Overhead in Santa Barbara:

Girl: I need to go home. I need to go to my apartment.
Guy: Why do you need to go home? WHAT'S AT YOUR APARTMENT? IS THERE A 10 INCH DICK AT YOUR APARTMENT?! I DON'T THINK SO.

Win.

I'm alone.

My first weekend in Santa Barbara and all my friends went home for the weekend. WTF. Come visit me, please.

I...

it...what...I don't know what to do with myself.

The Dresden Dolls are on indefinite hiatus? I'm so upset right now.

IS IT THURSDAY YET?

AH.

I'm in my dorm. Chilling on the floor. Love.

Subscribe to us, bitches!

Packing.

Trash bags full of crap count: 14
Trash bags full of clothes for the Salvation Army count: 4

But am I done? No.

Please put a shoe on your head, please.

I'm a terribly loud packer. TERRIBLY LOUD. Unfortunately for my sleeping family, I like to start packing at about 1 in the morning. I knock things over, go in and out of my room multiple times with large bags that consequently make me run into things and walls. I don't know how they deal with it. I'm pretty sure I would have woken up myself if I was sleeping. (Note: I sleep through everything.)

For the last five days, I've been packing about 3 hours a day. That's a lot. But how else am I suppose to get through 16 years of cumulative crap and sort through it? I've literally thrown out about 10 trash bags full of crap, and got rid of 4 trash bags full of clothes for the Salvation Army. That being said, I still have a ton of crap left. It's quite horrible, I'm such a pack rat. Thankfully when I move again in nine months it won't be quite this horrible. But packing up your life is no small feat. Hopefully I'll be done throwing stuff away tomorrow night and get onto actual sorting and packing in proper boxes, properly organized. In the process I hope to lose at least one more trash bag full of stuff. Do you know how tempting it is to leave everything, tell my family to throw it all away if they want, and start over? I seriously considered it. I think the only thing I wanted to keep was my books, my computer, and a handful of clothes. Yes, a handful. But alas! I can't do that yet. I think my parents would have a bitch fit if I left all this crap to them, to be honest. Maybe when I move again in nine months I'll see if people just want it all...



P.S. I've started a new youtube: here.

Fuck this.

How the fuck am I suppose to get out of this labyrinth if I keep getting pulled in by others every time I'm close to the exit?

I want him.

NOW.

Bum.

I feel so useless these days. School doesn't start for two weeks. I don't move for a week and a half, and I do absolutely nothing of significance these days. School, come quicker!

EPIC LULZ.

Dear sweet baby Jesus, THIS IS HILARIOUS.
Thank you so much John Green for bringing it to my attention.

P.S. The blog title is in the works, I just needed something new for now.

WIN.

I AM TOTALLY FOLLOWING MYSELF. FOLLOW ME IN THE SIDEBAR ON THE RIGHT.

An actual good idea.

Let's rename my blog. Pretentious bitch makes a blog is a little off putting...I guess. I need new. Give me blog titles people.

Good ideas.

I ate a hot pocket today. Why would I do that? 10 bucks says I'll forget about this feeling and eat one this week, thinking it's a good idea.

And I just got distracted and left this window open for a good 20 minutes. Win.

I wanna book 8.

You know who answers my questions in live blogs? JOHN. You know who doesn't answer my questions in live blogs? HANK. Hank, this may be why my subconscious prefers John, although I would never consciously choose between the two of you. Actually if I had to choose, I would choose...THE KATHERINE.

P.S. Pretty much disregard that last blog. Some friends left me out of something that wouldn't be such a big deal except it brought out old feelings and bad times and resentment and self consciousness and feeling like no one's telling you that they actually don't like you. Yeah, just bad times.

Fuck.

I've spent a significant amount of my life being able to keep people from getting under my skin. To not let them affect me unless they are worth the pain. But how come every time I entrust my happiness in someone they feel a need to crush it?

Dear haters,

who like to say that Edward Cullen has no fucking personality, GO FUCKING READ MIDNIGHT SUN. I'm so sick of everyone saying that, but if you read Midnight Sun you realize he has more personality in his pinky than Bella freakin' Swan has in her whole body. No, it's not because I'm jealous of Bella or anything (although I am), I really mean it. I always thought she was a bit, um, of a flatline? I was just lucky to see Edward through her. Edward is ridiculously funny, a bit of 40-year old mom (growing up cullen, ftw), and so tormented it sucks. Too bad he keeps it all to himself or people would realize what Team Edward is all about. (Note: I love Jacob too.)
I'm just a little bitter.

Love,
Nicole
P.S. Chagrin.

I'm such a fucking masochist.

Or maybe a sadist. So I'm reading Midnight Sun, and I decided to re-read chapter 1. Edward is planning all the ways he can kill Bella and about 20 other people. Who gets into the head of a guy planning to kill people and think IT'S SO FUCKING HOT? Like, I wish I was Bella, if he killed her. I wouldn't mind dying that way. I want his teeth to pierce through my neck. DEAR GOD, IT'S HOT.

Excerpts (Warning: may cause um...):

"Some would hear...and I'd be forced to kill even more innocents in this black hour.
And her blood would cool while I murdered the others."

"The monster in my head smiled in anticipation."

"Even if she had time to scream, which she would not, there would be no one to hear."

"And when I had her alone, there would be no chance of anyone else getting hurt. And no reason to rush through the experience, the monster in my head agreed."

So am I a sick son of a bitch, or what?