June 26, 2003 :: 1:16 a.m.
watch your sensitive bits, this baby is smoking
A thoroughly scientific study conducted in my basement by monkeys wearing lab coats and goggles has concluded that my internet connection is 100% positively the slowest one ON THE FUCKING PLANET. Starving orphans in Ethiopia have fashioned speedier connections out of cow bones and tin foil, for fuck's sake.
Dear AOL,
Please die. And please contact me before the event so that I can don my little party hat and bring marshmallows to roast over the flaming wreckage of your evil corporation. Thank you.
Yours Very Royally Unsatisfied,
Amanda
Ahem. Before I forget, there are 16 (yes, SIXTEEN) new pictures in the art section. The first new one is "Swimsuit 1," in case you get lost. I have more to upload, but I don't feel like dealing with it right now. I just spent about an hour and a half drawing something in Illustrator (my love, my desire), and now my hand hurts like a mofo. I enjoy the picture quite a lot, though, and I'm feeling rather proud of myself at the moment because of it. Don't worry, it won't last.
I have to cart my grandmother around tomorrow afternoon, or do things around the house for her. Not sure which. Maybe both, considering my luck. I actually don't mind, but I have no gas and no money with which to purchase gas and it's supposed to be NINETY-NINE degrees out tomorrow. Yard work isn't the most appealing activity in temperatures like that, especially when you're the Supreme Queen of Lazytown like me. Blah. I'm such a horrible granddaughter.
I keep catching typos on the art page. It's annoying because I feel the need to fix each and every one of them, and in order to do so I must complete the following set of actions: click "edit/delete entries," click "all entries," wait for the 954-item list to load, scroll, scroll, scroll, click "edit/delete," fix the typo, click "make changes." This in and of itself isn't too bad, apart from the countless millennia spent waiting for all of the entries to load, but the thing is that I never catch more than one typo at a time. This means that I have to do said sequence of actions over and over and over again, until my eyeballs explode from the internal pressure. It's probably less fun that you would imagine, somehow.
In other news, I very seriously believe that I'm being eaten alive by insects. I find a new bug bite every five minutes, and I do mean that literally. I don't know how they're getting at me, seeing as how I rarely ever go outside anymore. It's not like I'm taunting them with my copious amounts of delicious flesh, either. I'm a hollow shell of a loser who spends the entire day holed up in her bedroom wearing full-coverage pajamas, not some tanned beach goddess running around in a bikini. Grr, argh.
Dear Bugs,
Please stop treating me like an all-you-can-eat buffet. How would you like it if I snuck into your bedroom at night and bit the hell out of you? Also, you should keep in mind that I am willing and very able to squash you into oblivion with the nearest Periodical of Death should you land on an accessible surface for even a fraction of a second. I have your best interests at heart here, you see. So go the fuck away before I decorate my room with those evil blue lights that entice you with their sweet, sweet illumination and then fry you up into little charcoal bits even as you have your tiny insect orgasms.
Wishing You Untimely Deaths,
Amanda
Yawn. I'm going to go get ready for bed and then spend some quality time with Harry Potter. All I can say is that this evil Umbridge woman had better be crushed to death by some kind of large, spiky steel object by the end of the book or I'm going to be mightily pissed off.
'Night.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005