When you say that it's gonna be,
It always turns out to be a different way,
I try to believe you,
Not today, today, today, today, today...
...
Gimme a little time,
Leave me alone a little while,
Maybe it's not too late,
not today, today, today, today, today...




Whats new in the life of me today? Well, I went on a most enjoyable excursion yesterday with my mom and Chad… The hunt for the prom dress… This was far from a good thing. Why, might you ask? Well, the thing you have to understand about me is that I’m pretty hard on myself, right? Right. And it takes quite a bit to boost up my esteem to where I’m not sickened my what I see in the mirror. (I’ve gone for months on end without looking in mirrors before) and shopping for dresses always makes me feel a little… bad. For a time there I had actually gotten to a point where I was … well… not happy with myself, but not sickened either. As in, that maybe I’m not that bad after all. And then the time to buy that godforsaken dress came. To say the least, I’m feeling pretty poopy. Another one of those I haven’t looked in a mirror thus far type days. Heres what happened:

We went off to find that dress and upon finding nothing in the thrift stores, made our way off to the mall. Found not a thing in one store, and did find a neat little number at Sears. A black strappy thing with pink lace going up the front and a really choppy layered bottom. There was a similar one in black and with D rings. Putting the black one on was where all the horror started. It was… not flattering. The pink one didn’t do me much justice either. And so it started. Me looking in those evil full body mirrors at what few dresses I could shove myself into. We found another one that was quite pretty. Black with blue sides and more tying up and such. Only one problem. The dress was a size 1, and I actually eat, so I told my mom that it wouldn’t work, as in there was no way I could cram my ass into that dress, seeing as how I wear the better end of a size 10… But she insisted. So we went to the dressing rooms and she tried to shove me into the Barbie dress. She managed to cram me into it with absolutely no breathing on my part and I made the mistake of looking into one of those mirrors and oh the horror that I saw. Then the dress wouldn’t come off. So when we finally got it off me, my oh so caring mother slips into this thing with absolutely no trouble at all and spins around a few times. I left the dressing room, what small bits of pride I had left smashed all over the dressing room floor. Then we went hunting for actual dress stores. Found one, the name started with a W… I did not belong there. But I went in reguardless and looked at the heinously overpriced gowns and ran into a stick girl I used to know. We found a few things, most of which looked very unpleasant on me, and I found an interesting little halter top thing that had mesh twisty strappy things dangling down around my legs and was shockingly fitting and pleasingly not gross on me. This, my mom said, was not a prom dress. I saw no real problem. It was defanantly unique, I didn’t look like a pilsbury dough child, I could actually breath and I wouldn’t die from heat exhaustion that comes with most formal gowns. Yet she insisted. And then found something else that is a nice dress, but still a dress. Its only flaws, my torso is too short and my tummy is too existent, so we have to altar it.Thus wearing it constricts my breathing. So we got it and I swore I’d never eat again after the day I’d had, and then we had sonic and at the end of the day to wear it again I had to suck in to the point of suffication. I love shopping for dresses. And then, when we got home, after I shoved myself into my dress to show Ev, my mom slipped mine on… over her jeans and sweater. Yeah, it wouldn’t bother me so much if she hadn’t been doing this to me since the day I bought that dress for my freshman year homecoming. But, things will happen and tomorrow always comes. Or it never comes… Depending on how you look at it, I suppose.

On to other things. I think I am going to be denied my dance yet again. I’m going to have to beat Ryan up.

On to other … other things. I have nothing of interest left to say. I’ll be done beating myself up in about 4 days.