twitter, what the hell are you and why do i use you?

Everyone has a goddamn Twitter nowadays. Why? What the hell? I mean, if it was all just a bunch of normal people chatting with each other and having mutual respect, then that's cool. But celebrities have it. Like... Tila fucking Tequila and Kim Kardashian and shit. And all the tween dipshits are saying 'omg kristen stewart said that  rubbing honey in your eyes will make them turn golden like EDWARD'S omg i'm soooo getting my boyfriend to do that.'

No. You know what, fuck you. I disagree. I think the Twitter rule should be that if you're gonna be on Twitter, you have to respond to people. It's the internet. Nobody is superior. It doesn't matter who you are in real life because on the internet, we're all idiots and that's a fact. I don't care if you're Michael Jordan, if I reply to your tweet with 'haha, i know mike, them white folks is WHACK', you have to respond to me. It's not fair that just because in real life you're a celebrity, you get to be an asshole on Twitter and only talk to other skanky celebrities. You're being a drama queen. I watched  your show from beginning to end. I drew you a picture. I voted for you. I VOTED FOR YOU DAMNIT.

When I'm a celebrity, I'm going to treat everyone like equals. Celebrities nowadays are douchebags. I remember watching part of the filming of I Robot and as Will Smith was coming onto the set, he saw me watching and he waved. Why can't everyone be cool like Will Smith?

If you're a celebrity and you're reading this, I demand equal rights. If I wanted to, I could wear meat dresses and paint my face like Ziggy Stardust and make crappy music too just so I could make a twitter and be an attention whore.

/endrant

PS., if you hadn't noticed, I don't know if 'twitter' needs to be capitalized or not. Where's my old English teacher when I need her?

not so long ago i was just a young lass in plaid.

I know I just posted an entry but I wanted to add another little one because I just made a formspring for you guys. Feel free to ask me anything, no matter how vile or awesome or mathematic. I'll do my best to answer it truthfully, but if I lie, you can't tell me you weren't expecting it at least a little bit.

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/ohaiwaldo

this starbucks is like an episode of star trek.

I traveled into the city today. It’s a pretty big change to go from a little town where everyone knows everyone and people are all pretty normal and friendly to the city where a woman with bright pink hair in a full gold outfit just glared at me like I was the one that looked like a royal sceptre with a pink bauble on top. A man just walked by with no hair but a little tuft at the very front of his head like maybe he was balding but too embarrassed to just go ahead and shave his head. It’s a very different feel here in the city. Asians are everywhere; there’s a study group to the left of me, they’re serving my coffee, they’re flocking through the streets. This isn’t my home and contrary to Step-Mom’s hopeful beliefs, it never will be. To get here, I had to get on the bus. This isn’t a big deal in my home town but here, the bus is serious business.

We were all taken from the ferry and crammed onto one bus like sardines, about fifty little Boonies people stuck together. There was this pleasant Irish woman I’d taken the bus with on the other side(the safe side) and she got on the bus again with me on the city side of things with her young daughter in her stroller. Her daughter was nearly two and had the blondest hair and bluest eyes. She was adorable and her mom’s accent definitely made me happy. What didn’t make me happy was the child screaming and crying on the bus.

Why? Why do babies do this? They scream, they toss a fit, they tantrum like no other, and then they fall asleep. Is it just a final act of rebellion because they know they’ll fall asleep soon? Was it just her way of pissing Mom off one more time as payback for stuffing her into that stroller? Or is that legitimately how they’re trying to communicate? Hearing that baby screaming and wanting to punch it made me realize and determine for certain that I’m never allowed to have kids.

I’m uncomfortable here. This isn’t my element. I moved from a small town to a smaller town and this isn’t somewhere I feel happy or safe and so, in an attempt to maintain some sort of dignity and find some semblance of security and home, I tripped directly into Starbucks. It’s packed with people, woman-in-gold, Asian study groups and the exact same Christmas album I play at my work. It’s like being in a different dimension. I know this place, I’ve been here before and it’s somewhere I spend a lot of my time, but it’s different. It feels like home but it also does not.

I don’t belong here. I want to go home.