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This diary entry is written by ‹EvilSpaceSpaghetti›. ( View all entries )
 
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Cold hands.Category: (general)
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
09:49:08 PM (GMT)
Not freezing, exactly, but cold. I like them. The way they feel on my skin. 
That's what I keep remembering. Ben's hands. They were cold, delightfully cold. 
This whole thing, to someone who didn't know better, would sound really sexual. Me,
talking about his hands. 
It's not. Not really. Just that I like the way his hands feel on my skin. And the way
he moves them, the way that, when he holds my hand, his hands aren't still, like he's
caressing my hand.
With every movement he makes, every word that comes out of his mouth, I just like him
more. 
The girl in the seat in front of me is watching some teen pop music video. There's
this girl who actually looks really pretty, but that kind of 10-13 year old pretty,
where they're just learning how to present themselves and they're sort of taking care
of their appearance but in a kind of awkward, preteen,
haven't-figured-out-what-looks-best-on-me kind of way. 
Like, their parents still have alot of input on what they wear but they're at least
trying to gain some form of independance so they end up wearing white shirts under
their tank tops, and leggings, and awkwardly straightened hair that isn't done
exactly right. 
And then there's this boy who looks about 12, who looks one hell of alot like justin
beiber singing, because he does the hand motions and gestures to his heart alot,
except he has braces, and is dressed like all guys who are semi athletic in middle
school, with the slightly (just slightly) overgrown hair, and the ugly ass
under armor or whatever-they're-called shirts that make them look like they're about
to go scubadiving when they aren't, and the basketball shorts, tennis shoes, stupid
necklace, and their dumbass hat thing flipped to the side like a poser, because
they're white and preppy, and think that they're cool because they learn the words to
rap songs, and repeat them at appropriate times, as though the song was stuck in
their head. 
oh, and he has those douchebag ear piercings.
This girl. She keeps looking up videos of this same kid. Honestly, it's kinda
irritating. I don't even know why it irritates me, but it really does. She's kind
of a stereotypical small, young looking, awkward, goodie-two-shoes white girl.
She's always wearing shirts that look like she bought them in the kids section, and
her hair looks so bland, she parted it in the middle and tucked the rest behing her
ear. HER EAR. 
MOTHERFUCKER SHE'S LOOKING UP JUSTIN BEIBER VIDEOS NOW.
Oh, and every time she does a presentation in speech, it's about family shit, and how
you should always love your family, or Anti-drug things, like how marijuana is so bad
for you that it kills you, and she never actually has eny evidence. none. whatsoever.

It just pisses me off, that she has to be such a stereotype. I mean, I don't have a
problem with anything she does, really, just when you combine all of them, it's...
frustrating, I guess. 
That she's so...boring. And, she doesn't try to understand why other people do the
things that they do, when they have good reasons. Not everyone has a perfect family
that loves them, or parents that deserve to be loved, or money.
Not everyone is a raised-by-the-hand-of-god perfect christian child, fresh out of
the good little white girl factory. 

But then, part of me knows I'm being to critical of her. She's just living her life.
I think, the reason I'm so critical of her, is because of more than one reason.
1. I realized, I used to be good. like her. And that if I had met her then, there's a
pretty good chance she'd be my best friend.
2. She's TOO good. There is NOTHING wrong with her. Well, in the eyes of an adult,
maybe. There's no room for imperfections. Nothing to give her personality.
3. And then I realize....
She's the kind of girl my mother wants me to be. And that's never going to happen.
Which means, eventually, either, my mother will have to give up and accept me for who
I am, OR, I'll have to give up and accept that my mother is never really, truly,
going to be satisfied with who I am. 
And I'm taking out all my frustrations on this poor, helpless, girl, writing
semi-rude paragraphs about her online.

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