Sometimes I don't know how Debbie's been at her job as long as she has without slamming trays into people's heads when they're being assholes. I don't think I could do it. Maybe we should all be able to do that. Carry around cafeteria trays to use as weapons against stupid people. I'd be so behind that.

School still sucks. Hard. People are idiots, especially teachers, especially fucking MATH, and I might steal a tray tomorrow just for the hell of it.

The list of moods on this thing is ridiculous. I don't think "grumpy" covers my mood, but it's the closest thing. "Cranky" somehow falls short.

On Sunday I got dragged to dinner at Debbie's with everyone else, and my Live Journal came up. I didn't know Emmett was serious about getting one. Now my parents' friends know my LJ.

So maybe I shouldn't talk about the hookers I picked up on the way to Florida, huh? Or my new night job as a cat burglar?

It's Friday night and I'm at fucking home.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

I wonder if Michael's hiding any pot around.