My Cocaine Dreams and Candycane Smiles

Kyler is an amazing boy. Kyler, if you're reading this, I fucking love you, man. You and me not only should get drunk together sometime, we should take out a mortgage on some land, and build a house of plywood, to forever smoke Camels in. And then we can fuck. We can have the greatest birthday fuck you'll ever know.

Yesterday, I unofficially hung out with possibly the craziest motherfucker I've ever met. His name was Nick. Nick is a boy I was making fun of for his Iron Maiden shirt and his HUGE mouth, a boy who LENA!!! happened to be friends with. After school, I was waiting for the elevator at the library, when I feel a finger in my back. I turned around and it was Nick. I whispered, "raaaaape whistle!" We spent the rest of "our time together" trying not to laugh too hard at the other person. Nick hasn't read since the sixth grade. He just stopped one day, and he hasn't read since. He remembered that he liked the writing of S.E. Hinton because it was interesting, and because "people always get stabbed an' shit, it's fuckin' hardcore!" Nick has a set of very shark-like teeth, the kind that shove behind each other in a strange little way.

Here I must interject to describe to you Kyler's teeth. Kyler has magnificent teeth. They are very white and very straight, and they rival Pete Wentz's himself in overall touchability. For someone who is used to the teeth of Diantha [fucked up jaw + lifetime of coca-cola consumption] and my own, [chipped + yellowed by eleven years of toothpaste neglect] the look of Kyler's teeth is just about enough to get the proverbial motor running.

You'll have to excuse all of tonight's Kyler devotion. Perhaps one day, I'll be able to tell the tale, once the true story has developed, and once I've forced him to accompany me to Across the Universe. If he takes me to Across the Universe, and he loves it as much as I will, he will forever have an "in" with me.

Anyhow, like I was saying about Nick, he has shark teeth, and a freaking strange mouth. His mouth is how I imagine a mouth would look if you stretched it from your wrist to your elbow. This mouth, it's big, and it's red, and it's nearly a pair of wax lips, though I doubt they'd taste as waxy. This mouth is the mouth equivalent of Noel Gallagher's eyebrows. Seriously.

In craft updates, I've decided to make a three-part series of Rasta bracelets, inspired by the thunder striking on the ones and fours during an entire Bob Marley CD. Bob himself was telling me, "Make some bracelets for me, will you? Oh, and make three of them." I've decided that I'm going to make the three-part Rasta series all one defined pattern, but with differing amounts of each color. For instance: Rasta Part One has two chevron stripes of green and one chevron each of red and yellow. Rasta Part Two will have two stripes of yellow, and so forth. I do this because I have no life, and because with each bracelet I secure to my wrist, I have more reason not to kill myself. My wrists are saying, "You'd better not slit your wrists, otherwise this mod bracelet you worked so hard on is going to totally be fucked up."

After I'm done exploring the world of knotting and thread? HEMP.
or macrame.