For those of you who didn't know, I have a twin sister. We rarely get along. I piss her off, she pisses me off, as long as we stay away from each other there is rarely bloodshed. Nevertheless, she is my twin sister. That’s why this particular entry is directed at a Mr. David Vynke, an accounting teacher at Scott Community College in Bettendorf Iowa.

Mr. Vynke: My sister is unfortunate enough to be a student in what you try to pass off as an accounting class. It's quite sickening that your approach to teaching is to embarrass and humiliate your students. I am truly sorry that you most likely have a small penis, got your lunch money stolen throughout high school and probably college, and work in a community college. Although you may be miserable in your pathetic little existence, it gives you no right to take that out on my sister, or anyone else. According to a CFO, an accountant, and another accounting professor, your capabilities are not only lacking, you don't know shit. There are retarded chimps with calculators that could do a better job than you do. I hardly see how this qualifies you to make any derogatory comments about my sister's appearance, considering the fact that you will never see anything but the inside of a community college for the rest of your pathetic 'career', which we have established earlier could be going a bit better. Since you seem to be keen on calling people names, Mr. Vynke, I have a few for you. So here we go. You are an incompetent asshole who has no business being near the general public for any reason except to lick the crap off their shoes. You are worthless, and a pathetic excuse for a human being. The world would be a better place without you in it. Moreover, I think you are a wrinkly old chode. For those of you who think this isn't fair, it is. He insulted my twin sister in front of a group of people when she wasn't there to defend herself. Therefore, I'll insult him to a group of readers, when he isn't here to defend himself. It's only fair. Instant fucking karma. I hope Mr. Vynke goes Googling one day and finds his name right here. The party has JUST begun.
Don't fuck with my family.

I realized a second ago how fluffy my blogs have been. I apologize. I would never ever do that to my loyal reading audience on purpose. And it is for that reason alone that i am making this post entirely inappropriate just for fun.

God damn mother fucking cocksuckers have never heard of the down with cows campagain? What were you, born under a fucking rock? God damn morons. Darwin was wrong motherfuckers. I'm a certifiable dumbass and shit even I know the down with cows campain. What an asswad

There. I think I covered most swear words I know in an attempt to filter out some fluffiness.

Damnit. I missed a cuss word.

Well crap.

On a personal note (heehee):
Happy Birthday to Jayme Ervin. The world is a higher place with you in it. I love you girl.

The one sure thing that really sucks about life is that there is always that one friend that you love and care about dearly, who you don't realize you love and care about dearly until they are up and gone. There's always that one that you never really thought you'd miss, until he moves to Gurnee without giving you promised drunken bonding time. In case you are reading this and you aren't sure who I'm bitching at now, his name is Chris. He is my doll baby. I could tell him anything and not have to worry about it. He rules. Chris is the kind of guy that gives you a hug, even though you smell cause you haven't showered because your idiot boyfriend called you from jail. He's also the type of guy that gives a girl a ride to her idiot ex boyfriends house (even though the jackass is very pierced, tattooed and angry with a very long jail record whos jealous of him and wants him to die) so she can get her stuff. Which is why when he told me he was in Gurnee, it was all I could do not to kick his ass. No more could I play the "Make the bitchy shitty sorority sluts jealous by hanging out/driving with/hugging/sexually harassing the really hot guy" game. He's got this really good knack for knowing when I'm down and out, and somehow always makes me feel better by doing something goofy, like writing me poetry on his blog. It made me smile, and it was a supersweet thing to do. He didn't even mind when I curled up at his back like a kitten. I never realized how much I'd miss him now that hes all the way in Gurnee. Thats okay though, I'll just use it as guilt trip ammo to get myself a nice set of naked pictures.

I mish yoo Chris-topher. :::Smooootches:::

Middle fingers back up people! My archives are back, but alot of them are on butt ugly templates I'd never use, which you should all know if you've ever seen my decorating abilities.
Screw you blogger people! I think they are trying to kill me dead.

Rock On. I bitched and pissed and moaned enough and all the sudden my Archives are back. Thanks to everyone who sent out a big fuck you.

First of all, I'd like anyone reading my blog to kindly give a nice Fuck You to the blogger people, because somehow some way my archives have fucking disappeared. Must've been the censorship fucking fairy.
Now on to the goods.
This blog is dedicated to Chris, for a few reasons. One being that I wouldn't have survived a shitty breakup without him. Two, because I wouldn't have been drunk throughout that shitty breakup without him, and three, because he's got a nice butt and if I kiss up maybe he'll send me naked pictures. Chris, I miss ya, you're my boy.

