Salutations my fellow species!!!

This being my first blog entry ever, I would just like to extend my hand to you, dear reader. Shake it. I said shake it, darn you! Heh, heh. Nutcase; and loving it dude.

Now, this entry’s main features include sex, gore, tellitubbies and calculators.
There. That should have got anyone interested. Interesting how I wrote sex first. Hmm…

I’m listening to Counting Crows ‘raining in Baltimore’ at the moment. I’ve just found them…and jeez do I love them. All seriousness at the moment. I’m almost loath to admit I love their music, because it means so much to me. The lyrics are…beautiful. Singers just don’t write like that anymore. Now, all music can offer is girls singing about hot boys and guys singing about hot girls (and the odd guy singing about another guy). It’s like verbal porn. Sickening. OK, I admit some songs are all right, and I find myself bopping away to one or two; but the rest make me gag.
And one person sums it up; one person who is the crème de la crème of all that is wrong with music (ok, maybe I’m getting a little too passionate). FERGIE. Ugh.

Only ONE DAY till school. Kate curls her lip. Bugger. And, once again, I’ve done absolutely zilch. An equation to satisfy the maths nerds (who, I assure, are totally awesome):

Kate + holidays = lazy, unmotivated, and brainless sloth

But then again, you could always take out the “+holidays” and the equation would still work just fine. Heh. As I said to a friend (ahoy Sam) recently, “apart from the odd conversation with my calculator, these holidays haven’t been too exciting.

Recommendation 1# - Watch Hot Fuzz. Its omnipotent hilarity could summon a snort or snigger from any. I watched it these holidays. Just thinking about it makes me grin.

You know, writing this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
In the past I’ve attempted to keep a handwritten journal…but it never works. I shy away from writing in it, because whenever I looked back on stuff I’d written, I just want to tear the page out, faced with perfect examples of how much of an emotionally unstable moron I am. And plus, I have to be so darn honest, because I can’t really lie to myself, now can I?

I keep a dream journal though. I don’t mind doing that, because it’s so real. I love dreams. Even if they’re nightmares, I love them. The emotions you experience in them are so pure; I swear, I feel more in my dreams than I do in real life.

I apologise. Emo-Kate is emerging. Well. I should go now. Nah, I won’t say that- what I really mean is I can’t be stuffed writing any more.

Off to squander some more time by
a) Making over my room by sticking band-aids to my walls.
b) Sneaking over the fence and staring through the neighbours window, while saying between silent maniacal cackles “Fribbitigibbet, fribbitigong”
c) Experimenting to see how many peanuts will fit up my nose

I’m personally leaning towards option c…

Ciao, dear reader!!

Quote of the day: (a soon-to-be regular instalment)
“Round here”- Counting Crows
“Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog
Where no one notices the contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you, the angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again
Where? I dont know”