So essentially he said something like this:

"She doesn't want anyone celebrating her birthday, but started crying because no one celebrated her birthday."...

... That's okay... At least he won't be surprised when I go completely loony.
Yesterday was okay. The main reason I was so down was because I was alone for the better part of the day.
Like. Litterally.
Sitting in Chris' room refreshing Facebook [Feythbook!] every five minutes, hoping to lose myself in someone else's life.

Niku was online. And that was good, but I ended up turning it into a pity party. [I'm sorry, Niku. <3]

Mum sent me an e-card. It was cute.
I started crying really hard.
Then Chris' little brother came home, so I tried not to make too much noise.

How do you explain to someone that you're feeling alone without making it sound like you feel you're entitled to everything because it's your birthday.
That's my dillema every year.
I never want to make people do shit they don't want to do, despite the fact that often times I want someone to pay attention to me.
And usually it's not just anyone. Usually it's one person who's attention I want.

Now that I've typed that out, I feel like a jerk.

Ugh.
I disgust me.

The one birthday I can remember getting what I wanted was the year I celebrated my birthday at the Cyberdome.
The Cyberdome was a giant arcade.
I had two people come. Emilie and Stephanie.
They both wanted my attention.
They both wanted me to love them.
I remember Emilie gave me something extravagant. Something store-bought. I can't remember what it was.
I remember Steph gave me two pieces of wood that she had painted. One had my name on it, and the other had a poem.
I've since lost the second chunk of wood. [Especially after it fell off my wall in the middle of the night, whalloping me on the head.] The first one is still in my bedroom, pinned to a corkboard.

As we all know, I'm not a big fan of my given name. But that meant a lot to me.

Enough about that.

Well. There it is.

<3's
~Dante

I spent the afternoon being consoled and cuddled by my best girl-friend, Josh.

He'd give me hugs and tell me that everything would be fine. All I wanted [and still want] are Chris' arms. Chris' voice. Chris.

He asked me to take him off of my friends list. And I have.
I'm now keeping all my entries public.

I never hid anything from him when we were together, and I won't now.

It hurts. It really does.
I've never loved someone the way I love him. I've never trusted anyone the way I trust him.

I don't even trust my own family the way I trust him...

Melodramatic?
Maybe.

But I still want him.

I'm not going to go into the details of how this came to be, but I will say that we agreed to stay friends.
I'm glad.

So I'm back to being the creepy loner girl. That's fine.

Once more, dear readers, friends, colleagues... Brother, my journals will be printed in black ink.
The rainbow has faded and the unicorns have been shot.

Yes, I'm laughing at what I just wrote.
My mood has been swinging like an old married couple who got bored with their sex life when they realized they were... well... old.

It really has. It sucks.
One second I'm depressed, dreaming of sharp things, next I'm laughing at the situation, like it's a bad dream.

Wait -- Is this a dream?... 'cause I'd honestly be over-joyed to wake up tomorrow morning and realize that today didn't happen. Really.
I mean, yeah, there were high points, but there's nothing that could make this day worse. [Even dying seems to be a happy occasion.]

[*resists the urge to suggest having a death-party*]

So. Now that I've lost the man of my dreams... I think I can do, pretty much anything, and not feel the consequences.
First order of business: Tell Fidelia to fuck off...
Second order of business: Tell Jess that she needs to take the stick out of her ass...
Third order of business: Desecrate a church. That might make me feel better.
Fourth order of business: Drink myself into a coma.
Fifth order of business: Wake up from said coma.
Sixth order of buisness: Do things Momma always said to not do.

So... I guess I'm not going to post this publicly... something tells me I really don't want to get in shit with the law...

White.
Pure.
A lily, symbolic.
Hands grasping.
Touching.
Feeling. 

Flying.
Flying through clouds of white.
Soaring spirit.
Dancing soul.

Please don’t let go.

This was forwarded to me, courtesy of cutie_fasnootie (AKA Sammii).

Thanks alot, man. I almost burst out giggling while the rest of my family doze happily in their beds.
:P
XD

----

This is a letter from an Austin Texas woman sent to American
company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products.
She really gets rolling after the first paragraph.

It's PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best web mail-award-winning
letter.


Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I
appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or
Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa
dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in
tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary
Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how
crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and
secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I'm guessing you
haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can
already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few
minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my
husband likes to call an inbred hillbilly with knife skills. Isn't the
Human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen
quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's
monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating,
puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings,
crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most
women.
The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just
crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the
reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so
Painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an
Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words:
'Have a Happy Period.'
Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny
middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing
happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned
above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless
you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy'
about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and
lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local
Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life
in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic
message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually
pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong'
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately,
there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my
maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings,
I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit.
And that's a promise I will keep.
Always. . .

Best,

Wendi Aarons
Austin , Texas

----

Again, I couldn't help but laugh.
Hope it brought a smile to your faces.
<3's
~Dante

It's been over two months since the last update.
But you didn't notice.
To keep you from going into withdrawal, here's the ninth installment of Odometers Tachometers and Spark Plugs. (Wow. Nine already.)
(Chapters one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.)

It was 3:19 PM, Eastern Standard Time.
There I sat, inside my art classroom.
I felt something moving against my leg.
I jumped. Then I remembered that my cell was planted there.
I crack it open thinking: Yes! Jude's online!
I read the text littering on my screen.

From: Lewy
-----
Don't forget that we have driver's education.
-----
3:19P Tue Jan08

After a few giggles at the fact that he actually spelt out "Driver's education", reality hit.
Fuck.
I have to spend three hours (or more) in a car with beak-man.

School finishes and I throw my mangy-whore ass out into the slightly warm and rainy winter's air.
I find the car. Sigh as I know what I'll find in there and shake my groovy ass over to the chariot of doom.
I open up the door and Mr.Hello-Let-Me-Teach-You-To-Drive-in-a-year-for-the-low-low-price-of-400$-plus-penalty-fees informs me that I can put my backpack in the trunk

You missed me, haven't you?
You missed the exagerations, and the giggle-snorts.
Welcome to the newest O,T&SP. 
Your beloved key to road rage.
(Chapters one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.)

The bell rang.
I stepped out into the chilly air wearing naught but my hoodie and my backpack of books.
I searched for a bit, looking, observing.
I see him.
Mr Driving Instructor Man standing beside a mini-van, talking to someone.
He must know them.
He waves jovially at me.
Hello you freak off a leash. I do see you.
He points frantically at his black honda.
I nod and give him the thumbs up.
You think I can't see the giant lighted sign on the top?
II stride over to the car as he jiggles towards me.
"I'm trying to find a jump."
Uh. What?
"Stupid me. I forgot my jumper cables in my other car."
Joy.
"Do you think any of your teachers or principals would have a jumper cable?"
HAH! No!
"I don't think they would..."

A few more minutes of searching.
Little Brother and I walk into the school and ask for help.
Oh Joy.
The simple-minded secretary.
"Who's driving? Your car blew up? What?"
... Fuck me...
I run back outdoors into the biting cold.
Lo and behold; the car has found energy
...Gaddamn...

Long story short.
Battery died, then came back to life my immaculate electricution.

We got off on the road.
Trucked along and fucked up a lot. (Hooray for not getting any practice.)

After a marvelous rendz-vous with my idiotic almost-killing-people-times, I started to get the hang of it again.

Then it was my brother's turn.
Hooray.

After a few close calls, Mr. LetMeTeachYouToDrive checks the brakes.
They weren't working.
He fixes them.
We head on our merry way.

Awesome Driver Guy informs us that we'll be picking up another student.

"Let's go get Abe."

Fuck it.
I just have to make dinner...

Let's roll.

"He wants to be a police officer."
And I want to be somebody. Your point?

We get to what's-his-face's house. (The same what's-his-face that got charged twenty five dollars because he wasn't there.)
We wait two minutes.
Out walks a tall, slightly chubby, lebanese boy.

And now, your occasional sin, your secret love affair.
Today's instalment of Odometers Tachometers and Spark Plugs. 
(Chapters one, two, three, four,  five, and six.)

There was no lesson today.
Super Driving instructor forgot to show.

I guess it's a Godsend, though I was looking forward to driving down the street and crashing into a telephone pole or two. 

I'll just have to wait, like you, for my next driving lesson, and your next instalment of O, T & SP.

;&nohearts,
Dante

OT&SP
Take one occasionally 'til the itching stops.
Ingest with drink or food, or nothing at all.
Enjoy.
(Chapters one, two, three, four, and five .)

Missed me? Here's the newest installment of my marvelous indevors as a new driver attempting to learn in a painful atmosphere. (Chapters one, two, and three.)

Again, I come to you in the form of a frustrated teenager, learning to drive with a Lebanese driving instructor.
As I have suggested in previous chapters; you'll be missing out on a lot of goody-good-horror if you haven't read them. (Chapter one, two, and three.)

