I get so irritated by some of the freaks who write online journals. They're so obsessed with their own depth, they don't realize they're the shallowest bitches on the planet. Stupid whores. And they feel this odd need to randomly drop three or four lines of song lyrics into their entries. They're babbling enough!! They don't need those lyrics to make the cohesion worse. Never mind the fact that their journals are merely an update of their current likes and dislikes, with a lot of pseudo-philosophy mixed in so no-one realizes how stupid and pathetic their lives are.
I'm not very tolerant of other people.
At least none of the people on the Poison Ivy list are like that. I actually read the diaries on the list, and enjoy them, if that term can be applied.
We met our potential new lead singer tonight. Over my fucking dead body is that freak going to be our frontman. He's a complete gimp. He's reptilian. He gives me the creeps.
I admit, I'm prejudiced against him. First of all, he lives in Rosslyn, which is hell to find anyway, since the signs pointing it out have trees growing over them. Dirk didn't get adequate directions, such as how to fucking get to Rosslyn. He simply assumed I'd know how to get there. Never mind the fact that way back in December, when Pia had an interview in Rosslyn, we got horribly lost and concluded the place doesn't even exist.
Once we found Rosslyn (a sheer stroke of luck), we got horribly lost in Rosslyn, because Dirk wasn't sure which way to turn, and the way we turned headed straight back to some freaky highway. Had to do a couple James Bond-style driving maneuvers to get us back to Rosslyn, with Dirk complaining the whole way.
Of course, the fucker lived on one of those streets that are so narrow, you can't park on the street, in a house whose number was almost impossible to read. I had to make a bunch of U-turns to locate the house, and almost (I mean, we were maybe 3 feet away from the guy's bumper) got broad-sided on the last U-turn. So, I was a bit prejudiced.
Anyway, the guy drags us to this nasty little Mexican restaurant called Abi's. I didn't mind the Mexican (South American, who cares?) food, but I do not like Latin music. I am against music where I cannot understand the lyrics. We couldn't smoke inside. The guy (his name is BrEndan, a male form of Brenda) cuts his food the way Ken does. Really awkward (sp?). And he doesn't have a car.
That's a huge problem, because we've already got two band members who are sans vehicular transportation. And I'm driving on borrowed time, at best. The guy doesn't drive because he really believes in public transportation. Freak. Freak. Freak. Real men fucking drive, or at least desperately want to. Plus, Brenda the she-male lives in fucking Rosslyn, which might as well be an official part of D.C.
And I'm never picking him up again. I refuse. He lives on a stupid narrow road with psychotic drivers and his house is hard to find and I really don't want to die.
Did I mention the fact that he's reptilian? I started referring to him as "formaldahyde toad boy" and "mr. preservative hippity-hop" (not until we'd dropped him off at home, of course). He looks like a toad in formaldahyde. He has the personality of a toad in formaldahyde. He's creepy, nasty-looking, and an asshole. I can sense it. Probably afraid of women, too.
Dirk says I'm being irrational about this. All I know is that I wanted to kill Brenda(n) as soon as I saw him/it.
Krisco was spying on us, I think. We were parked along this little side street that attached two major streets, trying to take a nap. I'd noticed a car parked on the far side of one of the major streets, just far enough up the street so that they could see us, but I couldn't make out the car very well. Well, someone was sitting in that car the entire time we were parked on that little street. I could hear the engine hum. Dirk decided he wanted to read, and asked if we could go by his house to pick up his book. As soon as I started up the car, that other car started up and pulled away, rather quickly. I followed, flooring the gas, hoping for a look at the other car. We never caught sight of them. They must have been going insanely fast on those residential streets. The only reason I know they didn't turn off was that you could see the tail-lights glow for a ways back.
On a hunch, we passed by Krisco's house. Stupid bitch wasn't home, and it was past her curfew. Dirk hasn't seen her since Monday, so why the hell is she spying on us? Insane little skank. I don't see why she would want to try to spend the night at his house. I kind of hope she did, so Dirk had the opportunity to call the po-lice.
Wow, PMS makes me really friendly, doesn't it?