I'll be your punk rock princess...
Wednesday, October 5, 2005
Monday, August 1, 2005
So my summer is almost over.... I have about a month left then I move back... Back to Ann Arbor that is... I will from then on be working and going to school. I will live in my awesome apartment with my awesome amigo, Aud. I am excited about that. I am also nervous. Me being on this damn island has made it really hard to get shit done. I can't get online to apply for the FAFSA, and I can't figure shit out with my apartment. But.. it shall all work itself out. Or so I hope.
So I work on this island... This island where i have no internet, no cable, and i might as well not have a phone. I have no time to be on it. Yes, Elizabeth Jouppi can't even find time to talk on the phone. Before I left my mom always told me that my phone must have been surgically attached to my head. Now it seems like I don't know where it is half the time, or i just don't have time to be on it. My days there consist of waking up to be at work at 10, I work all day with an hour break. I finally get off of work at about 10 or 11, that makes for a really long day. I usually only get one day off a week, and on that day I try to get shit done, but I usually end up going to Toledo to visit a boy.
My original plan with this journal entry was to kind of reminice about my past couple months on the island... Believe me, there is much to reminice about, but I think I shall save it. When I get back in a month I will update all of you guys on the past couple of months...
Until then I hope everyone is well... I shall talk to you soon.... :o)
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Hello all... I am alive and well. Just wanted to check in and let you all know that. I must go now though. Limited time here...
Thursday, April 28, 2005
YAY!!!!! I got to talk to Julius Jay today!!! He called all the way from Afganistan!!!! I was so excited to hear from him. I guess he comes back in June of July. I can't wait!! YAY!!!
Thursday, April 14, 2005
If I knew how to change my font to bigger letters I would do it, just for this entry, but I cannot, so imagine this in really huge letters....
MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW!!!!!! YAY!!!!!
Ok, normal font now. I woke up this morning before 11. By the way, I NEVER wake up before 11, not even before Noon, unless it is a Sunday and I have to work. I just couldn't fall back asleep. I'm too excited for my birthday and its not even today... I'm scared about what time I'm going to wake up tomorrow. My luck I will wake up at like 10 or 9 or something... oh man...
Monday, April 11, 2005
Friday, April 8, 2005
So this is all kind of setting in and becoming real for me. I have been talking about getting out of here and moving to Ohio for a couple months before school starts in September and it might be all falling together now. I'm so excited, yet at the same time I'm scared shitless. Christie called the Brewing Company at Put In Bay and told him we were interested and he called her back. All we have to do is send him some resumes and what not. So yeah.. i'm excited. All we need to do is figure out housing. He said its best to get employee housing, just incase we don't get off of work in time for the ferry, which is a good point. But I don't want to be confined to an island. I want to be able to come home spontaniously or something. Or what if I want to make a 3:00 Meijer run or something? I can't if I'm on the island. But I dono... employee housing is cheaper. I dono.. we're gonna look into it. But yeah... I'm excited and wanted to share my excitement with all of you guys... :o)
Oh yeah.. and for even more excitement... 7 days till my birthday!!!! YAY!!!! CANADA HERE WE COME!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!
Wednesday, April 6, 2005
Monday, April 4, 2005
I miss the days when we were all innocent and didn't have a care in the world. I miss the days when I didn't know what I know now.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
So I just got back from watching Beauty Shop with Christie. That was an awesome movie. Queen Latifa is amazing. I love her. I have decided that that movie is my inspiration. If Queen Latifa can get a shop, then I can too. Well, after I get my license, work in the feild, understand it, save up money, then I can own my own shop. Oh, and Christie is gonna be my shampoo girl and receptionist. I think she'd be an awesome receptionist, once people got used to her bubbleyness. Hahaha... Anywho... Just wanted to say that I saw Beauty Shop and it was awesome. I loved it.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
1. Give me your number?
2. Have sex with me?
3. Let me kiss you?
4. Watch a movie with me...even a really sappy one?
5. Let me take you out to dinner?
6. Drive me somewhere/anywhere?
7. Take a shower with me?
8. Be my bf/gf?
9. Have a fling with me?
10. Listen to me if I called you crying even if you were out with all of your friends?
11. Buy me a drink if i didnt have money?
12. Take me home for the night?
13. Would you let me sleep in your bed?
14. Sing kareoke w/ me?
15. Sit in the doctors office with me because I didn't want to go alone?
16. Re-post this for me to answer your questions?
17. Come pick me up at 3 am because my car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere?
18. Do you think im pretty, beautiful, or hot?
19. Do you like my style?
20. Do you think im funny?
21. Do you care about me?
22. Would you cry if i died?
23. Would you stop me if i tried to commit suicide?
24. Would you dance with me?
25. Would you sing happy birthday to me?
26. Would you hold my hair back at a party as im throwing up due to intoxication?
27. Would u marry me?
28. 69 me?
29. Do me in a public place?
30. Bring me home and do me in your bed?
31. Take advantage of me if I was drunk?
32. Take advantage of me if i wasn't drunk?
33. Strip for me?
34. Give me a lap dance?
35. Grab my ass?
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Doug Butabi: So anyways, I was standing there waiting to use the pay phone.
Steve Butabi: Yeah, he was, seriously.
Doug Butabi: And this guy who was on the phone, turns around and tips his hat like this.
Steve Butabi: And who do you think that guy was?
Doug Butabi: Emilio Estevez.
Steve Butabi: The Mighty Duck man, I swear to God, I was there.
Doug Butabi: Of course you were, you were the one who yelled the Breakfast Clubber's name.
Steve Butabi: I was like, "Emilio."
Tuesday, March 8, 2005
Thank you all that commented on my last post and told me I wasn't fat and not to worry about what my dad says.... You all made me feel so much better. Thank you!!!! :o)
Sunday, March 6, 2005
So how is this for freakin sweet? I made waffuls this morning for breakfast for my mom and myself. We were sitting down eating them when all of a sudden out of nowhere my mom tells me that my dad told her that I need to stop eating so many noodles. Apparently he thinks I am getting fat. Yes, I am, but hearing it from my dad doesn't make it any better. It actually makes me very sad and I definitally went and cried afterwards. She didn't tell me so I would be upset, she was just telling me. I guess my dad said he was gonna say something, but he was afraid I would think he was yelling at me or mad or something, which he wasn't, but that's how I am with my dad. So yeah.. great day huh? Not to mention that I had a shitty night last night. This just makes it even better.
Friday, March 4, 2005
I love looking at my friends page and seeing all the posts of that scary thing that was in my last post. Hahah.. funny how it moves along... Sorry to those of you that got pissed about it... I had to or I would be scared shitless that I would suffocate, even though I know for a fact that I wouldn't... Hahah.. I suck...
Wednesday, March 2, 2005
A girl died in 1933 by a homicide murderer.
He buried her in the ground when she was still alive.
The murdered chanted, "Toma sota balcu" as he buried her.
Now that you have read the chant, you will meet this little girl.
In the middle of the night she will be on your ceiling.
She will suffocate you like she was suffocated.
If you post this, she will not bother you.
Your kindness will be rewarded
Tuesday, March 1, 2005
Half the night I waste in sighs
Half in dreams I sorrow after
The delight of early skies;
In a wakeful doze I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.
Friday, February 25, 2005
2:22PM - Stolen...
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)
Monday, February 14, 2005
Even if i don't speak to you often,
you must post a memory of me.
It can be anything you want, it can be good or bad,
just so long as it happened.
Then post this to your journal. See what people remember about you.
Friday, February 4, 2005
Ok.. so I wanted to do this whole big huge update.... But then I decided I didn't want to after all. Meh...
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