Music, lemme say something

So here goes, I was talking to Mr. Lotsa Hair, and I told him about this dream I had one day that got me to listen to Hole again. Because in the dream, their song Pretty On the Inside was playing, and I could recognize it at that time, but didn't really remember which song it was. The next day I listened to the album and it was like... There it is. It has become my favorite Hole song, for a few reasons. I think having that dream made me have some sort of special connection to it. Liiiiike... Something TOLD me I should listen to it! Because why the hell else would it be playing? At that time, it'd been forever since I listened to that band. And now I wonder what the fuck was up with THAT, ya know. I LOVE COURTNEY TOO MUCH TO DO THAT TO HER. You know? Fan devotion. No, I don't care if she's a rail who has a bad weave, she is Courtney, she's not there for you to pick apart while you masturbate to Nicole Richie. USE YOUR HEADS. Not your penis ones, either. D:

And then around that time I mentioned Syd Barrett, because he wrote songs that were like damn fairy tales. And that's probably one way I attach myself to his music so damn hard, he had an imagination that makes me happy. Piper at the Gates of Dawn is basically a folklore book, but with sound. There's a song about a gnome, how is that not just fucking awesome? And this has been beaten to death by the rest of Pink Floyd, but Syd was like a kid. Tripping on LSD, yes, but still a kid. That may also be why his music is all simplistic and has so much happy in it. It all has happy feelings, in each song. Even if it's sad, because it was written by Syd. What I would do to just even look at that man in person.

I mean, even before I got Madcap... I cried over his death. And even months after it happened. The day I found out, I was too freaked out to feel anything. What do you feel when one of the members of your most beloved group dies? This surely isn't a Kurt situation either. Syd had just lived a quiet life for the rest of his years, and apparently his death was in his sleep, thank god. I hope he's with his father, I think that's what triggered him to become to far away from everyone. Not that directly, just something that grew, because I think he died when Syd was 15 or so. And now I'm going so off, I don't think anyone will read this.

JUST REMEMBER! Music is a lovely, lovely thing. And show some respect for people like Syd and Courtney who shoke the ground I stand on. :D

Dude I'm so sleepy

We've been shopping for ten fucking hours. I got some nice shirts and an awesome clock at Ross. At Ikea, I got a chair, night stand, and soon a bed (once it's not out of stock anymore). And theeeen... And THEEEEN. I dunno. I've been up for a while, it's taken me ten minutes to type this because I absolutely cannot pay attention. The keyboard looks like a nice pillow... Yes. Yes it is a nice pillow. Like the kind at Ikea. Hmmmmm.

Things, things, things

1. Till is in fact, hot
2. OK SO IS DERO. (his name makes me think of Oreos)
3. Reesh has fabulous nails that I copy. <3
4. Paul is kinda fucking hot...
5. SO IS OLLI.
6. Sorry Flake. You look like Ronnie. D8
7. I WANT SEX WHY CAN'T I HAVE SEX WAAAAH WAAAAAAAAAH!!
8. Damn, someone needs to get me a vibrator.
9. ... Once I find my clit monster
10. I want biscuits.
11. I'll go get biscuits!
12. By the way guys, help Tash find her pita chips.

This new layout is fabulous

Really. Also, I've been awake since 6AM and being up before 12PM is really nice. WATER COLORS, oh yes. And yawning. jedshbsjkfbskd I got tutoring today, so I'm sure to screw up and start doodling stick figures killing eachother all over my paper while our teacher gives us a O_O face. I dunno. He's never done that, I don't think. Also, totally forgot what I was gonna get today, so I gotta remember. Someone needs to shrink, dig into my head, and manage the brain like an office. I would surely have a better memory that way. And not make so many typos.

SO ONE DAY YOU'RE LIKE, I want a cup of coffee. And what happens? That shit is cold. IT IS COLD. Like Lindsay Lohan's vagina, except the opposite. You understand? That shit is tainted. Both of those things, not just her infected vagina. Lemme add Spencer Pratt's existence to that, too.

And like. My nails need trimming, SOMEONE ELSE SHOULD DO THAT FOR ME, there's alot of yawning. And it is as cold as Lindsay's vagina in here, yeesh. It's May. In Florida. MY GOD, but then again, our AC tends to make every day feel like January in Norway. Imagine how much crap the Nordies have to wear to go out. ALOT OF SHIT. Like eskimos. Except Nordies are Viking folk, so they have manliness and raep to keep them warm all year 'round. That's not an easy thing to achive, obviously. And this was liiiiike... Many years ago. Now? Bitches wear sweaters, duh.

And now... I'm sleepy. Fuck. Leave me alone!

Green hair, I has it (and you dooooon't!)

Muhahahaha! I also got some streaks in my bangs. It's fierce and all that gay shit.

HAPPY 420!

