?

Log in

Dear Diary: [entries|friends|calendar]
Jennifuhhhh Lynn Crowwwwwwley

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[15 Sep 2004|12:43pm]
[ mood | cheerful ]

Hello, space-age puppies. This journal is closed for business. Um. Okay, bye.

(p.s. um_coeur)

9 robots swimming in your intestines.

[04 Sep 2004|01:18pm]
Thinkin' about starting a new LiveJournal.
14 robots swimming in your intestines.

[04 Sep 2004|01:46am]
[ mood | hopeful ]

Today I

    (am) perpetually annoying / not here
    (in our) fourteenth month
    (poke at) banana strawberry milkshake
    (humor) pink nail polish
    (pu) tea bags on my eyelids

When I wake up, I'll work on being wonderful.
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

job [02 Sep 2004|01:13pm]
[ mood | hot tamales! ]

DEAR DIARY,

I HAVE A JOB IN AN ICE CREAM STORE. Tuesday, Thursday, & Friday 9am-3pm for training. Mustn't forget. Must purchase pink day planner.

Back to pumping out the baby that is my zine.

LOVE,
JENNI

34 robots swimming in your intestines.

[02 Sep 2004|11:59am]
If only I had a metal table ...
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

Edith Piaf - In one week I'll be one-month sober [02 Sep 2004|12:25am]
I am drowning in lusting-over-the-anticipation-of-photo-copies. I want this zine to be over and done with, already. I love photo-copies. I do not know why. I'm not even 100% sure of the content, really. I want this to be finished and sitting pretty in envelopes equipped with stamps. I want to only have to wait for single dollar bills in the mail and then scribble addresses and toss these puppies in the mail. I want distros to write about me. I want to be able to write hard enough to devour people. I want them to get words stuck in their heads. I want my zine to make people wear prom dresses to the grocery store. I want to dress up. I want to spend my whole morning after I wake up sipping tea, waiting for a telephone call, and typing.

I went to the ice cream parlour and dropped off my application. My father said to look for the woman laughing the most, chubby. When I walked in, I see all of this neon ice cream and only one customer and everything is nice and pastel and new-feeling and this woman is laughing with every person she encounters (the old woman buying a cake, the girl working in the back of the store, me) and she has this Southern accent that seems so warm that it might as well be a Northern accent. This sounds wrong but it's right. She writes down when I'll be able to work and tells me I probably have a job but she's calling tomorrow to give me the scoop. ICE CREAM HUMOR. Actually she didn't say she'd "give me the scoop" but that's what she IMPLIED and ... oh shucks.

My hours might be "the suck" for a little bit - 4pm-11pm, which is when I usually spend time with The Boy (mostly every other day or so) and I can't really spend time with him before or after those times - but it'll be worth it because before I know it I'll be driving myself around and then I can work mornings instead. And we can go places together. And I will have money to save up so we can leave North Carolina together for weekend adventures. And oh.

Previously, everything I got worked up over [job at the school - being an office girl - getting my permit the first time around - traveling directly after graduating high school - opening up a checking account - you get the point] didn't pull through, but lately everything seems to be fitting together. It sounds lame and quaint, but, you know, I'm 18 years-old and maybe right now I just need lameness and quaintness.

I'm excited.
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

[01 Sep 2004|12:29am]
I like to think I'm healthy.

I've been peeking into halation's chap book; wanting to read and not wanting to read because I'm making myself write The Zine soon and I do not want to be influenced, etc., as her writing is extraordinarily eloquent and vivacious and I want my own things to bloom first and I don't want to get into the rhythm of her writing and then write my own words to said same rhythm. I limit how I grow. Little fences.

Today was good until the argument with my sister. She went to sleep happy-sounding and not talking to me and I feel guilty being hopeful and excited and trying-to-feel-okay-about-my-body.

The Boy reminds me of how I am doing all of these things to set myself up as a not-a-child now and I cannot get set off by spats. Everything will be okay. He got me the number for the French restaurant in case I couldn't remember it. I read it off to him over the telephone and he may still have it written on his hand but probably not.

I like my life.
9 robots swimming in your intestines.

