mexican night turned out to be a blast. we fell asleep watching the little mermaid, ellie wrapped clinging onto me like an octopus (says chanel). we made a mess. we ruined kitchen utensils, stole mike's clothes, drank more soda than we thought possible, and started a fire with axe.
this morning... i have no idea where it started. we went to the supermall, chanel and i wearing skirts while ellie ran around in mike's sweats, we called her jose, our 12-year old mexican pimp. we bought junk and little boys' clothes, pushed liz around the mall in a shopping cart. later, naked shower pictures. "wrestling" with mike and matt. laughing when later, mike called chanel thinking he was the stud. endlessly curling liz's hair for her dance. eventually sending her off for the night. denny's with mike and matt, hating (megan?) the 16 year old they invited. mostly, bonding with the sister.
so, since i've gotten my head up and started looking around, i'm noticing how desperate i've been to have people in my life. it seems wherever i go i'm looking for some place to belong. thought i found it earlier... turns out highschoolers aren't any good to depend on. chanel is the new love of my life. my older sister, 'cause we've got the same haircolor! we can bitch, sit in silence, bust out with new dance moves, and live in each other's clothes. at matt's tonight, chanel was wearing all my clothes, i was wearing all her's. so, like i'm trying to say, we're a good support team.
in the middle of claire's, i hated myself worse than i ever have before, and loved it. imagine the scene - i'm wearing a pink and black striped skirt, white tanktop, black hoodie, converses. tons of gaudy bracelets, thick eyeliner and pink eyeshadow. singing along to the sugarcult song playing in the store. giggling over feather boas and being obnoxiously loud. mentally, i could see another person wanting to rip my head off. but it didn't matter.
in one day, my "awesome moments" camera turned into a blackmail camera. i'm dying to finish it off and develop the pictures.
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