Mad Town.

These are some images from when I was in Madison.
Am I going to post all of them because I think that I am the greatest photographer in the entire world?
Yep.

HOW CUTE (:

My tat. Like hours after I got it done.

Awesome.

T-man (Tristan) looking at the merry go round after we had finished eating at Elles Deli.
 YUM.

And now not so silhouette-y. (:

Mighty mouse flyin' over my head while I ate a vegetarian pita wrap?

Fuck Yeah.

This was this toy machine thing that you peered into and you pressed a button and lights 

strobed and the little clowns whirred in a circle throwing their pins.It was realllyy fast. And I was trying to catch the movement and the chaos in one still image. This was the best Icould do.

Also. I hate clowns.

And that is the max ammoun tmy blog will let me upload. Woop woop.

"Your cat only likes me because I have a girl cat."

"My cat is much better than that and doesn't even like other cats. Besides your cat is a whore."

Meow.
   /\__/\
 (='v'=)

27 Dresses and free breast implants.

So Here are some cool dresses that I would really enjoy having in my closet.















^^ MY second favorite dress of them all!


^ MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE DRESS,








Also if your looking for someone who will pay for you to have free breast implants
AND you're looking for love,
look no further for I have found a dating site for you!

CLICK FOR FREE BOOBIES.

Also,
last night I painted my ode to Audrey Kawasaki,
you might remember that blog that I made that had some interesting images that she had painted.
Well this is my half assed (half assed because when it came to the hair i was sleepy and quit early. and made it kinda shitty. But i'm my own worst critic right?)




Though parts of it came out A LOT better than I had thought they would.
Like that heart.
damn check that out yo.
It's a nice heart.
and her lips i fucked up on.
But look at that nose! cute (:
But Yeah, So basicaly I'm the shit.
(Gotta love my ego.)

Also also also.
WHERE IN THE WORLD IS (carmen san diego?) MY MOTHER?
Dude, she seriously like fell off ofthe face of the earth.
I have no idea where she is.
no one does.
and the only personthat i kno that she is talking to doesn't even know where she is
and her phone is off
and idk.
scary shit man.
where is she?
Mostly i'm curious because she has my license, my social security card, and my debit card (which has like two dollars on it, but hey. that's still my two dollars or whatever is on there!)

Should I start my goodbyes now or later?

Sadly, as I read more and more about my absolute favorite authors; Kafka, Hemmingway, Plath, Puzo, you know the greats.
I'm seeing a trend.
Not only in solitude, but also in suicide and emotional disorders.
Maybe you don't choose to be a writer, maybe writing chooses you.
And then later kills you.
Or maybe it's all of your dead characters getting their revenge on you for killing them.
Maybe.'
I'm so full of maybes today.
Maybe I'll stop.

Maybe, My Slump is gone.

New Plot idea.
Here's an overview.
Tell me what you think!


Jack Tommins is an average guy. He has an average office job. He lives an average life. Except that he is full of greed. He sees things on other people. He wants them. He sees things in windows. He covets them. He sees things. He takes them. Jack has an entire house full of things that he does not need. He has rooms full of things he doesn't even know he has.
On an average day, this average man with the average job and the average life notices a homeless man on the side of the road who warns him of his greed, and warns him of spots that will appear and take over his life if he does not rid his life of greed. Jack believes this man is crazy as he buys himself a nine dollar cup of coffee. Later that morning he notices a dark spot upon the top of his right hand. He washes it away, thinking nothing of it. Later that day at the office a coworker points it out. He claims it is an ink spill, and wipes it away once more.
On his way home he stops at the same coffee shop and buys himself another nine dollar cup of coffee. The Homeless man lays on the corner dead. Jack dismisses it, and believes the man had it coming to him.
He continues to wipe away the spot for the rest of the night as he buys things on the shopping channel, and online.
The next morning he is covered in the dark mark. His body has aged and he finds taht he is starving, but no food can fixate his hunger. His body wants to be filled with goodness, but Jack does not realize this and only fills his body with more things and greed.

Ken Jeong. My inspiration for life.

I don't read GQ.
I'm not a gentleman. Not even quarterly.










God.
I love asians.

Introducing. Educating.

Urban legends, rural legends, folk medicines, you’ve probably heard about tons of such things over the years.


 True or, more likely, untrue events and cures which may, but probably don’t, have legitimate and verifiable 


scientific bases for capturing the imagination and curing medical symptoms. No, this isn’t a rant about 


people’s odd beliefs or half the shows on the Syfy Channel. It’s merely an introduction to the latest dubious


 medical craze in Indonesia. It seems folks in that country are intentionally trying to electrocute themselves on 


railroad tracks in the belief that it will cure various diseases, both mental and physical. It is a new trend which 


Indonesian government officials are trying desperately to stop before it causes a wave of accidental deaths. 


This railroad shock therapy started, as such things always do, with a rumor that a man who actually tried using 


train rails to commit suicide ended up having his paralysis and chronic depression shocked away by the 


electric current in the tracks. Although this miraculous tale cannot be verified, it has spread all over Indonesia 


and given people the courage to try electrocution by rail in order to cure everything from sleeping disorders to


 diabetes. In our book, this is just crazy stuff, and a greater risk to human life than the legendary poodle in the 


microwave.