Today was wonderful.
We discussed "Colligen"-s. (Collisions.)

"Everyone shood trie to avoy colligens, buh sohm timehs colligen happen when there a drunk drifer or somewan es high." 
-Driving instructor stares nastily at the hormonal boys in back-
"Or like deh peoples in de back who smoke too much hookah."

Wonderful subject, that.
In fact, we spent more than half of our driver's education class talking about smoking, hookahs, and other really infuriatingly interesting subjects.

I don't think there's enough of this subject to keep me interested...
Ever.

Thankfully, today was the last theory class.

-My only reader-

"YES!.. I mean... Oh no... No more chapters? HOW COULD YOU, DANTE? YOU'RE saving KILLING MY SOUL!

So (one of) the video(s) du jour was about how to assist at the scene of a car accident and to not remove the people from their cars.
It's understandable. You wouldn't want to hurt the person.
His reasoning for not removing an injured person from their car?
"Becos dey soo you eef you take from caar."

Now, maybe it's just me, but if I was in a car accident, bleeding to death, and someone took me out of the car (un-knowing that it would injure me further), I'd be thankful that they cared enough about someone they didn't know to try to help them! I wouldn't think of suing them! (It's the American way, after all.)

Another topic that was approched was drunk driving. (Fun for the whole family!) 
Watching a movie about what could have been done in the case of Sally and Bob really puts things in perspective.
They weren't just normal teenagers! They were also anonymous! (And probably fictional.)

Bob, drunk off his ass, asked Sally to go on a pizza run with him.
IT WAS AWESOME! (no it wasn't...)
Bob, evidently in lurve with Sally, asks her to go with him.
Sally says no.
Bob asks why.
Sally replies that he's drunk.
Bob overreacts.
DEAD! (yay)

The thing that appaled me the most about the class wasn't the blatant lack of up-to-date videos, nor the instructor's thick accent.
No.

It was watching a guy in the class looking over the upcomming test and writing down the answers.
I don't doubt that he shared the answers with his friends, but it makes honest people, like myself, feel jipped.
I paid attention in class. I answered questions.
They goofed off in class. They talked back to the instructor.
I paid attention to the horrible, headache-inducing videos.
They played their PSPs and listened to their iPods.

But I have an advantage they don't.
I know the rules of the road.
They don't.
I can avoid accidents and stupidity.
They will be the causes of accidents becasue of their stupidity.

Due to (probable) lack of fuel to put fire to this shit  fuel this series, it might be a while 'til the next chapter of Odometers, Tachometers and Spark Plugs, but keep your eyes peeled for Chapter five!

-fat blog critic # 7 rates this blog four heavy-accented driving instructors up!-

Here's to hoping my Dad doesn't kill me while trying to teach me to drive!

Your revved out angry driver,
Dante.

And now, for the third chapter in this series of events.
If you haven't read the 1st or 2nd chapters, you're missing out on valuable information. I suggest you go back.

Today's lesson comprised of the multitudes of emergencies one could have in a car, Including those of brake mal-function and flaming oil.

Really interesting stuff. Especially when one is to be on a 'Flea-way' (freeway).

They showed us all these videos intended to shock us into safety. The reality is that us, as teenagers, have become so desensitized to violence and disgusting images that, really, this is just like another hollywood horror-flick.

Car veers, bad actor says: "Oh no!", I laugh, screen goes black, crashed car is shown, I laugh...

There was also a video about road rage.

One of those typical: "Frank and Joe are two similar guys. Just like you and me." (Uh, I'm female, in case you didn't notice...) "Frank and Joe drink coffee for breakfast two sugars, one milk" (Fuck. I don't care about their coffee orders!) "Frank and Joe brush their teeth in the same direction." (Wh-Wha... What the fuck?) "Frank and Joe take the same highway to work." (Oh fuck... here we go...) "But there is a difference between Frank and Joe. See, Joe has a road rage problem." "Get out of my way!" Honk Honk "'Cmon! Merge! Merge!" "Where as Frank does not." "Oh. You want to merge? Please do." 

Eventually, we get to the end of the video where Joe ends up getting his window cracked by a guy who he was honking at and Frank explains the dangers of Road Rage while telling Joe that he isn't alone...

I'd be sympathetic with it if it weren't such a corny video with such horrible acting!

Driver's Ed sucks. More so when you have it in a condensed, one week, class.

Drivin' Dead or Deadly,
Dante