e-mailing me Hulla photos or anything else!
Anyway I'm open to suggestions. I really liked the strawberry layout from tart graphics but then that's a fat girl layout and I'm in denial of my current fat-ness.
12.8.05
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves
There are the Domestic Ones.
They are the worst.
Every moment is packed with Happiness.
They breathe deeply
And walk with large strides, eternally hurrying home
To see about dinner.
They are the kind
Who say, with a tender smile, "Money's not everything."
They are always confronting me with dresses,
Saying, "I made this myself."
They read Women's pages and try out the recipes.
Oh, how I hate that kind of woman.
... and don't I hate THEM! Good Lord I hope I'm not that kind of woman.
Then there are the human Sensative Plants;
The Bundles of Nerves.
They are different from everybody else; they even tell you so.
Someone is always stepping on their feelings.
Everything hurts them - deeply.
Their eyes are forever filling with tears.
They always want to talk to me about the Real Things,
The things that Matter.
Yes, they know they could write.
Conventions stifle them.
They are always longing to get away - Away from It All!
- I wish to Heaven they would.
God ... don't let me be one of those ... maybe to an extent I am ... when I need a pill or something like that.
And then there are those who are always in Trouble.
Always.
Usually they have Husband-trouble.
They are Wronged.
They are the whome whom nobody-understands.
They wear faint, wistful smiles.
And, when spoken to, they start.
They begin by saying they must suffer in silence.
No one will ever know -
And they they go into details.
I maybe could have ended up one of them.
Then there are the Well-Informed ones.
They are pests.
They know everything on earth
And will tell you about it gladly.
They feel it their mission to correct wrong impressions
They know Dates and Middle names.
They absolutely ooze Curren Events.
Oh, how they bore me.
I'm sure I'm not one of those sorts ... I never have the balls to correct anyone really... except in the most meek way possible and usually not even then.
There are the ones who simply cannot Fanthom
Why all the men are mad about them.
They say they've tried and tried.
They tell you about someone's husband;
What he said
And how he looked when he said it.
And they they sigh and ask,
"My dear, what is there about me?"
- Don't you hate them?
I certainly think I wouldn't mind to be one of them.
There are the unfailingly Cheerful ones.
They are usually unmarried.
They are always busy making little Gifts
And planning little suprises.
They tell me to be, like them, always looking on the Bright Side.
They ask me what would they do without their sense of humour?
I sometimes yearn to kill them.
Any jury would acquit me.
Well... I know for damn sure I'm not of them!
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves.
But really ... I hate women - they get on my nerves. I hate how we create women. I'm forever getting called a whore by my family because, surpise, surpise I don't have many female friends. Why don't I? Because ... apparently really I'm not a woman.
I have to a large extent devoted myself to understand and anaylising the sitution of women and being a woman ... and I have come to the conclusion I don't like women. I am not really a "woman." If woman is a socially created creature then I do not fit the bill. I do not have the "feminine" Freduian complexes, I do not have penis envy and I will not seek in my children (actually I don't even feel the need to have children) a superego. I didn't play with my dolls in the manner to create out of my child an ego ... I played with Barbies and they weren't my babies, they were me in 10-20 years. I didn't create ideal little daughters to dress up ... I created myself. I created a real ego. As a reasult I created angst because to my five year old mind, 20 was old enough to have owned a company, published a book and made a million. Okay ... so maybe not. But 20 should have been old enough to have moved to somewhere romantised like New York and gotten an amazing modern studio apartment and a body like Liz Hurley's and sip coffee with an equally goregous and successful boyfriend and have earth shattering sex.
I am a girlie girl ... to an extent. I LOVE makeup. I do. I spend exhorborent amounts of money on makeup. I buy $40 bottles of shampoo and equally expensive conditioner. I by $40 flesh toned makeup and $100 sets of brushes to apply it, I buy $10 lip gloss and consider it cheap and by $20 mascara and regularly pay $16 for the eyeshadow colour of the season. I LOVE shopping ... maybe not so much the buying but the hunt. I understand what guys say when it's not the realtionship they love but the chase. The search for the perfect piece of the season is very much the hunt. I adore fashion ... and flat front pants and timeless styles like pixie cuts and turtle necks, ballet scoop tops, and circle skirts ... trench coats are something every girl should own at least one good one of and diamonds truely are a girl's best friend ... babies being killed in Africa for them and all. I love the silly in colours ... like the aqua and turqoise of the summer and the chocolate browns everywhere for fall. I love purple eyeliner and smudy eyes.
All of this makes me vain and in love with fashion ... this does not make me a woman. No, because I don't love babies. I don't want a baby. Not now. And not ever. To be prefectly honest I know this won't change because I know how it develops. I didn't develop that way. I was raised as a boy in many respects ... until now. Now I'm pressured to get married and stop pissing around in college. I won't be an adult until I have a bad marriage and too many kids that I can't afford to support and a shitty job.
My ideal sparkly life in New York? Fuck that will make a kid forever. My nightclub idea proves that I'm not anywhere near grown up. I'm on the same level of mature in my family's mind as a gay man ... which why insist all homosexual men are little boys and need to grow the hell up. (No, I don't really even come close to understanding this.)
I'm not a woman cause I THINK. I can cook a damn good gourment meal but I don't read women's magazines because I don't live in that world. I don't think about pleasing my lover except for when I'm in bed and again ... maybe I'm full of myself but I have ninja skills.
