Chronicles of Madness

A List of the Things I Don’t Have in my Home:

Liquor, because I would drink alone.

Guns, because I would shoot at my cats for fun… while drinking alone.

Evidence, self explanatory.

Bodies, because like Lestat/Tom Cruise said to that little girl: “Never in the house!”

Last Night

I watched The Bachelor, in paris or butt fuck ville for all I care.

Seriously the most asinine, insipid piece of drivel that I have ever had the misfortune to happen upon. If, I, EVER meet any of those women I will bitch slap them.

My rage knows no bounds.

If I kept liquor in my house I would be drinking right now while shooting at the television…. Um, with the gun(s) that I don’t have.

Fortunately I keep patron in my car, and taped to the inside of the toilet, for just such emergencies. (Is it bad when you hide liquor from yourself?)

Whatever.

“Oh, but Terra, how bad could those gorgeous empty headed women be?”

Well, let me tell you. They were grilling each other about who loved a complete fucking stranger the most and would make a better wife. They sat there calling each other immature, booze hounds, sluts, and losers not good enough for a STRANGER.

Fuck.

If some woman ever came up to me and said those things I’d be like, ‘you know what? You’re right. I’m going home.’

Because, fuck that shit! NONE of these women are going to be married to him. If they don’t get, on ANY level, how any energy and time spent on that stupid fucking tv show is a complete waste, they deserve to fucking die.

It’s Darwinism.

It’s survival of the fittest.

It’s some ancient archaic theory that OBVIOUSLY doesn’t fucking apply anymore or Bush wouldn’t be president.

Jesus fucking christ.

In other news, I still LOVE beauty and the geek.

Because I’m a WB whore, thank you very much.

Speaking of WB Whores

I’m just going to say it.

I’m just going to take a deep breath and say it.

I can’t live a lie like this anymore.

Every morning I wake up with it weighing heavily upon my chest, and one day, one day, it’s going to kill me with all of the guilt.

I.

Um.

I… watch Gilmore Girls. It’s my beating heart underneath the floorboards.

Not only do I watch it, but, I sorta like it.

Please. Please don’t lose all respect in me. I know you have to lose some, but all?

I swear, I’ll still drink too much, make inappropriate comments, and carry a box cutter in my purse. Can’t I just keep Gilmore Girls?

Even if there’s only three main character personalities on the show that are used, reused, recycled, and overused, again and again?

Even though all of the main characters share the same personality and are unbelievably glib? Even though what passes for romance on that show leaves me cold and uneasy inside and the girl that plays Rory bugs me with her huge forehead?

I like it. I look forward to it. Sometimes, I want to reach through the tv screen and shake them. Just to, you know, watch their heads go all bobble like.

Hypothesis

I have this theory that all of the bad actors go to bad actor hell where they suffer in unending flames praying for death. Some call this hell, but most know it as that WB show called, 7th Heaven.

Hillary Duff’s sister’s on it. You know? The ugly one?

And a lot of other people that make me want to throw up.

The lines are fucking cheesy, the acting makes me want to firebomb the studio, and I fucking HATE the whole stupid FUCKING FUCKED UP PREMISE.

FUCK.

I’ve watched it… twice. And still, it inspires this much hatred. It’s getting canceled this year… but I don’t feel any better.

Actor hell has always existed and always will.

Before 7th Heaven it was, Full House. After 7th Heaven it will be something else that makes me want to commit suicide just for breathing on the same planet that would willfully produce such crap.

Hey, do you think I could write an episode?

Hey, You, Yeah You

I know you read this and I would just like to say, I hate your stupid fucking hat.

It makes you look gay.


PS

I was talking to Lindsey Lohan. We’ve been fighting ever since I stole her boyfriend and wrote that she was a twat on an LA bathroom stall.

My dad has bikiniriot on his browser history list.

nice.

My cats have a vendetta against the carpet.