Goodbye, Good Day. [31 Aug 2004|07:08pm]
Arguing with my sister makes me:

    A) feel awful to the point of stomach-aching
    B) want to hide for a very long time
    C) want to be very, very skinny tiny unrecognizable invisible not around here hidden pretty far away unhealthy
    D) want to be apologized to first [or even at all] for once
    E) stupid
    F) cliché
    G) all of the above

[31 Aug 2004|02:18pm]
My father phoned a few minutes ago; says he was delivering mail at Carvel and the woman working there was complaining about being understaffed. He mentions that I have been looking for a job and she asks if I have any experience. He says, "Oh yes - she loves ice cream." Bahaha. The woman gave him an application and says that when it's time for her to talk to me, she'll just hire me. It'll do for now.

IN BIGGER NEWS, it's Leah's birthday.

1 robot swimming in your intestines.

tid [31 Aug 2004|01:06am]
We go grocery shopping and load up our backpacks; black and pink. We stumble upon the old French restaurant that closed a few months ago. The shopping center is opening another one; Saint Jacque's? This makes me tsk-tsk but remember the phone number; 862-2770. Employment oppurtunities; opening in October. That is such a long time, but it's a back-up.

Someone said we don't celebrate the 8 things we did accomplish in one day but rather toss and turn over the two things we didn't. I'm having that sort of day.

I want to set the world straight.

In other news, I'm determined to make a zine. Mentally physically emotionally I think I'm ready. I'll have a little advice column, and I think you should e-mail me with questions. But don't. Because. I have to sort things out and by the time it was published, these answers would be obsolete. But think of some questions. And, I don't know. Make up faux scenarios. "MY FRIEND BOBBY SAYS MY FRIEND CINDY IS HAWT BUT I HAVE LIKED BOBBY FOR SEVEN YEARS, SINCE HE ACCIDENTLY FATHERED MY BABY, JEREMIAH B. FROGG."

Keep yourselves busy and sane.

Love,
Jenni

P.S. Don't you hate it when people write "Love, ________" in their LiveJournals? It always annoyed me, especially when someone would post a link to their LiveJournal name afterwards. [I'm sorry, I'm not trying to point you out, guy-whose-name-starts-with-an-'O'-who-posts-pictures-of-sunsets.]
2 robots swimming in your intestines.

cliche [30 Aug 2004|11:56am]
I don't understand people who cut themselves and take pictures of it to post on the internet. There is a LiveJournal COMMUNITY for this. It's infuriating, when I still have these scars on my thighs after I haven't hurt myself in ... almost three years? I want them gone. I regret ever being sick. I regret it as if it were a choice, when it wasn't, really. It was and it wasn't.

I simply do not understand why certain diseases and conditions are celebrated. I was never proud of hurting myself. And now I have a right thigh that while almost faded, almost three years later still says, "Why not?"

Awful. Awful.
15 robots swimming in your intestines.

[30 Aug 2004|10:01am]
[ mood | frustrated ]

Also, in brighter news, I'm going to stab my computer through the mouth. Closing windows when I click certain links does not make online job-hunting happy-feeling, you stupid fucking machine.

edit: Livin' as a hobo-ette or working for a temp agency, livin' as a hobo-ette or working for a temp agency, living as a hobo-ette or working for a temp agency ...

If everything needs at least two years experience, where are the bottom jobs where you start off? Do I even want to know? Maybe I should go back to bed.

2 robots swimming in your intestines.

[30 Aug 2004|09:30am]
I'll tell you what "would be a disaster for your children."
3 robots swimming in your intestines.

Current Smell: Omelettes [29 Aug 2004|02:08pm]
I smell AWFUL! I've been aware of this since last night, laying down in sand in the back of an art museum, surrounded by Lord of the Rings-loving people dressed as hobbits and princesses. Maybe it was everyone else, or maybe it was the enveloping smell of beer and popcorn, but you know when you can smell each part of your body because of its own, specific sweat smell? You know what I'm talking about. You totally know that your armpits, breasts, crotch, and behind-your-knees have different sweat-smells.

YesterdayCollapse )
6 robots swimming in your intestines.

"Cory Matthews, you're a knee-slapper." - Kerry [28 Aug 2004|12:03am]
[ mood | content ]

I like how today's adventures were so totally intense [read: I read comic books and woke up late] that the only pictures I have to show for myself are from me and Kerry's COOKIE PARTY. I also like how I was just telling Don I'm going to start cutting back on sugar and dairy and then forty minutes later me and Kerry are eating sugar cookies and drinking milk. I'll start that tomorrow.

Kerry likes wife beaters?Collapse )
7 robots swimming in your intestines.

[27 Aug 2004|12:21am]
[ mood | asshole-ish / pain ]

Black pearl in my mouth. Today I picked up a confused chinchilla whose cage was dropped on The Boy's kitchen floor. We were all very surprised and covered in dust.

