Sometimes I really hate our government. Seriously. The other day one of my best friends decided that he should go into the military. Hopefully it was just the massive amounts of marijuana speaking, or else we have a problem. Provided he goes into basic soon, that gives him about 6 months before he becomes active duty. Which gives our retarded president 6 months to prove to the world that he's got a big schlong and get this war shit out of his system. Now, before I get massive amounts of IMs and Emails saying "Jesus Clare, it's alot more than a dick measuring contest", I'm going to tell you right now that I don't give a shit. When it comes down to one of my best friends, that's all it is to me. You give me 10 reasons why it's not President Bush being his daddy's bitch, I'll give you 20 that says otherwise and a kick in the groin. His dad has got his hand shoved so far up his son's ass that our President is only a puppet. Which serves just fine, until you bring the people I care about into the mix. Thats when I get shitty. I'm not exactly sure what I'd do if something ever happened to him. Seriously. I know I'd leave the country. I'd probably start some massive international incident just to make that dickheads life harder than it already is. Theres an unspoken rule with me. Don't FUCK with the people I care about. I get shitty. I know our president is a moron, but shit. It shouldn't take 6 months to teach him how to count to three for his dick measuring contest. He needs to hurry up and get it out of his system already. And in response to his question of "Is our children learning?!" I have to respond with, yes, we are learning your a fucking idiot.

And just because I've kept you waiting so long for updates, I'll give you another one. Two for the price of one, folks! Enjoy, I'm not usually this nice. But I have a biology test I'm avoiding studying for.

In case anyone was wondering what that loud moaning noise was at about 5:00 yesterday, that was me listening to the lineup of this years Ozzfest. Sometimes I have difficulties containing myself, and that was one of them. I've been going to Ozzfest religiously for 3 years now, and I look forward to hearing who is going to assualt my eardrums. It's a great great lineup. What with Manson, KoRn, Chevelle, Ozzy, Cradle of Filth, Disturbed and the rest, I almost can't wait. Which is why I am going to devote this entry to all of my Ozzfest memories. Or atleast the ones that don't involve me getting naked with one of my best friends. Cause no one wants to hear about that. Well, most people. Last years trip started off strangely like Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas, just with 2 more people and probably more drugs. We finally got to the hotel by the Tweeter Center (If those people who named it only knew what Tweeter meant...), and got settled in. We were ready to party! We were going to do what most wild and crazy teenagers do when in Chicago with no parental supervision and lots of drugs! We played Monopoly until 6 A.M. No joke. Rachel, being the smart one, gave up on the endless game of Spiderman Monopoly at about 3 A.M. Me, being the second smart one in the group, gave up about 4. (I'm stubborn). We continued watching Shawn cheat, lie, and steal his way into beating Jeremy until he gave up at about 5 A.M. Then, no joke, Shawn continued to play Monopoly by himself until after 6, when Rachel, with much force and use of a tazer, made him stop. We finally got to Ozzfest, and spent the day in a sunburned stoned tweeked out haze. All I can really remember is sitting with blonde haired blue eyed Shawn and Rachel, blue-eyed Jeremy, and me with the black hair and brown eyes, looking over, and seeing psychotic Neo-Nazi skinheads moshing with each other, and thinking "This is how I'm going to die." By the end of the night, Shawn had made a friend, (he is now nicknamed "Stallion", and it will follow him for the rest of his natural life), and I had uttered maybe three words to those people and prayed they didn't kill me slowly. The way back to the hotel across the street was another story. Traffic was typical Chicago traffic, and Jeremy slammed on the brakes about 3 inches from someone's bumper, sending everyone in the car hurling towards the windshield at various rates of speed. We landed back in our seats in time to hear "CRUNCH". All I remember (Which is not much. Yay marijuana) is seeing Jeremy put it in park and get out of the car. I was halfway out of the car before I could remind him that hitting people is bad. Shawn and Rachel, apparently so in love that they were oblivious that a drunken idiot had just hit my fucking car, were still sitting in the back whispering sweet nothings in each others ears (Which is beyond me, because after a day at Ozzfest I couldn't hear shit). When I was satisified that there was only a small scrape on my bumper, it was back to the hotel for us. The rest of my night was devoted to getting Post-Ozzfest Birthday Nookie. Which was going incredably well, once we got past the "Can I touch her without her shoving her fist through my head" and the "I hope this is what he's after or I'm going to be so embarassed" stage. Which lasted about 5 hours. Retarded chimps could have figured this out faster than us. It was going to be a great night of After Ozzfest Ass, until we realized that the condoms were in the car. And God knows we weren't that motivated. No Nookie for Clare. So you understand, I have to go back to Ozzfest to get it right this time. And I will continue going back until I've finally figured it out or rendered myself deaf. Or the Neo-Nazi White Supremacists kill me.

