Especially when I showed them the song and they DIDN'T LIKE IT and then go and use it for someone else. And therefore completely RUINING the song for me.
YOU CAN'T TAKE SINEAD AND SHANE FROM ME
THAT'S NOT FAIR
FUCK YOU LAZ!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
something that makes me angry and sad and then more angry again because i let something stupid make me sad
When someone takes a song I've always related to my feelings for them and uses it as their song for someone ELSE. It makes me very angry and sad. Emotional wars in music.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
july/5
All I want to do is ride bikes today.
So all I'm gonna do is ride bikes today!
Gotta love Summmer!
So all I'm gonna do is ride bikes today!
Gotta love Summmer!
final product
One of the three final flyers made from my "I'm not going to sleep until I finish this shit oh well looks like I'm not gonna sleep at all" artistic angry fury last night.
Looks like I'm gonna be doing a lot of printing today...
project "old timer asshole"
I am starting a new project. A simple flyering production for the lovely new batch of Gilman preteen punks. The image above is a prototype of the flyers I will be xeroxing and spreading around town myself. Especially downtown Berkeley, Ohlone trail, Berkeley BART, and the Gilman area. I want these fuckers to see them and know that they are hated by someone. Someone with a copy machine. I want the old crew to see them and laugh and remember the "Colin Likes it in the Butt" flyers of 2010 and hopefully come together in camaraderie.
You might be wondering, "Why do you care so much about some stupid kids, Andy?" And let me tell you why. They have taken everything I care about and hold dear and parade it about like a fucking accessory. The band shirts they bought with their parents money, their brand new iPods loaded with songs screaming about poverty. What do they know about the music they listen to? Absolutely nothing. All they care about is getting fucked up and looking cool. They think they're so fucking alternative, when in actuality they are just like everyone else. Take away the studs, take away the patches and the stupid hair cuts and they have the same sheep mentality as the people they rebel against.
Not only have they made me question the legitimacy of what I love, but they have taken away my second home. The Gilman, which used to be run by my crew, is now infested with these idiotic herd minded preteens. I don't go there anymore, it just makes me angry and I hate having to deal with the drunk baby punks.
This isn't just for me. This is for Valentina and Lazarus. This is for the whole old crew. They took our home from ALL of us. I'm don't think this is some grand revolution, but hey, it's fucking something.
I'm getting pissed off, it's 5:30 in the morning, and I have more work to do.
gilman kid story
It was one of those few, rare great summer nights. The kind that everyone remembers in their own way, with their own moments to reflect on and stories to tell. One of those nights everyone will always remember, the kind that are told forever and never die.
Sitting outside the Gilman, the pieces started to come together. Dalton was 18 and getting off his shift at the front office soon, which meant he would go on the mighty 'Pic and Pac cigarette run with Laz, Calder, and I. Two packs of Camel wides and a pack of American Spirit unfilters (Laz likes classy cigarettes). After that, I was ready for anything. Sophie had weed-a lot of it- and so did Sage. And Dalton had just bought a pipe, just waiting to be christened. We even had an apartment to smoke at. All we had to do was wait for Jacob and a guy we'd never seen before to come back from a beer run.
We all remember being a bit wary of the man buying our friend's alcohol. He had an older face and drying, fried hair under a baseball cap. We never got a good look at his eyes- he was wearing sun glasses, trendy red Wayfarer frames. His shirt was a too tight, bright yellow YMCA camp t-shirt. He looked at me and my friends a bit too intently, he followed us all a bit too closely, he asked too many questions but he never looked us in the eye.
Once he and Jacob got back from buying some sort of malt liquor we all walked to the spot we referred to as 'the creek'. It was a non-fenced off area behind a small baseball field. There was a swamp-like creek with a trail and lots of trees and green- and a perfect dry island to smoke on. We had been there many times before, remembering nights spent smoking, drinking, laughing, fighting, screwing around, and being punk kids out.
Even walking there was fun, running through the street and yelling. Some kids skated there, some ran, some walked, everyone smoked.
ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH
Once we were there, Sophie sat on her longboard and packed Dalton's pipe with her purplish and sticky nugs. The pipe went around and everyone sat in a circle, talking and waiting for their own release. The guy in the yellow shirt stood next to the circle, not smoking but drinking with Jacob. Sometimes he would interject in the circle's conversation, but mostly he kept to himself and Jacob. When people started to get rowdy as they usually do, Laz hushed them and reminded everyone there was a cop stationed a couple blocks away from where we were and that he just got out of Youth Court and didn't want to go to juvie. Reminded of our own felonies and charges, we calmed down. Thorn looked at all of and smiled, with his red eyes and cotton mouth, told us that we were a great group. To that, Val chugged her forty and wrapped her spindly arm around me. The embrace of my best friend and the alcohol in my veins and the THC in my brain made me feel at home, in the middle of nowhere.
The guy in the yellow shirt became more active in the conversation, asking us where we all got to know each other and if came to the creek a lot, if it was our regular spot, if we went to the Gilman a lot. It seemed like he might have been making small talk, asking us where we were from and such, but he asked too many questions in detail. He asked me what I was doing tomorrow casually, but then asked for more specific details like where exactly I would be and when, and then said he might stop by. This might seem like a red flag for many people, and it was for me. When he wandered over down to the other end of the creek, opposite from where we were sitting, people started talking about how freaky this guy was and why was he here. No one knew him from before. Not even Jacob knew who he was, really, besides being over 21 and decent enough to buy alcohol for a minor and desperate enough to try to befriend them.
Eventually we all got stoned enough that we felt we had to DO something. Do you ever get like that? When you're restless and just feel like running somewhere, getting in trouble, laughing and plotting schemes? That's how it was. And that's what we did. We stumbled out of the creek and landed on our feet. Walking down the street and skating down the street, people holding hangs and hugging, we headed towards the train tracks. It was me, my best friend, my boyfriend, the rest of the group of restless friends, and the guy in the yellow shirt.
A few blocks away and then a few more blocks down from the Gilman was the train tracks. Trains running from different East Bay cities passed through regularly, and loudly. We walked down the tracks a bit, and landed at the place we called 'Earth's tit', a large and hard mound of cement and gravel protrouding from the ground. We sat there, talking and horsing around for a while. Then there was a short lull in conversation, and the guy the yellow shirt said that he was going home. He was going on BART, headed towards Gilman street and Ohlone, and we bid him a short farewell.
ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH
After he left, everyone turned towards each other and all the thoughts that had been shooed away, fearing paranoia, came out.
"Dude, was that a narc?"
"Either a narc or a serial rapist. Did you see how he tried to figure out where we live and shit?"
"What the fuck was up with him?"
Sage decided that it was getting sketch there, with the possible under cover cop, and we all quickly migrated somewhere else, anywhere else. Everyone hurried a bit, wind in our lungs and fear in our blood. We clung to each instinctually, making little escape plans just in case. We laughed nervously but kept looking back the tracks, to the street, to any cars going by.
After hopping a fence or two, we found ourselves in a wide field, maybe used for soccer or baseball, dimly lit with lamps. The grass was wet, sprinklers were on. It smelled like grass. The moon was full. As everyone settled down on a bleacher, the general attention of the group was turned to the majestic sprinklers. The water droplets we lit up with the lamp's glow. It was a nice night.
I don't remember who was the first to run through the sprinklers, but we all did. Sprinting through the grass and through the water, back and forth. I lit up a cigarette and ran through the sprinklers with it, still lit. Some people took it as an opportunity to shower. We weren't the most concerned with hygene. We ran until we were soaked and laughing.
After getting back to the bleacher, one of us sprinted by the group, warning of two men watching us from behind the fence. Immediately we all relocated somewhere else, and fast. Valentina didn't have time to put her shirt back on before we were on the road again, through more thicket headed somewhere safer. I held Laz's hand in the dark. We only moved across a small bridge in between the field and another field with more bleachers and sprinklers. We sat and calmed down, wondering if we should smoke another bowl- after all, the night was only beginning.
We sat and talked for a little while, until Sage looked to the field we were just at-which was visible from the place we were- and looked back at us with wide eyes. He grasped his back pack straps on his shoulders.
"There's a guy with a flashlight on the field. Run."
And then he ran. We knew what that meant- flashlights were a red flag for cops. We all ran across the field and next to a long building, eventually crossing a road and leaving the field. We were still running when I lost my breathe for a second and looked back down the road we had just crossed. A man was walking towards us. I could see a police badge on his chest gleam in the light of the lamp post. I had never been afraid like that before that second. I had never been caught by the cops before. And I wasn't going to that night.
ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH
So I sped up, running ahead of everyone and people walking quickly, saying "They're here. Run, dude" and running. I ran until we hit a corner and people continued running towards the Gilman, the safe zone. At the corner Laz ran aside me and held my hand, telling me not to go with the group and stay with him. I watched our friends tear and skate down the street, trying to stay hidden. I followed Laz's lead up the street, away from the group. Dalton was headed in the same direction as us, across the street and a bit further up.
"If anything happens", he whispered hurriedly in my ear while glancing back to check for cops, "just make out with me and everything will be okay. They won't fuck with us, Andy. I promise you. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Then I looked down the street. A cop car was about two long blocks from us on the same street, but it turned right. It didn't look like it was following us. We got them off our trail for now.
"Dalton!", yelled Laz at our astranged friend, "Skate to the Gilman! It's safe! We'll be fine!"
"Okay man!"
"Good luck, brother!" I yelled for a bit of humor. It never hurt to look a serious moment in the face, a scary mother fucker, and laugh. He skated away and my eyes followed him down the street. He would be okay.
We were close to the corner and Laz looked at me and pulled me close to him.
"Andy, make out with me now."
There was a cop car at the corner, continuing down the street Dalton had just started skating down. I grabbed Laz and kissed him like we did then. I hugged him, air was missing my lungs, and I weazed into his ear "I'm so scared." He kissed me back and told me everything was okay. Then I looked and the car had driven by. He smiled at me and I smiled back, grabbing for his hand, and he walked me down the street and to the Gilman.
Once we got to the Gilman, we looked happily and saw that everyone had gotten back in one piece. Sitting outside the club, smoking cigarettes like we had been only a few hours earlier. We were greeted with hugs. Everyone had something to say. The guy in the yellow shirt was discussed, and friends of ours that hadn't been on the adventure agreed that he might have been a narc. And then they asked us why we were all wet. Cop cars passed by regularly, but none pulled over or took a special interest in us.
It was one of those rare nights, the kind that change things and aren't easily forgotten. The kind everyone takes something away from and remembers forever. Bonds were made and times were had. We lost a smoking spot, and we'll probably never go those sprinklers again. We met a new guy, only to have him quickly added to our hit list and possible narc collection. The consequences of this man haven't been fully seen as of yet, but we'll have to wait and see. It was one of those rare nights.
Sitting outside the Gilman, the pieces started to come together. Dalton was 18 and getting off his shift at the front office soon, which meant he would go on the mighty 'Pic and Pac cigarette run with Laz, Calder, and I. Two packs of Camel wides and a pack of American Spirit unfilters (Laz likes classy cigarettes). After that, I was ready for anything. Sophie had weed-a lot of it- and so did Sage. And Dalton had just bought a pipe, just waiting to be christened. We even had an apartment to smoke at. All we had to do was wait for Jacob and a guy we'd never seen before to come back from a beer run.
We all remember being a bit wary of the man buying our friend's alcohol. He had an older face and drying, fried hair under a baseball cap. We never got a good look at his eyes- he was wearing sun glasses, trendy red Wayfarer frames. His shirt was a too tight, bright yellow YMCA camp t-shirt. He looked at me and my friends a bit too intently, he followed us all a bit too closely, he asked too many questions but he never looked us in the eye.
Once he and Jacob got back from buying some sort of malt liquor we all walked to the spot we referred to as 'the creek'. It was a non-fenced off area behind a small baseball field. There was a swamp-like creek with a trail and lots of trees and green- and a perfect dry island to smoke on. We had been there many times before, remembering nights spent smoking, drinking, laughing, fighting, screwing around, and being punk kids out.
Even walking there was fun, running through the street and yelling. Some kids skated there, some ran, some walked, everyone smoked.
ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH
Once we were there, Sophie sat on her longboard and packed Dalton's pipe with her purplish and sticky nugs. The pipe went around and everyone sat in a circle, talking and waiting for their own release. The guy in the yellow shirt stood next to the circle, not smoking but drinking with Jacob. Sometimes he would interject in the circle's conversation, but mostly he kept to himself and Jacob. When people started to get rowdy as they usually do, Laz hushed them and reminded everyone there was a cop stationed a couple blocks away from where we were and that he just got out of Youth Court and didn't want to go to juvie. Reminded of our own felonies and charges, we calmed down. Thorn looked at all of and smiled, with his red eyes and cotton mouth, told us that we were a great group. To that, Val chugged her forty and wrapped her spindly arm around me. The embrace of my best friend and the alcohol in my veins and the THC in my brain made me feel at home, in the middle of nowhere.
The guy in the yellow shirt became more active in the conversation, asking us where we all got to know each other and if came to the creek a lot, if it was our regular spot, if we went to the Gilman a lot. It seemed like he might have been making small talk, asking us where we were from and such, but he asked too many questions in detail. He asked me what I was doing tomorrow casually, but then asked for more specific details like where exactly I would be and when, and then said he might stop by. This might seem like a red flag for many people, and it was for me. When he wandered over down to the other end of the creek, opposite from where we were sitting, people started talking about how freaky this guy was and why was he here. No one knew him from before. Not even Jacob knew who he was, really, besides being over 21 and decent enough to buy alcohol for a minor and desperate enough to try to befriend them.
Eventually we all got stoned enough that we felt we had to DO something. Do you ever get like that? When you're restless and just feel like running somewhere, getting in trouble, laughing and plotting schemes? That's how it was. And that's what we did. We stumbled out of the creek and landed on our feet. Walking down the street and skating down the street, people holding hangs and hugging, we headed towards the train tracks. It was me, my best friend, my boyfriend, the rest of the group of restless friends, and the guy in the yellow shirt.
A few blocks away and then a few more blocks down from the Gilman was the train tracks. Trains running from different East Bay cities passed through regularly, and loudly. We walked down the tracks a bit, and landed at the place we called 'Earth's tit', a large and hard mound of cement and gravel protrouding from the ground. We sat there, talking and horsing around for a while. Then there was a short lull in conversation, and the guy the yellow shirt said that he was going home. He was going on BART, headed towards Gilman street and Ohlone, and we bid him a short farewell.
ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH
After he left, everyone turned towards each other and all the thoughts that had been shooed away, fearing paranoia, came out.
"Dude, was that a narc?"
"Either a narc or a serial rapist. Did you see how he tried to figure out where we live and shit?"
"What the fuck was up with him?"
Sage decided that it was getting sketch there, with the possible under cover cop, and we all quickly migrated somewhere else, anywhere else. Everyone hurried a bit, wind in our lungs and fear in our blood. We clung to each instinctually, making little escape plans just in case. We laughed nervously but kept looking back the tracks, to the street, to any cars going by.
After hopping a fence or two, we found ourselves in a wide field, maybe used for soccer or baseball, dimly lit with lamps. The grass was wet, sprinklers were on. It smelled like grass. The moon was full. As everyone settled down on a bleacher, the general attention of the group was turned to the majestic sprinklers. The water droplets we lit up with the lamp's glow. It was a nice night.
I don't remember who was the first to run through the sprinklers, but we all did. Sprinting through the grass and through the water, back and forth. I lit up a cigarette and ran through the sprinklers with it, still lit. Some people took it as an opportunity to shower. We weren't the most concerned with hygene. We ran until we were soaked and laughing.
After getting back to the bleacher, one of us sprinted by the group, warning of two men watching us from behind the fence. Immediately we all relocated somewhere else, and fast. Valentina didn't have time to put her shirt back on before we were on the road again, through more thicket headed somewhere safer. I held Laz's hand in the dark. We only moved across a small bridge in between the field and another field with more bleachers and sprinklers. We sat and calmed down, wondering if we should smoke another bowl- after all, the night was only beginning.
We sat and talked for a little while, until Sage looked to the field we were just at-which was visible from the place we were- and looked back at us with wide eyes. He grasped his back pack straps on his shoulders.
"There's a guy with a flashlight on the field. Run."
And then he ran. We knew what that meant- flashlights were a red flag for cops. We all ran across the field and next to a long building, eventually crossing a road and leaving the field. We were still running when I lost my breathe for a second and looked back down the road we had just crossed. A man was walking towards us. I could see a police badge on his chest gleam in the light of the lamp post. I had never been afraid like that before that second. I had never been caught by the cops before. And I wasn't going to that night.
ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH ANDY FILTH
So I sped up, running ahead of everyone and people walking quickly, saying "They're here. Run, dude" and running. I ran until we hit a corner and people continued running towards the Gilman, the safe zone. At the corner Laz ran aside me and held my hand, telling me not to go with the group and stay with him. I watched our friends tear and skate down the street, trying to stay hidden. I followed Laz's lead up the street, away from the group. Dalton was headed in the same direction as us, across the street and a bit further up.
"If anything happens", he whispered hurriedly in my ear while glancing back to check for cops, "just make out with me and everything will be okay. They won't fuck with us, Andy. I promise you. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Then I looked down the street. A cop car was about two long blocks from us on the same street, but it turned right. It didn't look like it was following us. We got them off our trail for now.
"Dalton!", yelled Laz at our astranged friend, "Skate to the Gilman! It's safe! We'll be fine!"
"Okay man!"
"Good luck, brother!" I yelled for a bit of humor. It never hurt to look a serious moment in the face, a scary mother fucker, and laugh. He skated away and my eyes followed him down the street. He would be okay.
We were close to the corner and Laz looked at me and pulled me close to him.
"Andy, make out with me now."
There was a cop car at the corner, continuing down the street Dalton had just started skating down. I grabbed Laz and kissed him like we did then. I hugged him, air was missing my lungs, and I weazed into his ear "I'm so scared." He kissed me back and told me everything was okay. Then I looked and the car had driven by. He smiled at me and I smiled back, grabbing for his hand, and he walked me down the street and to the Gilman.
Once we got to the Gilman, we looked happily and saw that everyone had gotten back in one piece. Sitting outside the club, smoking cigarettes like we had been only a few hours earlier. We were greeted with hugs. Everyone had something to say. The guy in the yellow shirt was discussed, and friends of ours that hadn't been on the adventure agreed that he might have been a narc. And then they asked us why we were all wet. Cop cars passed by regularly, but none pulled over or took a special interest in us.
It was one of those rare nights, the kind that change things and aren't easily forgotten. The kind everyone takes something away from and remembers forever. Bonds were made and times were had. We lost a smoking spot, and we'll probably never go those sprinklers again. We met a new guy, only to have him quickly added to our hit list and possible narc collection. The consequences of this man haven't been fully seen as of yet, but we'll have to wait and see. It was one of those rare nights.
july/4
Today, I tried to ignore the fact that it's the fourth of July and I'm supposed to be out drinking and setting off explosives and eating solid foods and having a general good time. Not buying hair dye from Walgreens and chain smoking in the backyard with my mother and throwing up a good handful of times (the medication I'm taking is making me violently ill. joy!).
I feel like I'm wasting my youth. I should be out of the house, enjoying people and experimenting and doing what young people do. I spend most of my time in my house, doing crafts projects and watching television. I ride around the neighborhood on my bike when the weather is nice and I'm not too doped up from the Vicodin. I'm feel very very old, and very very tired.
This surgery has really kicked my ass. I hope I feel better soon, before I fucking die of boredom!
I feel like I'm wasting my youth. I should be out of the house, enjoying people and experimenting and doing what young people do. I spend most of my time in my house, doing crafts projects and watching television. I ride around the neighborhood on my bike when the weather is nice and I'm not too doped up from the Vicodin. I'm feel very very old, and very very tired.
This surgery has really kicked my ass. I hope I feel better soon, before I fucking die of boredom!
Monday, July 4, 2011
insomnia
Alcoholics Unanimous- The Bottle Let Me Down
I can't fucking sleep anymore. Last night and the night before that I got to bed at about six. This is terrible. It's almost three now, I still have a shot at some shut eye if I make a real effort now.
New phobia- DRY SOCKET!
Sunday, July 3, 2011
wisdom teeth
I got my wisdom teeth removed a few days ago. I just want to put this out there- WISDOM TEETH EXTRACTION FUCKING SUCKS! Don't be tempted like me by the idea of free vicodin, my dad took my meds anyways so I can't take them all and get really loaded (good idea!). Anyways, my face is bloated so fat I look like Jay Leno. I haven't had a cigarette for three days and I am very very aware of that.