Headache, bought "business slut" clothes, attempted to drive around a teensy resedential area only to have my mother shoot my nerves with her grabbing for her seatbelt as I rounded corners. I wasn't even horrible. She's just nervous.

Also there was a pre-pubescent morbidly, morbidly obese girl sitting on a skateboard in the middle of the road. Really, that is such a great sentence and mental image. It is also true. I had to pull into the left lane to avoid hitting her, as she could not move very fast since she was a) smiling up at me in the car instead of realizing I could have hit her if I was not paying attention to the road like a good girl AND b) She was trying to escape my path by ROLLING TOWARDS HER FATHER USING ONLY HER HANDS TO STEER AND PUSH HER. I just... I'm not a mean person, or at least, I like to pretend I'm not. Also I'm overweight so I'm not one to say "HEY FATSO!!" and also it's not something that BOTHERS me or comes up a lot but I make fun of everyone? And when you're 12 and weigh much, much more than I do (170 lbs.) and you sit in the middle of the street SMILING at cars and using your arms to roll yourself out of harm's way instead of activating your Fat Kid Easy-Maneuvering Skills (we have them! It's true!)? I had no choice but to loudly address the fact that she should stop eating cupcakes and learn about safety.

At least she probably didn't hear me.

4 robots swimming in your intestines.

I think I would like to be a receptionist [25 Aug 2004|05:32pm]
The ever-present search for a job is proving to be ... interesting.

    BACK PAIN STUDY
    Volunteers needed. Must have had low back pain for more than 3 months and have one leg longer than the other. For more information, please call: 919-450-0517 or 919-462-8924.

Oi vey.

EDIT!:
    Gymnastics instructors and tumbling instructors needed. Experience required. Flexible hours. Excellent hourly rate. Call 878-8249

AHAHAHA! GYMNASTICS! FLEXIBLE HOURS! AHAHAHA ... ha. :(
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

kittens talking on the phone to other kittens // boring RAMBLING [25 Aug 2004|02:43pm]
Last night;

Walk to see Napolean Dynamite with Don at nine thirty PM but get to the shopping center around seven. The obvious answer is ice cream. Daiquiri Ice ice cream with 7-up for him and a waffle cone with one scoop bubble gum one scoop strawberry birthday cake for me. We buy two donuts but can only nibble a little bit on them before we feed them to birds and ants. We still have time left, so we go to an old persons' bar near The Colony. The woman who runs the bar has a glorious cockney accent and calls everyone "love" at least twice per visit. The Boy orders a rum and coke or a gin and coke or something and we watch drunken old people. It's so odd. I wonder if they always visited this place. The Boy tells me that when he was in high school, he would tell his mother that he had to work on a project at the lake he worked at, and would actually really walk down to this bar and smoke and do his homework and look at old drunk people. Anyway, we don't get home until late, so I sleep over his house. And by "sleep" I mean lay in his bed as he snores. We have always fallen asleep at the same time and so we never noticed we had night "imperfections." His snores aren't normal at all, more like choking and a few times I poked him so he'd stop.



Today;

I finally fell asleep around five or six in the morning, and dreamt about trying to go to sleep in a closet while people were robbing the house I was staying at. In my dream, Don came over to keep me company and brought Junior-the-chinchilla, who wouldn't stop running on his excercise wheel, which makes a lot of noise. In my dream, I was begging him to go downstairs and shut the chinchilla up. I woke up at seven to alarm clocks and Junior rocking his cage out because of his ever-so-noisy wheel. Don took a shower and got dressed for work and we just laid in bed for a couple minutes with his head on my back and then he had to go. I watched court shows and talk shows and had eloquent conversations with the animals and decided to go to Jason's Deli at around 11am to munch on salad and ginger bread muffins. Eating alone is a strange thing. And now I am home and wanting to buy brightly colored clothing and Don's stereo but I do not think my mother wants to go to Target right now ever.

So.

Sigh.
your intestines.

What I wake up to, from my fourteen year-old sister. [24 Aug 2004|01:30pm]
[ mood | amused / cinnamon streusel ]

    DEAR JENNI;
    YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS.
    LOVE,
    KERRY.

    P.S. LETS PLAY WHEN I GET HOME FROM SCHOOL =)
13 robots swimming in your intestines.