Again, my apologies for not updating more often. I'm a bad bad author. I tried to update yesterday, but the internet kicked me straight in the ass. Again, take it up with the Blogger people. It was some good shit. Now on to the goods.

Do you ever sit back and wonder how some people have made it this far in life? Having spent another day in community college, I am convinced that Darwin was wrong. I am a psychology major. I've heard all the bullshit about how there is supposed to be a special bond between twins, and they are supposed to be closer than most siblings and yada yada yada. I don't fucking buy it. I have a twin sister and we are lucky if we can be in the same room without bloodshed. There is this set of twins in my Western Civilization class who, if I didn't know better, are attached by some appendage. Honestly. They were both gone for a week, so I figured, hey a family emergency. Shows what I know. One was sick, so the other couldn't bring herself to go to school without her. They are in the same classes. They wear the same outfits on the same day. They are each other's best friends, and that scares the hell out of me. Being a twin the only thing I wanted was my own identity. I fought tooth and nail, many a holiday and many a Christmas photo, for my right to dress differently than my sister. Most of the time I lost. I spent arguably the first 11 years of my life trying to prove to the world that just because we are twins, we are different people. Then Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum come along and ruin it for all of us. I don't know ONE SET of twins, who at the age of twenty, think its cute to dress like each other. It's actually kind of scary and more convinces me of their need for serious psychiatric evaluations. Secondly, you share enough DNA, you don't need to adopt their personality traits. Human cloning is illegal after all. Can you imagine when they get out into the real world, if by some miracle of god I don't beat the shit out of them by now? "I'm sorry Mr.(Fill in the name of the boss). I can't come into work today...Tweedle Dee has the sniffles and you know I just can't function without her being at my side twenty-four-seven like some sort of growth". Its pathetic. My sister and I see each other about 3 hours a week. Which is pushing it. Mary-Kate and Ashley had better watch out, they have some competition brewing here at the community college.

There was good stuff here. But the internet ate it. Just like the kid on the bus who ruined it for everyone...sorry. Not tonight. Biology to study for. Blame technology. Its the American Way.

For being a girl who has said the phrase "Fuck me, buy me a pizza and get your grubby hands off of the remote I'm watching Southpark", I can be really girly. Embarassingly girly almost. I cinched that tonight. I have been good all day, eating all healthy and shit, thus I feel like my head is about to explode. Seriously, if I don't get some Doritios I might rip someones face off with my fingernails. Anyway, I needed something sweet, and salty, and BAD for me. So I did what any normal girl would do. I walked my chunky ass down to the freezer, and made myself an icecream sundae, with whipped cream, a cherry...and no-fat no sugar added chocolate icecream. Apparently the no-fat no sugar-ness of the icecream will offset the twelve billion calories that are in the nuts, whipped cream and chocolate syrup that have engulfed this shot at healthiness.My friend Jeremy, bless his heart, watched this entire scene quietly, until I offered him a bite. He looked at me, shook his head and asked me what the hell that was supposed to be. When I replied "icecream" he looked at me with his cute little stoner face, and proceeded to laugh his ass off at me. Apparently, where he comes from, icecream has fat, calories, sugar, and taste. I realized then that there was no denying it, I really AM female. You don't hear many guys saying "Can I have a salad, but with no cheese, egg or croutons, and no fat ranch dressing on the side, and a diet coke please?". You hear guys using phrases like "I want a steak, and a baked potato. And screw the butter, can you just get me a lump of lard?". Men can change my oil. Men can pee standing up. And damnit, men can eat without feeling guilty. Every man I know eats, and thats it. Females, on the other hand have a system. They sit around and stare at each other, and say things like "Ill only eat this because im FAMISHED all I had all day was a Slimfast, and what could a few fries hurt?" At which point, her friend will order fries to support her peer in her decision to break her vow to eat nothing but liquid food that comes in a can. They will then proceed to scarf down the entire plate, sometimes horribly maiming the waiter and earning a special on Animal Planet. After this, they will mostly order no-fat lattes and promise each other that they will go to the gym and spend 19 and a half hours on a bicycle in a spinning class with a personal trainer named Sven who doesn't speak English and who's butt looks like a little apple under his spandex bike shorts. Men don't do this. They eat, they belch, and then they take a nap. I wish I could eat and not feel guilty. Until then, Sven's number is going to be programmed into my speed dial.

