FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

Why are we so driven by the need to feel accepted? To have something we create or experience or covet loved by someone. Why? Why no want to break out on your own and worry about what people think of you or your beliefs?

Why has it become popular to like certain authors only after their books have been turned into a box office smash? Why can you only read Jane Austen or Chuck Palahniuk after watching Kiera Knightly or Brad Pitt? Why has it become popular to love things that other people have loved all their lives? Why is there no originality?

Or perhaps it is the originality that draws people to these things. Perhaps it is this pseudo-originality that people seek.

 Another question: Why do silly girls try to be philosophical when they have only a base knowledge of the subject? Better yet, Why do I enjoy wasting my time by writing this in order to waste other people’s time.

Germany. Germany. Germany.

TOMORROWWW!!!!!

Most people, I’ve gathered, write about how awkward it is to keep a blog, about how they aren’t sure they can update every day, about how they don’t want it to be a place to only bitch and moan for their first post. However, I do not plan on doing this, because I rarely bitch and moan. That was sarcasm, for those of you who are a little slow in the brain.

So, lets have all this personal crap out all at once, eh? I am short, loud and sometimes obnoxious. I’m an emotional roller-coaster and vaguely evil. I’m also slightly redundant and possibly schizophrenic. I am not from Djibouti (yes it’s a country, in North-eastern Africa), great at math, or the motherfucking princess. I like writing, records, Antique/Thrift stores, bubbles, your mother, and amazing shoes. I don’t care for the way spiders move, girls that look scarily like Michael Jackson, Holden Caulfield, Avril Lavigne, and your ugly face. I have two dogs, a swift kick to the shin if I don’t like you, and too few bookshelves. I would like to have a few million dollars, another few tattoos, my very own computer, a pair of Doc Martens, lots of presents, and Johnny Depp.

Also, I’m great at telling stories and fixing good food.
So, get me presents and pay my food compliments and I’ll love you forever.
Except you Chris Dowell, because I know you’re reading this.

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