I have bad study habits.
And I have bad doing homework habits.
Maybe I have ADD.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Maybe, because I'm here. When I'm really interesting in what I'm reading, but here I am
typing about boring things.
Though, I want a WHOLE tree full of these lightbulb things.
how pretty would that be?
I want an inside tree for my bedroom now.
So I can hang these things.







HOW CUTE.


Ugh. I used to doodle and scribble, now it seems all I do is type and stare.
Where has all of the creativity gone?




I'm going to learn french. I'm not sure how yet, but I'm going to.
I'm going to find someone or someting to teach me french.
And I'm going to be bomb at it.
C'est La Vie.
Right?







I ask myself this everyday.









Uhmmm. 
I think this is how the next Morgan is going to look.
cause this babe is hot.












Yesterday my cousin said to me, after seeing my tattoo, "Morgan. You're so crazy."


Maybe I am. I could quite possibly be crazy.
Or maybe, I'm just a free spirit.
I like that answer the best.






Oh my gosh.


So does anyone remember reading those Series of Unfortunate Events books?!


I just now, after intensive fifth grade or whenever googling, found out who Lemony Snicket truly was.


Daniel Handler.










Shit.


I think I might get a tumblr.


FUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKKKK

I'm Celibate by choice.

I really am.
Don't believe me?
Go suck a lemon.

But if I ever decide to not be celibate anymore, which I'm totally not feelin' is going to be any time soon,
this is going to be my rule of thumb so to speak.



I thought it was funny.


And part of me feels like some people won't think this blog is as funny as I do.
But it's funny, and serious all at the same time. Pretty cool eh?



Do you think that if I live by this rule books will be cool again?

If not I'll be stuck with kids like this for the rest of my life.


Not complaining.

But then if I go down that route of lovin' people we'll become like this.

I don't like "this"

This seems to sum up how I feel. The moment she speaks, the woman in this movie, it's beautiful.
(this movie is 2 days in paris. you should netflix it. because it's a great movie. and this is my favorite part)

Which makes me think.

I want to play call of duty. Because I really like playing call of duty. Even though I suck.
And it's complicated and scary. I still like it.

I LOVE SALVADOR DALI.

My absolute favorite piece by him is Les Elephants. Don't know?
Then you should google the shit out of that, because it's so graet.
^^wow morgan. great sentence.

And I desperately need this shirt.






"A tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men."


If I ever make babies. (which is weird to be saying in a blog titled "I'm celibate by choice")
THIS IS GOING TO BE MY BABY.

HOW FRICKEN CUTE.
ALright.
I'm going to bed.

No Lies. Just Love.

So, I got a tattoo.
Yes I surely did.
Its on me forever.
And yet, it was the most impulsive thing I have ever done. Truly it is.
I did not know that it was the title of a bright eyes song.
And I really like Bright eyes.
But i found out that it was the title of a bright eyes song.
So I listen to the song (and if you're listening to the song posted above ^^ so are you.)
And I realized, wow. This is like my song to myself.
(And all of the other people who feel this way)
And that even though I'm listening to this song for the first time, and maybe it's because it's already permanentaly on my skin, I feel like this song means a lot to me.
Like, it's my song. It was written for me.
It's beautiful.
And I love my tattoo. (Which is a good thing, you know?)
But, I'm just in a weird nostalgic mood. Where everthing is good.
You know?
I'm going to go paint.
Because I've sketched out two paintings on these nice canvases I got for my birthday.
So far. I've got some sick things going on.
one is my own rendition of this artist Audreys Kawasaki's work and the other is
a kokeshi doll (which is this little asian doll thing. it's cute)

Here are some beautiful artworks of Audrey Kawasaki!

Warning: Audrey Kawasaki does do provocative artworks, tame nudity, and gay themes. Just warning you. It's beautiful all the same. 









I think that she is a genius. 

I talk to myself. A lot.

I imagine conversations with myself. And with imaginary people. In imaginary situations.
Today's imaginary conversation.

"Listen kid, I didn't get to the top because I'm good at what  I do. I got to the top because I'm fucking great at what I do. I didn't follow the rules. i didn't pussy foot around and wait for people to tell me that I did a good job.I know I did a fucking great job. I don't do things by the books so I don't get book results. I get my results. And my results work. Because i"m the best. Because I don't give a fuck about what anyone but you and me have to say. Get it? What matters is that you and I have an understanding of what we're doing. And if we like it. Then fuck everyone else. Because we're right."

I'm not going to say who in my head said this or why they said this.
They just did.

Am I going insane?
Or am I possibly the only person in this world who has any clue as to what's going on?

cheveux rouges

I hate that moment when you're about to google something and then you get distracted by other internet, and when you remember that you were googling something you forgot what you were going to google.
It was important too...
It will come to me.

