Those goddamn Platex tampons!!!  The ads say you can’t feel them, but believe me, a big hunk of plastic popping your cherry hurts like shit every time, and it’s uncomfortable to wear, too.  So I’m ripping off those stupid applicators now and just leaving the cotton.  It always hurts to shove those things up your crotch, but if they don’t have the applicators you can’t feel them once they’re in.  This is a strange thing to talk about (TMI, as Roz would say).  But it’s really been bugging me, especially because I will be forced to wear one tomorrow at the beach with Janine (yep, she’s back from OR!).

On a brighter note, I completed the writing of a total of three songs for the band I will create, EM (Elevator Music).  The only problem is that it will be difficult to find musicians (I need a drummer, a guitarist, a bass guitarist, and a banjoist, as I will be in charge of the singing and sax playing).  And it will be even more difficult to find musicians who will be willing to be bossed around a lot, as I have a very particular idea of how I want the album to be, and I don’t work well in groups anyway.

I’m happy.  My father has a “mean” boss who may fire him.  I know it’s not very nice of me to get pleasure out of hearing such things, but it’s hard to like a father like him.  He makes me feel uncomfortable.  If you’ve read my past entrees you know what I’m talking about.

Mmmm… Sublime.  Good stuff on this CD.  I am listening to one of my favorite tracks, track seven, the one about raping a little girl.  I really like Brad’s voice and all the instrumentalists are amazingly in sync.  And the difficult guitar and drum solos seem effortless for them.  I really should be an album reviewer.  I always have a lot to say after listening to a CD.

Bright Eyes is performing in the Greek Theatre on the 24^th, which is when I have to go on vacation!!!  DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I almost smashed the wall when I heard that a few seconds ago online.  I’m not exaggerating either.  I’m really pissed.  And tickets are only thirty-two bucks!!!  And there are plenty available!!!  But the stupid Colorado trip’s gonna get in the way!!!  I want to cry.  Seriously.  Conor, is, after all, my idol, and has been my musical obsession for the past year.  I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this to arise for ages and here it is, but I have to go on a FUCKING VACATION!!!  AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! @&*$)@(!^%!(*%^(*!%)^(*!&%@(*#RYFH@IU#$&@!*( $&@! $^!*(YHHNCWY@(*$@(*$%^@%^!_%^!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you know how important this concert is for me??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????!!!!!!  No, you don’t!!!  Nobody understands my obsessions and how heavily my sanity relies on them!!!  It’s painful to imagine Conor’s audience of teary-eyed listeners, all trapped under the spell of his intense, haunting music with that wavering voice howling so powerfully, all without me!

Well, I figured I’d make it up to myself.  So I wrote the Desapareceidos an email addressed to Conor, making an offer to play in his band on my sax (as long as he ignores the occasional squeaks) and also a marriage proposal, though he has enough shit going on in his life without scary stalker-ish people, such as me, trying to marry him.  I also told him he could stay at my place any time he wants when he’s in LA, but he’s obviously going to refuse.

Zero days left!  Whee!  My favorite number is zero.  Zero and sixty-nine.

I can't wait until college.  Even though I'm freaked out about the application process (the one and only fear I have is rejection), once I'm accepted I know I will have the time of my life.  I mean, it will be great.  A whole little dorm room all to myself, bars and orgies every night, parties, etc.  What could be better?  I'd be like a kid in an adult's body.

Humans know too much at this point in time, I think.  It seems as if there is little room for discovery or exploration, since science has answers to just about everything I would be curious about.  That's what makes living life at this point in time so goddamn boring.  Or maybe it is because I am just here all by myself shut up in this stupid bedroom.

I am wearing my neck strap from my saxophone.  At first glance it looks a bit like a tie.  And with my baggy-ish pants I look like one of those stupid Avril Leveigne trend followers.  It's funny.  I wonder what the neighbors think.  They're always peering out their windows, it seems.  I wonder if they're watching me right now as I type this, laughing and telling their children, "remember your neighbor?  The one who openly masturbates and picks her butt and nose and pierces herself with nails and needles?  She's a punk now!  Ha!  Hahaha!"  But the likelihood of that happening is slim.

