The Hipster Brigade
made this one, too. interested in a bigger image to have as a desktop like yours truly? then you should message/email me.
have made new drawlings
for everyone to enjoy.
There is no Garbo! There is no Dietrich! There is only Louise Brooks!
"Love is a publicity stunt, and making love - after the first curious raptures - is only another petulant way to pass the time waiting for the studio to call."
"Most beautiful dumb girls think they are smart and get away with it, because other people, on the whole, aren't much smarter."
there is something beautiful in the valley, not that i have ever visited before
i'm ready to say goodbye. i'm slowly weeding out bits of my life. throwing away the past. do i really need that dum dums lollipop my high school crush gave me? i don't think so. i dumped a bunch of mp3s i downloaded for the cool factor that i never listen to and never listened to. also, an accidental slip of a button and somehow i trashed all those music videos i NEVER watched either. oh well.
i like having the space. i always wanted to be a minimalist. too bad minimalist + pack rat don't mix too well.
another part of this moving on phase is that i've stopped thinking rationally. i walk in the middle of the street.
i don't look both ways. i let my dog pee in the neighbor's yard as they stare terrified from the front window. i have become a neighborhood hoodlum. i am so proud of myself for being such an asshole. plus, i'm the cutest criminal you'll see around these parts.
question: i hate shaving my legs, so why do i shave the gyna with no problem?
p.s. when your boyfriend/girlfriend recommends that you take too many naps and that is why you can't fall asleep till 5am every fucking day. maybe you should listen. naps are nice, but so is a normal sleeping schedule. ALSO, BEWARE THE EVIL SLEEP WIZARD
: if you feel a powerful urge to sleep instead of making a tasty burrito, then run. RUN AS FAST AS YOUR FEET WILL LET YOU. remember, watch out for the sleeping kitty on the floor!
p.p.s. remember the bold, my readers.
rated X for mature content
everyone thought we were holding hands under the table. his hand gently caressing my knee, and then wandering up just a bit further feeling the wetness between my thighs. smiling at me and laughing at a joke someone was saying across the table. his hand gently placing my skirt back down. just a tease.
now it was my turn.
nodding as someone tells me about their trip to europe last spring. i take his hand, which he places neatly on his lap. he's hard alright. ready. i smile, raising my eyebrows just a little bit. hinting at what is to come later.
we force our way through more small talk. but my shifting, alerts him that i need to be taken right there or else i will leave with someone else that will.
we politely decline dessert through fake yawns. we run all the way to the subway holding hands, barely containing myself for what's to come.
my favorite part is never the foreplay or the teasing. it's the part when i know he's going to fuck me. the part where his voice changes and he says every little thing he wants to do to me, and me to him.
-"i want to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk."
-"i want to lick your nipples."
-"i want you to suck my cock."
-"i want to cum all over your tits."
i'm greedy too. greedy and eager, but he takes his time, making me take his dick in my mouth. circling the head and then slowly i lick down the shaft inserting as much as i can down my throat. he moans a bit. i will do anything to have him inside me. he knows this. he uses it against me.
he places a finger inside me, slowly moving back and forth, then faster making me cum. but it won't do. i need cock.
i can't hear a thing. only the sound of my panting in anticipation as he gently pushes inside me. that first push hurts just a little, but in a way in which i want him to keep pushing. harder and harder. till i'm filled up.
always slow at first and then faster, increasing and decreasing, reading what it will do to me. i cum a lot. again and again. i can tell that he's tired as he sucks my nipple, but he also senses that i'm not done. i haven't had my fill. he won't rest till i'm done. no apologies he pumps away until i'm screaming in his ear little "oh gods" and "fucks" till he is panting in my ear and collapsing on my chest. that's my favorite part. the part where he cums. i like it almost as much as him inside me. i can't say what it is about it, but just to know that he's satisfied too fills me with even more satisfaction.
cheesy yes, but that's how passion is sometimes. giving and taking.
i don't like flying. obviously, i am talking about airplanes. it's not the height that gets me or even the confined spaces. it's the build up. the packing. the itineraries. the ID checks. those scanny machines that i swear make me appear naked to the people on the other side. it's the waiting. it's the everything before i board the fucking plane.
once i'm on board, i just rest my head on my neighbor and sleep for as long as possible.
unfortunately, i have to go on planes at least 4 times a year. it's the price i must pay for attending a school on the east coast. it's worth it. but i still hate it.
now here i am gearing up for another take-off. next week tuesday, i'll be in germany. it's a 9 hour flight and i'm scared. seriously, what if i have to use the bathroom? what if i don't have a window sit? what if i have to sit next to a baby? i can only hope to shut my eyes for as long as possible and distract myself with inflight movies i've already seen. i'm crossing my fingers till i'm on the ground and my bags are back safely in my possession.
i just know that someone is fondling my underwear back there through those bag searches. but really i can't blame them. i do have nice panties.
