A Computer, a Tree, a Cute Guy, and Da Vinci.

Hmm... yeah, it's been a while, right? I'm sorry, I'M SORRY, ok? I'm a little busy over here.

First, my mom HID my computer from me. I don't know why, BUT SHE HID IT. And I had no freaking clue where the HELL it could POSSIBLY be. I mean, where and why do you hide a COMPUTER?

Even if my computer had not been held hostage by my mother, I wouldn't have had much time to use it. Our live TV broadcast over this festival thingie is coming up next weekend, and I've been SUPER BUSY working on all that technical TV stuff.

Oh, and then a big-ass tree fell down in our back yard. Yep. This tree that has supposedly been in existence since the FREAKING CIVIL WAR just suddenly decided it had had enough. I woke up one morning and HELLO! THE TREE'S HORIZONTAL! NEIGHBOR'S CARPORT GONE! FENCE BETWEEN OUR YARDS GONE! Which means I had to take both of our dogs out on a leash one at a time at 5:30 in the morning. My extremely plump Jack Russell Terrier got all excited at the fence being gone and nearly gave me whiplash running to check out the neighbor's yard.

Then, let's see, I met the CUUUUUUUTEST man ALIVE. He graduated from my school's TV and Theatre program that I am currently in and went on to become A BLUE MAN. A Blue Man! And he's REAL CUTE! Anyways, he came back to do a mask workshop with us. I didn't breathe the entire time. So cute.

And I found out that it'll take three weeks and $5,000 to fix my car. Which means I can't do anything extracurricular until I get it back. Poor, poor Mimi. Je t'adore, Mimi.

So I decided to pick up a book. (A BOOK! Exciting, no?) The Da Vinci Code. I hadn't read it yet, and I had a whole day with nothing to do and no computer or car, so I read it. In one day flat. It was spectacular. I like this whole reading thing. I should do it more often.

And that's just about it. It's not really that funny, but I was kind of worried that my whole 2 readers (THAT I LOVE) would think I'd given up on them and desert me, so I thought I should post something QUICK. But I would never leave you guys. Really.

Love Ya,
FF

This is Just PERFECT.

So here's a REALLY funny story:

So, Tuesday afternoon, my "Assistant" Xtina (she's technically the Assistant Talent Producer and I'm the LEAD Talent Producer for this TV show we're working on, but we do the same amount of work) and I finish up working VERY diligently (diligently!) on selecting talent for a Live TV show we have coming up and we decide it's time to clock out. Xtina's only 15, so I, as her caring 17-year-old Lead Talent Producer with a car, volunteer to give her a ride home. I'm so sweet, right? Right.

Anyways, she lives off this really busy road. And it was rush hour. So, we're sitting in the left turn lane waiting to turn onto her street and traffic is NOT MOVING. Finally, after sitting in the left turn lane for FIFTEEN FRICKIN MINUTES, the cars on the two inside lanes decide to let me go. Oh, they're so nice!

NOT. See, the outside lane is a right turn only lane and there aren't any cars passing by, but I can't see if anything's coming or not. Then Xtina points out that the driver of one of the cars that stopped for me was waving me through. So I trusted their word and went. Then,

SMASH.

Yep. You guessed it. There was a car coming up in the right turn lane, REAL FAST. They hit me. We spun around and did, like, A FRICKIN 180! Xtina hit her elbow on something and I had an armrest IMPLANTED in my RIB CAGE, but we were generally unharmed (I would not remained unharmed, however, because I had to experience the Wrath of Mom when I called her and told her I WAS JUST IN A FREAKING WRECK OH MY FREAKING GOD MY CAR HAS BEEN PULVERIZED OUT THE FRAME) and the other driver was unharmed.

The other driver was a nice young lady with curly brown hair much like my own. And she was so nice. She didn't scream or claw our eyes out or pull pistols out of her bra and shoot us or anything. I got lucky. My friend Manda rear-ended a really famous traffic attorney's PREGNANT WIFE once. So I'm thankful. Really.

So, my car, whose name is Mimi (I named her that to express my undying love for the musical "RENT" and my favorite female character in it. Yes, I'm a freak), is ROYALLY screwed up. I tried to back her out of the MIDDLE OF THE REALLY BUSY ROAD, (and HI! people RUBBERNECKING and NOT HELPING), but SURPRISE! my brakes don't work anymore. And SURPRISE! the complete right rear end of my car is shmuched behind my right rear tire. Which is lovely.

Oh, and by the way, as a result of my inability to deal with stress like an ADULT, I have been crying a fucking GULF from the moment it hit me what had just happened until about 5 minutes ago. And this happened Tuesday. It's Thursday now. Time to grow up and apply to colleges.

