I love Pamela Anderson.

My faith in women to overcome the stigma that is connected to our underestimated confidence grows fainter with every passing day, every day wasted complaining. Complaining about how fat, ugly, dumb we are. Blaming the media for our low self esteem and codependent relationships with our cats that we call children. I would like to think that after all of the struggle, monotony, and disrespect women have suffered throughout the years, minute complications such as cankles and love handles would become obsolete to the happiness of women as a whole.
I have become tiresome, hearing, seeing, reading about women that complain about the physical ideal that is impossible to achieve in "our society". We speak of our society as if it were some vile hell hole, only breeding women to make them unhappy. But I am not doubting the presence of said ideal, but it's relevance to women's lives.
" To be considered beautiful we have to be skinny, tall and blonde."
With every decade, our society endures several meaningless fads. As a result, sex icons, fashion icons, people that represent a generation are born. For whatever reason, things become sexy. Unlike many fads, the blonde, busty bimbo has been a sex symbol for decades. Marylin Monroe, Mae West, Madonna, Pamela Anderson, Jessica Simpson. These women represent over seventy years of the same beauty ideal.
With this seventy years of the same ideal, one would think that an Americanized woman born into American society would be able to cope with the pressure to be beautiful.
You've known what the majority of men have wanted you to look like since you were born.
Typically in fads, there are the people that give in, and those that rebel.
How do you rebel against a fad that has been alive for seven decades?
You don't, try self-acceptance.
The ideal you are expected to achieve is in your eyes.
Like that one saying, the beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

Grateful

I feel grateful for today. An old friend that is no longer my friend told me once "Every time something happens that seems to ruin my life, I just think at least I'm still alive."


Today there was a shooting on 188Th and PAC Highway, Taco Bell at 4pm, and someone died.

MRHS graduate William's car accident. It could have been any of us, my friends or your friends to get hit by a drunk driver.

In retrospect, if these people were to be told that they would die on a certain day, do you think they would live their life the way they did?
If someone told you, you will die when you're twenty years old, would you really give a fuck about grades? Or your SAT scores, what boy is going to text you?



One time me and my best friend got ditched on one of our club nights. Our buddies had to study.
She said to me: "If I died tomorrow morning, I could honestly be happy. Happy that I didn't spend my Friday night doing homework."

I don't really know what I'm trying to say.

I am NOT a statistic.

I am more hilarious than that. According to studies conducted in the U.S. for teen sexuality, there are several factors PROVEN to condition early onset coitus.

Some of them are:

• Poverty
• Family conflict
• Teens living in a single parent household
• Lack of parental supervision
• Alcoholic comsumption
• Partners that are older

This is all sounding wildly familiar.

Here are some factors that DELAY coitus:

• Religous Beleifs
• Satisfaction in maternal relationships.

HAHA! I guess a good prequel to this entry would be to say that I am a virgin, and all of the above factors apply to my life/lifestyle.

I REFUSE TO BE A STATISTIC. =)

I went to a rave.

The worst Friday night I have had in a long time.
Lets set up the picture in your head. MY (clearly distorted) image of a rave was:
Lights flashing, hardcore techno, kids doing that one Swedish dance, glow sticks.
No.
We start off the night by having to park in an abandoned building parking lot, and walking in the freezing cold only to discover the longest line I've seen in my life. Were talking Disneyland status.
As we stood behind a BUSTED blonde in an over sized john Deere shirt and a mini skirt with Etnies sneakers, (i know right?), and in front of five creepy older Hispanic males, I had come to terms with the fact that I would probably end up dead tonight. This crowd was ROUGH, yet really stupid. I wondered who they would be in the daylight, because I had never seen a grown woman dressed as a Chinese cat on a day other than October 31st.
An hour of a wait goes by and the line speeds up. When we get to the door, I overhear that the security stopped doing bag/weapon searches, in order to get more people inside. WOW that's great news. I let go of my negative attitude and look for the dance floor. Where is the dance floor? Are you serious, that's all? Its about a 10' by 10' black-lighted area with distantly audible music, drowned out by the hum of the crowd. We find a wall to sit on. A girl dressed in wings and lingerie offers to give us a neck massage. A pimply-faced guy offers us some shrooms.

I decided to people watch. This crowd reminded me of the tweens I've seen tripping out of Hot Topic, trying to do some weird shit for attention. Except 300 of them, ages ranged from 13-40, all competing for each others attention, a massive cry for help.
It all ended when a girl decided to climb up on the beams of the ceiling and break the lights, somehow there was a rush of people to the exit and we were in it.
Basically, it was a fake excuse for a fake acid trip.
My review: same cost as the club, 10 times the wait, 1/8 the quality/loudness of the music, and 0% ZERO PERCENT of the guys.