So. I'm always changing. I'm a chameleon in my own right basically. I'm never the same for too long.
And now,
I'm red hair.
I'm ginger morgan.
What does that mean? Well I think it means that I've become souless bitch morgan, but others disagree.
It means that i've become "I'm going to tell it like it is, and say it how I want to say it." Morgan.
Which is kind of refreshing.
It's a huge giant leap up from what I used to be, or act.
Or this whole new persona thing could be stemmed from my tattoo.
I have one now.
And i think that I'm just going to admire everyone elses tattoos and be done. This is all that I want.
But it's kind of given me thiss whole, "Fuck yeah. I'm baddass as hell." persona. Which is a good bad thing.
Good because,well I need to be those things and speak up and just be who I am. (Insiiiiiddeee <- Pocahontas) bad because. well. Just think if you thought that you were the shit 24/7 and saidwhat you just plain ol' thought in your head. Hm. how could that be a bad thing?
but even though I'm on this whole, "Hellz yeah bitches, guess what's on my mind." there are still filters set up in place. And these filters are always on. Because if I let these filters down, then well.
There would be some awkward, but great moments.
Or maybe, I'm meant to just say exactly what's on my mind.
But words create actions.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."
"Actions speak louder than words."
And if no one is going to remember what I say, then they're going to remember how i said it and
how it made them feel.
And feelings are things I worry about every day.
But I'm redhead morgan.
I'm fucking awesome.
Right?
Maybe.
But I'm going to try and keep red head morgan around for a little longer,
she seems to get shit done.
And she likes getting shit done and telling people how it is.
It gives her a rush.
And I need to stop talking about myself in third person.
It's weird.



^^ It's tagalon for freedom or liberty. It's pretty sweet. Not for me though.


Found him! (;

Je l'écris, vous avez bien lu.

These dreams in my head are free,
But to touch the mere skin holds a fee.
This isn't a rhyme to pass by the time in which
I'm always waiting for thee.
Shakespeare would have killed us off by now.
Hemmingway would have laughed and scoffed at our situation,
and then steal the idea and write about it.
Anne Rice would have made us sexy and doomed.
But I?
I write simply but for you.
I dream of things that I wish were true.
I imagine, somteimes my life with you.
And as each step we take in the same direction,
brings us atleast three steps away from any connection.
This human connection of love and lust and this reality of us.
And I don't know if your eyes are sewn shut,
if your pupils exist,
but I pray,
that they see me,
that they see this beast, this elephant in the room,
that awaits us for tea.
So we sip, sip, sip, sip.
Because we're not going to leave.




“We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families, and our friends, and even the people who aren’t on our lists, people we’ve never me but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe.”

I will try.

Dear Blog,

I’m sorry that I’m putting restrictions on you. I apologize, I mean I should know better. But it seems that I don’t know any better. Because I’m so used to juts writing everything down. All of my feelings, and thoughts and ideas. Because it makes me feel better once it’s documented. You know?

It makes me feel better that there is someone who will just listen. I don’t want to tell people my life story and have them be all, “Alright. Well this is how we fix it.” I just want to tell someone about it. I mean, yeah these thigns should be fixed.  They should be different from how they are, but I just want someone to understand that when I’m not smiling, or when I’m lost in thought or grumpy or just anything that it could be because of something going on in my life. Like I don’t know. My  dog dies, so I’m sad. Yeah,I want to tell someone about it. I want people to know that I’m grieving the loss of someone close to me, but I don’t want them to be all, “Alright well this is what we’re going to do next. We’regoing to have a funeral, so you get closure. Then we’re going to write poems about how great your pet was and then we’re going to burn them and let the ashes float into the abyss which your pet is now in.”

NO.

I don’t want that. I want you to be all, “Well. I’m sorry Morgan. *hug* It will be okay. If you need anything, I’ll be here, okay?” To which I will reply, “Okay.” And I’ll make a measly smile and sniff a little bit. And until I tell you I want to fix it, that’s all I want.

So lately I’ve been pressured by someone close to me. Pressured to do what? Someone wants you to smoke? No. Drink? No. Hardcore drugs? Absolutely not. Sex? Not even that.  Then what?

Getting better.

Well why is that a problem?

Because I’m an addict. Not like a drug, alcohol, sex, adrenaline, candy, whatever addict.

I’m an addict by my own rights. I’m an addict that’s addicted to this thing. And this thing, is my monster. And I’m addicted to it. I’m not ready to take care of it.

My monster messes things up for me. It makes me absolutely uninterested in everything. It makes me so sleepy I’m practically comatose. It makes me so awake I’m an insomniac. I’m lethargic, I’m hyper. I’m all over the place. I’m so happy I don’t know what to do besides just scream and laugh. I’m so sad that the smallest thing makes me sob for hours. It’s a monster. It’s my monster.

Well Morgan that sounds horrible, why are you addicted to it?

There’s more to it than the mood swings. It’s bigger than the mood swings. I blogged about it once. This self-mutilating problem.  I haven’t . In a long time. But what is a long time? Depends on how much attention you pay. But it’s been a long time.

