its just ahh, a little poke

woof woof

two in the pink

freak on a leash

it's hot, i'm sweaty and my legs are sticking to everything and for some reason my hair still isn't pink. what gives world? rock out with your twat out and quit calling me a homo.

whose the herb

me for watching this, or this dude for jumping up and down with that stupid smile on his face.

and if i ever doubted my decision to go pink, pam hogg just reconfirmed that rose colored locks are in my future. maybe once my hair resembles a beautiful shade of dusty rose, my doom and gloom winter yukkyness will lift, freeing my inner herb so i can join that manchild on his trampoline and do like house of pain did and jump around.

damn the man

the real question is how can i damn him if i want to boink him? and even if i didn't want to boink him i still couldn't damn him because then i would be out of a job. and then i would have no money to support my addiction to fags and tacos.
on another note, my hair is unmanageable. i have gone past the point of looking like that crazy lady on canal with half bleached hair stuck on top of her head with a huge scrunchy. it really cant get any worse than it is now, so i think i am going to do what i have been talking about for years. dye my locks a beautiful dusty rose. kind of like this.i'm hoping i wont look like a gwen stefani fan circa 2000. god, did she have pink hair AND braces. talk about killing it. maybe tomorrow i'll wear a bindi and change my answering machine to "spiderwebs."

who said angst was for teens?

i have decided that tonight is the night. tonight i am going to pop my cherry. my blog cherry. i have always loved the internet and was a mild user, sticking my toes in its tepid waters for banana bread recipes and homeopathic alternatives to plan b. but now the time has come to become a woman and dive in and join all you surfers out there and get tubed.

i will start with a letter i wrote to a dear and loyal friend:

last night i smoked a million cigarettes and thought too many thoughts and got myself worked up into a frenzy about life and love. i think the winter time blues were late this year since they have only just arrived at my doorstep. i was expecting them ages ago and thought that i had overcome the annual bottle of wine and a few tears at home fest. but no, i was wrong. as of late party plans are serving me no justice in keeping me company and instead i have found a friend in the confines of my dear sweet homestead. what gives? are the twenties the new teens? i am having deja vu of those tormented high school years when i wanted love and success more than anything else in the world. except now i am out of high school and i know how to have sex and give a good blow job and am old enough to have a career. so basically all i want is someone to lay and job that i like to report to. is that too much to ask? in my bitter state i wrote a silly little poem about the freak. at least now i can rule out being a poet and focus on being an architect.

i gave you fancy feet,
and you tap tap tapped all over me.
i'm not going to take your precious shoes away,
but i'm not going to tell you it was only an acorn that fell from the sky my dear chicken litte.
little bird, you dont even know
your friends flew south many months ago!
you're just a babe, you cannot fly
and your wings wont spread up against the sky.
wake up, wake up little bird.

how's that for some mellow dramatic angst. eat it up and put a cherry on top because that kind of treat only comes once in a blue moon. i wish we were in the same city so we could fly to planet ganja together and chill with some wine and cackle my fears, heartaches and woes away!!!

what gives? fuck being 23. on the brighter side, i scored the sweetest pair of mustard escada slacks yesterday. tomorrow i am going to wear them and try to get over all this whackness and only let me self see the dopeness. oh, and i got you something so if you want it you better give me your address.

xoxo
angela chase