I am certifiably an idiot when it comes to relationships. Honestly. There is a general rule when it comes to my relationships. If someone likes me, I have not a clue. If someone wants to date me, I don't have the slightest idea, and if someone is in love with me, I am totally in the dark. People can spell it out to me in black and white, and I still don't understand. It's like pulling teeth from a chicken. The conversations usually go something like this:
Dreamboy Says: Clare, I am in love with you.
Clare Thinks: Cool. He doesn't mind being in a car with me for more than 10 minutes.
Clare Says: Ooo Taco Bell!

Dreamboy Says: I don't want anyone else, I want you!
Clare Thinks: God he never fucking lets up does he?
Clare Says: FINE! I'll get you some fucking cigarettes, but I still don't see why Shawn can't do it.

Dreamboy Says: I love you. Let's sleep together.
Clare Thinks: Holy shit, how much did this guy drink?
Clare Says: Alright.

So, as my friends I'm begging you, next time tell me. I never have any idea. Ever. I was planning on being that scary lady who lives in a big mansion all alone with her 14 cats, until I realized that I'm allergic to cats. Thus, I have no plans for my future romantic life. So, even if you think I know that someone's got it for me, I don't. I could be wandering around wearing 3 months salary on my ring finger driving his brand new coupe and carrying his child, and I still wouldn't have a fucking clue. Throw me a bone here people.

Soo. I decided to grow a set, and finally give y'all a way to email me. So here you go. Feel free to bitch and moan.
TweekerChickQC at yahoo.com
But, fair warning:
1.Anything you send me becomes my property. Thus, I can do ANYTHING I WANT with it. If I want to wad it up in a ball and wipe my ass with it, there's not jack shit you can do to stop me.
2.I'm still not a nice person. You most likely will only be giving me more ammo.
3.You aren't going to change my mind. People have been trying for years. It doesn't work. All it really does is piss me off and make me more stubborn than before.
4.No matter how strongly you feel for me or my writing, chances are you aren't my soulmate. Chances are I won't date you. Chances are, you are the reason people buy mace.
5.I know I'm an asshole. Please, don't tell me again. Be original. It makes it easier for me to make fun of you.
6.I know this is the only place I will probably ever be published. Don't remind me, and I won't hit you.
7.You may think that I'm whats wrong with America today. I think you are the reason people should use condoms.
8.Don't threaten me. It doesn't work. I don't care. So you may want to kill me. Take a fucking number. It'll just save me the trouble of doing it to myself later in some retarded fashion.

So, email away! I'd love to hear from you.

So, I'm sure most of you have heard the good/bad news (Depending on your view point and whether or not I think you are a complete dickhead) by now. There is a phenonmenally good chance that I will be returning to Augustana next fall. Nothing is offical as of yet, but I've definately been weighing the differences between my house and Augustana. This is what I've come up with so far.

Home: When people see you chilling in your room listening to Pink Floyd and drinking green Kool-Aid, they ask you if you are stoned like it's a bad thing.
Augustana: When people see you chilling in your room listening to Pink Floyd and drinking green Kool-Aid, they ask you if you are stoned because they want to borrow your bong.
Home: When you leave a peice of pizza laying around and it starts to grow mold, Mom bitches, moans and lends you a Haz-mat suit to get rid of it.
Augustana: When you leave a peice of pizza laying around and it starts to grow mold, you don't notice. Because the mold in the refrigerator has already attacked you and you can't move to get help, and no one is around because your stupid stoned ass lent them your bong.
Home: You stay awake nights staring at the ceiling because Dad passed out with the TV on again.
Augustana: You stay awake nights staring into your pillow drowning out the sounds of your roommate having sex.
Home: Free cable.
Augustana: Free ammo when pledging comes around. (:::insert sheep impression here:::).
Home: You don't have to worry about the person one stall over when you are harfing up the bottle of vodka you drank.
Augustana: You don't have to worry about being lonely while barfing up the bottle of vodka you drank, because the chick in the next stall is harfing up her third kegstand.
Home: You can always find everything, even in the dark while highly intoxicated.
Augustana: You meet your best friends by wandering into their room by accident in a drunken stupor at three a.m.
Home: You can wander around you room naked.
Augustana: You can wander around your room naked, while giving your roommate and the quad a show. Who knows, it may turn into a career.
Home: You get stoned, and insanely parinoid that Mom KNOWS just by looking at you.
Augustana: You get stoned with a good looking person, and insanely parinoid that you have to go back to your friends without being able to tell them that you got a peice of ass.
Home: You have total privacy to be a dork.
Augustana: You have total privacy to make fun of others who are being dorks.
Home: You can watch the hot neighbor mow the lawn shirtless.
Augustana: You can sit in your friend's room and watch the hot guys play volleyball shirtless.