[23 Aug 2004|02:06pm]
;

mohawk-craving teeny-craving late-pill-taking abilitiy now can't help picturing cocaine in teacups tiny gifts for tiny people dreamt of something disturbing end of the world listening to the tank girl soundtrack wanting to kiss people on the forehead genitals puppies-on-the-forehead DRIVING I drive too close to cars on my rightand uhmm I'm going to go dress up as a vintage slut to take my mind off of things.

THERE WAS A POINT TO THIS, but I've since long forgotten.

I used to like fairies and angels.
7 robots swimming in your intestines.

one [22 Aug 2004|04:16pm]
So, about the clothing. The one dress - the money shot, if you will - I just discovered is unbelievably spooky to put on home-alone. I can just picture some white-tinted dead woman shooting down from my stairs and yelling at me to take that off and give it back. She would have a beehive. So I decided I'll just show the clothing in parts, when I feel like dressing up.

Here is the shirt. Or rather, the gist of it. The part that matters.

5 robots swimming in your intestines.

[22 Aug 2004|02:50pm]
[ mood | hopeful ]

I should learn how to drive 'long' distances just so I could see these bands in Carrboro.

    Oct. 4th; Blonde Redhead ($13) [music]
    Oct. 22nd; The Dresden Dolls ($8) [video]
    Oct. 24th; Death Cab for Cutie ($15)


Oh dear oh dear.
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

Remember when we found Italy? [22 Aug 2004|01:40am]
I just want to shake everyone and look everyone in the eye. WHAT IS THIS. Yesterday I read part of Sexus by Henry Miller to Leah while she was half-asleep, shut the tv off and read all of the beautiful bits and all of the vulgar bits and made her want her boyfriend while she tried to sleep. I read her this part where he writes, he writes, he writes this thing and it is the most poignant, CLICHÉ fucking thing ever but it's just so, I feel like we're so drunk, it's so perfect, it's so, he writes:

    "I guess the trouble with me is that I can't swallow the fact that I'm just another nobody . . . ."


You fucking(!) ...

I read that to Leah and she starts to tell me how that is so true, her eyes are closed and too tired to look up and I tell her I want to go out into the hallway and scream "CARE ABOUT ME!" then quietly retreat to bed. Fully aware that that is the wrong way to go about things.

Who am I what am I I just want someone to look into my face and say, "You Are Complete" and I want to keep on living after that.

WHY I LOVE HENRY MILLER FROM SEXUS JUST ALONECollapse )
your intestines.

WHERE I AM. [22 Aug 2004|01:13am]
I think that sometimes we all forget the crisp beauty of the word "fuck."

I feel so complete and discontent and incomplete right now that it's amazing. I'm trying to sort my educational path together like a teensy puzzle. A soggy puzzle. One I've spilt milk on in frustration, apparently. I just want. Everything set up and set out and set pretty. So I just don't have to THINK, rather I just DO. For. Um. Four or five years. From. Um. Spring. 2005? That's another continent away, ladies and gentlemen. 2005. Robots. SHEER ROBOTICS.

Every Saturday night, my mother sips on a beer and sings along with Sarah McLachlan's new cd and Evanescence. That's how I know it's Saturday night. It is so pretty and sad all at the same time. I will drive her to all of these places now, show her all of these pretty things she doesn't see because she likes to drive in places she knows about. I want to go driving with my sister, just adventure together while dressing up like clown sluts. I want to drive my dad places so he doesn't have to drive after doing such for a living. This is my face hurting (BUT IT'S KILLING US! A H A HA A H A H A HA!) because this is the feeling when you feel so strange and about to cry but there's no reason to and you're not sad but rather SADDENED vaguely, in that way in which your face just aches. Another ache, another ache. I really do not like this LiveJournal name and actually the only reason I keep it is because I'm too poor to buy a token to change it and I don't want to leave this journal behind because it is mine. This is the longest I've kept one journal. Mostly I run or burn things up.

"Maybe Today" by Carbon Leaf is stuck desperately in my head and I cannot get it out or find it on 'teh interweb.'

What RAPTURE!

Tomorrow I will have to play video games.

I really want to listen to this song. It's what being quiet in Don's apartment feels like sometimes.

lyricsCollapse )
7 robots swimming in your intestines.

so many pictures [22 Aug 2004|12:26am]
[ mood | inspired ]

So, I spent Friday with Leah and Saturday with Amanda, and then around five o'clock Jason and I embarked on a journey back to Raleigh, stopping for very large and delicious apples in Durham. Ubergourmet huge scientists-of-yum-must-have-made-these green apples that Snow White would have choked on even if they weren't poisonous because she would shove them down her throat so hard. Covered in caramel. And then gourmet white chocolate. And then crunched up Oreos. And then seriously the best gummie worms ever. They were special and not cheap-tasting and I never even noticed how cheap-tasting regular gummie worms were until I had these gummie worms because. Oh shit.

