damn it.

My best friend just "stood me up". It wasn't a date, or anything, but that's the only phrase I could think of in this situation.

Needless to say, I'm infuriated. I put aside a perfectly decent Friday afternoon to spend with her, and she just BLEW it off. You're probably wondering why I put that in all caps... Well, it's because I strongly suspect she is off covorting avec le boyfriend; hence the reference. Which is incredibly bitchy of me, but I couldn't care less right now. Okay, yeah I do care, but I figure that she'll never read this, so what she can't read can't harm her.

I really really hope she's in a coma or something, or has an equally legitimate excuse.

ridiculous things.

After watching about half of the second season of Project Runway, and watching my darling and dear love of my life, Daniel Vosovic, lose to Chloe Dao, I sat down and wrote a song. And was promptly ashamed to be wasting paper on fashion—because I can’t dress to save my life.

I have always been puzzled by my complete and utter fascination with fashion, partly because I dress like a drunken mixture of a ho-bag and a bag lady. I have never matched, and I’ve always been too poor to dress like I mean it. The extent of my fashionableness is Target. I own two pieces of clothing by “high fashion” designers: a pair of capri jeans by Michael Kors (which are the love of my life), and a green chain mail like shirt by BCBG Max Azria… which has a hole in the fucking sleeve.

Anyhow, I will admit that I try. I really do. But my parents can’t afford to dress me well all the time—so I have a handful of shirts and one pair of jeans that are nice, and I wear those as much as I can, and when they’re in the wash, I look like white trash. Which is fine, I’ve accepted that.

But it makes it that much harder to watch something like Project Runway, and think “what would I kill to get to design clothing, for a living?” And then I always start looking back into applying to places like Parsons, or FIDM, and I get so excited again. And then I look down and remember that there is no way I would ever fit in at a place like that. And I could never afford to go there. Which is even worse, because it means that that road is closed to me. That opportunity isn't even there, because I'd have to sell my soul to the devil in order to go to a private art school. And they say America is the "land of opportunity".

And I'm even one of the lucky ones. My parents can afford to send me to community college. And so many parents can't even afford to do that for their kids. Fucking land of opportunity, my ass.

And I have pride, which is the worst thing of all. How could I have pride when I have nothing? I don’t understand myself. But I have a hard time shopping in thrift stores. Although, I think I’m going to have to start doing it more often, if I ever want to dig myself out of my fashion rut.

And I wonder if I’m just being ridiculously shallow and horrible. Because there are children starving in Africa. And while I may not dress to impress, I eat every day. I have clothing on my back. I have running water and a television to remind me of what I don’t have. And I remember what I do have, and I’m grateful. And I wish to god that I didn’t live in a western country, where I have to look to find suffering. Hell would be nice compared to earth, I think.

Strange how watching a couple hours of television can bring me to tears and frustration at myself, and at the world.

I’m thinking too much.

hard to be heartbroken

I hate myself.

I saw him today, that boy. The beautiful one with the pale white eyelashes that make me melt into a puddle, the one who I've thought was beautiful since I first met him in eighth grade, the one who I hooked up with on Saturday--

did not even recognise me today when I saw him in the hall.

And I feel stupid for allowing myself to be touched (literally and metaphorically) by him. and I feel so stupid for letting his icy blue eyes get to my heart, so much so that I haven't thought of anything other than him for a while now.

which is so stupid. He's a year younger than me, is a pot head, and probably isn't a nice guy. not only that, but he's only interested in me when he's stoned, and when I'm likely to put out.

MEN!

no pants dance

So, I went to a No Pants Dance on Saturday night, and even though we didn't stay out all that late, it was awesome. It was in this guy in my art class's garage, and there were so many people there. He played mostly euro-trance and there was a strobe light going, which makes everyone look beautiful, and it was so trippy. It was so hot that the walls were sweating, and I soaked through my bra and underwear within five minutes. I danced with this one guy, and even made out with him for a second before realising that I knew him, and that he was my boss's half brother. Whoops.

Otherwise, good times... We plan on attending the next one. The only upsetting part was that the Obscure Object brought his girlfriend, who really wasn't all that cute, and he was showing her off like she was something to be envied. But I wouldn't tap that, personally. She was blonde and sort of stupid looking, and that's all I have to say on the matter.

I forgot to mention, I turned seventeen on Friday. Pretty exciting. I'm now able to go watch NC-17 movies and R rated films. That much closer to independence and age of consent.