I've been so blind.

I completely forgot about the other people in my life that do this crazy, beautiful shit for me.
I love you guys, so much. And you had no idea what it meant to me.
I feel a pain when I see all the FB photos of the people I love and have loved before having fun, being somewhere I should have been, and I feel selfish, just for a moment.

I don't understand my world

or the people in it.

I woke up to 4 messages; One from Ben, two from Aaron and an unfamiliar number.

Ben "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm the biggest, stupidest, most unintelligent retard on the planet."
(and I don't know what it's supposed to mean but self depreciation makes me feel a little uneasy...)

Aaron "Hope you're feeling better. Don't like it when you're sad! <3"

Unknown number "get fucked!"
(... this shouldn't upset me because it could even be a wrong number, but knowing full well how many people I've hurt in my time, it could be someone with a legit motivation to tell me to get fucked.")

Aaron "You drive me crazy girl, you have been on my mind constantly. Miss you Nynny."


I love my choices. Anonymous (not legion, just individual cowardice) dicks being unreasonable assholes, self-depreciative shit that just seems like a walk in to something vindictive ("oh no, you're not stupid at all. what's wrong?" which is my fault because I indulge people,) someone that is sweet, albeit crazy. I get manipulation, abuse and crazy (but happiness)
I just feel this rumbling, this deep-seated instinct, something animal and primitive... a notion to just go...

"These points of data make a beautiful line..."

Is what I sing to myself everyday when I arrange Alistair's empty alcohol bottles in a straight, simple, neat line along the stove.

Order in a disordered world.

I miss it when everyone was sober, and I didn't feel so alone.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry

I take it all back.
I want things to go back.
Regress, please, take me back in time.

No one will just say what they want to

He will not just say "I am calling you out. I am mocking you, this is my passive aggressive rage as I pile all my anguish into you through these words, and take from you the book your mother gave you with my hate and anger. I will remind you of the hope and love you felt when you read these words with a song in your heart, comparable to the happiness you feel now, and I will twist it back on you until you resent this book that gave you such hope for love, and I will pervert your fond memories until the mere sight makes you sick to your stomach. I will make you sick of love with my hate and pain."

and if that wasn't his intention why he is doing this? why do I feel this way?

I wonder

if there is a point when you can become too familiar too soon with your mannerisms, and you think "oh I can just slip these in and she won't notice until it is second nature" and I don't why everyone seems to think I can be so blundering, so blind.

i c wut u did thar.

Things I tell LiveWire

I touched a dead person today.

Not even a dead person. A dead thing. A shell of a thing.
A cold, stiff shell of a thing.
The cold, stiff shell of a mother.
A shell of a mother with lazy, milky eyes and I wanted to close her eyes but she'd been dead too long. So long.

It wasn't her. I'm going to find out it was all a trick. That it was an elaborate wax sculpture. Even a robot. So the woman that didn't recognise me last night and panicked in that small, sterile room wasn't my mother, but a decoy, while she makes her real escape. The robot wouldn't let me get close enough to tell it I loved her because I would see the lights behind her eyes, and hear the whirs of her gears beneath ample skin. No, no. Ample latex and prosthetics.
It wasn't her and when we cremate her, it won't be her, and when I am going to be given ashes to have with me, it won't be her. I will search through them with my fingers for a stray bolt. A lost wire.
It won't be my mother they feed to that insatiable fire. It will be her decoy. The decoy that lay on her back with her hands folded over her swollen belly, a belly that seemed to squirm and writhe with something alien that hijacked her body. Held her at laser point and made her surrender. That broke her down every day. Writhing things that made light harsh, bones grind and that made the drugs not work.
Did she escape from them? Is that what she did? Or did they make off with her, leaving a stiff-but-soft alien decoy in her place? What will they do to her? Maybe she will come home. She will swing in on a vine like a heroine and things will go back to normal.
Maybe.

LiveWire have you ever touched a dead person?

-------
she had a heart like a pomegranate laid open to the world.

