no warning for the dead

all i want to do is listen to new york hardcore and hate the world.


i don't want to talk about the following things with my parents, however my parents literally only talk to me about the following things:

- elvis/getting a new hound dog.
- cleaning my room.
- how my job hunt is going.


1. because i avoided the house after he died, they more or less hoarded all of his things into their room and i'm left with nothing but the fucking set of pictures i made on flickr. also, i don't want a dog that i'm going to compare to him. aka no hound dogs.

2. it's my motherfucking room. i'll clean it when i feel like it. don't come in it. don't look at it. that's pretty simple. the truth: i do think it's a mess.and i do intend on cleaning it. but i'm 23 fucking years old and the more i am nagged about it, the less inclined i am to do it.

3. my job hunt's going just fucking fine. i have 2 interviews tomorrow. i have 2 more people i need to schedule interviews with. and meanwhile i still have hilda. so really, get the motherfuck off my back about the job hunt.


i am seriously so grumpy. this is how i feel after really good weekends. coming home is like coming off of heroin.


i had a lottttttt of fun this weekend. i love when shows are big enough that people travel from all over to go to them. and hosting them is even better. meeting new people is awesome.