Cleolinda everywhere

Have posted, at frodogoosegirl's suggestion, some of my old Easyjournal entries here (back-dated per the original dates, so scroll down). Just a few, but it gives the journal less of a skeletal look. Also, in the one about the really bizarre celebri-palooza dream I had in July, I think I have managed to write the longest sentence in the history of man. (In your FACE, Faulkner!)

As for my current music choice, go read this entry. It'll make more sense. Well, sort of.

Reposted from my old Easyjournal:

Hi, my name is Cleo, and my sister got me hooked on Passions.

(“Hiiiiiii, Cleeeeeeeo!”)

I want Theresa and Ethan to get together so bad I can taste it—mostly because then THERESA WILL SHUT THE HELL UP and I will never have to listen to her whine again. Someone who’s taken a logic class will have to tell me what this gambit is called, because it’s both infuriating and brilliant: ( But Ethan, you love ME! )

Reposted from my old Easyjournal:

Just a short entry, but here's what I get to write back to Correspondent Vladimir while he's on his glamorous Venetian gig. Background: the anecdote below uses everyone's real names (mine and AngelDust's), and the two rabbits are [in real life] creatively named White Bunny and Grey Bunny. (I know, I know.)

**Just woken up two minutes ago by an awful crash--I go out into the hall, to the bathroom, and there's White Bunny meandering down the hall (bop... bop... bop...). There's a little attached house on the cage, a little hutch, and they had managed to jump up and down until it fell off, providing a way to freedom. Which they squandered by both immediately bopping into the bathroom. So I close them in there with me, and I'm trying to do my thing, and after chewing on all the available cords (and picking up the roll of toilet paper with their teeth and tossing it in the air, which they do with the cardboard tubes we give 'em after the paper's used up) they decide to come bite my legs.

Mom, out in the hall, knocking on Sister Girl's door: "[SISTER GIRL]! THE BUNNIES HAVE GOT OUT!"

Sister Girl: "Cálmate! [Cleo]'sgot them in the bathroom!"

Cleo, in the bathroom: "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

So together, Mom and I managed to get them back into their cage. They have lost their Hutch Privileges (we took it off and fortified the cage) and have gone back to humping each other. Sigh.**

Reposted from my old Easyjournal:

I would like to confess, here and now, that I have absolutely awful taste in music. Well, to be more precise, I have very good taste in music, but I have a bottomless appreciation for certain kinds of bad music. I mean, you know, I love my Garbage CDs to pieces and I was all about U2 in high school and I listen to movie scores and all that. I have music I am not ashamed to claim on my MP3 player. I’ll admit to the David Bowie and the Wallflowers and the Pretenders and the Smash Mouth and the Pearl Jam and the Cure and even the select group of ‘80s songs that everyone loves. I’ll cop to the Depeche Mode and even the Kylie Minogue. I will even confess an honest love for Siouxsie and the Banshees, because they make me sound cutting-edge. Occasionally I’ll admit that I’ve got some lesser-known New Wave tracks as well.

And then… there’s the rest of it. ( Continue reading my shame )