Things I told LiveWire on the 27th of August, nearly a month to the day ago. A month to the day, and a year and a month to the day that we bought the beautiful house she loved so.

I miss my mother, because days like this I know she would be the only one to tell me what's right. Or at least call me a slut or something, just anything. I'd give anything.

The higher you go

The further you fall.

I didn't know someone could take me down so fast.

... fuck.

oh RPC

the way you make me feel. <3

it's a new adventure.

also her screen name was changed because that strange girl posts like three lines of song lyrics as her name. BOOOOOO.

[13:23] Biccy.: Sooo
[13:23] Biccy.: Do you have an outfit for the movies tomorrow?
[13:23] Biccy.: Or are you ust going in like, a shirt and jeans?
[13:23] the streets.: no ._.
[13:23] the streets.: I think I may
[13:23] the streets.: iono.
[13:24] the streets.: do I have to have an outfit?
[13:24] the streets.: there are outfits?
[13:24] Biccy.: Nopeeeeee
[13:24] the streets.: I don't get dating
[13:24] the streets.: wahhhh

You know, this is ridiculous.

I am utterly blown away by the bullshit in my life. I go on a date, seeing an old friend for the first time in years, someone I've realistically known since I was 12, and even then we really hit it off. We went to high school together, for fuck's sake, I was going to be in his band. We were okay friends then, and I was close with his girlfriend of all those years too. I go out with him, see him twice for the first time in years, and suddenly EVERYONE JUST LOSES THEIR SHIT.
Everyone just lost their composure and it seems like every person in my life is conspiring to make me feel like shit, and all I can do is despair and go "wtf you vindictive shits."
I am so sick and tired of not being happy. You would think anyone would be happy to see me smile again. But I forgot all that unconditional love is bullshit. I can only be happy when I'm doting and devoted to them. It's such utter BULLSHIT. No one actually cares about my well being. What am I supposed to do with myself?
I'm just angry. I want the people that love me to go "okay, Shannyn. we know you've gone through a rough time, and you still are, but haven't seen you this happy in so many years. We haven't seen you excited like this in years. I mean, we haven't even seen you want to do something normal like this. When was the last time you went on a traditional date? Oh, never? You've never just done something normal like this? Well of course we can be happy for you! Every girl deserves something normal and tangible to hold on to. So we see that you're giddy and ecstatic and we're happy for you to feel free and have something new in your life that is not marred by your mistakes, or living under your mother's shadow. How nice!"
I just wanted a fucking clean slate, a fresh start with someone I get along with really well.
So guess what, you fuckers.
He calls me Nynny. He snuggles me and I beep his nose and I love the way he feels.
Be happy for me or leave me be.

/raaaaaaage.

I wouldn't know how to say sorry

So I won't.

I know I should at least try posting

But I'm so giddy I can't think straight, and I don't what to say other than I'm full of bubbles!
OhmanIamsonervousandhappyandsoverynervousandohhhmygod.

Lucky Cathy

She has this little snap shot of a bunch of interconnected lives. She talks to me, she knows my situation and in effect, the situations of people who've affected me. She talks to Gabby and she gets some of the rest of the picture. She knows my family, she probably knows at least of Brittany, and if she ever spoke to her... well, another piece of the puzzle. She's at least heard all the names. Owen, Stephen, Tim, Hadley, everyone. I encourage Eddy to see her. Another few pieces of the puzzle.
I wish the end result was something more satisfying than a bunch of angsty teenagers.

Flutter, flutter

I am full of butterflies and chips.

I like to dance

to this, mostly.

Oh ImageChan

Your Kanye related and Omegle lulz never go out of style.

It's so so so strange

when you realise that you would count your psychologist as a good friend, and among the only few people that can make you feel better when you fuck up royally when you're throwing off the yoke of oppression and mooing.

Thanks, bro.

I feel nothing.

I don't know if I'd want to.