So, if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm excited about getting back to make all of your lives a living hell once again. If you are one of my potato buddies, be ready to consume alot of them. If you are one of my cute boys, be ready to deal with me when I get loaded. And if you are one of the people I don't like, sucks to be you.

I know. I've been a bad bad author again by not updating regularly. Well, deal with it. My life has been sucking like a hoover and today is the only day I had enough marijuana to make me feel inspired enough to write anything but long strings of profanity to a certain someone mentioned in the last blog but who shall remain nameless now in an attempt to make me appear mature about this whole thing. So, deal with it.

I'm not bitter.

In the past couple of days I've come to a few conclusions. I suppose I can share them with my loyal, and great, although small and bitchy audience. So we'll start at the beginning.
1)You can't trust anyone. Especially if you think that you love them. Seriously. Love is the french word for "Too horny to see what an envitiable disaster this will turn out to be". If you trust people, you are just giving them more ammo for later on. Your best friend may seem accepting of the fact that you like Gutemalean goat porn, but the minute he finds out you screwed his bitch, your life is over.
2)No matter what you do, you well never be attractive to the exact type of person you want. You can pluck, pinch, pull, starve and liposuck whatever you want. It won't happen. It's a fucked up fact of life. I'm not a gorgeous person, but I'm pretty. What I want is a guy who has his life together and a good job and no massive addictions. What I get is totally different. I now consider a good date one where no one throws up.
3)I will never have a healthy, normal relationship. It's not in my psyche. I can't do it. If by some miracle of god I do wind up dating a nice, funny, good looking guy, I will have to do something to fuck it up. Good relationships happen to people on TV. I will never have one of those. The main players in most of my relationships will be Captain Morgan, Jack Daniels, and Mary Jane.
4)I will never be a model, actress or movie star, simply because I like to eat more than once a month. I may not be a thin waif of a girl, but atleast I don't have to worry about blowing over if a breeze kicks up. Anyway, fat people are harder to kidnap.
5) I also realized I will never be a famous author. Thus, every time you read this I want you to send me 5 dollars. My reading audience is small. I probably know where you sleep.

This isn't going to be my usual blog. Too much on my mind. Stuff I have to get off of my chest. I need to say a few things to a few people, and although I try not to air my dirty laundry, I need a place to vent too.

Deanne~
You're my girl. I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose and I am glad we are ok again. Short, simple and to the point.

Jeremy~
I don't know what to say. I really don't. What you did, what you said, everything, hurts so bad that I can't put it into words. You were supposed to be my best friend. The way you hung me out to dry when your ass was on the line was not only cowardly, but it makes me sick. I'm not sure if i could ever forgive you. That being said, I do love you alot. And I do care about you. That's why I just don't understand how you could do something like this to me. After everything I've done for you. This sounds like a niave little girl talking, but I suppose I thought we had something better than that. What you said on the phone didn't even make me angry. It hurt. Alot. You can never take that back. I hope someday you change your mind and want to talk to me again, I really do. I do miss you, but know that it won't be the same. I really tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I just can't anymore. You fucked with my head and you fucked with Deanne's. I could handle that. But you betraying my trust like that was too much to deal with. Just, know that I'm thinking of you now and again, and I do miss you. And I hope you can look back and see what happened, and maybe miss me too.

Everyone else~
Sorry this wasn't the blog you were expecting. Tough shit.

To all my males that are reading this: You know I love you.

I hate my male friends. Seriously. Jeremy is right now sitting on my futon kicking a Playstation 2 game's ass. Royally. He can even get the car away from the wall, when I on the other hand, she who owns the Playstation 2, is lucky if I can turn it on. I am now totally convinced that if you are born with a penis you are also born with some innate ability to play pointless driving games. Its amazing. Men can drive beautifully on a video game, but get them behind the wheel of an actual car, and all you can see are pedestrians running for their pathetic lives. Which is their own fault for not having a car. I also think if you are born with a penis you are more likely to totally throw away great advice. I am not the end all be all of being smart, don't get me wrong. I throw away alot of good advice. But logic like "Don't eat stuff off of the floor" and "Please don't set yourself and small children on fire" is lost on them. Totally lost. I actually watched my best friend take a stun gun to his own thigh. Three times. On gravel. Now, if you are going to insist on being a dumbass, you can atleast use it on your thigh when your, I don't know, not on alot of hard pointy rocks. Like a bed. But I choose not to stun myself if I can help it. This is also the same man who maced himself to see what it would feel like. Seeing as it is used as a deterrent from attackers, I just assumed it didn't feel good and didn't try. This is why we have men. To do all the stupid shit women wished they could do. I wish I could do stuff like accidently punch myself in the balls and have it be funny, but not have people say "That dumb fuck". But it will never happen. Namely cause I don't have balls. I need to grow some. More on that later.