Random Shit
Random things I wanted to say about myself or whatever:
I think cocaine is the most romantic drug. I have a quote running around somewhere, actually the last four lines of a poem: however may an angel/not end her life/with slit wrists/and a cocaine high
I still think vodka is the most romantic alcohol, although I reconsidered after I tasted that shit. Nasty. However, I still find it romantic.
“It’s easier to get your tit in the door than to get your foot in it.”
I love Care Bears, My Little Ponies, Rainbow Brite, Sesame Street, Fraggle Rock, and Eureka’s Castle.
I still argue with myself about my sexuality.
I talk to myself.
I usually lipsync to songs unless I’m alone in the car. I have a terrible singing voice. I did sing at pool yesterday, though.
I’m terrified of bugs.
I don’t like to blow dry my hair. I say it’s damaging, but the truth is:
a) I can’t do it right, so it gets all frizzy.
b) I’m too lazy!
I’m Bipolar II.
I’m addicted to sugar.
I’m worried I may one day become addicted to alcohol.
I’m terrified of getting old.
I’ve recently reconsidered self-mutilation and bullemia as a form of release . . . again.
I scare myself on a regular basis.
I’m afraid no one thinks I’m pretty.
When I’m bored, I pretend (in my head) what other people will say about me when I’m famous.
I once wrote an interview transcript for when I get famous.
I used to eat dill pickles and chocolate pudding . . . mixed together.
I once signed my best friend’s ass with permanent marker.
I practice kissing on my pillow and on the couch.
I have given a vibrator head.
I used to refuse to give head. I’ve never given it, but I’ve reconsidered and decided if he washes it and I don’t swallow, it’s okay.
My eyes hurt when I cry.
I like to watch boys kiss, but I’ve never actually seen gay porn. (Most unfortunate.)
I trick myself into believing I need no one’s approval. I don’t need everyone’s approval, but I need some approval.
I cry when I think about how much mine and Chris’ relationship has changed.
2 totes, 5 cardboard boxes, my email account, and several notebooks hold all my stories (finished and nonfinished) from fifth grade to present. That’s seven and a half years.
I used to write Sailor Moon fanfiction.
I’ve considered just running out and getting pregnant.
Today I considered taking my car, as soon as I get one, and driving straight to NYC.
Sometimes I wonder if I was molested as a child.
I’d say that at least 25% of the time I hate myself.
I don’t eat enough.
I love it when people stare at me, but sometimes I feel like a freak.
I cry when homophobes email or say things to me.
I started bawling in my Sociology class when Kerry conceded the election.
I didn’t stop for an hour.
I once dressed my best male friend up in drag and then cried when he was called a fag. (Three times in one day.)
I used to be a vegetarian.
I’ve masturbated twice today, both within the last hour.
Sometimes when I masturbate, I pretend I’m a guy and there’s another guy.
How’s that for random?
Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe/Gerard Way, aka Dru