It is such an alien feeling

to be acutely aware of what you're doing, foreseeable consequences of it, and be so taken with it you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.
I am watching someone else make these mistakes.
I do not care.

Look high, look low.

You won't find the original clip without the embed disabled.

I am a communal heart.

One to many, something shared.
A Soviet heart.

what the fuck, google images

What the fuck internet.

I am an easy person to love.

I don't know what it is about me.
The way I talk, the things I say, my manner, the things I like, my charisma, my tits, the way I view things.
I don't know why, but people fall left and right and I found it utterly confounding, and feel manipulative for this unintentional thing.

One day,

I will trust someone too much, and it will be the end of me.
For that trust, I will lose what defines me.
I will become all human and no animal.
And, you know, dead.

This is new.

And very fast. A little worrying. But exciting. Scary. I take it one breath at a time, and things are done to my lungs and heart and my stomach - it flutters!
I am afraid.
I am going to hurt people, I am going to make a mistake and be selfish. I am going to fuck something up, but a part of me unconcerned; it is detached, disassociated, and wanting so very much to feel something new, feel selfish, feel anything but this nothingness.
I am empty and I am volatile in my loneliness, my anger and grief and burning desire for love, in any way I can get it.
So yes, this is going to be a mistake. But I can forget who I am and start again, maybe. Take a holiday from myself.
Pull on a new skin.
Maybe this is why I'm dangerous.

I spent most of my life

rolling my eyes at the idea of a peanut butter and jelly(jam) sandwich, but I have been enlightened, and it was pretty cool.

That said, and not to trivialise anyone's irrational fears, but comparatively to others, Arachibutyrophobia would be pretty easy to live with. That's fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth. Just don't eat peanut butter. Now, if it was, say, anything sticking the roof of you mouth, you'd have to avoid pastes and anything that viscous and eat a certain way...

Arachibutyrophobiacs that complain are just bitches.

also there is a single vowel difference between the fear of knees and fear of sex.

Cheezburger network is god.

I search "and garden" and I get this

I love you, Google Images.

With sea-salty breath,

I inhale orange tictacs, books and fireflies off her skin.

Oh, I could live on this

Sometimes I feel I do. Others I feel I intend to.

Ohh rice. <3

Medium grain, with salt, extra water (soo... moist..,) a bit of turmeric and garlic.
it's yellow and lovely, but lacking something... I don't know. I will find it.
One day.

TO THE HERBS AND SEASONINGS SECTION!

Dislike.

I... dislike myself, as a physical being.

I dislike the soles of my feet. My heels calloused, and always seem a little bit dirty. The balls of my feet have long, dark, layers and lines in my thick skin, scales out of cuts. I dislike my toes; my shy, almost squashed up little toes, and my three awkward middle toes, increasing in length, like brothers in a line. And my big toe, round and with a dark toenail lined with white.
I dislike my ankles, the creases in my heels, the lack of definition. My calves I dislike, feel disproportionate and too large, too much. Scarred, dotted with shades darker skin with ripples, small spots of scar tissue. My knees, I dislike, because they are dimpled and discoloured. My thighs I dislike for their mass. Their curves seem to sit awkwardly, lower than hip. I do not even have the ghetto booty the Greek girls get. My thighs too, they are scarred, some with marks of a tropical life, and others of a pain in life. I have silver webs of stretch marks and freckles, dimples and a paleness.
Inside, I even dislike my vagina. Resent that one inner lip is larger than the other, that my rose is lopsided, or that I am unpleasant, with an improper aesthetic.
I dislike that I have a swell of flesh (mapped with silver rivers and deltas) above my pants line, how awkwardly it sits on me. I am ill at ease.
My stomach is not flat, but not very protruding.
My breasts I dislike, at times most of all, for that I can put my arms by my side and my breasts, feeling gravity, almost reach my elbows. Maybe I have short arms (another complaint) or maybe not. I hate that my areola are large, sometimes ovular, with a blue vein, small bumps of glands, and the pinch of how tight they are when stimulated. The scars on them, and the hard to see (but omnipresent) slight silver slivers denoting stretching.
My hands are small; my palms square and my fingers stubby. My nails are (fortunately) long and strong, but unkempt and pink. My knuckles are discoloured, my cuticles and surrounding skin calloused. I have scars, and one in particular on my right pinkie.
My back is short (as I am) and dotted with freckles, scars, moles and blemishes. My shoulder blades stick out like the beginnings of wings when I place my hands backwards between them.
My hairline runs low and I have a small bump on my nape and no idea what it is. My hair is fine and feels feathered, and never sits right, and becomes oily quickly. My face is too full, and I feel I have too much flesh on my cheeks, around my mouth. I have two dimples when I smile (my teeth are horrible) and a nose that feels bulbous and spotted.
Overall, I am short. Pudgy. Out of sorts, oddly arranged. Disproportionate.
Not very nice.

