My fam apparently likes to watch dinosaur shows together. Apparently. I’m not complaining, really, I just think its a bit unusual.

The banner I made earlier is kind of bothering me. Its just eight shades of wrong. Cause….no. Not him, just…no. I really like it, tho. Its just…I’d rather have done a banner of someone I was at least vaguely obessed with. Or y’know, that I could deal with so much as liking. And if this is a sign of a burgeoning obsession, I just want to let anyone and everyone in charge that I will be hunting you down and killing all of you.

So of course I’m working on buttons to match it…oy.

If I were a work of art, I would be Piet Mondrian’s Composition A. I am rigidly organised and regimented, although my cold and unapproachable exterior hides a clever way of thinking and a rebellious and innovative nature. A lot of people don’t understand me, but I can still affect them on an emotional level. Which work of art would you be?

Wow. That’s really deep. Wish I knew who the fuck they were talking about, tho, cause it sure as shittin’ ain’t me. ……..then again, I passionately hate the painting in question, so they could be onto something. *flinches slightly at the colors in the painting, and slips on a pair of sunglasses* Jesus, people. Could we pick something a little more harsh and ugly? I was almost starting to feel good about myself….

Signs that the world is ending…*Nsync appeared on the Billboard Music Awards dressed in *dun-dun-DUN* nuetral colors. *falls over from shock* It was creepy. They were all in brown and tan, with a couple touches of olive. Oh, and Timberlake had to be different and wear blue jeans. Anything to distract from the fact that your hair has returned, right, Jus-san? *twitch*

Of, course, the next awards show, Lance will look like a pimp, and Chris like a reject from a reggae-rap group, and JC will probably be wearing neon purple leopard-print leather pants with fur cuffs, but y’know. The Fashion Gods need to get their laughs, too. ^-^

Blyeh. I feel all worn and blffghrs.

And yes, that is a word. If you can use it in a sentence, it counts as a word.

Went to the Galleria with my mom today. Got absolutely nothing accomplished. I bought a Lance Bass calendar, tho, and had butter pecan yogurt, so I’m thinking the day wasn’t a total bust.

And yes, I am smiling stupidly at the thought of Lance on my wall for a year.

Friday, at Towson Town with Amelia, I picked up a copy of *Nsync – Making the Tour…or, y’know, I handed Mel the money and the tape and got her to buy it for me, because I’m just not ready to do that myself. I’m still partially in denial. But, um. Its highly, highly entertaining. They’re just such complete spazzoids. To my pain and horror, however, I discovered that my favorite part of one of my favorite ballads…is actually sung by Justin. Without that usual edge/twang he usually has, to be sure, but nonetheless, Justin. Which is wrong. Very vastly incredibly unbelievably wrong.

I mean, if I had to list my favorite male singers? Freddie Mercury, because he’s fabulous. Bono, because his voice has the magic power to ease my headaches. David Bowie, because he’s a fucking god. I could even tack on Lance Bass for the voice that makes my insides melt, and Ewan McGregor because the boy can just sing. But Justin Timberlake? He’s…no. He makes 12 year olds cream their jeans. He…he’s lame, and his head looks funny, and what bizarre cosmic joke caused his hair? And…ok, so he looked REALLY good in the “Gone” video, everyone looked good in that, even Chris looked good in that. But…I…dammit, Justin, get off my fucking list. >.

I just had this bizarre desire to do something that, had someone else done it, would have left me with my Nuh-Fucking-Uh face, going, “Dude…the fuck?!? That’s like…that is so violently uncool.”

Because yes, I do actually talk like that.

I’m trying to brush it off as that fact that I’m very tired, very hungry, and very unhappy. Its not entirely working, tho. Eh. Call me when I’m human enough to care.

Friday, there’s supposed to be shopping and eating out with Amelia, which is becoming an annual thing, and that’s cool, because Amelia time, and away from the house, and mall trolling. Its also a little blech, tho, because of the copious amounts of people, and the fact that I’m so broke that if opened my wallet, the little winged dollar signs would not in fact be flying out, but rather lying dead and partially-eaten in the fold. Not that it matters tho, because when I call Mel’s house to confirm, it rings twice before mystically becoming a busy signal, and she’s again doing that super-cool fucking thing where she leaves her ICQ on even when she’s not there.

Of course its possible that she’s got an N/A message that says she’s asleep up, but y’know, my ICQ’s been evil and problematic for weeks now, so I wouldn’t fucking know. And did I mention that I really want to eat a live baby head and then go hibernate for twenty years?