Obama won.

I'm afraid to be happy or relieved.

The last time I let myself be happy or relieved, I woke up in the morning and something happened in Florida and George Bush was president.

I feel completely vacant and numb.

I hope this works out. I hope he does something.

Your love matters Neil, baby. =(

Please stop making me cry.

I come for two reasons.

One: the people in the apartment above me won't stop having sex.

That wouldn't be so horrible if his/her rhythm weren't so bad. Because the starting and stopping every minute or so grates far worse than the squeaking.

Two: I deleted a bunch of people from my friends list that I never interacted with. I know I don't post much anyway, but if I deleted you and you read my journal, or if I just never friended you back, let me know. I really just meant to clear up my f-list for browsing and kind of deleted stuff I never commented on.

But again, let me know and I'll friend you again. I'm not one of those "you can only have so many friends" people.

There aren't that many Americans on my Flist and I'm sure everyone's seen this anyway, but:

I am so upset I can't access the site that all of the [livejournal.com profile] hd_inspired fics and images are located on. I don't know why, but I've tried two different browsers, emptying the cache/cookies, etc, turning off my firewall, and everything else I can think of.


I had this conversation with my dad this morning before he took the girls to day care:

Father: Do you have any garbage bags?
Me: Get her so I can get them.
Father: Oh, I don't need them now. It's just that the bear got into the garbage again.
Me: Alright. I'll put some out fo you then I'm going back to bed.

You see, we have a bear. A giant bear who comes out in the early morning and attacks our garbage. Which is very dangerous but also pretty fucking boss. I want to see it. Kind of. I mean. I don't want it to see me, obviously, and I'm not sure I'd be able to see it at the garbage from the porch/window, and you know, it's not like I want to walk up to it because it's a wild bear and it would probably think I was trying to eat it so it would eat me instead. But I want to see. I actually want a picture.

So it's really a good thing I'm too lazy to get up at around four and stare outside.

Why is there no visa available for me to move to England? Like. Honestly. Just for a year or something.

Or 6 months.

Or two months.

I don't have all the disposable income in the world and with the exchange rate it'd take me six years to save up the cash.

Part of me wants to re-enroll in school just to study abroad.

Sometimes I wonder if part of me is still holding on to the idea of my high school boyfriend. And that I had myself so convinced I was in love with him that I'll never be able to let go.

And then I stalk all of his friends' myspaces until I find new pictures of him and realize what different places we're in right now and how I could never ever ever go out with a guy who never shaved or bathed that infrequently, or hang out with a bunch of guys getting trashed off PBR and playing Rock Band all night, trashing up the room with smoke.

The thing is they're not bad people. And they're not gross. They're wonderful, very intelligent, well-read people who are very close to music and life and the mountains. It's this weird underground Appalachian new music culture that's part old punk and hardcore and metal and still everyone thinks the fiddle is totally boss. And they're great people who care about things and have ideas and want to stick around here and make sure it stays awesome.

It's just that they're not my people. I'm city lights and white-painted walls and I'm much more likely to go for something like a pomagranite martini with orange peel garnish, watching Project Runway all night and having conversations about the relevance of theatre in today's society and going off on a couple of tangets about celebrity and the paparazi and how my roommate's x-boyfriend was a douchebag.

It took me a long time to really come to peace with this about myself. Because I've never been one of those people who never regrets anything. I regret everything. And there's about ten million little moments in my life where I can look back and say, "if I just would've done this, everything would be different. I would be different."

So obviously I wonder what it would be like if it would've worked out.

It probably would've ended soon after, but you know. I'm kind of glad it ended when it did, with minimal drama. Because he became a different, fascinating person who leads a life full of fun and smiles and music and I became someone who is driven and aware and well. Someone who thinks first sometimes, instead of just doing things.

And I no longer wallow in my misery and I help people and I keep my mouth shut about shit I know nothing about. And I can admit I'm wrong and I don't do things just for the cool factor.