What should I write about for my college essay?  I know I am thinking, like, three and a half years in advance, but the topic still freaks me out.  I don't care what college I end up going to that much, but I care that I'm not rejected to too many.  That would be humiliating.  My brother wrote his essay already.  And as much as I hate to say it, it actually was quite good.  If I were on the Princeton admissions team I would let him in just for that essay.  Actually, my brother doesn't want to go to Princeton.  He wants to go to Harvard, I think.  Whatever.  Those preppy Ivy Leagues are all the same to me.

One day left!!!

My brother is off at Idyllwild Arts music camp right now.  I would go there too, except it's only for "serious musicians."  If I ever get good on my sax I will go there (by the way, I now can play a low B chromatic to the high F!  That's every single note on the fucking instrument!  And I've been playing under two weeks!  I am so proud of myself!).  And if I get especially good I will go there for boarding school.  That would be fun because unlike Andover, the academics aren't all that serious, and it's in the middle of the woods too.

It was stupid of me to make such a big social switch at the end of the school year.  Now I don't have anyone to hang out with this summer.

Three days.

*gasp* I found out that it is illegal here for gay people to have sex.  If they are caught for some reason they face time in prison.  That is really horrible.  I think that it is morally wrong to intrude on a person's personal life like that and monitor what they can and can't do in the privacy of their own home in our own desperate attempts to turn the world into Christians.  We might as well stick millions more Jews in ovens for being the way they are.  Or drown more women who display witch-like qualities.  I wish I could help the gay people.  There are a lot of people and animals that I wish I could help.  But because I'm a FUCKING MINOR, I must stay idle for these tender years.

If I were to go to Andover (assuming that by the time I apply I would have decent grades) I would probably be the only Californian hippie-ish person there, among a bunch of conservative east coast people who care about their academics.  That would suck.  And with my grade patterns, why the hell would I even be accepted to Andover?  I’m a slacker.  That is the truth.  And slackers from middle-class families aren’t often shipped out to the opposite coast to an expensive, highly academic, conformist old school that only educates the best anyway.  But it’s fun to dream about living off on my own for a few solid months, away from my family, to live my life the way I want to live it.  But maybe I should stick with my school now.  The school I go to now is pretty easy.  After a lot of calculating, if I did my homework and occasionally studied for Bam’s history tests, then I would have no less than A’s.  The problem is, I don’t have the motivation to do my homework and never on my life would I want to study for Bam’s history tests because I can’t stand Bam.  My mother can’t either.  And if a mother who is super supportive of everyone hates your teacher, then that teacher is bad for sure.  If I were to stick to my school now then I could improve it, since it’s a really bad school, and thrill some colleges.  Maybe I’ll start a jazz band.  I hope that that is not another childish dream like Andover.

I know what college I want to go to also.  And getting into it wouldn’t be as big of a stretch as getting into Andover, because both my parents went there for grad school (Cornell University).  It may not be Harvard, but it’s still an excellent Ivy League school.  It’s also the college with the biggest campus in the nation.  It’s huge.  We went hiking there once and then went to some of the college towns within it.  There are some east-coast hippies there too.  And I swear that’s not an oxymoron.

I am glad there are so many problems with life.  They give us something to do and things to change.  It’s good to be challenged.

I wrote some haikus.  They’re kind of boring and meaningless, but you can read them if you like.

My chapped cheeks burn

As a silent tear

Stings my face

I sit on the small steps

To my house

They once seemed so big

I dig the blade into my wrist

And watch the red river

Flood into my palm

A tear falls

From her eye now still—

She is dead

Behind the face

Painted on in makeup

A girl cries

Stupid baby

I wish it would shut up

For I am far more hungry

I also read some haikus.  I found a couple of them that were hysterical.  I didn’t want to deprive you fuckers so I have included them too.  The first one is by Buson (1715-1783) and the second by Issa (1762-1826).

Nobly, the great priest

Deposits his daily stool

In bleak winter fields

Just beyond the gate,

A neat yellow hole—

Someone pissed in the snow

I drew a picture on Paint.  I felt no obligation to draw any dancing nudes, since my parents will not be seeing this picture.  Instead I drew an angry-looking girl with messy hair and a wound on her face.  I would’ve attached it here, except it’s too large.