Rants About Me

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*Insert Punny Blonde Joke Here*

I was born a blonde. In California. Blue eyes, pale skin and golden blonde locks. Life should have been a little fucking easier for me. Isn't that the Californian ideal? To be tanned and sunny looking, with some camera following me around, filming me in slow motion?

Yeah.... for those of you reading this that aren't from California, let me burst that bubble for you right there. I'm a rarity in California. Don't get me wrong, there ARE a good number of blondes that live here, but they're all transplants and their haircolor comes from a bottle. I'm a seventh generation (that can be proven on paper) Californian and I'm blonde to boot. Yet life wasn't as grand as you'll find in copies of US Weekly, on the latest sitcom or in the latest Johnny Knoxville "comedy" clunker. Being blonde in California fucking sucked.

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The Atypical Key to My Heart

I was at the local bookstore today, flipping through a magazine and fighting off the antsy feeling I get on Fridays. At the table across from me were two women in their late 30s. They each were holding a copy of US Weekly and were cooing to each other over how hot Brad Pitt looked in his state of pending fatherhood. I tried not to laugh too loudly. You see, Brad Pitt does nothing for me. Blue eyes, blond hair, perfect abs? Ick. I prefer my men a little more left of center. A little more off-kilter. Fuck it, I'll just come right out and say it. I dig me an odd man.

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Confessions of An Evil Bitch

Guess what? I managed to severely piss off yet another person in my life. Not that it comes as much of a surprise, pissing people off is kinda my thing. But it sure was amusing for me to discover this information in a blog. I've been told off in so many ways over the course of my lifetime, ranging from avoidance to physical violence, but reading about it in a blog was a first. Yay! Someone give me a patch to sew onto my Dysfunction Girl Scout outfit! Now all I need is the "Spelled out for you on Easter eggs" badge!

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I Suck!

And not just in the good way.

Since I've opened up my writing to the public with these blogs, I've been feeling rather inadequate. I've started subscribing to many of my reader's blogs and get this overwhelming feeling that I'm not good enough, that I've so far to go before I can feel like a good enough writer. This Guy in particular makes me feel so sub-par. I've been reading and rereading my stuff, tweaking little things here and there, and it's just so much work. I'm the typical ENFP.... I want things to come easily to me. Working for it is such a drag.

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Stop Looking At Me!

If you want my attention, here's some things to help you out:

My weaknesses:

* Any food-stuffs with chipotle peppers. Especially the fire-roasted ones.
* People who can quote Mitch. People who quote Mitch in reference to something that's happening to them in their day.
* Boys or girls with flamboyant, meaningful tattoos.
* Boys with tongue piercings.
* Girls with multi-colored hair.

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Just a Little More Self-Reflection

The following is dedicated to all of the strong, misunderstood and under appreciated women I know.

To borrow a line from my friend Heather; I like who I am. Not in an egotistical way, but I like the person that I am. Of course, this feeling is one that is most fierce when I am in a positive mood. I tend to doubt my likeability when in the midst of a "bad" day, and most of that insecurity stems from the great and almighty: SOCIETY.

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Fuck the Damn Kudos, Tom (a former "Diary" only entry)

Alright already.

What is it that I'm supposed to be picking up on? Point me in the right direction. I'm so sick of hurting all the time.

Just don't lose focus on the one thing that you thought you wanted for yourself. And don't be the pawn. And don't allow something just because it feels good. You're stronger than that. It may not seem like it right now, but you are.

They all "love" and respect you, and really, that's good enough. Some people are ignored their entire lives. Some people never make a mark on anyone. So, good or bad, you know that you can at least say that. You've made a mark on people. There are people out there that love and respect you. That's pretty kick ass.

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I'm sick. My head hurts. I can't stop coughing. It's way too hot in the house. I can't seem to filter out even the smallest of noises. I can't afford to take a day off of work, but I really should take tomorrow off. I took a long shower and I still feel that dirtiness that comes with being sick. I hate being sick. I want someone to fawn over me while I whine about all my minor aches and pains. I need to lay down, but if I do, I will just nap fitfully.

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I have come to the conclusion that I am sub-par when it comes to writing on here. I need to try harder. You all deserve that. You are worthy of so much better. Yet...... sigh. It's so much work dammit! I hate expending effort. I've adopted too many phrases. Aye. Gah. Blah. Gip. I love them... but now I think I need to make up some of my own. I'm tired. I need to sleep. I'm not sleepy. I want a cinammon roll. I want false hopes. I should throw a potato in the oven. I think I may want one in a couple weeks. I have a clock that occasionally cooks shit. I have an ant farm but they don't grow shit. The wall keeps inviting me to another game of tennis. Damn it's relentless. I miss Mitch. I'm not making any sense. Is it Saturday yet? Why do my toes feel cold? My neighbor makes too much noise. I doubt that fucker ever sleeps. Teddy bears are so cool. I would live in a trailer park if it had been made by Tim. Achin' for some bacon. I need to scout. I don't wanna shout. Frogs are annoying. Where was I? Where am I? Who took my Pop Rocks? Stop pointing, it's not nice. Talk nerdy to me. My stalkers formed a support group. I'm cleverly disguised as a reponsible adult. What if the hokey pokey IS what it's all about? I'm sorry! Was it my job to fill your life with joy? If only cut & paste worked in relationships. What happens if you get scared half to death.... twice?

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