Sucktastic Suckiness of my Suckster Life.

Sorry I haven't been updatin'... I don't get online much anymore, and even when I do this danged computer is so old and slow it takes forever to do anything. Plus I had to get my SEP app all wrapped up.

Since Easter holls start tomoz, hopefully I'll get some mighty nice entries done about the Rome Trip and then the suprise Costa Azzurra Trip.

Until then, I'll just tell you about today. TODAY IS THE WORST FRICKIN DAY. And it's only 5 o'clock. WT Hull is up with so many days lately being the worst? Basically today I was gonna get my hair dyed blonde, and was pretty much really excited about that. When we got to the salon, though, the folk were all, "Nurrz we can't do all yer hair blonde 'cause we're stoopid so we gots to do some brown and some blonde." Even though I had some misgivings [OK, a lot of misgivings...such as WT Hull can't they do all blonde, and also the blonde brunette look is so hardcore over!] I agreed to it because I was so desperate for blonde, any blonde. WORST F*CKING IDEA, EVER. What is wrong with me?

I started feeling worse and worse as I sat there with my hair all done up for AGES, and when they finally rinsed it all out and I actually saw it kinda, I felt like crying. And then when the dude was all blowdryin' it and shizZz I did start crying, but you couldn't tell 'cause my hair was all in my face. Aw-f*ckin'-ful. Especially the way he blewdryed it all big and nineties. WT Hull is it with peeps and givin' me Nineties hair? But basically it looked crapolicious. And then I went to go pay for it, and you wanna know how much that stupid f*ckup of a dyejob cost me? SIXTY TWO EUROS. Like a stab to the heart. Sixty two stabs to the heart, to be exact.

When my mom picked me and Miriam up, she asked us how we liked what we got [Miri got a cut & style...the dude blowdried it in this awful flippy ends way...not what she asked for at all]. Miriam said she liked the cut but that the style was so not even, and her mom's like, "Well did you tell him that?" Miri: "No." And then she asked me and I told her I didn't know...which basically means "No but I'm hoping I'll get used to it."

As soon as we got home I ran into the bathroom to cry in peace but when I came out you could still tell I had, even though I washed my face. My mom asked me if I cried and I was like "No...maybe..." and then started crying again. Way to go, Bee! So she basically figured out that both of us hate what we got and neither of us had the balls to tell the hair peeps that...even though, as she pointed out, we were paying. A lot. But dude, my hair looks like a rear end because I was stupid. It's not their fault...it came out like he said it was going to...I am just a tard and agreed to get that shizZz done. Whatever, my mom is going to the salon tomorrow and is tellin' them she ehn't goin' back no more 'cause they're lame. Isn't she rad?

That being said, I am just about thisclose to a Britterz style break down, head shavin' included. Head shavin' ESPECIALLY included. All I want is to go home. I am sick of this stupid country. I am sick of not having my own life. I am sick of having to go to some shit parruchiere and over paying to not get what I want. I am sick of having to pretend all the time. I am sick of having to eat. I'm sick of being an add-on, an appendage. I'm just sick of everything. I want to go home. This is what I am thinking almost every second: "I don't want to be here." What makes it hard is that my family here is so nice, and they are being so good to me I don't want to hurt them or disappoint them or anything by leaving early. But I can't help it. I'm going insane. I have to get out of here.

I don't want to go to the dance tonight...I don't want to do anything. All the crying has exhausted me to the point that I just want to sleep. I want to sleep and when I wake up, I want to be at home. Home as in America. California. Gualala. 46170 on the street that makes me glad we have a P.O. Box.

Soz for being negz but she can't help it,
Bee Electric