:\

I am highly suggestible.

So when I read these stupid books, my heart catches in my throat and I want to love like they do, for all their fear and obstacles.
It also makes me want to be with him.
For him to know what I look like with my soft green (wedding dress colour) gingham blanket wrapped around me (and that's all) or the way I look with tenderness in my eyes (I don't know but I want him to know) and to know what my fingers feel like on shoulder blades and lips and soles of feet and on calves and smalls of backs or my breath on napes or chests or foreheads. To know the curve of my body and spoon, and to have touched every inch of me.
But that's all stupid.
All unattainable. Things that make the waits unbearable.

So I should maybe just read Cathy's book about Feminism.

Speaking of puppets

I find myself really wanting something like this or this, ya'know?
I mean, I am, at times, rather afraid of Muppets and, like most people, find ventriloquists' dolls, some marionettes and miscellaneous puppets very scary, but I could live with something like this, and custom made!

Well fancy that.

Reasons to order one of these cool and kinda creepy custom portrait puppets:

A) Have a budget for such things

B) Will be using it for TV/Film/Stage

C) Are a working professional

D) Need more control of your puppet

E) Want to really impress the grocery store clerk

F) Like fancy things

G) Give an amazing birthday/anniversary gifts

H) Want to quit your job with a lasting impression

I) Need to spice up arguments with your significant other

If you answered yes to any of the above situations, then you should order this puppet.

I don't need Facebook

amirite?

(I'm not right)

shitty mini-comic done because I needed to.

Well crap.

facebook is down, and with a bit of mortified face, I realised how attached I have become to it.
I'm a... a.. a...

Facebooker!

DADUM DUM DUMMMMMMM

so

how long after someone dies is it "okay"/right/acceptable/not repulsive to start wearing/using their stuff, even if/especially if you always shared?
No one knows these things. There is no standard.
I kinda want to avoid a grief faux pas.

people are going to look at me and go "oh the nerve of her"
which is the way it should be.

I never realised

until just now with my fancy bright desk lamp how dirty my table is.

... >_>

maybe I shouldn't eat where I work.

Sometimes I search random words in Google Images

and I get these and they make me happy. :)

Things my dad taught me

to only microwave chocolate on certain settings or not at all, and to love Duke Spirit.

Thank you, Patrick Finch

You gave the world a beautiful gift.


Larger seen here.

internet nulls intellectual property

sorry guiz

I hate sleeping like this.

It is making me sick.

Everyone says that I have to be awake during the day, that's when things happen.

Maybe I don't want things to happen. When I'm awake all I hear about (but am not supposed to heart about) are bills and finances and stress and work and unhappiness. I don't want to be a part of that. It makes me afraid of growing up, and I do hide from it.

Terrible things happen during the day.
Bankruptcy. Debts. Funerals.
I think it's worth giving up the good things (cafe business hours, picnics, lunch) to escape.

People certainly have for less.

Oh I don't care what you say, I watch the channel just for her.

