Katy Perry says it

best? Most readily, perhaps, but not… necceessaarily.

best…

 

This weekend OH this weekend, I managed to work through the haze of horny horny teenage (and age ten) boys and girls getting gone, breath, and had my first kiss.

Which melted into my first time making out.

Which melted into the first time I slept (celibately) next to a boy by a pool. With my best friend (one of them) between us. Wizzeird.

And it all melted into Haha, Reenie, You Made Out With A Girl.

 

BUT BACK TO THE KEEPING IT SIMPLE STUPID. Alls of us were sitting outside, and, LORDONLYKNOWS how it came about, but someone said they would make out with me. And maybe it was my dignity’s last shuddering verbiage before he met his slimy demise, but something in me popped out these meager words in rapid succession; “Oh, I don’t know how.”

A collective group AWWW later, and I suddenly was bombarded by propositions. Enter Danielle; lanky lovely funny as hell, and a helluva kisser. She, the former flame of my best friend, became my kissing coach, but not before the burning sensation of shame at my prudishness and newness tracked its way down my esophagus. As my subconscious followed the path of teenage deconstruction through my body, I became acutely aware of the aftertaste of the only candy that melts in your mouth, not in your hand. So I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. And then I made out with her.

Only now do I really understand this fascination with twirling tongues and oral probes. I swear, if lips were lava and teeth a rocky precipice, my mouth seeks volcano, single, clean, good hair. It’s unbelievable how quickly inhibitions fall away when you feel someone else’s breath on the back of your throat.

Hngon 1sec. ill brb.

KABOBS; Tasty Tidbits or Skewers of Doom?

weak.

And, yaknow, it’s almost… dare I say it? It’s humbling. I’m always bitching on Stephen for making out with his girlfriend in front of me, always covering my eyes at the movies when those upons kiss, always bemoaning the sores of herp and cold whenever I get the chance.

But it’s fun. It’s good, clean (well, to an extent,) fun.

And SLUTZILLATiME I sort of want to do it some more.

HA HA, HA HA.

 

 

yeah so yeah it’s fun, yo, good stuff, g, I’m down, b, what what?

 

I kissed a girl, and I liked it.

And, no, she wasn’t wearing cherry chap-stick.

Steohen Muscle and the Breathing Queen

That’s what the lady said, so that’s where I’ll leave it.

I’ve been having some CRAZY ASS DREAMS about yuhalls.

A brief rundown goes like this-

Lil wayne meets reenie has baby and baby looks asian with red hair dumbledore says OMFG its a weasley but how quoth I? I’m white and his daddy is a fine young black man but it’s too late Jessica Alba has already driven us into a haunted house and Fred and George are no where to be found, let alone pay child support.Damnthosebitches and it’s up to me to save the game in walks stephen and he’s like, I’M GAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY and BOOM turns into tila tequila so we make out and OH NO it’s stephen again.Damnthosebitches Barmy Nobble with roni who is a cat.

The extended rundown wouldn’t be a rundown at all, so don’t even think about touching that dial.

ox

Wyrd.

Plagiarism; the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime.

It goes a little something like this.

“I find people confusing.

This is for two main reasons.

The first main reason is that people do a lot of talking without using any words. Siobhan says that if you raise one eye-brow it can mean lots of different things. It can mean “I want to do sex with you” and it can also mean “I think what you just said was very stupid.

“
Siobhan also says that if you close your mouth and breathe out loudly through your nose, it can mean that you are relaxed, or that you are bored, or that you are angry, and it all depends on how much air comes out of your nose and how fast and what shape your mouth is when you do it and how you are sitting and what you said just before and hundreds of other things which are too complicated to work out in a few seconds.

The second main reason is that people often talk using metaphors.

These are examples of metaphors

I laughed my socks off.

He was the apple of her eye.

They had a skeleton in the cupboard.

We had a real pig of a day.

The dog was stone dead.

The word metaphor means carrying something from one place to another, and it somes from the Greek words λέξη (which means from one place to another) and βρήκε (which means to carry), and it is when you describe something by using a word for something that it isn’t.

This means that the word metaphor is a metaphor.

“

by mark haddon.

It’s a book, ladies, about a boy with autism.

DO IT.

 

 

Word Up.

Letters to my ovaries.

Er, letters to and about my ovaries,

as per myspace.

 

Jul 3, 2008 11:42 PM

my ovaries,

 

I think, are dying.

