I am Molly: perpetually single and not really giving a damn about the lack of hot man lovin' in my life right now. They make machines for that, you know.
I'm living in the south (Florida to be exact while still being vague enough for anonymity) and will probably stay here for the years to come. Some may say that this place has its charms, but I prefer the term "life-sucking tentacles that pull you back no matter how far you go." Seriously, though, I'm a born and raised Floridian and I do see what's so special about this place. Once you look past the evil, money-grubbing, tree-burning capitalistic uber-corporations (coughDisneycough), you can see the beauty, diversity and overall kookiness. I like kooky.
Meat and I have not been on eating terms for about ten years. And no, I don't get grossed out when you take a big bite of filet mignon and go "Mmmm, meat." You do your thing and I'll do mine. Let there be peace, yo.
I smoke, drink, gamble and vote. Sometimes all in the same day.
There are many animals living w/me right now. All were once unwanted/strays/abandoned in an adult community where they terrorized old ladies. The one who gets written about the most is my pet duck, Howie (read the story here, see his picture here). Howie is a wonderful creature who provides me w/fodder for entries on an almost daily basis. Really. He's THAT cool. But I limit myself to one or two duck stories a month. I'm sure it must get annoying after awhile.
I believe that no mixtape should be w/out a WHAM! song. Preferably thrown in as an unlisted final track, so it's like a surprise. A cruel and wonderful surprise. You know you like WHAM!.
Writing makes me happy.
So do potatoes.
Feminism is not a bad word.
I am not w/out my demons.
Last, an explanation of the title "No Boys Allowed." This does not mean that I don't want boys reading my journal. I mean, how would I stop them? Put a picture of a tampon at the top of the page? Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke. A horrible, horrible joke.
Anyhoo, when I started writing in here, I made a promise to myself that I would not write about crushes; past, present or future. The reason behind this decision being that all my pen and ink journals are filled to the brim w/boring and really fucking pathetic boy musings. After reading and cringing over three years worth of this stuff, I realized that I would talk about boys when I didn't want to talk about the other things going on (which was all the friggin' time). For example: "Mr. Fuckhead flirted w/me all day and then spent lunch making out w/some chick. Why can't he just tell me whether or not he likes me? You suck, Mr. Fuckhead. Oh, by the way, my mom hates me again." You see?
I started this journal to write more and learn to verbalize my emotions instead of hiding them behind a brawny jock's roaming hands. Yet, boys have a way of sneaking into your head, so I more or less did away w/the rule. Besides, why should I impose restrictions on my writing? Afterall, how many times have I said I would stop saying "woohoo"? Yeah.
Forever 23, my ass - 01.25.06
P-Nutz - 01.20.06
My nose hurts - 01.16.06
And really bad eggs - 01.13.06
I ain't no Alex Trebek - 01.11.06