| What is it with girls and cats? I myself am guilty of partaking in this trend, using various monikers from kitty to cheetah, and while this stems from actually being called kitty, I am beginning to wonder if I should drop it. There are too many kittys, cats, tigresses and so on, and a great deal of them are LAME AS ALL HELL. Case in point being that band Kitty, who, while I have only heard one or two songs of, seem to epitimize all that is wrong with the word. There is also Atomic Kitten, or something like that. I am becoming very disillusioned about my nickname, and the more these little suburanites with spiky wristbands use it, the more I think I should just give it up. So, what is it about cats that girls want to emulate? Is it that cute, feisty kitten appeal? Or more along the line of sleek, don't give a fuck feline attitude? Certainly, cats have attitude in spades; look at a dog for long enough and it'll go crazy trying to figure out what you want and how to make you happy. Do the same to a cat and she'll stare you the fuck down, or lunge at your face claws out and fangs bared. hmm. That is pretty sexy, if you ask me. So maybe I'll keep my name, despite all the cutesy girl stuff it may bring to mind for some people. So there. |
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| DIARY: BRAIN PUKE OF MS. JENNIFER |
| DISCLAIMER: Lots of girly stuff here. |
| February 15, 2003 |
| February 18, 2003 argh. argh.ARGH. I am out of cigarettes and I feel like that fridge magnet that says "Give the bitchy nicotine queen her smokes!" Sigh. I have been perusing the web and have come to the conclusion that there are a lot of fucking dipships out there who don't know anything, and should never be allowed near a keyboard again. or to keep on sharing air with me. but, such is life. And now I must face the -30 winter wind to go get some sticks that I will set on fire so I can die early from cancer. BUT AT LEAST I'LL BE A GOOD LOOKING CORPSE!!! With a hole in my throat so I can breathe. |
| Bukowski Makes me Feel like I am just one member in a large club Made for People who feel too much Without that I’d be just like you Only, without any stories to tell |
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| When I lay there I realize that my nipples are like two staring eyes looking at the ceiling. SO I stare at them, and then look away as my fingers find them, making them hard… My knees stick out of the water in a way that makes me feel like I am a grown women riding a children’s bicycle No matter, today is a new day, isn’t it Looking out the window, I feel sad for the pigeons, well, more like a comradeship than sadness, really. Snow blows all around them, and there they are. Huddled against the wind in my window ledge, purple necks shining and still, cooing. This one is asleep. I remember when I felt like that, stealing rest in places that I wasn’t wanted. Huddling and trying to stay warm, singing softly because it was the only thing. Why don’t they so south with all the other birds? I watch them as they stare at me, at my dog. They know they are safe from the ravages of mankind. My dog couldn’t catch a cold. Today is one of those days where everything runs out. Make tea with the last of the teabags; use all the milk, the last bagel. SO now what is there? Cream cheese and sugar. I bought the cream cheese as a special drunken treat I am obsessed. With everything. With filling myself full of grey, soothing smoke. With feeling bad. With my body. My body amazes me and impresses me. All the changes and pain, and still, here it is carrying me around and ever faithful. Lying in the water, I stare at my scars, my fat, my hairless body. One patch, a small triangle, on my pubic region, and the mess on my head. I stopped thinking about the stuff on my head. It used to be all I thought about. Dye it red, purple, green, cut it off, spike it up. The same with my eyes: cover them in black, in red, in brown. And now, it grows and grows, curly, forgotten... there’s no rebellion left here. So now, I stare at this body before me, scars that tell me that I have lived. Reminders that I haven’t been dreaming, that this body has done things and been places the mind in it doesn’t even remember. Think about what each one says to me: this one tells of a night at the hospital, of parents screaming, of friends crying and me, drifting through, not feeling. This one tells of blunted needles, and trying and trying; but, all the veins have gone, collapsed and resting for a while. Trying so hard, tears in my eyes, the man telling me to hold still. Numbness in my arm from the bits of coke that were injected into muscle. Finally, the needle is clogged with my blood and I am bleeding from everywhere, numb and full of pain at the same time. I’m sorry, he says. And he turns away, who can blame him? So I start all over again, knocking on doors, begging for money and making up stories until finally, someone pities me. Clear it out, that isn’t happening. Push out the plug with my feet and rise: in the mirror I look for a while at this faded old little child. I am 21 and feel one hundred. It has been two years since a needle has been in my arm, and still, this is how I start my day. In those two years I have gone from a 4 to a 14, changed everything; music, clothes, friends, apartment, jobs. And still, the needle is on the brain. One hour until the methadone clinic opens, and I feel it. The earlier I rise, the earlier it starts. Yawning, bleary minded, I feel like gravity has increased tenfold. Maybe I’ll walk the dog. |
| March 6, 2003 NIPPLES AND PIGEONS |
Sometimes when I try to sleep And the bombardment is too much You enter the dreamscape with your swift Motions And hard, throbbing Lust that oozes out even when I try I cannot get past it and so I have to submit to the not so subtle Grinding against my backside So that somehow I flip over and You take me rough the way I want you to But would never ask Just like how I would never ask you to protect me And fight for me And grab my tits with your teeth as you pick me up and we Collapse on the sheets And you are what I need because our bodies Are like puzzle pieces Alone they mean So much less than now When they mean everything So you rub my tits with your roughly groping hands Find my nipples harder Tease me with your hands and hot breath as I am covered in you and you wrap around me Inside me Hands Tongue Cock The everything that exists Is gone and I breathe along with you in gasps and moans And I claw at you because You surely must be able to be deeper Inside me And then you are and then you are Pumping and thrusting as I twist and my hands find you skin so inviting Against my breasts I feel your chest the soft hair making me wet as it brushes against me As you cling and pump I forget about The world and I forget about myself because now It is us and we are a pulsating one I can feel the cum Warm and dripping down my ass It’s mine. I am wet. I am a pink oozing warmth When you reach down and feel my wetness I hear your breath catch as your cock swells inside me Frenzied and lost in me you moan and whisper that you love me But that I am a whore And I tell you that I am a whore But only for you The pinkness and the sweat and the hot hot hot clashing of cunt and Of you Makes me warm and burning makes me Cum. |
| April 4, 2003 SEX |
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| This page and everything on it is by Ms. Jennifer |
| This page is all of my sporatic journal entries so far. The newest ones are always on the main page....if you don't like the things you read here or are somehow annoying...whatever, here it is. |
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