numero uno

i hate first time blogs. everything that happens for the first time tends to be shitty. like the first time you went on a freaky roller coaster at the local amusement park. the first time you smoked a cigarette. the first time you kissed someone. the first time you got drunk. the first time you had sex. anything that starts with 'my first time' is not a story worth telling. but hey. in this situation, when you've resorted to the internet as your main audience and form of amusement, first times are nothing but a thing of the past. for example. this isn't the first time i've decided to blog randomly. but it may be the first time i actually keep it up. i blog all the time on those msn spaces things. but it feels like everyone who shouldn't be reading it has access to it. it's so shitty. so therefore, you must address your readers as though they mattered (minus the select few who are probably reading this too...). so whatever. life goes on, your hormones change, you get used to the fact that nothing is ever as it seems and then you die. so let me start by saying that i'm not in a very good mood. i need a cigarette and because of my current living arrangements it is exceptionally difficult to leave the house without someone 50 years my senior wanting to tag along. i hate it when other people do my laundry, i hate it when other people touch my food, i hate it when other people tell me what to think or what to do. i think i'm going to be single for the rest of my life and hope to g-d that if i'm not, that i don't end up like anyone i know. i've never lived or encountered more miserable, selfish, depressing people in my life. and i only say this because it's what i feel. and since i don't do this often, take it all in bitches. cause it ain't happening again. anyhow, so i'm a loser. but i think you already knew that so what difference does it make? i am what i am, i'll do what i want... i need to wash my hair, and get a life. but work restricts me from even attempting to look good at any given point in time, so for those of you that know me, if i come home looking like bigfoot's little sister with bushes for eyebrows, go to hell you're not worth my fuckin time. why do i even try, beauty is natural right? and if g-d loves me and created me within his guidelines for women whom he graced with too many lines and too much hair, i should be as happy as a fuckin cricket with a one-week life span. it ends here.