If anyone attempts to ask me what a love rhombus is, I'm going to explode your brain with my Super Magic Exploding powers that you totally know I have. So don't fuck with that.

Hmm, what tales to spin you on this frosty, November eve...

Perhaps a bit on Rave Life? Sure.

Raves - or, parties, as they are called by those in the know to avoid the negative connotations that surround the term 'rave' - are beautiful things. They truly are, because everything is happiness. The music and people and drugs; everything is happy, and there is very little belligerence or discord. ...Although there is a lot of vomitting. And at the end of the night, almost everyone goes home and gets their respective MDMA-fried brains fucked right out.

But, with all that awesomeness, parties can be a pretty scary place to be. A bad trip can take you to some really awful places, both physically and emotionally. It's so easy to feel alone and trapped, which is actually the worst thing ever, especially when you're high, and horny as all fuck. That happened to D, last weekend at the Halloween rave; it's happened to us all, I think, at least once, and it forever taints every experience you have thereafter. You tell yourself that it ain't gunna, that it was just that night, you know, what the fuck ever. But the next time, there's always that memory of the awfulness hovering around up there, and a lot of the time, you end up totally sabatoging yourself with that memory. It's fuckin sick.

Woo, brain farts!


So, I have a boyfriend. It's delicious and perplexing, and so... NOT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING. Oh please, I know that that's what they say. "Never when you expect it," I fucking know. And yet here it is, and like... I don't know what to do with myself, I just really don't.

The dog got into all the pizza boxes that I left lying around here. Massacred, they were. Strewn about the kitchen, bent and bitten every which way. If they were anything other than greasy food containers, it might almost be a little bit sad..