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sugar and spice and all things causing stomach ulsers [entries|friends|calendar]

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[26 Oct 2009|11:19am]
yesterday i developed this idea of become a hairdresser
possibly going to ryerson with a major in hairstyling and a minor in business
and then after possible getting some experience working for others,
opening my own salon, called Cut The Cake!
it would be a pretty cool place, in a nicer part of toronto
or maybe even near city center in mississauga
i'll have my ipod connected to the speakers and the clients can make requests
there will be an oven in the back of the place
where i'll bake cakes everyday
and if you book a haircut you'll get  a piece of my fantabulous cake
this would be amazing, really. a dream
now what to do with this degree in psychology?


[17 Apr 2007|05:16pm]

every song i listen to either understands me or mocks me
i want something to listen to that i can lose myself in
not remind me of what i'm trying to get away from



[22 Jan 2007|03:31pm]

[07 Jan 2007|05:57pm]
yesterday was amanda's sweet 16
she invited 80, 74 confirmed, 23 showed up
i feel so bad
me and chris even left because it got boring so we went to his house and chilled
she rented a really big room at the community center and hired a DJ and bouncers and everything
this is the exact reason why i'm not gonna have a big sweet 16
i feel really bad for her lol
but it was kind of fun for like half an hour

[02 Jan 2007|06:45pm]
she can't, she won't even do one fucking thing for her only daughter
if i want anything, i have to do it myself
every single thing
it's like i'm living on my own
but she's my fucking mother
and i'm only 15
i can't do every fucking thing by myself
she won't even make one fucking phone call for me
for me, this was a test
to see if she would actually do it
and i was right: she didn't
i knew it
she's trying to teach me independance but she's just taking it too fucking far
like she won't even do one fucking phone call for me
everyone's against me today
sophia and caitlin both think that i'm a bullshitter and that i was just lying to them so i could be with chris which is a lie
i'm fucking by myself right now and they think that i'm with him and won't believe me
just because at the last minute my mom got all bitchy and said that i couldn't go to the movies with them and that they couldn't sleep over
i thought sophia was my fucking best friend
but her msn name is : alisha ur a fucking bullshitter:@
like what the fuck did i do?

[19 Dec 2006|02:56pm]
1. my ipod got stolen
2. chris' grandma died
3. i got suspended

this is not my fucking week

[09 Jul 2006|12:03pm]

[18 May 2006|04:19pm]

you took away my backbone and now i'm just a snake. i'm crawling at your feet and you're just backing out the door. maybe one day you wont be able to make me feel like this anymore.

[01 May 2006|10:27am]
Create your own Music List @ HotFreeLayouts!

[19 Apr 2006|08:56pm]

well maybe it's us but i really think that it could be you 

we were head over feet it was ironic that our dreams had come true 

so i packed up all my luggage and headed for the coast 

spandex, peanut butter, and more jam on my toast

Friends Only.
comment and i'll see if you're worth adding


ignoreitignoreitignoreitignoreit [19 Apr 2006|07:57pm]
walking home when i saw a house. not my home, but a house.not mine, because if i owned it, it would be damned.this was a regular house, a nice house, with a red roof and a lexus in the driveway. but this housewas not my house, no.this house was cold and painfull. slowly drawing you in, but never letting you go. it was the curse that followed you. i walked into this house, not my house, and went into a room, not my room. this room was like the mind of the person whom it belonged to. cold and dead, not my room. the lady of the house was a mother, not my mother. she had class, a heart of glass, and a knack for making you feel sorry foe yourself. she claimed to live for others, but when it all came down to it she was just repaying her sins. this woman interuppted the writing. not my writing, but the writing of the poor soul locked in that lifeless bedroom. that poor soul was writing in a red notebook. not any notebook, but one that glowed with poetry, songs, and life tragedy. that poor soul wrote and wrote until their hand was as cold and numb as their surroundings. but they didnt stop. they poured their heart into that notebook, and wrote a story about a house, a mother, and a cold cold room. and then they cried. not their tears, but mine.

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