About 85% of my time spent listening to music alone requires air guitar.

When you look down at yourself and wonder why anyone in their right mind would want to spend extended periods of time with you.

But then you realize you haven’t done too bad a job of occasionally fooling someone into thinking you’re attractive, so there’s that tiny sliver of hope.

Then again, if you were better at it you might not be alone in your bed eating cereal for dinner right now.

I have to learn that wanting to be romanced doesn’t make me high maintenance. I’ve always thought that wanting, or asking for more was selfish and greedy, that the need was a just trait to be quashed. I could always whine about wanting love in blogs or journals, but as to deserving it? Never. Not seriously, anyway. I always figured I should consider myself lucky to have anyone care about me in any way at all, that love was something only a fortunate few ever got to experience.

But honestly, at this point, I think I fucking deserve to love and be loved by someone for once.

Goddammit.

P.S. Also, is it just me that thinks the king in Tangled is just about the most heartbreaking character to watch ever?

Ugh.

Emotions.

I wish I was Borg so I didn’t have to deal with all this shit.

P.P.S. How awesome is it that iPhones know enough about Star Trek to not only refrain from autocorrecting “Borg” into something else but also automatically capitalize it? Good job, Apple.

(which is in response to this)

ifthoughtshadhands - that would be the idea, but wouldn’t be so much a younger clone version of myself, as much as a carbon copy. *coughprestigecoughcough*

theporkchopexpress - more like that, yes! but less flimsy hipster michael cera-y. bleh.

i remember a michael cera clone came into the hat store once and tried to flirt with me. he was wearing an obscure band t-shirt, skinny jeans and an american apparel hoodie. he kept trying to keep our conversation going even though we clearly had absolutely nothing in common. i think it had something to do with the white moth asian flame thing. or really, skinny white hipster dude with quirky azn girlfriend thing. eugh. i just remember thinking to myself, wow. you are such a type. i am so not attracted to you. and for very logical reasons: i probably would have snapped him like a twig, i hate music elitists, and goddammit, if you’ve never seen The Thing (no, not the new one, dumbass) and you’ve never even heard of Big Trouble, then no.

i’m sorry, but no.

i don’t really know why i felt the need to talk about this.

whatever.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I want to punch my feelings in the face.

There’s this guy in my painting class whose girlfriend always hangs around for some reason, and they’re so fucking couple-y at 9 in the morning that I just want to beat them to death.

Now she’s talking about the road trip they’re about to take together through the south and it’s taking all the self control I have not to stab her with a palette knife.

Stop jacking yourself off about how appalling you are and get back to making good music.

We’d all really appreciate it.

And do it quick, because I’m losing hope that you can.

Love,

Alanna

P.S. You look ridiculous.

I have just listened to one song off of your new album, and honey, things aren’t looking too good. Um, “You’re a little pistol and I’m fucking pistol whipped”?

Huh.

Cute.

Remember the days when you were actually awesome? When your songs weren’t all about emo kid love and Hot Topic bondage kits? When you were mad as hell and not going to take it anymore? When your lyrics had at least some social relevance?
I do.

I miss those days.

Those were the days when you didn’t look like an angsty Sith lord going through puberty.

But I suppose I should come to the point.

STOP SUCKING.

IT’S MAKING ME SAD.

I mean what is it? Is it the drugs? Did you forget how to kick ass?
I just want you to know, if you need any help in reassembling your badassery, you can always call me. Day or night, just pick up the phone. I mean that. I do.

Love,
Alanna

Welp, now I’m off to see if the rest of the album is as sucky as it seems. Satan give me strength.

Also, my phone just autocorrected “Satan” to “Gods tan.”

Riiiight.

Spooning a heating pad for dear life and wishing it was a person

In too much pain to get the computer 3 feet away so I’m posting this from my phone

Wallowing in self-pity and no-one-will-ever-love-me-ness

Ow ow ow ow ow fuck youterus ow

Someone get me a hot hung boyfriend who smokes weed and buys me chocolate OH WAIT

I’m going to die alone and the French fried onions are beginning to call me nooooo

Does ibuprofen make you loopy? Nope I’m just deranged

THE END

Now I can curl up in one corner and bask in how alone I am.

Awesome.