it would be such a waste
the last two days i have been a wreck of nervous stomachs and aching legs. not even a friendly wave from my romantic friend cheered me up. i just wanted to hide under rugs and sleep silently until the school year started. i hated everything and i thought everything hated me.
i just couldn't keep myself going. i dragged each second down by a hate-filled snarl of angst appropriate for only Hot Topic trash and 15 year olds. (is there a difference?) i didn't know how to let go and by letting it keep on, things got worse.
i'm not who i was a year ago. it seemed that i didn't have control over the things i was doing, but i didn't know how to stop doing them. i hated everything and everyone. i was looking for friends that would make me feel better. yes-men to add to the diana fan club. at least, subconsciously i think that's what i was doing.
i gave it up.
i am trying to move on and be a fixed person. i want to stay hate free. i just can't stand all that negative energy pumping through my veins. call me weak, but at least i'm using that energy to write and make this world a bit better for myself and my friends. yeah, it's selfish. but i never said i fixed that.
about me section
- new url/layout, updated!
- new url/layout, updated, kinda!
- new url/layout, updated!
motherfucking modern art failure
- NEW LAYOUT! UPDATED!
strange emails: sabrina is not the only one
I would like see your Breasts (.)(.)
the request was not granted.
i am no longer bored: new calling in life
may 2004, my old dorm room
(please take notice of ryan adams in the background)
lately, all i want to do is sit on the floor and make crafts. i have ideas for so many things. i find myself restless at night because i need to buy things at the grocery store. last night was the first night that hasn't happened. it was the first night where when i closed my eyes i felt the need to sleep. i woke up at 8am and couldn't go back to sleep.
i think i like waking up on my own without an alarm clock.
i am making mix cds at a ridiculous rate and realizing that i need to go buy cds and a new stereo.
i'm ready to let a lot of things go. one of them is old letters and old crushes. what crushes? for once, not having a crush is starting to feel really good. i'm starting to realize that i don't recognize myself anymore and that's a good thing.
exclusion from the crush clause:
i really want to make out with john dufilho of the deathray davies, even my boyfriend has a crush on him. since john is married, ryan will do. maybe i should keep these things to myself.
p.s. i have an ant bite on my foot. it itches.
this is probably not intended for you
small rambling and a life lesson all in once
Turtle: Summer of 2003 (location geerah's house)
she lived out her life in a giant shoe
telephone game. i got over it in grade school but now it's back to haunt me. it's hard to spend any time online without me being booted off by incoming calls. i can't help it. i can't ignore it. it just happens. but excessively calling your daughter 5 or 6 times in a row. my god. i'm so tired of being the only helpful person in the family.
what about those families i see in infomercials? they're so nice. why is my family constantly bickering?
although, i know i'm in a normal screwed up famly like everyone else. it still bothers me the lack of communication between us. i'm just tired and i would like some time alone. from everyone.
especially the dog. he's like a secret admirer stalker ex-boyfriend with a lot of fur. i can't deal with this!
inbetween phone calls i'm often restless. must be all the caffiene i have to drink to stay stable. so i create.
must create to survive.
i'm thinking of this blog more and more as an extension of my real life self. i don't hide anything anymore and i don't know why i would want to. i mean here's my zine right here.
right the fuck here.
p.s. i'm sorry for all the midnight rambling. i'm redoing a lot of my blogs over with a new set up. so watch for new links in the next few days.
-new about me section
taking a cue from miss raymi minx
the lovely miss numidas
made this for me in the style of a softer world
it's all about the looks of things
i want to look japanese. there are parts of me that are traditional. there's the classic japanese chin. my nose. dark hair and eyes. also, i have a love for all things badtz maru and tare panda. i have big big anime eyes. and i have a knack for haikus.
but no one can tell i'm asian. i look too american. i crave to look like the ethnic girl i identify the most with. maybe i should take a lession from Fruits.
i mean i'm friends with almost exclusively asian girls at college. i swear it's a coincidence, but a strange one. i gravitate towards asians.
i'd do anything to be a chink! what's a quarter japanese girl to do?
underneath lily pads
today i tiptoed past snail shells on the way to the grocery store, scrunching my eyes at every crunch, relieved it was only twigs underneath slippery feet. i've gotten this survivalist thing down. i can't sleep at night, but that just leaves more time to come up with better techniques. it means reading hour is extended to 6 hours. "there are 24 usable hours in every day," the beautiful miss liv tyler said in empire records and she was right.
there is nothing on tv. how can anyone watch it? it makes me more bored watching it. like hey, i could be doing something else.
i think i'm going to have put romantic*
friends on hold. that man is criminal. i saw him speaking to himself. then as i crossed and walked past him he watched me and smiled, and then went right back to yelling to his friend. i swear they are smuggling donkeys or spidery leg warmers! watch out all!
tonight, i was in a slump. right now tonight. then he drifted away like it wasn't there. i hate the response of, "did you take your pills?" jeez, i'm not a crazy old coot. i'm just a confused depressed young lady with an anxiety problem. it's like i can't be in a bad mood ever. ridiculous, i say.
anyways, this was supposed to be short update to test this bloggery commenty system, so i hope it works.