But it’s an addiction, just like any other addiction. I know it’s bad for me. But I don’t care. I don’t care that if I *could die. I don’t care that it leaves these things on my body which are everyday reminders of who I was or who I am. I just do not care. And maybe that’s what I’m addicted to. This idea of not caring. And it might seem like I’m pining for attention via blog. But I’m not.  Earlier this year Demi Lovato came out about her addiction. And I was really mad. I was disgusted with the idea of being open about it like she was. And I voiced my opinion to my aunt. And she shot back with (and this isn’t verbatim) “You do it too.” Or something like that. It made me mirror myself onto the television screen. And I thought about it. Why did it bother me so much that this Disney star was so open about it, and yet I hated the very fact that I have told people in my family about this? And I think I know. Because, I’m not ready to come to terms with it. I’m not ready to admit that I have a problem. And mostly, because with her problem she had a whole support group cheering her on to get better. Mine was swept under the rug. Even after repeats of what had happened. And trust me, even though I told someone about it because I wanted to get help, does not mean that I stopped right away. It’s a stress reliever. It releases endorphins into your system. It’s like writing. Once it’s out there, it’s out. I have no idea if any of that even makes sense to anyone but myself, but it does to me. And that’s what matters, right?

But I don’t want attention because of this. I don’t want people to worry. Because for me it’s about the control. I like having control over this. I like to know that I can do it whenever I want, whether I do it or not. I’m in control. It might be a teenager thing, to be in control or want to be in control because we’re mini adults we just don’t have all of the same privileges as being an adult. And so we try to get as much control as we can. And this is a piece of control that I use as a crutch. The fact that I could if I wanted to. But I haven’t and I don’t. But I don’t want attention because of it. I don’t . In middle school there were all of these girls (why only girls? I don’t know. But girls.) were running around school flashing these scratches on their arms, stomach, legs, everywhere. And they were all “Oh woe is me. Look how sad I am?”. Maybe they were sad, maybe they were looking for the same thing I was looking for. Maybe they were searching for some type of control just like me. They just had other ways of doing it. But it made me so mad watching them exploit their monsters when I hid mine from the world. When I was screaming inside for someone to just grab me and shake me and say, “Morgan! What are you doing?! It’s going to be okay!” Maybe that’s what I’m searching for now. For someone to just grab me, shake me and tell me it’s going to be okay and that I don’t have to worry anymore.

I remember the first time I saw someone do this to themselves. I was in third grade. It was my best friend Becky. And I was confused as to why she would do something like that. And she said it was because she was fat. She wasn’t fat. Not at all. But it scared me. It was on her hand. Maybe that’s where I got the idea. Somewhere in the recess of my mind it said, “Morgan. This is how you fix your problems. Just like this.” And I was like, “Yeah. This works, kinda. I’m in control. I do what I want.” But it doesn’t work. Though, at the same time it does. I’m not saying DO IT. I’m saying the opposite, DO NOT DO THIS. It’s horrible. It’s not right to do. No one should ever do it. Even if I say that it works kinda, because when I did this I felt like my mind was so clear and my thoughts so vivid and I felt like I was unstoppable every time it happened. But that’s not true. Every mark pushed me one step back. One step behind of growing. But I didn’t see that. I didn’t understand that this monster didn’t help me. I didn’t know .

I’m not even sure if I know now.

I’m going to stop talking about this though. I just thought I could explain to you something. I don’t even remember why or how I became to start blogging about this.

It just happened.

You wanna know what else just happens?

Love.

Whether it's real or not. 

It happens.

And even though you don't want it to.

It does.

And sometimes I just want to punch it in the throat. 

This is the end.

You know, I thought that this would last longer than that.
I really did .
But it seems that it never does.
And I'm not mad.
Not at all, I'm just sad that this might be the very last post, until I figure out how to make this a safe place for
me to just spill it all out.
Because I don't have anywhere else to just spill it all out.

Haters Gonna Hate.

Oh my gosh.
So my stomach bubbles a lot sometimes when I eat,
and I'm watching this "webinar" for one of my classes, and I forgot that my volume was really
quiet and so there was sounds coming out sort of like the bubbling of my stomach, but they were reallly weird bubbling noises, and so i was getting freaked out because some of my stomach bubbles sounded like words.
It. Freaked. Me. Out.
My stomach should not be so knowledgeable in world history.

So You know I've made some questionable decisions in my life (not my tattoo. that is a good decision. I know it's going to be permanentally on my body for the rest of my life, but it means a lot to me) but that doesn't mean people can outright judge me on the little decisions that I make. (still this part of this blog has nothing to do with my tattoo. so don't even think about that.) And I know that I migh've judged some other people in my life for making decisions like living in my closet *not naming names.* but it's not like I'm making those kinds of decisions. I'm just thinking out loud (via blog?) about how sometimes I make decisions and in the eyes of people around me or actually one person right now, maybe two or three, or four (or it could be everyone in that entire house) I'm making the wrong decisions. And they don't even take the time to even try to think it through my eyes. I am always constantly thinking through theirs. But I can't make decisions like these people do. Because I'm not them. I've never lived a life like theirs nor have they mine. But they don't take the time to look at things through my eyes. Which makes me sad, and makes some things a lot more difficult for me. And also, it hurts because they're so judgemental. They go around saying that they aren't. But they are. And I understand I guess. That you're going to be more judgemental to those around you who aren't the ones close to you, but I'd like to argue that I am one ofthose clsoe to them. I'd like to argue this because I am. But sitll I'm being judged upon continuously.
And it's not fair.