To all of my loyal fans (And I love all 3 of you!), I apologize for not updating yesterday. On to bigger and better things...

I hate my job. I really do. I work retail. I get to stand on my feet for 6, 7, 8, sometimes upwards of 11 hours at a time and pretend that I enjoy speaking to pretentious assholes for minimum wage plus commission. Having worked retail jobs for a number of years, I am rather sick of it. I am sick and tired of saying things like "Can I help you look for anything? Did you find everything alright? You have a wonderful day!" When I really want to say "If you can't find what your looking for you're a fucking idiot, there is a HUGE sign above it. You obviously didn't find everything alright if thats all you're buying cheap ass, and you can have a goddamn wonderful day when you buy enough to make me enough commission to put gas in my car, tightwad. Don't touch anything and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out". Like I said, retail is not for me. It was worse that I was playing manager, and still getting paid minimum plus commission. So I did what every good American does when the going gets tough. I put in my two weeks. I was going to get a job I liked! And then the District Manager walked in. He is the nicest guy in the world, but all I could hear in my head was the advice from my best friend. (I asked him what to do about everything. He replied in his normal Jeremy-tone with "Be a dickhead. It works for me."). He asked me what would get me to stay. I replied, as dickheadish as I could be, with "Money. Lots and lots of money". And the negotiating began. Well, if you call us bickering like two kids on a playground negotiating. By the end of our fifteen minute whine fest, I had bitched and moaned myself into an official management position, a $2.50 raise, and double the commission I normally get. In my defense, he probably could have said "I'd give you this shiny peice of metal I found on the ground" and I probably would have stayed. I left work on top of the world. I got a raise, and goddamnit I'm in CHARGE. Until I realized, that means I have to be in that hell hole 40 hours a week. And being in charge, it's my ass on the line. The system has screwed me again. So now instead of 20 hours catering to pretentious assholes, I get 40. I hate my job.

I have figured out why Im single. All of my friends are right. My standards are way too high. Unless you are a world-class grade A asshole with some serious psychological problems, chances are, I wont date you. I don't do it on purpose. I seem to have a knack for it. I swear. Tonight I was sitting having cheese fries and ranch dressing with my friend Sarah (who is fabulous and has a wonderful knack for telling it like it is without getting her face beat in). I was lamenting my relationship (or lack thereof) problems to her, and she finally shed some light on the subject. She looked up from her plate and said "Clare, you date 5 kinds of men. They are either taken, addicted, assholes, self involved, assholes, stupid, and assholes. Wait. Thats seven". I am a reasonable person, so I asked her for specifics. Until she started naming them off alphabetically, and offered to do it chronologically. But I got to thinking, she forgot a few classes of assholes I date and or attract. Im forever being stalked by the guys I refer to as the "Nice, but in a freaky weird I'm stalking you so I can make a shrine of you in all of your wonderfulness and put it in my bedroom in my mom's house" type of guy. They are always super nice to me. They are my knights in shining armor...with a screw loose. They are the ones who seem like really nice momma's boys and send me emails that use phrases like "soul mate" "meant to be" and "instant attraction"...5 minutes after I meet them. Quite honestly, they scare the shit out of me and are the main reason I carry a weapon. I also have a way of attracting nice looking men, with fat wallets and great educations. Problem being, they are nice looking in that "I'm old enough to be your father, my hair is starting to thin, I have enough viagra to kill a horse and my car is definately compensating for something" kind of way. They would be helpful if I was a strung out junkie looking for a sugar daddy. Well, I'm always up for a sugar daddy, but for the love of god, he doesn't have to be pushing 70. Maybe my friends are right. Maybe my standards are too high. All I want is a man who looks and talks like Vin Diesel, who drives a Dodge Viper or any year Corvette but late 70s-late80s (Sorry. That was an awful decade for those cars. Sting rays looked like the Batmobile. Damn sexy. So the 80s were disappointing. Like I say. I come from a decade of crappy cars and even shittier music). This dream man will talk with a sexy Australian accent, and only to say things like "Yes Clarissa" "I love you Clarissa" and "Eat the entire pizza Clarissa, you look too thin". And he will be a bazillionare. Someday I will marry him, whoever he is. Until then, I'll settle for someone who buys their own cigarettes, isn't 400 years old, and doesn't think I'm his soulmate.