Just what, exactly, is their problem, I don't have a fucking clue. But obviously, they have one.

Yesterday I vacuumed and today I find gray clumps of litter all over the house. All over the house.

How did it get here? I walked around forever trying to figure this last part out because, there isn't any sort of trail leading up to the clumps of litter, which are, interestingly enough, nowhere near the cat box.

What's worse is that all morning, while I was getting ready, and unbeknownst to me, the dog was chewing on my panty liners spreading them around the house.

“Hey, Don sent me an email through Classmates.com”

“Don? Don Green? Holy shit. What’s that nazi war camp survivor up to?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not paying fifteen bucks to read some email. I mean, I’ll just wait until the reunion.”

“You have to read Don’s email. What if he’s in prison or something?”

“Oh yeah Terra, I’m sure they let prisoners register for Classmates.com in the rec room. I can just see them all signing up, Oh hey everyone! Guess what? I’m in prison now!”

“Well. I’d do it. So let’s guess what he’s up to then.”

“Manager of a fast food restaurant.”

“Homeless.”

“Homeless? Homeless Terra? But he had enough money to subscribe to this site?”

“FINE. I suck at this game. Besides, I hate Don, and if he’s all successful I’m just going to go shoot myself.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes. Yes I am. Just to prove you wrong.”

“No you’re not, because guns cost money, which you don’t have, then you’d have to fill out paperwork, and we both know how much you hate paperwork. You’re more of a pill person, but you don’t have any prescriptions so-”

“-thought about this much? Listen, stay on track, this conversation is about Don being a loser, not me.”

“Well, we’ll see at the reunion.”

“I’m not going. You can spread a rumor that I took over a third world country, because I’m spreading a rumor that you’re now living as a man.”

this is grace. i'm posting on terra's blog.

and i wanted everyone to know that i'm going to take advantage of terra this weekend. and take lots of pictures.

i will show them to you. for a small fee. muwahahaha...

terra's a sucker. she thought i could be trusted to just post for her...

I’ve finally figured out a way to get around my IT issues.

Today, I got myself fired.

Okay.

I didn’t. I’m a loser with no real will to hit rock bottom.

I know, I know, you only obtain true freedom when you’ve lost everything… but… what can I say? I don’t want to destroy something beautiful, instead I want to pay a lot of money for it and put it up on my mantel where I’ll be forced to dust it every other god damned day because I’m a slave to my possessions.

So instead I called up a bunch of friends and asked them if they could post for me.

This was difficult because some of my so-called friends are shady ass bastards that would sell me for a fifty cent popsicle and free pony ride.

Note to self: get new friends, ones without backbones, ones that will take a fall for me, if necessary.

Ones that are allergic to ponies.

Today, I’m hoping to trick Grace into posting.

Tomorrow, Olivia.

But not CL.

Never CL.

I can just picture the post now.

This is Terra, I’m so drunk and my panties are around my ankles. Ooh boy, I love hanging out in the gutter.

Of course, I live in the gutter, so I’m not sure if it’s still called hanging out.

Oh wait, I’m not wearing a bra.

Yep.

Definitely hanging out.

I have a pink blogger page with a tree on it! I'm all girly and nature conscious and shit!

woop dee fucking doo

AND

I have a GMAIL account! No, wait, not one, but THREE

and two yahoo accounts

and a myspace page

a cell phone

a laptop

and a pda!

I'm like, so important and shit.

wait. no. I'm FUCKING STUPID

Well, this isn't meditation. But it is freeform.

Partly because I love freeform, partly because I have used it as a meditation excercise, and partly because... well. I'm lazy. I don't feel like structuring shit OK?

GAW... stupid.

(Fuck. I did NOT just channel Napolean Dynamite. SHIT. I hate that movie.)

I have to make it up to you... maybe I should draw you a kick ass picture.

Of a liger.