Now let's talk about tattoos. Like the ones on my wrists.
It didn't hurt. Which is cool. Well, it was a weird kind of pain. Like the annoying kind. where it doesn't really hurt, but it would feel so much better if it was just gone. You know? But the buzzing of the fricken needle. That's what freaked me out. That sound. Nuh-uh. I don't like it.
But I may or may not be addicted to tattoos now.
Someone told me once, "You can never just get one tattoo."
And now I believe it.
because I already have ideas on how I want to build onto the one I just got.

I had a dream last night. It was insane.
So pokemon were real. Right? And there was this lady who somehow had the same powers as her pokemon. (this dream was in third person) and so she slid through trees and earth things like that because her pokemon was an earth pokemon. And then there was this big problem so this girl slid through trees and thing to get to this problem, I don't remember what happened and then this girl and her pokemon were at this camp thing. And everyone was falling for this trick that these people were planning. This trick was that this pokemon and his trainer were shapeshifting and pretending to be the second coming of christ. One of them was pretending ot be Jesus. And idk no one believed this girl that it was a trick. But finally when she did this thing became this monster and was trying to eat everything and everyone. Everything was getting sucked into it's black hole of darkness. And it was scary.
I think I defeated it. Maybe.




Guess who else hates birthdays?


Karl Lagerfeld.
check out that cake.
"I hate birthdays.. It's more like a new starting point in New York.. For me, it's an evolution.. I don't celebrate the past.. I like the present and tomorrow.." Karl Lagerfeld






I'm growing my hair out. Ask me how that's going and I'll ask you what it feels like not having any front teeth.
Short hair is great. It really is! But I want long hair! :( 
I want to be able to braid it and make hair bows and things.
I miss having to rip through it after months of not brushing it  (I never brushed my hair unless I absolutely had to when I had long hair) 
I miss straightening it and laying on it when it was all silky.
I miss long hair. 











^^ Me and hank. We're cute. 










Lovers Gonna Love.

Liars Lie.

I love this song <3
It's so great.
And this is kinda how I'm feelin'.



"Can you learn to shut up for awhile? Shut up. Shut up." -Guy in starbucks to his dad. :(

So I'm at starbucks doing homework because this guy's house that we're (my mom and I) staying at doesn't have internet.
Seriously. Who doesn't have internet?
Even like fricken DSL.
So anyways.
I was at Carribou earlier, which is like a block away and the Baristas there were bitches.
The baristas here at starbucks, not only are they attractive, but they're also hitting on me.
I know I know. Morgan, calm down. But it's nice to once in awhile be acknowledged by someone.
But seriously though.
I've been getting free samples first all morning (they're handing out free samples like crazy here. And i'm sitting wayyyyy in the back. Like in a spot nto even logical to start handing out samples at.) But here comes scruffy college kid baristo guy, with a half mocha half pumkin spice latte thingie.
And it's delicious.
And I'll add that when I paid for my ventiiiii drink (which he under charged me for!) I got a ,
"Hey, what are you doing today?"
"Homework."
"All day?"
"For the most part,"
"Well if you finish, and I'm off we should do something."
Uhh creep, but you're cute...
"Maybe."  -> Which in this case, becasue he thinks i'm like five years older than I really am, means "No."

Madison is like being on the show of Jersey shore.
It's cool, but I have never seen so many Snooki Look alikes in my entire life.
Cheezus.

Anyways. So liars.
My mother is one.
And I don't know why I fall for her shit every single time. And it just bothers the fuck out of me today
Well, for one the guy we're staying with according to her was supposedly dating this chick named Becky.
Who actually turns out to be his roomate and not his giirlfriend at all.
Also on facebook it clearly states that she is in a relationship with my father.
So if she's in a relationship with my father why is she going out with some other guy?
And sleeping in his bed? Hmmmm?
Why?
Because she's a liar. A manipulator. And just gross.
And there's something else, besides of all this, but I can't post it on this blog because well frankly it's none of
my business, but it's disgusting. And y'know you can tell a lot about what's going on or what happened or just people in general by what's chillin' in their bathroom garbage can. If you know what I fucking mean.
*Pukes.*
Sometimes I just want to tell her these things. I want her to look at the things that she does and see if she sees them as they truly are, or if she thinks that none of what she does is wrong.
I mean I get some of the things she does, but a lot of it crosses the line. She needs to take into perspective
the other people involved.
You know?

Also. I found this store called, I think if I'm remembering correctly, Little Bambino. And it's little icon thing are two elephants! I took a picture of it. It's SO FRIGGIN AWESOME.
And this is really interesting because when I was really little my grandma would always call me her "little bambino" so I'm not sure if it's a filipino thing or not.
But i'm just going to say it is and love the fact that it's icon thing is fricken elephants.
How fricken cool is that?
I love Elephants and filipino things. I'm going to go there, and probably buy something cool.
Especially if it's filipino stuff.

By the end of this school year I'm going to be SO GOOD at using paint. (;

CHECK. OUT . THAT. MINOTAUR.

Hellz yeah. 

That's why I like reading.