Her name is Elaine.

and she is wonderful and I would kiss her fingertips and the small of her back (where love or dew may pool) and love her.

it will be like touching a shadow. my skin is
not the colour of the moon. it does not
attract moths or other nocturnal creatures.
you will be disappointed.

it will be like fucking a pillow. on my knees,
facedown, while your fingers trace where my
spine should be, looking for ridges. you
will be disappointed.

it will not be like living in a free country. there
will be rules, many of them. lights off, curtains
down. do not tell lies. never hold me by the
waist. come anywhere but inside.

it will be like watching your cat give birth. there's
a string of pearls around my ovaries, you can be
as gentle as you can and it would still hurt.
you will feel like a disappointment.

there will be a warm wind on your face. it will
be like lying on the ground and catching rain.

belongs to Elaine, aka wonderlustqueen

My heart belongs to Miss Connie

And I've never been prouder that I flashed her.

I listen to the hip music with the kids.

Etsy is a tease.

FACT.

Drenny horns, I want these for BlizzCon, maaaaannn.

DnD "Bag of Holding" *gasm*

Snazzy cassette wallet.

d20 necklace, booyah.

Heartless hat. I don't even like KH that much but this is lovely.

Squidly necklace, polymer clay. Also, the whole shop is amazing.

Fish necklaces speak to my soul? iono? I don't have to justify myself to you. >_>

and some unrealistic love:
Man it's a huge headress!

liaison just makes pretty things

Frillies. And the corset is nice too.

Polka dot corset.

BoobieTrap's awesome corsets and outfits, with hot modelling to boot.

Oh it's all lacy and vintage and ohhh.

I WANT THESE THINGS

Songs like this make me miss girls in New York

because we were mermaids.

I love

Pictures of Walls

very funky. I've loved this for years now.
almost in a similar vein to The Bubble Project, which I heartily endorse, for the same reasons I do Post Secret. I think it's interesting what we say to others when we're alone, anonymously.

Happiness is a fat man

maybe

what the fuckshit?

Google Chrome just up and either updated on me or whatever but it's changed and I miss the old home/new tab screen.

wtttffffff

do things with my permission asshole

I wonder why it is

they never invite me on holidays anymore.
It can't be something as innocuous as "we forgot"
or what they've said every other time "we didn't think you'd want to go"
because I said that once. One time, because I didn't want to be away from him. We broke up, I'm fine. What's their excuse now?
Maybe I'm too unstable, or because of my behaviour. I'm a liability.
Maybe it's because of off-hand comments, or if I'm just a bit too bitchy for his liking. Maybe it's just who I am.
Why they leave me home every year (or twice a year sometimes,) alone, I may never know. He can do that whole "you're just as much a part of the family as everyone else, and we love you unconditionally" but that's bullshit. I am not a part of that family.
And there are conditions.

what's not to like?

Kidrobot

I used to love this site; KidRobot, a bunch of overpriced, designer and funky toys, homewares and apparel. This was before I saw the potential for getting myself awesome clothes over the internet and was interested in designers, indie and art. lol amirite?
Anyway, browsing it again, a lot of it has changed. Contrary to what I expected last time I saw the shop, the apparel has been greatly down-sized, and in edition, is a lot more... "vanilla" right now. There used to be metallic skin-tight tops, raver clothes, and those godawful "gangstaaah" (or whatever) hats and shoes, and even though they weren't to my taste, at a glance it seems unfortunate they no longer hold true to their original style.
Still, they have fantastic collectibles. :D

I was relieved to find some familiar collections, they being the former and Yummy Breakfast.

They still have the rockin' $1,250 USD Smorkin' Labbit stool, some cool backpacks, as seen here and here.
And, icing on the cake, not only do they still have their paintable Munny series available, they have a new limited edition designer's Dunny Series 6 and a Cthulhu-esque "Mythos" which is awesome.
Finally, a tasty laptop decal:

I mightn't like her claim to fame.

But goddamn Leighton Meester is beautiful.
and with some kickin' clothes to boot. I would tap that.

He gave them the heebie-jeebies.

He had nothing else to give.