Photos from this weekendCollapse )
15 robots swimming in your intestines.

[21 Aug 2004|01:40pm]
Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy kids.

So right now I'm in Amanda's dorm. I don't know when I'm coming home, but I don't think I would mind staying in Amanda's dorm for three days and then Leah's dorm for three days and then Amanda's dorm for three days and then Leah's dorm for three days... because that's how long you're "allowed" to stay in a person's dorm for a time and hum. I would only miss Kerry and Don and my parents and Lola, though. So I guess I'll come back to Raleigh tonight. I'll practice driving and I'll go everywhere and make myself have adventures, though.

Yesterday night me and Leah went to see a comedian whose name I don't remember but she was hysterical and talked mostly about race and weed and sex and parenting. She said that sometimes she looks at her children and thinks, "If only I gave head that night... I could have swallowed you."

We smoked cigarettes and swung on the swingset and talked to our boyfriends on her cell phone and did laundry and ate chocolate chocolate chip muffins.

This morning we woke up and talked to Moses and it feels like a dream and in fact I went back to sleep and dreamt about what I imagined while talking to him and it felt really good.

We ate pizza and ice cream and salad and soda with Amanda and then me and Amanda went to Tate Street and went to this consignment shop where I got beautiful vintage clothing that I will show you later, when I can upload my pictures.

Mwah.
4 robots swimming in your intestines.

[20 Aug 2004|03:10pm]


Off on an adventure! I'll be back ... um ... tomorrow night. :(
13 robots swimming in your intestines.

[19 Aug 2004|11:46am]
[ mood | TOTALLY CRUSHIN ]

Today I got my driver's permit and a cherry cheesecake milkshake.

Love,
Jenni

18 robots swimming in your intestines.

[18 Aug 2004|01:11am]
I remember one time in first or second grade we wrote postcards to a pre-selected partner. We had to draw on one side and write a letter and address it to the classroom and to the person we were writing to on the other side and the teacher paid for us to send these out only to have them come back to us three days later. The girl who wrote my postcard's name was Ruby or Christina and she was little and hispanic and invited me to her birthday party which was the day after we sent the postcards out but two days before I got the postcard.

That's kind of how the rest of my school years felt like up until last year.
4 robots swimming in your intestines.

LEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [18 Aug 2004|12:51am]
I am a clean slate.

I didn't get to see Zack before he left for college in Asheville and for that I am sad but he is coming back not this weekend but next weekend I think and so I'll see him then. I spoke to him on the telephone for about an hour all-together today which was weird, because I think the longest we ever did the talking-on-the-phone-thing before was about five minutes. It was like an audio letter, then, and he was driving or at rest stops and his car was smoking and I'm wondering what he's doing now and hoping an Asian homeless woman does not kill him and steal his money to buy smack. We talked about Henry Miller and about how things are consecutively happy now that we have these beautiful people and situations in our lives. (Don and Kate mostly but others too of course, and how we're not in high school anymore.) We talked about how we need to have a train-vacation in which we just take trains along the east coast. I told him not to do anything that will kill him even though I know he will. Do dangerous things, I mean. Not die.

I am determined to get my permit on Thursday. I will spend all day tomorrow studying for this. I will write down notes and I will not be nervous and I will not suck at life.

I'm going to be in Greensboro on Friday night. Leah, we have to go out and do something. I need to find a way home, though. Don called Jason and to see if he wanted to have boys' night on Friday and I didn't think about it until now but it'll be cute because it will be boys' night and girls' night at the same time, just like before, except this time the girls will be an hour and a half away. Oh, but, point being; Jason said he was coming to Greensboro on Saturday and maybe I could catch a ride home with him and spend time with Amanda while you have Leah and Jason time and I can buy him poptarts because no road trip is complete without poptarts? If he'll have me? Either that or I can try to take the train, which would be exciting but scary but I could do it. I hope you read this but I am going to call you in about 20 hours anyway. :( I got your letter today and I love you.
1 robot swimming in your intestines.

[17 Aug 2004|12:34am]
I think it's important for, at least once every few days, a person to hold onto another person as if they were falling at some exceptional velocity.
3 robots swimming in your intestines.

perfectly aligned [16 Aug 2004|01:32pm]
hi.