Procrastination....

Hello my name is J. I've been addicted to procrastination for 3 years now. I don't know how to control it. I procrastinate at my job, thats why it takes me 45 minutes to close. I do it at school, thats why I have shitty grades. I do it at home, which explains the post-natural disaster state of my room. I really only accomplish tasks when I am forced to conform to a deadline.

Example: Math test friday, so i'll wait until Thursday night or Friday morning between classes to study.

Another example is how there is no deadline for me to lose some chub, so I don't. Maybe if I knew my approximate death date due to my genetically- predicted obese adulthood, I would start to lose weight 5 days before that. JK.

But really now. My "New Years Slogan" last year was UPGRADE YA. & I kinda did pretty good, but in 2009 to amp it up I decided that I will run one mile everyday that I don't work. I've done a great job on my TWO runs seems how i have worked six days this year. LOL.
Anyways i am eating better, no more fast food and i feel better too.
And since I am no longer dating a fat cow of a man/toddler i need to lose a couple ELLBEES and get myself back in the game.

He Doesn't Do the Little things....

This new guy doesn't do the little things. He hasn't driven to Enumclaw 1,000 times, bought me roses because I was having a bad day, or come to my work just to tip. He hasn't picked me up at 4am on a dark corner in the ghetto of Tukwila just because I asked him to, or lent me Jordan shorts, or met my mom. He hasn't rented movies for me, and then not gotten mad when they came up late on his bill, made omelets for me, and sat on the floor during dinner because we sold all of our furniture. He hasn't walked my dog, raced hondas with me, or been to IHOP with me at 1am. Or bought me Adidas and sushi, introduced me to his whole family. He didn't sneak into the apartment complex pool with me, or hide in the tanning room to make out, text me 100 times a day and leave me sweet voice mails pertaining to my vegetarianism. He never gets competitive with me, cracks my back, or offers to count my tips after work. He's never kissed my skin and told me I tasted like coffee.

The beauty

I want to prepare myself for life so that after my inevitably amazing 20s i can be happy being old. I've come to realize that my whole life I've been looking forward to my 20's so i can party, drink, have sex, and make my own life. What about after that? Oh ya... i should have kids, get married, work my office job etc etc. UM no. If i find the secret to finding the meaning of my life then looking ahead to my older years wont be so depressing. I want to help people and make a mark to become a minor celebrity.
Final note; my biggest fear is getting old. (and saggy)

Fuck Winter Months...

Summer IS the best season. Especially last summer. I cannot even verbally manifest my agony and longing for the excitement of Summer 08. I lived life fast. I only cared about making money and having fun, i was in control. My soundtrack would have been The carter 3 and all those fun club songs. I lived 24 hours a day, i clubbed, i went out, we drove around looking for trouble, blew all our money, didnt give a damn about those haters. I never slept, but i was always awake. Every night was friday night. What a fucken party.

Its October? And i'm alone and freezing and no one goes out anymore.
I sleep a good eight to nine hours every night...and i wake up tired as fuck.
I do the same thing every day, and my weekends are overplanned with boring activities. Everyone is busy doing the same dumbshit. I feel trapped.

Its too dificult to plan a night out.

Maybe this whole problem isn't even about what month it is... i just need a WINTER party friend to keep me pumped up and not lonely.

Life In Apartments...

Any one that hasn't lived in an apartment should never complain about their neighbors. Its' intolerable. Oh your next-house neighbors were out barbequeing on a saturday night and disturbed your
Pampered Chef party? My neighbors boned, skinned and fried their own salmon on their patio directly below me.
The amount of disruptions living in apartments is AMAZING.
24 hours a day, everyday of the year.
Even as i TRY to focus and write, my wannabe wigger neighbor has been BLASTING "Got Money" By Lil wayne for the last hour. Maybe this is just his outlet of being sheltered in this pitiful town his whole life.
Anyways, During my last experience living in a house, my biggest complaint was the barking of two small dogs in the late afternoons. Hmmmm now it would probably be the couple that beats the shit out of eachother every week or the rancid smell of the Indian and Chineese food combination that seeps through these thin walls.
I'm thinking of ways to seek my revenge on these horrific people.
I already do laundry at midnight, allow my door to slam on its own, and turn up the bass in my car stereo when leaving for work at 5am.
I feel like once again my geographical location is wearing down on my artistic abilities.