I'm in a considerable amount of pain, I look like the fucking elephant man, and I can't smoke. Is this hell?
guttermouth
A great song I've had stuck in my head for a while. Guttermouth is just a fucking RAD band! They have this Blatz-esque-garage-band-whiney-90's type feel I crave in music. And life.
i want i want i want
A Bratmobile t-shirt!
It was so difficult/tedious to find one online with the actual band logo on it! Every time I thought I had found a winner, it turned out to just be a stupid t-shirt that said "Riot Grrrl" on it. I don't need a fucking t-shirt to tell people that!
I'll probably just end up making it myself. As usual.
Yeah, it would be pretty damn easy to make a stencil out of this. And yet ANOTHER new addition to my DIY Projects To Be Done List.
I really need to stop thinking after 3 AM, this is when all the good thoughts come in and I really don't have the time now-a-days to accomplish all this shit! I had surgery yesterday, what the hell!
best/friend
My best friend Valentina (on the left, she's about five inches taller than me!) moved to Germany a couple weeks ago. I am very sad and lonely without her. She used to come over and one of us would play bass or and one of us would play ukulele and we would scream together. Or sometimes we would try to make an art project together and always come to the same conclusion that we are both far too stubborn to do anything besides what we want to do and end up doing our own thing. We made stickers together and put them up all around the Gilman. We also used to get really, really wasted together. On the daily. We fucked shit up.
God damn, I miss this girl.
for the prettiest girl i've seen in a long time
Today, I was sitting under an apartment building’s awning to sheild myself from the rain and feel sorry for myself when a man in a car full of dogs parked in front of the building. He got out of the car and asked me why I was so sad. I told him simply that it was raining. He didn’t say anything to add to that, instead he got back into his car and came back out carrying a bouquet of what looked like a florist’s rejected orchids. He handed them to me and said, “For the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time.”
Orchids. They had to be fucking orchids. I gripped my fist tightly around the bunch of them, clipped stems pinching my fingers' flesh. A sunny apartment fills my mind, sweet with the smell of spring. A vase full of blood red orchids stand alone on the windowsill. Whore's flowers. I fill the vase with salt, and wait for the flowers to wither and die.
I watch the man drive away, in his van full of dogs. Bittersweet. I hate orchids, but I took them anyways. Because I’d like to believe I am the prettiest girl he’s seen in a long time. I deserve some god damn flowers.
new shoes
will soon be mine ♥ ♥ ♥ but not soon enough!
Bass Loves Rachel Antonoff- Alice navy blue perforated leather shoe adorned with red elastic bow.
serena
So I fucked her. And I fucked her good.
She slept at my house, in my bed, my pillow beneath her angel head. I made her coffee in the morning and lent her my key to lock the house behind her wake.
I hope that tonight, my bed smells like her. China rain oil and American Spirit cigarette smoke and the scent of the night before.
Her glow has rubbed off on me, that effervescent shimmer of someone who knows who they are. I can see the halo in the mirror and on my face and in my heart.
How lovely she is! How loveless I am.
How beautiful the day, how ugly my intentions and thoughts.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
july/2/2011
For a while I thought the cure to the situation I'm in, what with being on probation HELL for the next year, would be to dip out of life. Maybe start drinking again and go into a rehabilitation clinic, or threaten suicide and be put in a psych ward. Anything but dealing with the reality of what my life (the term life being used loosely) is currently.
I can't do any drugs.
I can't stay out alone past six.
I can't own a lighter.
I am required to allow any random searches or drug tests.
I'm not supposed to even associate with people who use.
My best friend in the world is in Germany, and will be for the foreseeable future.
My other best friend is chasing other girls and doesn't really want anything to do with me because I am fucking crazy. But that's his fucking problem.
So I have decided that in order to make my life manageable, all I need is a new bike, a new cute hair cut, and antidepressants.
For my hair, I want to get an undercut and dye the shaved part in a leopard pattern, dye the rest of my hair a sort of dark auburn, and get full bangs. I'll go to Blow salon, the place next to my dad's work, for the cutting and dying and get Olivia May to shave and bleach the rest of my mane.
I already picked out my bike, a pretty little vanilla 7 speed from Public bikes.
And as for the antidepressants, it's really up to my psychiatrist.
you have no idea what i do to boys like you
Who in their right mind would ever fall for a girl like me?
Who is that masochistic?
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