Since I have found the Portuguese word processor ... well, I'd like to report a change, but really everything's just remaining in this teensy stasis full of abnormal changes.

The ammount of adventure I've been encountering is simply not fulfilling enough. When I am alone I am so discontent lately. There is so much and so little to do. I am supposed to dedicate all of today to studying for getting my permit but actually I think I would rather finish watching the copy of March of the Wooden Soliders that my mother's mother recorded for me when I was a one year-old.

I had a dream I had a little baby on a stick and I went to smoke a joint but everything spilt out of it, on fire and dangerous and I let it drop on a little boy who knew more about things like that then I did. Dangerous people were swimming in swimming pools. I had to help my mother's father up off of the ground.

I am afraid that I am not entertaining enough lately and I feel so bad and boring going over to Don's sometimes lately because I want to be how I was last year around this time, new and exciting and dangerous-feeling. I am afraid I might start drinking again just because I am so bored of this (the waiting-feeling, the worryingI'mnotexcitinganymorefeeling). What kind of person sets out to become an alcoholic? The last time I drank, in the morning I was in such pain and I was so miserable that I was crying praying in Don's shower at 2pm, praying to God and Jesus and Mary and my mother's mother and my mother's brother and Krishna and Buddha and Marilyn Monroe and saying, "Please just make this go away and I won't drink again until I am twenty-one at least." And the pain went away about an hour later, after I had been puking up my fucking stomach lining since almost-8am.

I feel like I should have an obstentiously terrible habit as to not develop an emotionally terrible habit.

six tiny picturesCollapse )
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

[15 Aug 2004|10:57am]
I've come to the realization that lately everything I am even remotely excited about never actually happens. I've also come to the realization that while that sounds v. melodramatic and faux-goth pseudo-intellectual, it's true and I wish it wasn't.

my boring feel-good day [14 Aug 2004|01:06am]
[ mood | pretty good ]

I am waiting for this hurricane-weather, sitting ugly in North Carolina. I am craving it between my bones. Today I ate jelly beans and salad with The Boy and saw ALIEN VS. PREDATOR and we saw FIVE FROGS on the way home (it is a long walk) and one was dead and one was about to jump in the street and we did a dance around it to try to make it come in towards the woods but it didn't work so I turned my back on him and now he's probably partially on someone's tire and I wonder if frogs give themselves names. Also I found a Portuguese word processor in the street near a dumpster and I am going to make robot art with it because it was rained on way too much to be useful. Also some other things that were beautiful but unmentionable.

I wish someone would write my memoirs for me.

18 robots swimming in your intestines.

[13 Aug 2004|02:32pm]
Dear Hurricane Charley,

I need a hurricane to rattle my bones. Please make sure to come up to North Carolina, Raleigh specifically.

Love,
Jenni
7 robots swimming in your intestines.

[12 Aug 2004|01:44am]
I've had writer's block for over four years until tonight.
2 robots swimming in your intestines.

[12 Aug 2004|01:14am]
You should ask me all sorts of questions.
28 robots swimming in your intestines.

I'm too dumb for this. [11 Aug 2004|11:43am]
Someone tell me what to become when I grow up so I don't have to think about it. Give me a career I wouldn't mind (no blood, law, lots of math) and I'll just sign up for all of the classes needed to do it.

I think I would like to be a sex therapist if only I didn't have to go through all of the psychology, which I find rather boring except for a few short jolts of "WOWWWWWW," or maybe something dealing with visiting lots of countries, but realistically I need something to do that will be in high demand if say, everything on Earth turns grey and only simple & necessary jobs are in high demand.
13 robots swimming in your intestines.

[11 Aug 2004|12:12am]
[ mood | none, or other. ]

    I read Henry Miller and guard words like "cock" and "cunt" from my father's mother's view while doing so.

    I have a tiara on my head just because.

    My house has a strange feeling to it lately. I saw The Boy for the first time since I vomitted frequently in his bathroom on Sunday morning and he ate up the food that I made but he seemed kind of ... off ... Like the night we argued on his bathroom floor. His face.

    I feel so much that I cannot put into words. Some sort of faux-worldly living-through-others people-watching wanting craving hiding hoping waiting wise feeling. I think I'm sad but I don't know.

    Alone except for a book of Charles Bukowski's poetry. I fucking hate poetry, you know that by now. Stomping upstairs. But the point is, he is so fucking there, his words, his brain. He might as well've exploded and used the exploded bits for ink on his typewriter. Dip the ribbon in some brains and muscles and loop it back inside. It sounds so cliche, but he is so alive in his writings that I can't help but wonder where he went when he died. Me, an 8 year-old girl. 1994. I want to know where he went because I know that's where I'll be.