That likes, no... LOVES, Malt-O-Meal? mmm. malt o meal. with sugar and cinnamon and milk. mmm.

That says, awesome blossom?

That feels that road rules no longer apply to parking lots and therefore drives whichever way they feel like in spite of stupid arrows because, fuck you cops, try to give me a ticket, I don't think you can because parking lots are free for alls. (umm. but I don't/ever/ever speed cuz that shit's rude. there's kids and old ladies and other harmables in parking lots)

That feels sad at christmas because there are too many presents and not enough popcorn and cranberries strung on a string by families focusing on one another instead of the nearest shopping catalogue?

That talks to themself in silly made up voices with accents?

(or, I have to get back to work)

Last week I had massive IT issues, meaning, I couldn't access shit. I couldn't post, I couldn't comment, and even haloscan was blocked.

Also, all those cool rad ass pics you posted up on your web? Yeah. Loved the little red x. It was so great.

=(

So I have lots of funny stuff to say. Really.

I'm a funny person!

Remember?

Oh? I'm gone a week and now you don't give a shit about me?!

That's just fucked up.

fuck.

two minutes left.

Okay, so it's been the month of weird dreams. For a month I've been dreaming about all my exes in some random rotation.

Almost all of the dreams follow the typical format:

A: We're back together, and I actually like him this time round.

B: We're back together and I'm freaking out cuz I still hate him.

C: We're not back together, but now he has money and I'm trying to convince myself to give him a second chance.

So far, four different exes on the rotation.

Blech.

So, let's add in two more dreams, you know, as long as we're on a roll.

Dream 1:

I'm at petco with the new puppy, my boyfriend and his dog, which happens to be a dalmation. One of the dogs goes crazy and I hand him the leash, thinking, "God, it's so great to have an extra set of hands." It's a very, comfy cozy relationship type of feeling, and then I notice he looks so much like my ex that he HAS to be my ex. This pisses me off until he opens up his mouth, starts talking, and doesn't annoy me.

Confusing.

My ex was stupid. Wait. Cancel that out. Retarded.

I know, that sounds mean huh?

But he was.

I think I had to explain a knock knock joke to him once. When we were together all of my humor was followed by his blank stare.

So in the dream I start wondering, how can this be my ex when he's actually holding a conversation of some intelligence?

And then suddenly I realize, OH, this isn't my ex, but a metaphor for my next boyfriend. My next boyfriend will obviously have some of the traits I loved about the retarded ex, BUT, be able to hold a conversation.

I realized this in the dream. Weird huh?

Dream Two:

I'm getting married to one of my dad's best friends (not so sick because the guys only 16 years older than me, but sick because, yuck, my dad's friend?) and it's the day of the wedding.

I have a group of photographers milling around and I am absolutely paranoid that they're going to fuck everything up and take horrible pictures that will make me throw up later, except I'm too busy to micro manage. Small crisis.

I say small because I am relatively calm in the dream.

This strikes me as strange because I've never had a wedding dream that isn't a nightmare.

So the new husband comes over to take a photograph with me, and poses horribly. When I try to redirect him he informs me that he is a photo buff, and knows better than I do, so he refuses to take the picture.

Then he wanders off.

As the wedding winds down we're both super tired and he informs me that he's going home, he'll meet up with me the next day.

We change and my gown and his tux lay, deflated and glowing, on a hotel bed while I go to dinner with my parents, where, apparently, I have a suicide pact with them!

We're all super calm as we eat and prepare to take our little blue pills, and although I don't want to actually kill myself, and my parent's say that I don't have to if I don't want to, I feel obligated since I've already made the commitment.

I keep thinking that if only the new husband loved me, or paid the slightest bit of attention to me, I'd have a reason to back out. But he didn't and/or doesn't. So the dream ends with me awkwardly agreeing to kill myself.

Nice.

Calmest wedding dream I've ever had (that might suggest some of my commitment phobia is finally going away) and I kill myself at the end.