Because I’m neither pregnant nor menstruating nor going through menopause.

And yet, the odd sensation of a semi filled water baloon sloshing around on top of my left ischium continues undaunted.

Whatup, pelvis?

Maybe I have a tumor. Or an alien baby.
OR A MUTANT SQUID CRAWLED UP THROUGH ME WHEN I WENT SWIMMING AND IT LODGED ITSELF IN MY FALLOPIAN TUBE WHICH IS WHY I FELT SO SICK WHEN I ORDERED LOBSTER AT THAT RESTAURANT!
OMG MAYBE IT’S THAT LOBSTER!
still clacking around in my ovaries!

Hmh. I hope this doesn’t render me sterile. These tits were made for nursing.

WTF, vagina. W T F.

Call me when you feel better.

Xo, reenis

 

Jul 3, 2008 11:45 PM   OMG IT’S BECAUSE   I CALL MYSELF REENIS, ISN’T IT?!? my lady parts are already kinda irked that I claim to have scooped them out with a spatula. And I guess adopting a pseudonym akin to a phallus is just rubbing salt in the womb. So they’re rebelling. They’re… mutineering. Damn. Jul 3, 2008 11:55 PM Dear Ovaries, I’m really sorry I started calling myself Reenis. You’ve been there for me for as long as I can remember, and it was pretty low of me to start fraternizing with the enema. Enemy. I’m also sorry for saying I scooped you out with a spatula. Even if you are sometimes the bane of my existence, there was no reason for cutting you off from the rest of the body. I know that was a blow to your pride, and I don’t know if you can forgive me, but I think it’s important that you know that IF I ever actually DID scoop you out, you would be sorely missed. I know uterus would never be the same. I know we can work through this. We’ve had our rough patches and dry spells, but, in the end, it all ends up allright. I know that I’m going to have to change some things to really help this relationship work, but I’m ready to play as many games of Give and Take as neccessary to get you back in running order. I know you don’t feel appreciated, I know it seems like I wish I’d never even discovered you, but I just wouldn’t be the same person without you. Here’s to us. Get Well Soon, Reen Jul 3, 2008 11:58 PM Dear Reenis, It’s been fun dicking around with you, but I can’t live this lie anymore. Maybe, someday, after we’ve both done some growing, we can be friends again. Also, the ovaries know, so, it was destined to end this way. Regards, Reen A young girl’s troubled path to self realization.

Canto II

My friend, from here on, we shall be on terms of ennearment.

 

There’s this boy, and his skin is the deadliest poison. There’s this boy, and I’d wear his hair on my finger as all the rings in the world. There’s this boy, and his eyes, his neck, his jawline formulate and calculate and comprise my demise. Oh, and he’s really cute, too. There’s this boy, this kid, this force of nature, who’s had way too many words tapped out for his sake, and not enough spoken aloud. And this boy, tawny, tall, and paranoid, dancing in headlights and falling on concrete, has yet to discover a certain little secret coiled up just a few feet inside of him.

Has yet to realize he’s gay.

 

I really like this kid. I’ve liked him for a longassmotherfuckingtime. And, as an artist, I feel obligated to take control over things I like. So I took him over. I stormed those battlements, I swam that moat, I burned those bridges to the ground. And I took pictures. Glistening mementoes of glimmering moments, all attesting the chemistry everyone saw but us, or at least attesting the fumes. And it was in one of these polaroid love letters that I first recognized the tiniest hint of homosexuality hidden behind homeboys hair, cascading like the fall over two livid pools of ardor. Homeboy struggling, homeboy regressing, homeboy choking back tears after his first breakup.

God bless that paranoid, OCD, suckfacing sucker. He doesn’t even know what’s coming.

Till then,

Say Words

Canto

My love,

I’ve been wronged by words before, so pardon my hesitancy in launching into a full fledged relationship with a new keyboard. My previous attempts at flight ended messily; fragments runons, poor, punctuation and hyperbolesgoneamuck. Nothankstofacebook, I’ve slowly been rebounding from my written recklessness and, with any luck, will soon be restored by the Pwrz dat b to my literary fullness.

My God, that was exhausting.

Until we meet again and again.

Regards,

Saywords

As You Were

Dearest Darlingest Planet Cyberspace,

Thanks ever so much for the warm welcome. Methinks we’ll soon the the busomiest of buddies.

Sweetcheeks,

Make Words