late nights and loud fights
it's all just a blur

12:31 a.m. | 2004-07-12
I Too Like to Dress Up Jesus

Who are you to think you know what's going on in my life?

I was reading a review today, which is nothing abnormal or anything that made me upset, just made me think...

This diary (or whatever) is not me. I mean it's mostly me. Don't get me wrong. But in my world, to understand a person you have to know a good portion of their life, no?

Well I went out and got PLASTERED on tequila last night. Was that going to be in here? No. Not 'hell no,' just no. I didn't think it held importance so I wouldn't put it in. Not that I didn't want you to think less of me, but had I not included it, that'd be one more "bad" thing that I excluded and thus you wouldn't know about me.

I'm not saying you don't know me. All of you know me to an extent. You all have a Gabe. You all have loved and lost and most of you have been my age. Most of you know the exact feelings that I have because most of you are female, or even worse: have emotions.

That's not a bad thing, I'm not complaining. I was just thinking about who I was today (after a good friend of mine and fabulous read emily had explored the same topic).

I know who I am for the most part. But I have no idea where I'm going or what I'll do. I'm this huge mess of contradiction, that much I know.

Let's exemplify, eh?

a. I love to party. I love to go out and get shitfaced and screw around with friends and kiss boys and take shot after shot after shot.

b. I love to sit at home on Friday nights. I enjoy watching the sunset from my car and then driving home to pick out one of the movies I've watched a million times from my own collection and falling asleep at 10:30.

a. I wear a fake lip ring. And I have a real nose ring. And I spike my hair, and I dye it and I wear all black and have heavy eyeliner.

b. I own real pearls. And a real angorra sweater (light blue). And I wear them both. With nice khakis and get this...loafers.

a. I can deal with living in a complete mess, food around me, things in disarray and NOTHING in its "place"

b. Somedays I won't sleep because I can't stand the way my place looks. It needs to be clean, and orderly and everything, EVERYTHING, needs to be in its "place"

Starting to get me?

The reasons simple, and I'm not emo enough to go into it tonight. Remind me of it another night when I write like a god and have the stamina to do this forever.

For now I'm me. And the proud owner of one of these. It's not a huge step up, I used to drive a very nice one of these. But I do heart it none the less. Do me a favor, tell me what you think? If you saw a brunette (I love saying that) who's blasting 80's hits from that, would you honk?

Signing Off--Lauren

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