Tomorrow night at 11 pm.
I'm going to get a tattoo.
On my wrists.
I know, some people might be thinking, "Morgan. You're too Young to be making this kind of decision."
And I haven't made a ton of great decisions in my life.
But, I know that Ican't be sad about this one.
Because I'm goin to get my grandmothers name.
And that's very important to me.
"Well, what about your modeling?"
If a fricken photographer can add or take away hips or my waist size. If they can get rid of my mole on my face,
or add make up or whatever, EVEN SHAVE SOMEONE.
How hard is it to blend away a tiny tattoo?
I woulndn't think too hard.

So today is going better than yesterday. Which is fine.
And I just want to thank everyone who made my birthday as wonderful as they could have made it.
And that I have eaten almost half of all of my laffy taffys. It's sick.
But those are my favorite things in the whole world.
I will eat them until I'm sick, and I've done so.
I'm on my way down to Madison WI.
I'll be back on sunday afternoon I believe.
Also for my birthday, I received sixteen canvases.
I have so many ideas. Like, *insert image of morgans brain with little gears and things turning.*
But I need to paint this one picture for this lady whom I promised I would paint for.
I have this idea for her, of like a block patterned background in like an ochre-y yellow color.
And then vine-y grass in a marron-ish brown color, with white butterflies.
But I want the butterflies to be stamp like. so i need to make a stamp.
And Now I feel kinda bad because I don't know the names of the colors, and I feel hypocritical,
because I was complaining about this person who wants to be a photographer but doesn't know how to work teh lighting settings on her camera.
I would say that this is the equivalent of that.
I don't know the colors names , and she doesn't know the settings.
So I will now shut my mouth about all of that. But I'm really excited to paint.
I have a lot of ideas, but it seems that lately i do not have the energy to do anything.
I am so tired all of the time.
I just want to sleep, and sleep and sleep. And no ammount of caffeine will keep me awake.
Though I'm also not very sensitive to caffeine as in the affects of my wakefulness, but if I drink it on an empty stomach I get sick. But that also depends on the coffee too. Like those  gas station starbucks frappuccino's I can drink those to no end, but they're full of milk and things more than they are coffee.
I love shots.
Of expresso that is. I can knock those back like a college kid with an alcohol problem.
*I know, really bad example.
They're good though.
Just tasty little bitter cups of caffeine.
Also, if I'm devoid of caffeine and I drink something with a lot of it in it
I can feel it.
I feel it in my veins and when I drink it, I feel my pupils react.
I know that all of what I'm saying is more than likely a pyschological effect of drinking the coffee,
but it makes me feel goooooddd.
anyways.

So my moms friend was trying to get me to sign up for the national gaurd.
And I personally am anti-war, anti-things like that.
I mean come on, puerto rico hasn't had an active military for a longg time. That's awesome.
Why can't the whole world be like that? Because we're all greedy bitches.
And so i was being classic morgan and not really speaking up for myself at the initial part of this whole thing, and being all wishy washy like I usually am. And this recruiter was a RECRUITER. Let me tell you.
She was promising me all sorts of things, and i'm sure some of it could be true.
But I've done my homework. I've googled and searched and read things about the nat. gaurd.
And I don't like it.
I don't like any of it.
And so this mornign when I was doing homework and chem and stuff, my mom was upstairs filling out paperwork for me, and being all "Yeah, morgan wants her college to be completely paid for."
But what she doesn't raelize is that if I got a good manager I could pay for my college AND retire from a good few years of modeling. If I made it big.
But I don't mind being in debt from school. I mean yeah, it's going to suck. But scholarships and financial aid and stuff will help. But I like the idea of being a starving artist, whether my art is being a psychologist, designer, model, photographer, tattoo artist. You know, jobs morgan would like or be good at.
And so I when I came upstairs to get some things to munch on while working, they were marking what nationality I was.
And not only did they mark pacific islander, they marked latin (which is sort of right, I have portugese inside of me somewhere) and white and Native. I am not native in any way. Not even a tiny bit. But they marked it.
And chuck was pushing for black. He wanted to mark me down as black. I'm not black. At all.
I mean I wouldn't mind being black. They have absolutly beautiful skin and they're beautiful. I would love to be black.
Anywho. so then they were making racist jokes. Which were funny but not at the same time.
And then they were making jokes about marking me down as Jewish. Which I don't think is very funny at all. Because I'm kinda jewish. I know a lot about jewish religion, and a little bit about the culture. And it's beautiful. Especially their belief that there isn't an afterlife, and what you get here is your reward. What you get now is all that you get. And I think there is something just beautiful about that.
So anyways. After they left, I was freaking out.
Like, oh my god. Did my mother just enlist me? Am I going to go fight and shit?
I dont' even weigh 100 pounds. I can't do that.
I can't even kill a fly on my own. I know that I'm being extreme, but I'm just sayin'.
Even if I wasn't going to go shoot things, I don't think I would be ready to even go to a different country in a uniform to "fight" even if "fighting" meant that I was driving shit to different bases. What if I got bombed?
I could not work in the medcal houses either. All of those dying people? Disease, and infections. It saddens me.
I would grow such a thick skin over myself that I would be so traumatized I couldn't let anything in to fix it.
I mean how do you fix it?
My grandfather, whom I never knew before he went to war, but I can still see the change. The older that I get i can still see the different things about him that war and killing people and watching people get killed has done to him. And even though he cna't get that fixed he hides it. He burries it deep inside of himself. And I love him, and that alone is a lot , and that I could never be that way.
I try not to wear my heart on my sleeve, but sometimes it sneaks out of my chest cavity and just sits there and watches the world around me. It looks around and sighs happily at the clouds or it giggles at silly things people say to me. And sometimes my heart blushes when it sees people it likes. And it cries, and it gets hurt and it rushes me to places where no one can see me and it cries with me.
But anyways, so once I started voicing my opinions (with the help of anti flag chillin in the background, just to add to the extremist-ness of it) and she finally gave into my wanting to get out of it.
But as she was finally agreeing with what I was saying, Chuck (the guy who's wife was trying to get me to join) called and was all like, "so we wanted to check Morgan's BMI and she's three points under what she has to be at to join. So we can't put her in. She can't do anything. She's too small."
I have never been so happy to be underweight in my entire life. Seriously.
Three points under my recomended bmi, and i'm on my period. Which means I'm bloated and weight like five more pounds than I should.
I am so happy I am underweight. (but at the same time i'm not, becaues i want to be normal weight. so i can donate blood)



