// uh oh //
well look who popped out from under a grave
sorry medication talks through me
my mother fuckin computer sux my ass and i hate it and i want a new one
but anywhore...
ny was awesome!! *squeal of delight*
yay for julio giving me a red rose and spending all day with me and blocking my vison in china town so i wouldnt have to see the poor slaughtered animals in the food store windows and making me the single most happiest girl :D
yay for tom putting up with us petty high school young'ns and his mad fresh coffee lol
yay for being groped by a hot older guy at de la guarda hahah ait was all good till he stuck his tongue in my ear ... then it got personal lol
(seminars sucked ... ed linderman made us sing that song again ... ahhhh)
yay for dad stopping by like 3 days haha
yay for deb being awesome and walking around soho n the east village with me and the group
yay for nisha stopping at lemongrass and making me smile
what else?
oh yeah im sick as all fuck and i sound like dominic the italian christmas donkey (hahah jesse) and rehearsal is kicking me in the anus ... or maybe its alex dropping me on stage during a lift?
my hair is nice and black but its fading ... oh well
i need a massage *ahem ahem*
natalia is mean and left for the falcons and left me all natalia-less and now i sit in front of her douche-bag ex bf and i have to put up with him saying "ohhh that hot!! thats pimp!! fuck that shit!!" every other minute *jerk*
etai bit my hand it hurts now ... odd boy!
j.lo should be banned from making "music"
i wanna see further seems forever but NOOOOO ... i have rehearsal from 3-7
mat is going out with my clone but still tells me he loves me and would dump her in a flash if i said id go out with him ... at least hes stopped calling every day and he only calls me pet names 500 times a convo (down by 50%) hehe
mrs corll should go become a fuckin marine biologist and leave me alone so i wouldnt have to write this crap:
Monday Morning
She lowered herself into the empty seat beside me, and started fanning herself with her hand. The short trek from the front of the bus had left her winded and panting. I made myself as small as I could, pressing up against the window.
I silently cursed myself for having run out of the house too quickly to grab my headphones. She was obviously a talker. I've been riding the bus long enough to quickly identify the ones who trap you and then chatter the whole way into downtown.
"Did you read about those guys that crashed the airplane?" she asked. I shook my head no. Best not to respond verbally, I've learned. "Yeah, the window washers," she continued. I made a noise and became fascinated by the chipped red nail polish on my fingernails.
She continued talking, and I stared out the window. She was wearing too much perfume; or perhaps too little. There was an underlying smell which I didn't try to identify. The bus turned a corner, and she pressed up against me.
She talked about her pets, a dog, two cats and a bird. I continued to attempt to tune her out as best I could. Part of me was dying to turn to her and shout, "Shut up! I don't care, can't you see it's early and I'm tired?"
Of course, I didn't. I sat there silently, just waiting for the trip to end. She continued talking. I'd never wanted to see J.P. Taravella more in my life. She told me that it was her 44th birthday last week. She was the same age as my mother. I was more than a bit startled; I'd guessed she was at least ten years older. She said that her son didn't call her on her birthday. She began to explain that he is busy, and absent minded, but trailed off. Perhaps she realized how she sounded. I began to feel sorry for her, sitting on a bus, explaining to a stranger that it didn't bother her that her son didn't phone on her birthday.
I sat there, still silent, still avoiding eye contact. She'd quit talking, and was staring across the aisle. I cleared my throat, and looked at her. "Happy Birthday," I smiled. She looked at me with wonder and whispered "Thank You."
I realized that in this woman was a bit of me. I wanted to tell her my mother listens to me but doesn’t listen to me and how I'm terrified of ending up just like her - but I didn’t.
As I saw my stop appearing, I reached for my bag and grinned. I struggled to keep my balance as the bus's inertia pushed me forward then strolled off the bus. I glanced back at the strange woman whom I'd so unjustly judged in my haste of Monday morning. She waved and I copied the gesture.
That moment I felt better about myself because I knew that I had made someone's day better. Learning isn't always done at school or through books, but sometimes at 7:00 in the morning on the number two bus.