Bang Bang

I don’t understand.

Am I crazy?

Am I insane for being upset that my boyfriend went to mexico and drank and danced with a bunch of random chicks? I mean, that’s what he’s telling me so far…

It’s like the last boyfriend all over again. Not as bad, but I didn’t love him. I was just with him because I didn’t want to be alone.

But I love Lance

More than words can describe.

But he just doesn’t see how I can be hurt over this…

I guess it’s hard to see my point of view when he’s the muscley jock that’s always had girls all over him, and I’m the friendless geek that’s never really gone out much.

*more pain that I can take*

No Meds for a week…

It’s been going okay. I had one huge bad spell, and a few little ones, but it hasnt been too bad.

Of course that changes tonight. I haven’t gotten back to the doctor for my meds, and tonight I really need them.

Today at school they were all talking about a big party, and making plans about it…I didn’t get an invite… it gets worse…

Lance decided to go to out to some clubs in Mexico with our friend Ramon and some girls I went to highschool with and their friends.

Usually, I would be angry. I’d blow up, I’d throw things I’d break things, but I’m just sad. I mean I’m ten hours away, what can I do?

It’s like I’ve been so angry my whole life that my body is just done. It’s done with being angry and frustrated, it’s done with dealing with things that hurt.

Especially things that hurt so bad, and you don’t know how to tell that person because I just want to be a good girlfriend. I don’t want to try to stop him from doing things he likes to do. I don’t want to be one of “those” girls who tells there boyfriends to sit, stay and roll over.

But if I’m doing such a great thing, why does it feel so bad?

“Of course they winned, they almost losed though, cause he got hurted…”

That’s a direct quote from my aunt/roommate. Yep.

So, Diablo Cody, the author of Juno, is my new obsession. Well, not obsession, but she’s fucking awesome. She’s an ex-stripper, and Oscar winner, and has a blog call “The Pussy Ranch”, need I say more?

So I should be moving to L.A. sometime this summer, or fall. Whenever the hell I can afford it. Until then, I’ll be whoring out my esthetic talents, giving out illegal chemical peels. It’s not my fault the people at the California State Board of Esthetics are a bunch of douchebags and haven’t let me get my state board date yet.

So, my few readers, enough abou me, how are you?

How do you all feel?

How was your day?

Mine was filled with the smell of burning flesh. I watched my insane mentor Nicole burn off weird skin growths with an electrically charged needle.

Let me tell you a little about Nicole, she’s a plastic surgery sculpted beauty queen. Her face doesn’t move much, and her skin is smoother than fucking porcelain. She’s also got this wicked fascination with melting skin.

She gave me a chemical peel, and I thought she was cumming the way she was explaining the “frosting” (a term we use for a controlled chemical burn aka melted skin) that was appearing as salicylic/glycolic acid mixture ate through my flesh.

Nicole: Just look at the frosting appearing on her skin, look at it.

Student: What’s frosting mean?

Nicole: Ooo, frosting is good, it’s really good. It means those chemicals are working and penetrating every one of her tight little follicles.

Student: Why is it called frosting?

Nicole: Because it’s looks like thick, white liquid all over her face. That’s the best part.

So…as I laid on the table, with my eyes covered, I was waiting for someone to start undoing my pants or something. While she was explaining she kept making weird moaning noises, then she sat on the bed with me, and started stroking my arms and legs.

On that note, I leave you.

All my lust,

Shelby