I don't necessarily wear my heart on my sleeve, but I'll admit I have a heart now.

And honestly, I've gone from 11 years of horrible depression to just fine. So if we're looking at life accomplishments, I think that's pretty okay.

And part of it is getting out of here. The mountains are pretty, ya'll. They are. And the people talk hard and sweet like sandpaper candy and a lot of times you're known by who you're related to, and people who you've only known for a little while become family.

And I'm used to starless skies and long i's like melodies and I've always found my place in my family to be oppressed and a bit understood.

So I'm doing alright now. And I need to stop feeling guilty for the life I could've had in the mountains, fighting against mountain top removal and chaining myself to the road on the way to strip mines and saving Appalachia from the drug problem

I'm doing okay just saving myself. And I did that. So now, I guess.. I can just move on.
Half of you won't know what I'm talking about, but Kevin Jonas (20), of the Jonas Brothers, wore a "Team Demi and Selena" T-shirt at a time when he knew he'd be photographed.

The purpose of this T-shirt is to be cruel to Mile Cyrus (15), which for some reason makes me irrationally angry.

If the 15 year old did it, I'd think he was a douche, but mainly only because he's dating Selena now and Miley just outed the fact that they went out for two years in Seventeen, when he's not admitted it at all.

I am kind of obsessed with celeb culture right now and I always feel bad for the girl stars who are struggling with self-esteem and have too many people around them and aren't allowed to make mistakes, which leads to secrecy, which leads to more mistakes. And Miley's dad's from Kentucky so I feel bad for her.

I just think it's lame. (And I'm probably lamer for caring.)
This is amazing/terrifying.

If you don't see it, scroll down the smallest bit.
I want to tell everyone about how I feel about everything all the time. But the thing is that most people don't want to listen. And the people who do can't really do anything about it. So I generally sit here all day bubbling under nauseous wishing I were someone else who was doing someone else and wondering what it would be like if I could change the past.
This is the most accurate little quiz thing I've taken in AGES. It's a little scary, actually.

ColorQuiz.com Ashe took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!

"Pursues her objectives with intensity and does not..."

Click here to read the rest of the results.

My computer won't start so I have to send it out.

I'm on my dad's laptop right now.

I'm going to have limited computer time for a week or so, which is lame.

I mean, I know I never post in here, but I use LJ a lot.

And I read my Flist.

I will miss you. =(
Ethan just read a chapter of His Dark Materials to himself, then summarized it for me.

=) My baby.
I'm at the beach with my family. We thought we were meant to have internet at the hotel.

But we don't! Which is why I disappeared for a week. I'm currently sitting on a table by the sidewalk sponging off a different hotel's wireless.

Things are going decently well, here. There are four kids (Ethan, Shyla, Baby Sister, and Cloey), so we have our share of melt-downs, but it's been an all right trip so far.

Baby Sister's hair is still very red, and Cloey has gotten very very tan whereas her hair has gotten very very blond. Ethan, Shyla, and I have managed not to burn.

Also it's bloody hot around here.

Have lovely weeks, if I don't talk to anyone again.

Dear Supernatural Fandom:

If you want someone to outline the moral of your story? That person is not Dean Winchester.

Also, Bela Talbot neither cries mournfully over the idea that Dean sold his soul, or wears Steve Madden.

Thanks for watching.

Has anyone ever noticed that in Supernatural, Dean keeps his tapes in a Steve Madden shoe box?

What is Dean doing with a Steve Madden shoe box? I mean, granted they do have some men's shoes, but I don't see any of them being quite Dean's style...
Okay ya'll. It's time to face it.

I am officially a Supernatural fangirl.

I spent the last week obsessively putting off sleep and other very important business to watch every episode ever filmed.

At the moment I'm listening to some ridiculous song Jensen Ackles and his friend recorded, and thinking how Dean would probably call him a pussy. Or wussy, because it is cable television.

I have joined a lot of the rest of the world in my obsession with this ridiculousness and I love it.

I also feel I need icons, now. IDK.




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