So, not only do I get ANOTHER ticket (if you may recall THIS lovely little story ) but I won't have a car for AGES while Mimi's in the shop. And I really need to have a car. I have things to see, people to do and no time to wait for my MOM to pick me up.

But the thing that REALLY pisses me off is the fact that the wreck may TECHNICALLY be my fault, but it really isn't. AT ALL. THAT FOOL IN THE OTHER CAR TOLD ME I COULD GO! GIVE HIM THE TICKET! TAKE HIM TO COURT FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER! You, man! If you're out there reading this, know this: Your tab is up. You owe me BIG TIME. I can guess APPROXIMATELY where you live!

I'd better learn how to ride a bike again. Or ride ponies.
FF

Two in One Day? Jackpot!

Ok, so I know it's unusual for me to post 2 of what I like to call "Fashion Fuck-ups" (Pardon my French), but I feel the need to inform the public that there is one MANIAC of a designer out there. Lock your closets and brace yourselves:




Words have completely failed me. Maybe y'all can think of something to say about this.

Dontcha Wish your Girlfriend was Hot Like Me?

Dontcha wish your girlfriend looked like a constipated musketeer Christmas ornament like me?

DONTCHA?!

The First Noted Appearance of Fashion Bitch

Just for the record:

I hate jackasses.

That's all I got for today.

Smart People Movies SUCK

I've come to the conclusion that I just can't watch smart people movies.

Today, I tried to watch A Beautiful Mind, for like the 80th time, and I still had absolutely no clue what was going the hell on. The only thing that keeps me watching it is the fact that Anthony Rapp is in it. And Anthony Rapp= my dream best friend. J'adore all things Anthony Rapp. I want to go shopping with him. And sing showtunes with him. So I kept watching that long-ass movie just for the, like, 4 scenes Monsieur Rapp is in.

And, this is just me, but I found it weird that the guy marries his student. Teacher-student relationships give me the heeby jeebies. Probably because all the teachers I've ever had are like, 130 years old. Eeew!

And another thing. I swear his roommate is Sting. Or that other guy that looks like Sting that's in that tennis movie. Yeah, smart am I. Anyways, I'm too lazy to look things like this up on IMDB, so I will continue to believe that the roommate dude is Sting. I'm sure you can understand my confusion when he never wore a kilt.

considering I've fallen asleep in EVERY class that would probably supply some handy knowledge with A Beautiful Mind, like history and stuff, the only dialogue I understood was the few sexual references and maybe a line or two about champagne.

Yeah. I really don't get math movies. Like October Sky or September Sky or whatever it is. With Jake G. (I am not EVEN going to ATTEMPT to spell his name.) I mean, who wastes all their time building a rocket? Not like a big-ass space shuttle rocket, but a teenie weenie little toy rocket. If I were Jake G.'s character's father, I'd be like, "What the hell, Jake G.? Don't tell me THIS piece of shit is the thing that all this damn hullabaloo is about? What the friggin hell? Get out of my house and wash your face." Yeah, and I don't enjoy all the dirtiness in that movie. There is coal crap EVERYWHERE. I just feel like screaming "COME ON, PEOPLE! WOULD IT KILL YOU TO BUY A FRIGGIN BAR OF SOAP?"

So I will always be a pink, frilly, girly movie person. I watch movies in my language, like Clueless, Pretty in Pink, and Legally Blonde. Because, unfortunately, smart people movies just don't come with subtitles.

Love Ya,
FF

Here's the HOTTEST New Trend!

--- FACELACES!

Make dumb people think you cry crystals!

(Note: If you are uncomfortable around visible nipples, you probably shouldn't even be on this site to begin with, but just disregard the nipple. IT DOESN'T EXIST.)

The Anti-Fashionista

My economics teacher is a NUTBALL. Ok, I do pity the fool who tries to teach ME about saving money and paying bills and yadda, yadda, yadda. But having a uncooperative, stylish student is no excuse for, you know, CRAZINESS.

This is a transcript of one of the conversations held between myself and Mrs. Economics Teacher before we took a test today:

MRS. E.T: Ok, so you have one hundred bucks to spend all weekend, food included.

ME: Only 100? Are you sure?

MRS. E.T: Yes. Pay attention. Anyways, you're going shopping on Friday, and you see this super-cute [sic, I swear] outfit.

ME: Um, define "super-cute" in fashionistalish, s'il vous plait.

MRS. E.T: If you don't shut up I'm going to take your pink fuzzy pen and shove it up your ass.