[several times now i have passed a young man underneath the overpass. he's just relaxing under the bridge. i think by the end of the summer we'll be great friends and we'll lie together holding hands and telling each other what we see in the clouds.
i'm not sure why we're holding hands. i guess it's just romantic. romantic friends, i guess. can you be romantic friends?
p.s. i recommend you never go back and read your boyfriend's blog when you are depressed. it only makes everything feel so much worse. remember, he had a life before you and that's okay. he cares about you now.
surely, i'm not the only one who can't think logically around here?
no cents, just dollars
if i'm making less sense this days, you can blame it on the weather. or the fact that i'm making little sense to myself this days.
thus, the puzzles.
i'm having strong urges to become part of a community. not my community, but someone else's. i've looked into livejournal and diaryland and i think i want to be part of a movement of writers looking to better the land.
i'm so tired sometimes of these old haunts. i need something new.
there used to be days where i could sit in front of the computer and i knew all about good writers and good writing. at least, i know the latter is true still. but almost everyone worth reading is not updating.
now that everyone is blogging there is so much more to dig through. and i'm tired. i want something fast and rewarding.
schedules bore me.
i used to have a lot of readers and now they get their kicks elsewhere. it's true. i got busy. i got a sex life. i have a boyfriend. but that doesn't mean i gave up. i keep coming back here. despite it's familiar boxes and everychanging links and new blogger interfaces.
i'm tired of celebrityism, but i'm in it for the thrill. i think somedays i would make a great celebrity. i would smile and nod and kiss people's babies and sign autographs just like the best robot ever could. i just want to be a little famous.
but it's hard to be famous if you sit in your house with your dog and cats all day. and the only human contact you see is your aging grandmother who keeps speaking about her dying friends and the rain that won't stop falling.
it's mud outside, not dirt. there is not sturdy ground for me to rest my toes. i'm tired of having pretty nails with no compliments.
i think i survive on the world's acception of me. and i think that's okay. at least, for now.
until i'm bored again.
the midnight disease
i can't get to sleep till 5am every night.
it's becoming just a plain pain.
and as i lie there awake
i daydream about things i want
and read till my eyelids feel heavy
listening to the classical music station
wishing for rain
and ways to get out.
notes on being a lady
along with growing up comes make-up.
as a little girl, i wore my mother's high heels
and party gowns
but avoided smudged eyes
and red lips.
now i yearn for a glossy mouth
and painted eyes with matching nails.
thick long hair
and french pedicures.
but i never was a lady.
i'd rather hide in the shell of girl
with holes in the knees of my jeans
and (imaginary)freckles on my face
and dream of fifties starlettes
with platinum hair and rosy cheeks.
my name could never be marilyn.
there is a wedding cake and his name is harold
i have stopped making sense.
about this new change. my new name. i am twenty-two and i have stopped trying to be a hipster. i have started to embrace the fact that i'm going to have to grow up, but you know what this leaves me with?
i fear aging. not the process of getting old and wrinkles, but really the responsibility. so i'm hiding out. in a shell.
big thick tortoise shell. multi-coloured, maybe metallic. so i'm this huge shell floating along, drifting along.
there are other reasons but no one likes hearing about the only one that survived.
the world does not revolve around french fries
i have weeded out my friends carefully. a chore. laborious task of dissecting each friend to find out his faults. then tossing the bad ones over my shoulder.
which leaves me with nothing but writers. ambitious writing friends. friends that know fine literature. friends that keep tossing me, "the next big thing." friends that are constantly working and working on getting published.
then there's little old me. me! the person that should be paying all this attention to my older, wiser "friends." i am supposed to be digesting all this scholarly advice. i am using this to help me become an adult. an adult who wants to be a writer. i mean, here i am stuck in college writing. you see, i'm a writing major. a writing, literature and publishing major. it's fancy. i get more credit for fancy.
but still i sit in front of blank, flashing screens writing in livejournals and blogs and contests are empty. devoid of the wit that is miss diana.
there is no diana to be found elsewhere but on this electronic plane. oh, sure there was high school contests and literary journals, but those don't count.
except for this game of collecting writers. someone i can use to help further my career, perhaps they are thinking the same thing. "oh yeah, this diana chick can help me satisfy my cravings for brilliant prose and poetry. here in this girl is the answer. the answer of what i am not sure, but somewhere between those thighs or hidden deep in her belly is the writing. she will write something great one day. i can feel the heat even as i think of her."
perhaps no one thinks that. perhaps that's me rubbing off on them. i think i am much more devious than i seem. i want to soak up all their ideas till they are mine. i want to live through them. while i, failed writer, work at half-price books reading and reading, never stopping looking for inspiration while each of my friends one by one become famous.
and here i sit. blogging. web-logging. hoping for instant gratification.
new layout. new name.
welcome to the future of my blog.
unfortunately, my comments aren't working
but i'm working on it.
for now, direct all comments to email/aim.