Take a hike assholes...(or maybe I need to).

Thursday, 23:40, www.jackwills.com.

I scan the website, watch the video with the naked girl, and go ahead and look at the clothes. Pretty overpriced, but what isn't in this world?

I think, "I suppose I could invest in that bra," and like I always do, I skim the details of the product. It comes in sizes 32A, 32B, 32C, 34A, 34B, and 34C.

I think, "Well nevermind,"

What pompous bitches, them Jack Wills people are. I guess their argument would sound a little bit like, "Well, there isn't a law that states we must cater to every shape and size, so why should we? We're sick of all the fat people trying to look good in the kinds of things we sell, so we just won't let them shop here," it would sound just like that, in a British accent.

And I would say right back to them "fuck you," and I would go weigh myself and grumble and be an angry girl for the rest of the hour, and I would console myself by Googling "can anyone like chubby women?"

Facts about today.

This morning, I got up at 5:00 to take some vitamin that requires that I have an empty stomach upon taking it, went back to sleep, and got up again at 6:32.

The yearbook is finally done. I think working on it has made a shut-in out of me.

Since I can't find my brother, my dad is in the basement, and my mom is off-island bringing my poor cat to surgery, I'm home (practically) all alone. I've made myself some coffee. I texted my dad asking him if he wanted any, but I don't think he's going to want some since he usually drinks coffee when mom is here, too.

I am sitting in my leopard chair in my leopard snuggie.

Today marks the last day of spring break. I enjoyed my time, but it always seems to slip away all too quickly. Five more weeks. Five more weeks.

Today I had delicious chocolate meringues. I don't usually like meringues, but these ones were nice.

I need some better things to write about.

Did you know if you were famous you could kill your wife, and theres no such thing as 25 to life as long as you got the cash to pay for Cochran

The weather here is beautiful and it's giving me awful nostalgia. It makes me remember when we hung out in middle school in the summer time and we'd sleep in your basement and wake up at nine forty-five in the morning and sit on your kitchen counter and floor and have a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in those pink and green and blue plastic bowls with ridges. The temperature was warm enough to sit in your yard and let Luci come and love us.

I would put on my god-awful camo print capri pants and a white teeshirt and my grey and green vans that I bought because you had the same pair, and you'd wear jeans that you rolled mid-calf and a black teeshirt and all those plastic bracelets and strings you used to wear around your wrist with those tight necklaces you wore and that pair of black and pink shoes you had, and we'd talk about all kinds of irrelevant things, like the boys who are still best friends and the one of them that you dated and the other one who I still pine for.

I remember you had a cell phone and I did not. It was such an enviable piece of equipment because it lit up with colors when it rang, and you could read text messages from the front screen of the phone. Today, we would look at it and call it an obsolete, low resolution flip phone, but that's the phone I'll always remember you having before any other.

I was twelve when we remodeled my house. My room had no rug and the walls were made out of foam boards, and the place was opened up so that it was a 25' x 35' room and when The Young and the Hopeless came in the mailbox I put it in my CD player and turned it up and listened to it. That album is, to this day, the only album I ever was just in love with. I've never been so excited about a group of songs.

But today, the weather is just like I remember it was in the summer of 2004 when the breeze was warm and the sun's rays seemed to cover everything and the tree in your yard made shade and inside was just thirteen steps away.

I miss these times terribly; they are out of my reach.

Questionable...

Cal is thirteen, so he's still learning how to make meals on his own. We help him out by purchasing simple things like cereal and Hot Pockets. And Easy Mac.

My mom received a phone call from my little brother one day when she was at the store, and he said to her when she picked up,

"Mom, um, where are you?"

and she said

"I'm driving home..why, what's wrong?". She asked what was wrong because Cal had the sound of fear and confusion in his preteen boy voice that's not quite done changing.

"I'm having some trouble with the microwave,"

"Well what's the matter?" mom was getting worried.

"Nothing, just come home soon,"

So mom came home soon and Cal was sitting on the wooden swing-bench in the front yard, staring at his dirty boy hands. Mom got out of the car and walked into the smokey scented house with Cal. Cal lead her to the microwave and when he opened it, grey air swirled and spilled everywhere, all over the counter. When the air cleared, what was visible was, at first, an undecipherable object that was yellow and blue and black. It smelled awful, like the smell that rocks make when you clash them together to make a spark, mixed with the smell of plastic and preservatives. It was hot to the touch so mom got an oven mitt.

"I forgot to add water," Cal said.

The birth of "Easy Smoke", ladies and gentlemen.

Boston je t'aime

I went to Boston with my family and on the last morning of our stay in the Theatre District, we went for a promenade (which is French for stroll). It was breakfast time and our tums were growling and snarling and we decided to blow off the buffet (also a French word) at the Courtyard Marriott because it was pretty mediocre the morning before. The morning before, there was a room that looked pretty classy until the hostess sat us down next to the forty-three inch flat screen that spilled the morning news all over my scrambled eggs, which might have served better as the sole of a shoe. On this morning, we ventured up two blocks to see what we could find to muzzle our stomachs and on the way we saw five police motorcycles parked up the walk. What happened next was something that I've never seen before in real life. It's something that's always in movies and cartoons and books but I'd never seen it before now with my own eyes. The cops were in the Dunkin' Donuts. And can you guess what they were eating? They had before them donuts and coffee. I nearly laughed, and I wanted to acknowledge them to let them know that I appreciated that they were eating donuts at Dunkin' Donuts but I didn't. I wonder if they were doing it for the shock factor.

I stepped up to the counter where I ordered a a honey bran muffin and a small cup of ick with cream and no sugar.

Stop & Shop...been holding out on me.

I bought the most delicious chocolate chips at the store last Sunday. Maybe they taste so damn good because they're the cheap kind and they're Stop & Shop brand and I thought they'd be unsatisfactory. I bought them because I'm a jobless teenager and I didn't want to buy the nice kind because I knew I didn't really need them. They are better than Nestle, and they are better than Hershey's.

Cumby's also has been keeping secrets from me because their pint sized ice creams are the best I've ever tasted. No other ice cream is better.

I can't even describe these things. Please trust me, you just have to buy them for yourself.

Don't you have to pick up your girlfriend from kindergarten in a couple minutes?

Something I just don't understand is the attraction to underclassmen girls.

Enlighten me, boys. Is it their lack of hips that makes you hot? Does their negative dignity and independence turn you on? There must be something in that Malaia by Hollister. Regardless, I bet it feels so good bumping up against a bone bag in the sheets you put on your bed two girlfriends ago. Steamy!

I guess their cute, flirty talk is what gets to you. I can't imagine how it makes your heart flutter to hear her talking about that blackout last weekend or how some asshole teacher gave her a D minus on her vocabulary quiz today.

The best is their cleavage. I always want to crack up when I see high school freshman and sophomore girls try to impress you with their push-up bras. Those are only A cups? I would have thought they were Cs, you little hottie! Mmm-mmm! Those strong boys can really get a handle on you now!

There are more beautiful, of-age females around you than there are brain cells in your head, but if ignorance, protruding pelvic bones, no dignity, and raccoon eyes make you squirm, I understand if you're scared of a woman.