ME: [Shuts up and hides pen.]

MRS. E.T: Anyways, so this super-cute outfit cost $80. And you have to decide if you want to blow 80 bucks on this outfit or save it for your weekend. What do you do?

ME: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? EIGHTY BUCKS FOR A WHOLE OUTFIT? I'M BUYIN' THAT SHIT! SCREW EATING FOR THE REST OF THE WEEKEND! I AM HAPPY STARVING AS LONG AS I LOOK GOOD DOING IT!

And then I made a 75 on the test. She has something against me, right? I mean, come on, Gilbert Grape's mother has better style than she does. She says "super-cute". And she says it with this rude tone in her voice. Like how I say "last season". Seriously. So what if I didn't study for the test? She's jealous because she can't be 18 again and I haven't even gotten there yet, or because I have fabulous shoes and I can recite every European designer's name in alphabetical order to the tune of "Yellow Submarine" and she can't. Or something.

OH! And then there's this girl! Her little cronie pet! She wears cycling t-shirts and a red FLEECE Northface (Hello! SUMMER!) tied around her WAIST and NO make-up whatsoever and apparently she doesn't own any face wash at all (and I KNOW that's mean and critical and I'm "judging a book by it's cover" and all, but you have to understand, she's just NASTY). And she wears CLUNKY MEN'S WORK BOOTS. And she tries to make fun of me. But I have friends in this class, see. She can't convert my buddies to fashionista foes. Nope. They are unconvertable.

So all this week I've been battling a handful of anti-fashionistas. And that-pig-in-my-fourth-period-class-who-likes-to-wear-too-small-clothing. But it's nothing new.

Love ya
FF

This is What Happens When You Think You're Smart

Wow, it's been a while, right? Couple of days? Something like that? I'm real sorry, kids. But I signed up for TWO Advanced Placement classes.

Yeah, I KNOW, okay! I am a friggin MORON. But you have to understand-- last year when we were signing up for our senior classes my French and English teachers DREW ME INTO THE TRAP. They told me I was SMART. They FLATTERED ME. Anyone who knows me knows that 1. I am NOT smart, and 2. I LOVE flattery. I am blinded by it. I am BLIND. AND STUPID.

So, yeah. Two AP classes. English and French 4.

So this week I've done NOTHING but LANGUAGE CRAP. Reading English Novels. Reading French Novels. Writing essays on books I was supposed to read this summer but chose NOT to, because, you know, I'm SMART. (And for the record, j'adore Spark Notes.)

And my other teachers are helping out with the workload SOOOOOOO much, too. They know that I just LOVE to slave over billions of books every night of the week. They really, REALLY liked the idea of homework on Tuesday. The day the new episode of Queer Eye comes on. My favorite day of the week.

And so I stay up late every night. Doing homework. If I have to stay up late, I'd rather it be because I was doing something FUN, like partying and/or having sex with Orlando Bloom. THAT would be FABULOUS. But no, I'm doing piles of homework.

Thus I've come to the conclusion that high school is trying to ruin my fashionable life.

High school can go screw itself,
FF

School Royally Sucks!

This just in:

The people on the school board here are TRYING THEIR HARDEST to make my senior year a living hell.

Y'ALL! We have to TUCK IN our shirts!

My tops are UNTUCKABLE! (Note: My tops are indeed quite fabulous, and not in any way skanky or trashy, but hand selected by the most exquisite tastes imaginable).

We have to wear pants that sit on our WAIST. HELLO! THIS IS THE TWO-THOUSANDTHS (??)! They don't even MAKE pants like that anymore! Which means every kid in my school will be shopping at the Discount Salvation Army For People Who Enjoy Cameltoe. Hooray.

Ok, I know this stupid dress code is for our own good and yadda, yadda, yadda. But if they're going to make us look like-- I don't want to say it-- ERKEL (EEEEW!), then why can't they just give us school uniforms and save people like me from dropping out and moving to a far-away, exotic country like Canada? Just let us wear our own shoes. I'm not ALIVE without my shoes.

And, to make my life even WORSE, they've made it so I CAN'T EVEN BE FASHIONABLY LATE anymore! I'll get detention! WHAT?! They are SOO jealous of my grand entrances 5 minutes after the bell rings!

WHY do I have to live in a city where they DO NOT meet ends with the Fashionistas? I BLAME MY PARENTS.

Complaining feels SO good right now.

Love Ya,
FF

P.S. J'adore everyone who's commented. Gros bisou! (I think that's correct French. Oh well. I meant to say "big kiss".)