Yeah. So, like, is this blog hot, or what? It totally looks like blood-stained paper run through a bath of warm water. Or at least, that's it looks to me, but I guess I'm a little weird.
Anyways, I'm totally starting this blog to talk about, you know, my life or whatever. And I figured I should totally start with my most, I dunno, like defining characteristic. So, yah, that would be my blazing infernal red hair.
Now don't get excited. Red hair totally sucks. About the only thing that makes it even remotely bearable is the fact that I, like, totally can't tan which makes maintaining my creamy vampire skin so ridiculously easy. But redhair. It's like, creepy, and stuff. Did you know I only have five layers of skin while all you so-called normal girls have seven, or whatever? Yeah. It means my skin is like almost completely transparent. Like, if I stretch my eyelid out over my eye, you can totally see my fierce green irises like swirling all around through the skin of my eyelid! Totally gross out, right? Still, it makes my older brother squirm and I totally don't have to worry about his degenerate college buds macking on me. If they even try, then BAM! I just hit the loser with some transparent eyelid maneuver and he's like dry heaving in my brother's wire mesh trash bin before I can even say "pedarest".
Not that my brother is even here that often. He goes to college in this totally small New England town called Friendship. Yeah. Seriously. In what twisted little world would a town be called Friendship? Oh. Yeah. Like, Stephen King ville, right? Horror Central New England; that's where we live. Hey Big Brother, just lookout when the kids start gathering stones and town leaders ask you to draw a little slip of paper.
But seriously, I live like three towns over, but I'm so way cooler than Hillbilly central. Yeah, I know you think all hillbillies are totally in the South, but guess again, enema sack. New England has more trees than people. That makes us, like, hillbilly-palooza. Anyway, I live in Galileo which is totally cooler than Newton across the river. The only thing Newton has going for them is, like, Nanologic Technologies. And they, like, never let us forget it. Like, all Newton High School's sports teams have these retarded little chemical symbols spelling out their team names cuz they're all sponsored by Nanologic. Yeah. Whatever. Galileo has the Starbucks. Take that Newton bitches. And we have this totally awesome pub where all the cool local bands play. So, there's only like one cool local band. Flesh Biscuits. And, yeah, you guessed it. I'm totally making out with the bass player.
Razor is so freaking hot. He's got black spiky hair and this tatto of razor blades zigzagging down his neck. He's like eighteen or whatever and my parents would totally spaz if they knew we were dating, but chill out bitches. I'm fifteen. I'm old enough to scorch the sun-lovers with my redhair-hot awesomeness by totally making out with an older dude. I so rock.
And besides, I have to do something to pass the time in this everything-closes-at-five world of Galileo. What is a melantonin-challenged redhair like me supposed to do before the sun sets? Paint my nails Barbie pink and perform bad love poetry on Youtube? Yeah. So not gonna happen, losers. This vinyl-clad vixen prefers Sharpie to nail polish. Deal with it.
Oh and another thing that totally sucks about being a redhead? Old ladies. Every time I go into the drug store to pick up, whatever, like my feminine products or Orbitz gum because my dental hygenist says that redheads are prone to yellow teeth (lucky us) and Orbitz has magical xylitol in it that like totally cleans your teeth, anyway, every time I go in there, I get accosted by these blue hairs pining for their Lana Turner heyday, or whatever. They touch me and twirl my frizzy curls in their fingers like they know me, and say things like "Oh, you have such beautiful hair. I always wished I was a redhead." And I'm all like "Back off, Aqua Net. These curls are mine. And even my seventy year old grandmother doesn't touch me without my express written consent." But it's like they forget everytime. Old people are like goldfish that way.
Anyway, Rebecca is like totally calling me to dinner. I wonder what fresh animal we've slaughtered for tonight's juicy vittles. Oh, Rebecca is the person in my life other's might refer to as my "mom". We're on a first name basis. And just in case you missed that entendre, I'm a vegetarian. Meat is murder.