Duuuuuude. Yay. Have a good day, everyone. 8D

My frustration with sweatshops, cheap clothing, and the guilt of it all

So it's 5AM, and I have spent about three hours reading up on sweatshops and those faaaabulous Louis Vittoun knock offs my aunt has been buying since the beginning of time. I know almost everything we buy is made in China, Cambodia, India, EVERY FUCKING THIRD WORLD COUNTRY. But you know what? I think it has to stop. Yeeeeeeah. Although that really is impossible, at least people should look into these things and not support it.

Everytime I wanna buy a piece of clothing, I feel like I'm making some child's life in China worse or something. And ya know why? Because I am. Because everyone is, because for some reason we can't make our own damn clothes. Hell, even the designer stuff isn't completely made in Europe by tailors.

And honestly, I barely know anything about this subject. But it's been on my mind alot lately, I'm trying to figure out what I can do to help and what choices I have. I wanna learn to sew to make my own clothes, I wanna find small shops that make their clothes in America, I wanna find ways to help... I dunno how. It makes me feel hopeless, guilty, like I'm walking in a giant puddle of filth that the world has made for itself, and will not fix. In other words, happy 420 everyone, I'm a giant fucking hippie who everyone's gonna laugh at because I don't like buying stuff from China that's being made by childern who shouldn't be making our fucking clothes, DO YOU HEAR ME!?

... I feel alone on this issue. My dad already tells me "But everything's made in China, who cares?" I think if we had the choice, none of what we use would be made in those countries, especially not by people in dangerous conditions, who die from over working. It's kinda like how everyone shops are Wal-Mart, just because. Or how people use plastic bags when they go shopping because "I don't wanna be the weirdo with the tree hugger bags!"

Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Listen, motherfuckers. These days, no one is buying shit, the economy, as everyone knows, is getting ass raped, and basically we're in a deep load of shit. But NO ONE FUCKING CAAAARES, right? Because you'd all rather watch what Paris Hilton is doing and wasting away your lives reading People magazine. And yes, I am seriously into this, to the point of looking like a fool because I'm sooooo into it, and like shit.

Everyone just thinks it's ok to live in the filth we made that should be fixed. Like, "Well, we can't do anything about it ahahahahahaaaaa", no bitch. You caaaaan, you CAAAAAAN!!!! Fuck.

Bottom line, get off your fucking asses and do something about it. It won't ever be completely fixed, of course, but we can do something to slow it down, possibly make changes so sweatshops actually become normal humane working places, and so people working in said factories can get good pay. See where I'm going with this? Loooovely, lovely.

So, now that I let that out, I'm gonna ask my mom to teach me how to sew... Once it's not 5AM anymore, of course. Nighty.

Time for me to complain about nothing.

OK. Hello assholes, it's Rach. I HAVE NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT, and at the same time, EVERYTHING to say.

So like, eating cinnamon donuts maaaaay not be the best thing to eat, but fuck it. Ronnie would've eaten them all if I hadn't took 2 for myself. AND I STILL GOT ANOTHER HALF TO EAT. Craaazy, right? I need some cranberry juice, fuck this! Plus I'm listening to some crazy bitch from the Mars Volta sing in Spanish, so now I got constant farting problems. Good song, though. PLUS, I'm wearing a hair clip, which is pretty rare of me. Anyway.

Soooo, you know how liiiike, sometimes when good things happen to your friends, you get sorta pissed because you want that certain thing to happen to yooooou? Yeah, that shit is RAGING. I hate it. I'm a horrible cunt, but it happens. Sometimes you just gotta look in the mirror and say, "No, I will NOT live in a van down by the river, I will live in a pretenious artsy fuck of an apartment, painting my walls purple and scribbling cartoons all over them, WHILE QUIETLY EATING RAMEN. Shrimp flavor, too. Fuck beef." You know? I've had many, MANY, moments like that. In fact, they happens almost everyday, because suburban boredom is hard. You know? You knooooow? It really is. Because honestly, THIS IS AN APARTMENT COMPLEX, there's nothing to do. No front yard, only a parking lot with spics who can't drive. Yes, I'm a spic myself, don't get up in arms.

And the backyard is a nice lake, but my parents think that pedobear is gonna snatch me if I walk out there by myself, so blah. But dude, if I had my own rooooom, I'd have 10x more fun than I do now. I can haz privacy? No? Damn.

I still got a 1/4th of this donut... Should I eat it? My ass is cooking up a raging storm of fudge, I'm not sure if I should. Mmmm, just took a bite. It's yummy. But my ass is like "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!". I DON'T CARE WHAT MY ASS THINKS. Unless it has diharrea, of course, then I have no choice. If diharrea was a choice, I'd like, ya know, not have it and stuff. But I don't get it often. I eat my fiber like a good girl! This house is ran by a bunch of raging hippies who use those re-usable grocery bags, I FUCKING SWEAR. It makes me feel importent or some shit, but even with the ego it gives me, everyone should use those. The landfills need a hug, guys.

Aaaaaaaand, I think I'm done for now. I'M GONNA GO SHIT AND DRINK SOYMILK. And then wish I had awesome hair like Omar Rodriguez. Seriously, that's the best afro I've ever seen.

Byyyyyye. *click*

PS: Finished that donut.