    Later I'll look at these words and feel embarrassed because maybe I'll figure out by then that you really don't go anywhere and I'm so hopeful but I'll get my wish; I'll go no where but dead and he's no where but dead, too.

    1:20am, I want to call Don and cry over the telephone, explaining that one day he'll be dead and I won't be able to handle it, but I don't think that's something you can handle at 1:21am.

        "we forget the terror of one person
        aching in one room
        alone
        unkissed
        untouched
        cut off
        watering a plant alone
        without a telephone that would never
        ring
        anyway."
        -Bukowski.
10 robots swimming in your intestines.

[10 Aug 2004|11:25am]
I am excited. Tonight I am making special lasagna & garlic bread & salad & a cake. And then it will be dinner with me and Kerry and my parents and grandparents and Don. And Leah and Jason are coming over for dessert. And then Leah is LEAVING FOR COLLEGE tomorrow and I will be sad. Because she is my partner in crime. My girly counterpart. My Lucy my Ethel.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---


Today is my sister's very first day of high school. Plz watch out Sanderson High School, k thnx.

7 robots swimming in your intestines.

[09 Aug 2004|11:11pm]
From now on I will respond to "Jenni Penny."

Thank-you.
10 robots swimming in your intestines.

[09 Aug 2004|09:47pm]
[ mood | my stomach hurts ]

DEAR DIARY,

Today my father drove for about-two-hours to Wilmington so he& me& his mom& his dad could go to the beach, etc.

I saw a dead fish like in cartoons!



+ 5Collapse )
Also I saw a really fat 2 year-old boy with a rat-tail. He had a shirt on that said "COLLEGE ATHLETICS" and he pointed out birds on the ferry we were in. My grandmother was humoring him and goes, "That bird's name is PETE!" and the boy looks at her like, "HOW DO YOU KNOW, Lady?"


LOVE,
JENNI
5 robots swimming in your intestines.

two and a half years [08 Aug 2004|11:18pm]
Now I am eating food and now I am looking up recipes because tomorrow I am going to visit the ocean and the next day Don is meeting my father's parents and I am going to cook all of this food and everyone will think, "Jenni is growing up so very nicely! And Kerry just came back from her very first day of high school!" and I will think, "It is fun to play pretend. Et voila!" And everything will be nice. Except now I'm burping up the ever-so-familiar taste of bile / stomach-lining. OH NO.

Anyway, I think I definitely want to make Poires au Vin Rouge. The recipe makes me happy and will forever remind me of Leah. Also it makes pears taste like Christmas. But I need main-food-ness. I'm thinking Linguine with Crab. But I think I want to make these samosas, too. Also I want to make bread or a cake. Also. Hmmm ... maybe I'll cheat with the cake and just get a "plz mix in eggz & milk & throw in the oven" cake mix. A girl's got to prioritize. I'll hide the box. ;)

This is where I wander off in domestic bliss a la the first Stepford Wives movie where the woman comes out with a casserole and points to her house and says "I live over there," promptly compliments and gives away casserole and WALKS OFF INTO THE FOREST IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION OF WHERE SHE SAID HER HOUSE WAS.
1 robot swimming in your intestines.

Talk about dumb. [08 Aug 2004|04:48pm]
[ mood | nauseated ]

DEAR DIARY,

Yesterday was "the party." This involved so much beautifulosity, you can't even imagine. Kate Bopp in a cape and "pimp hat," my crying on the floor with Zack, my meeting Don every-once-in-a-blue-moon for quick-long kisses in the dark before seperating again to mingle, etc., my loving on Leah's face and kissing Moses, a dog and Charlie Bopp in the apartment, my confronting Don's boss about his trying to set Don up with another girl and laughinglaughinglaughing. Being fed banana liquor by Zack and being given five dollars. There was this one point where I wanted to clean really, really bad. I threw all of this trash and empty bottles into the trashcan really hard, breaking so much glass. Don walks in and goes, "What is she doing?" and someone says, "Cleaning" and he goes, "BABE DON'T CLEAN." We have one and a half bottles of banana liquor left, after starting off with seven. Banana liquor is one hundred proof. Now, I'm not claiming to have drank all of that, but I don't remember exactly how many bottles I put the finishing, polishing touches upon. And everyone wanted me to taste their mix drinks. And I wanted some champagne. And I went to sleep at three AM after puking twice.