So my mom and I are going to Madison right?
Rigth.
And so we were getting gas and I notticed this guy sitting on the corner with a back pack right?
And I knew he wanted a ride.
Well I talked my mom into giving him a ride.
And he was really nice. (:
And he only needed to go like two miles.
But in his defense he was really old.
And he was all, "You know, people today just don't do nice things anymore. Especially beautiful young women. I'm not going to pull anything, except kindness. So thank you, so much. God bless you two."

Also, Madison is like Hick Ville central.
My lord.

I hate birthdays.

I hate birthdays.
I really do.
Darth vader wished me happy brithday. It's on my facebook wall.
Today you know, my big mama was like a premonition.
She was trying to tell me not to get my hopes up for today.
That good things can come out of bad things, but the bad things are still there.
And you know what? Bad things are birthdays.
They have never been my thing.
Like ever.
Here's a quick retelling of my last four or five birthdays,

2008-age: 14
I did not celebrate. My parents were fighting.

2009-age: 15
My mother was kicked out of the house on this day, and I helped her move. And for some reason
I moved out with her. So I spent my fifteenth birthday getting kicked out of my house.

2010- age: 16
I didn't do anything. Absolutely nothing. Why? Because my parents were fighting, but at the same time
my mother was too caught up in dating this one guy to even really notice. So eh.

2011- age: 17
Well. This one is going to be the whole blog pretty much.
But first I'd like to post some things up, like facts and images and shit.
Fact: Right now, 120 people have wished me happy birthday via facebook. I know it's just facebook. and I do think it's a little creepy that people whom I don't really know very well posted happy birthday... but still. 120 birthday wishes to me.
And so here is what went down today.
My car won't start. Whoopi fricken fuck. So big mama is a fucking bitch.
Second. my day got a little better because my best friend, came and was all, "yo dude, cheer up. it's your birthday and birthdays are awesome." and i was all, "OH MY GOD LOOK AT ALL OF THE LAFFY TAFFY! BIRTHDAYS ROCK!" Oh but I was wrong. Birthdays do not rock. they fucking suck,
anyways.
So i went to French River. I did not learn how to speak french by immersing myself in the magical waters of this river. I did climb and almost get attacked by killer wasps. Haha, just kidding. Kind of. The wasps were dangerous and almost attacked me. but they weren't killer.
And so I don't know, this was like the best part of my day. It was chill and cool. and I just like hanging out with this person in general. But right now, I'm too sad and angry and cry-y to really get into detail about how happy and great it was . Lo siento (i'm sorry)
anyway so then i went home and got ready to get shot. (pictueres that is)
and I'll post those later. They're nice.
It was fucking 44 fucking degrees ou and i was wearing like nothing.
Being a model "is suppperrr awesommee !!1111!!! sometimes.
anyways. so after that,
it was supposed to be pizza luce with the family.
But, I should have known that that was askign for too much.
i mean really, it was just absolutely crossing a fucking line to want some frucking loaded potato fuckign pizza.
on top of that. I have my fucking period.
and not only that.
my father fucking went out of his fuckign way to let me know that I was a spoiled brat who
asked for too much. when all I fuckign wanted was a fucking potato pizza.
I don't think that that is asking for to much.
It mnigth be.
It could be.
But I don't think it is.
And now I'm crying.
I'm really upset.
Becasuse I had high hopes for this birthday.
I thoght that maybe this year it was going to be different.
But i guess fucking not.
So here I am.
Sobbing.
In bed.
LIke an idiot.
Because it's my birthday.
I fucking hate birthdays.

Birthday Schmirthday.

today is my birthday.
But it's not.
It's not my birthday.
because had this day, today been my birthday then my car would have started.
More than that,
my car would have started and transformed into a volkswagen beatle. An orange one. (I saw one of those yesterday and it was really cool.)
Today is not my birthday, because my muscles wouldn't be hurting right now.
Today is not my birthday because I would have had cake for breakfast.
Today is not my birthday because things are not going how they are supposed to be going.
They are not going my way.
There fore it is not my birthday.
Which kinda sucks.
because today really is my birthday.
Maybe it's karma.