They get on my nerves
There are the Domestic Ones.
They are the worst.
Every moment is packed with Happiness.
They breathe deeply
And walk with large strides, eternally hurrying home
To see about dinner.
They are the kind
Who say, with a tender smile, "Money's not everything."
They are always confronting me with dresses,
Saying, "I made this myself."
They read Women's pages and try out the recipes.
Oh, how I hate that kind of woman.
... and don't I hate THEM! Good Lord I hope I'm not that kind of woman.
Then there are the human Sensative Plants;
The Bundles of Nerves.
They are different from everybody else; they even tell you so.
Someone is always stepping on their feelings.
Everything hurts them - deeply.
Their eyes are forever filling with tears.
They always want to talk to me about the Real Things,
The things that Matter.
Yes, they know they could write.
Conventions stifle them.
They are always longing to get away - Away from It All!
- I wish to Heaven they would.
God ... don't let me be one of those ... maybe to an extent I am ... when I need a pill or something like that.
And then there are those who are always in Trouble.
Always.
Usually they have Husband-trouble.
They are Wronged.
They are the whome whom nobody-understands.
They wear faint, wistful smiles.
And, when spoken to, they start.
They begin by saying they must suffer in silence.
No one will ever know -
And they they go into details.
I maybe could have ended up one of them.
Then there are the Well-Informed ones.
They are pests.
They know everything on earth
And will tell you about it gladly.
They feel it their mission to correct wrong impressions
They know Dates and Middle names.
They absolutely ooze Curren Events.
Oh, how they bore me.
I'm sure I'm not one of those sorts ... I never have the balls to correct anyone really... except in the most meek way possible and usually not even then.
There are the ones who simply cannot Fanthom
Why all the men are mad about them.
They say they've tried and tried.
They tell you about someone's husband;
What he said
And how he looked when he said it.
And they they sigh and ask,
"My dear, what is there about me?"
- Don't you hate them?
I certainly think I wouldn't mind to be one of them.
There are the unfailingly Cheerful ones.
They are usually unmarried.
They are always busy making little Gifts
And planning little suprises.
They tell me to be, like them, always looking on the Bright Side.
They ask me what would they do without their sense of humour?
I sometimes yearn to kill them.
Any jury would acquit me.
Well... I know for damn sure I'm not of them!
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves.
But really ... I hate women - they get on my nerves. I hate how we create women. I'm forever getting called a whore by my family because, surpise, surpise I don't have many female friends. Why don't I? Because ... apparently really I'm not a woman.
I have to a large extent devoted myself to understand and anaylising the sitution of women and being a woman ... and I have come to the conclusion I don't like women. I am not really a "woman." If woman is a socially created creature then I do not fit the bill. I do not have the "feminine" Freduian complexes, I do not have penis envy and I will not seek in my children (actually I don't even feel the need to have children) a superego. I didn't play with my dolls in the manner to create out of my child an ego ... I played with Barbies and they weren't my babies, they were me in 10-20 years. I didn't create ideal little daughters to dress up ... I created myself. I created a real ego. As a reasult I created angst because to my five year old mind, 20 was old enough to have owned a company, published a book and made a million. Okay ... so maybe not. But 20 should have been old enough to have moved to somewhere romantised like New York and gotten an amazing modern studio apartment and a body like Liz Hurley's and sip coffee with an equally goregous and successful boyfriend and have earth shattering sex.
I am a girlie girl ... to an extent. I LOVE makeup. I do. I spend exhorborent amounts of money on makeup. I buy $40 bottles of shampoo and equally expensive conditioner. I by $40 flesh toned makeup and $100 sets of brushes to apply it, I buy $10 lip gloss and consider it cheap and by $20 mascara and regularly pay $16 for the eyeshadow colour of the season. I LOVE shopping ... maybe not so much the buying but the hunt. I understand what guys say when it's not the realtionship they love but the chase. The search for the perfect piece of the season is very much the hunt. I adore fashion ... and flat front pants and timeless styles like pixie cuts and turtle necks, ballet scoop tops, and circle skirts ... trench coats are something every girl should own at least one good one of and diamonds truely are a girl's best friend ... babies being killed in Africa for them and all. I love the silly in colours ... like the aqua and turqoise of the summer and the chocolate browns everywhere for fall. I love purple eyeliner and smudy eyes.
All of this makes me vain and in love with fashion ... this does not make me a woman. No, because I don't love babies. I don't want a baby. Not now. And not ever. To be prefectly honest I know this won't change because I know how it develops. I didn't develop that way. I was raised as a boy in many respects ... until now. Now I'm pressured to get married and stop pissing around in college. I won't be an adult until I have a bad marriage and too many kids that I can't afford to support and a shitty job.
My ideal sparkly life in New York? Fuck that will make a kid forever. My nightclub idea proves that I'm not anywhere near grown up. I'm on the same level of mature in my family's mind as a gay man ... which why insist all homosexual men are little boys and need to grow the hell up. (No, I don't really even come close to understanding this.)
I'm not a woman cause I THINK. I can cook a damn good gourment meal but I don't read women's magazines because I don't live in that world. I don't think about pleasing my lover except for when I'm in bed and again ... maybe I'm full of myself but I have ninja skills.
