I am in a strange mood…Money trouble, school trouble, girl…trouble? Maybe not girl trouble…it’s very late/early…we are on a four day vaction from school, and being unemployed/employed at school, I’ve had truly nothing to do for three days, so my schedule quickly inverted. I think I crawl into the dark because i have a weak self image (Literarlly and only self image, as opposed to ego and self worth – those I have in plenty, but that doesn’t stop me from not having an identity…). I have so much on my mind, I’m just going to whip out a xanga I’ve seen a lot of people do: Little known facts about me:
1. I speak spanish. My dad grew up in mexico and I lived in spain…this is odd for most people because I look so very white.
2. I’m armed most of the time. I had a job that was rather dangerous for a while, and I got in the habit of always carrying something, usually a can of extra-strong pepper spray or a collapsable baton. I don’t have the job anymore, but I still grab something out of my ‘magic drawer’ most mornings. For some reason this embarasses me.
3. I’m a closet raver. I listen to oodles and oodles of techno.
4. I hate the noise a pencil makes when scratching on paper. I hate it to a nails on the chalkboard degree.
more to follow.
You can come over and touch the sex blanket whenever you want to.
And you don’t have girl tourbles…I don’t think anyway. Call me when you get a chance tonight and we can chill (or whatever the kids to these days).
I listen to techno too…it’s sick, but I love it!
i don’t mind the pencil noise; it’s dry. but too much mouth-noise when someone speaks? that mushy-slappy-slurpy-swallowy-smacky noise? while they’re speaking? i want to run away screaming. but it’s a dry scream.
Testify.
I say go to a fuckin’ rave and get wasted and do some extasy or whatever tickles your fancy.
Fuck man, you all bitch about my site and I can’t read this fucking fairy color on here…. WTF MAN!
Christ.. you people suck!
Mmm, Pepper spray… I have a xanga post related to peper spray and my borther-in-law which I shall share soon.
Hope you saved up some moola for the HeroClix tourney this weekend. 😉
Ok you are a real loser, if you are to retarded to fight someone off with fist to fist combat, you need help you little pussy girl. And most people from spain are white… unless the only way you know spain is by giving spain-trips to your butt-buddy “dirtydickhair” =D have a good day!
LOL Dirty Dick hair… heh.. Chuck would know all about the level of filth there I am sure =)
Dude, you have no idea. Seriously. It’s …full…of…stars…
OK: For those wondering what superfistal_assbiter’s
It took a re-read to figure out what superfistal_assbiter was trying to say, but now that I have:
That’s a fair criticism. Your experience with armed individuals is probably limited to local cops, your dad, and the goth kid nobody talks too.
You don’t understand what I did. I had a legit need to be armed. I’m wasn’t worried that the guys from the “A” basketball team were going to give me a swirly on my way to gym, Wy – I was a skip tracer, insurance investigator, and process server. I threw people out of their homes, served summons and court documents, and acted as a private courier for confidential documents and packages…sometimes I documented people commiting crimes that would get them thrown in jail. So honorable combat was not the order of the day. Walking out of the situation was.
And do you seriously mean to tell me there’s no one in the world you couldn’t “fight of with fist to fist combat?” You’re in OK shape for a 15 year old, but I’d like to see you evict a half-naked, 250#, 40-year-old crackhead who’s jacked to the gills on cheap Mexican speed and hiding a shotgun somewhere in his bathrobe from an upstairs apartment…
Or serve a paper to some quirky backwoods jerkoff from West Virginy who thinks you want to give his land back to the Indians, so when he catches you on his property, he just opens the gate on his pens and siccs 15 or so sled dogs on you? Ever “fought of with fist to fist combat” a pack of dogs?
I was an apprentice locksmith for a while – you ever jimmied the door on a Caprice with a kilo of weed on the dash at three in the morning while the scrawny hispanic who called you keeps one hand on something in his pocket and tells you to hurry over and over in gutter Spanish, while spastically looking over his shoulder? The kind of drug dealer that locks his keys in his car, then calls a locksmith ’cause he’s too spun to think of breaking the window is not going to bow and challenge you to karate match if he doesn’t want to give you your thirty bucks. Fortuneatly, I did that job quickly, and the worst part of that night was finding a way to politely decline his offer to tip me in skank. . . his old lady was *not* a clean person…
Guess I won’t be molesting you tomorrow night after all.