I had a good dream last night.
I don't remember what it was, I just remember that when I woke up i was happy.
But now I'm not.
Because today is not my birthday.

I don't think I've had a good birthday in like five years.
I don't think I've even had a birthday in five years.
actually, it's been like four. But hey, let's just throw one more in there because birthdays suck.
Who made it a tradition to celebrate the day of your birth?
what's the point?
To celebrate the day you came to be on this earth?
Trust me, life is nothing to celebrate.

Wow, I'm kinda angsty and bitter right now.
Maybe because I held some high hopes for my own birthday.
Thinking that Hey, this year it's going to be different.
It's going to be great!
I'm seventeen! I can almost do whatever I want!
But I can't.

So the countdown is on.
365 days until I'm an adult.


I'm not ready for any of this.

Seventeen.

At 12:07 on Thursday  September 22, 1994 I began to rock all of yours fricken worlds.

Cool facts bro'.

22 September 1994

Your date of conception was on or about 30 December 1993 which was a Thursday.
You were born on a Thursday
under the astrological sign Virgo.
Your Life path number is 9.

Your fortune cookie reads:
Your many hidden talents will become obvious to those around you.

Life Path Compatibility:
You are most compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 3, 6 & 9.
You should get along well with those with the Life Path numbers 1 & 5.
You may or may not get along well with those with the Life Path numbers 2, 7 & 11.
You are least compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 4, 8 & 22.
The Julian calendar date of your birth is 2449617.5.
The golden number for 1994 is 19.
The epact number for 1994 is 17.

The year 1994 was not a leap year.

Your birthday falls into the Chinese year beginning 2/10/1994 and ending 1/30/1995.
You were born in the Chinese year of the Dog.

Your Native American Zodiac sign is Raven; your plant is Ivy.

You were born in the Egyptian month of Hathys, the third month of the season of Poret (Emergence - Fertile soil).

Your date of birth on the Hebrew calendar is 18 Tishri 5755.
Or if you were born after sundown then the date is 19 Tishri 5755.
The Mayan Calendar long count date of your birthday is 12.19.1.8.13 which is
12 baktun 19 katun 1 tun 8 uinal 13 kin

Celebrities who share my birthday:

Tom Felton (1987)	Bonnie Hunt (1964)	Scott Baio (1961)
Joan Jett (1960)	Andrea Bocelli (1958)	Nick Cave (1957)
Johnette Napolitano (1957)	Debby Boone (1956)	Shari Belafonte-Harper (1954)
Tommy Lasorda (1927) The show friends came out on my birthday (: Also. I haven't gotten my period. which means one of two things. It's late. Or i'm fat. Except for my boobs. why dont' they ever grow? :( this turned out to be a pointless blog. I had so many hopes and dreams for it.

I'm addicted to blogging.

And now I can't even remember what i was going to blog about.

Though it seems lately that most people who I talk to have one question on their minds.
I don't mind this question.
Just why does it have to be asked now and as frequently as they have been asking!
Why can't everyone just leave me alone on the subject?

Oh now I remember. I wanted to blog about

Periods.


Mine to be exact.
Why? because it's natural. Most women do it. It's like pooping. (hahhahahahahahahhehehehehehahahah)
It happens. Whether you want it to or not.
(I don't poop though. I'm a lady.)


But seriously. Periods suck.
Commas rule.
And I hate mine.
I don't get cramps. I just get this scoopy feeling.
It feels like this...

Like scooping ice cream. (I really hope i didn't ruin ice cream for anyone...)
And the night before, I cannot sleep.
Like at all.
And, for those of you that know me might be thinking, "well morgan, you're a night owl regardless. how do you know that this is a sign of you getting your period?"
Well dear readers, it's because normally I'll stay awake until like midnight or one o'clock.
But when i get my period I stay awake until like seven am. j
It's horrible.
And according to people around me I become a bitch.
But that's fucking impossible. Right? (answer wrong and in a few days I'll blow your fucking brains out.)
I'm wonderful all of the time. (:
(just kidding. that was a little extreme.)
And you wanna know what else?
I have my fucking thing on my fucking birthday.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THAT PICTURE?!
the fact that it's MY day. MY FUCKING day.
and i'm going to have my period. I'm going to crave chocolate.
I'm probably going to be crabby.
I'm going to be bloated EVERYWHERE EXCEPT MY BOOBS.
BECAUSE THOSE DON'T GROW. EVER.
What I have is what i get. end of story.
And not only THAT.
But on my birthday i work. Like modeling work (which is awesome. but not at the same time.)
Awesome because I'm working with Derick Cich again. I love him. He's so great.
So excited! :D
Sucky because i'm going to be a fat bloated cow.
And fat bloated cows don't become models.
Here come the mood swings... everyone get ready.
And what the fuggin' fug.
Who the fuck invented bras?
why can't it just be acceptable to just let it all chill out?
You know?
I forgot what i was even mad about.
I'm gonna brush my teeth and go listen to white noise.
and make things up in my mind.