This morning Don informed me I had alcohol poisoning. So, that was fun. I mean, if you consider choking on your stomach lining continuously from 7:54am to 12:56pm and throwing up everything ever fun. If you consider being too weak to get out of bed for more than however-long-it-takes-to-get-out-of-the-twin-sized-bed-we-share-and-running-to-the-connected-bathroom fun. If you consider telling your boyfriend, "I JUST WANT TO KILL MYSELF" around two PM fun. If you consider being force-fed chicken noodle soup and ginger ale and puking it up twice and making yourself sleep for two hours and waking up to your boyfriend packing your bags and telling you to take a shower and your being too in pain to bend down and his drying your legs and thighs and praying and peeing in the shower before then, telling everyone ever in your skull and in religions that caught your attention that you won't drink ever again until you're of legal drinking age fun. If you consider the fact that I still have a stomachache fun.

Which I do, so it was all cool.

LOVE,
JENNI

9 robots swimming in your intestines.

[07 Aug 2004|04:05pm]
One-two-three you-hurt-my-feelings-but-I'll-dismiss-it-I'll-dismiss-everything. Tonight is a night of shaking everything off.

minivan [07 Aug 2004|12:06pm]
[ mood | cold ]

I am addicted to reading "Missed Connections" in newspapers. It's official and brings out the beautiful combination of cynical feelings and hopeful feelings. It's like people-watching but not. My only qualm, however, is that everyone tends to end their ad with "I'm kicking myself." It's not the redundancy that bothers me, but the mental image I get of people all over the world literally kicking themselves because they didn't say "hello" to that red-head in the white button-up top who ordered an ice tea and fettucini alfredo.

My father's parents are coming down from New York and should be here "any minute."

1 robot swimming in your intestines.

[07 Aug 2004|10:48am]
DEAR DIARY,




LOVE,
JENNI
16 robots swimming in your intestines.

[06 Aug 2004|01:38am]
    Don said that the smell of absinthe was seeping out of my stomach and up my throat. Actually he said, "You smell like you've been guzzling cheap vodka all night and no matter how many breath mints you stick in your mouth, the smell is coming up from your stomach." We have a special kind of relationship. But mostly this is just a wonderful visual when you are drunk. Please write it on a slip of paper and remember it. Actually don't.
your intestines.

hardening [06 Aug 2004|12:42am]
    I am insatiable. Today I drank absinthe and smoked too-many cigarettes and now it is really twelve forty six and I'm wondering what will become of me? I am biting off my nail polish.

    I have now decided that I am giving up on waiting for a school-help position and will instead opt for working retail. I mostly opt for third-best, don't I? Other than my relationships with people now, etc., I mean.

    My stomach hurts so much.

    I could be dead tomorrow and you wouldn't even know. Not to be melodramatic but to tell you the truth. What am I living up to and 'til? Not saying that I'm wanting to or willing to end living. I'm a philanthropist, you know. I love life, too, you know. I'm just wondering what my little life will be recognized for.

    I'm regressing to childish tendencies. Swinging and hiding and wanting to go to college just because I want to go back-to-school shopping.

    --- --- --- --- ---


    Today was the Clumbot picnic. Clumbots = Clumsy Robots. I am friends with Zack and Daniel and Kate and they all have younger siblings who are friends; Elliott and Johnny and Charlie. And Kerry. So it's sort of like a family, except for Kate and Zack are going out so I guess they're kind of Flowers in the Attic-y but in the cool way. All of the older Clumbots except for me are moving hours away for college and all of the younger Clumbots start high school on Tuesday so we decided to make food and have a picnic.

    +6Collapse )
8 robots swimming in your intestines.

dirty denim dealers [05 Aug 2004|01:13am]
    Today I was unbecoming bait for so many tiny little bugs as I swept the swamp that is my boyfriend's patio for an hour or so around 4:30pm.

    I walked with my sister from his apartment to his place of employment and watched him smoke two cigarettes, we went to get food and ran underneath several hundred tiny black birds sitting pretty upon wires that I just now realized runs past his apartment complex. We giggled untrustingly to three prostitutes who complimented our bright colors and bought toasted marshmallow and pear jelly beans at the uppity grocery store that smells like my father's mother's pantry. We walked home in the dark and played Go Fish and waited for it to be 9:30pm so Don would be home with us because even with the animals there with us everything feels so creeptacular and I feel like I could be swept up at any minute and I think that's why I do it.
your intestines.

navigation
[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]