THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Well 100.
100 fucking entries on diaryland.
That is....pathetic.
Truly.
I mean....That just shows what little life I have.
Anyway. I came here to actually talk about something. So I will.
Today I had to wait after school for like nine thousand hours (well...Like an hour and a half) because we got out at 1:38 (what the fuck? Who the hell makes up these damn schedules???) and so did my sister (also- what the fuck?) so my mom had to pick her up first so I just had to wait on the blazing pavement listening to the Distillers with my headphones (only one of which works, may I add). Anyway. This has nearly nothing to do with anything.
So. As I sat there, I saw this seventh grader screwing around across the street. I actually watched what she was doing because she was wearing a jacket covered in studs and patches from Nirvana, The Ramones, and The Casualties, and that obviously puts them in quite a critical position. So. Anyway.
All she did for an hour was hang out with...with...Cheerleaders.
Cheerleaders.
Someone with Casualties patches is hanging out with the goddamn cheerleaders.
And not just any cheerleaders. The super preppy I wear side pony tail kind of cheerleaders. The ones who listen to Simple Plan and Michelle Branch and think they are just so cool.
Honestly. Where the fuck do people's pride goes nowadays?
Seriously. Its like blasphemy. I just don't get it.
If you're going to call yourself something, you might as well follow up on that. She might as well have been cheering herself.
It was that disgusting.
And there was lots of giggling.