i wish amy winehouse weren't as fucked up as she is because she is so talented; me and mr. jones is a wonderfully beautiful and sad song. sometimes i dance to it slowly with big hair and my brush in hand faking a big belt out and pretending that i can actually sing. i can't.
i want to see milk. i want to see a bevy of oscar nominated films that are CONVENIENTLY playing at the princess and the twin for the next, oh say, MONTH. i especially want to see the reader because i think if could be any actress in the world i would want to be kate winslet. don't tell her though, because she'll think i want to take over her life. that would be mighty hard since i am a brunette and at one time we were the same size but she is now way smaller and i am lazy.
isn't that the bitch of it all? you don't want to look the way you do and know that TWENTY minutes, only that much, makes all the difference in the world as opposed to living for months and months like this.
is this the rant month? EVIDENTLY.
i deleted you. i sure did and i am so HAPPY ABOUT IT. i forgot everything and we don't exist to each other. wouldn't it be truly nice to have a clean slate with some people and pretend that we never entered each other's lives? i would do that with a handful of people.
