lately, i've been paying more attention to the way i talk, and it annoys the hell out of me. nothing is more agonizing than the revelation that you are just a another "ghetto azn," a statistical stereotype; the gayest of all stereotypes.

my seat in the gym during the multi-cultural assembly was tiiight. i leaned back on the wall, like a 'PLAYA (see, only ghetto azn's and idiots say shit like this). i was pretty engaged in the punjabi music, as well as the chinese dragon performance.

by the way, my culture doesn't consist of adobo, lumpia, and pancit.

wait...

holy shit! I AM FILIPINO!

i'm like... making no attempts at transitional devices in this blog.... but then like... I NEVER DO, 'MUTHATRUCKAZZZ!

i haven't blogged a "real" diary-ish blog entry at all this week, 'cuz i come home miserable from running in the rain, and i eat so much FizOOD that the bloatedness prevents me from thinking straight.

track is crazy, 'mon. winmill had the nerve to be disappointed in us for not running in muddy-fucking-trails and puddles deeper than wading pools. yesterday he gave us this speech, and i lied to him, telling him that i didn't care about winning races, which is definitely not the case. i'm tired of being the distance runner with the most seniority running (xc since freshman year; part of the "67" club in club endurance that same year; would have done track if i hadn't done tribes) that doesn't win races. IT'S COMPLETE BULLSHIT. if i don't tear up some shit this year, i'm going to slit my wrists, or even worse, not slit my wrists and let the tension go to my head until i slit someone else's wrists.

today we did 10 300's. if rob morrow continues to be better than me, i'm just going to have to die.

they made so much fun of rob today. i would feel sorry for him if he wasn't such a moron, which isn't the case. who in the world asks for evidencial proof of justification for disses?

i haven't been taking pictures lately. i haven't been doing my homework either, for a long time now.

what's the deal, yo?

i think the horoscope i wrote for sagittarius in the last issue of the talking stick has inadvertently become my fate. it said something about being in control of the direction of my life, and all that bullshit, and neglecting that control.

not only am i an astrologist, but if you're a girl i can tell you when your next period is coming. as you can all tell, it's one of my slickest talents.

since i've started downloading music again, my playlist has sizeably grown to 23 COMPLETE songs. i've forgotten how much i hate those incomplete bastards that i used to get on napster... what a bitch. in the past couple of days the only songs i've downloaded belong to dashboard confessional and death cab for cutie. right now, i can't stand anything else... it was only a few days ago when i was intensively listening to the flaming lips and foo fighters... i think i go through modes where i listen to the same bands over and over again, until i get tired of them.

my mom is really pissed at me. she threatened to take away my "going out on friday and saturday privileges" and shit. i was half awake when she was doing this, so i cried out "ma, why're you doing this to me?" loudly. i think john got scared or something, because he's been creeping around from room to room, avoiding confrontation with everyone and anyone in this house.

i keep forgeting that i am only 17, and that i have to abide by these rules that my parents have set. as teenagers we always think we're right, but we rarely are. hopefully we'll all be humbled by the wisening effects of age, but i don't know. i doubt it. i'm such a flaky cooz, it's hard to say or explain.