My mom drove me to the bus stop today, and when I tried to get out of the car, she reached over and locked the doors. ThudThudThudThud. Oh fuck, what did I do now? "I want to talk to you." "I have to go catch the bus though." That was me attempted ot avoid the unavoidable. She wanted to 'talk'. I love how parental 'talking' always involves them lecturing and the child sitting in silent agreement, saying nothing except the occasional, 'Oh, of course Mother/Father, you are right. I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, I will compltely comprimise my ideals of individuality just so I can please you.' Anways, she proceeds to lecture on my clothing. Because god knows what a slut I am, I mean, totally, I just have sex with absolutely everyone, all of the time, right? And even if that was true, which it obviously isn't, getting me to dress in polo shirts and slacks isn't going to turn me into Wonder-Daughter, complete with straight A's and a immaculate room.

I really need to find a job. As much as I enjoy being completely and totally dependent on my parents, I am feeling the need to learn get a car. A desperate need. A borderline obsession maybe. Any car, as long as it runs and isn't totally disgusting. A little disgusting, even a medium amount of disgusting is ok, JUST GET ME A CAR!!!!

Quote for the Entry: "Multiple exclamtion marks: a sure sign of a diseased mind." -Terry Pratchett, Eric

See above.