The Angel with an assault rifle

I think of my role models at times like this.
Lady Gaga (a questionable but still very relevant role model)
Poppy Z. Brite (because she's morbid as muffins)
Russel Brand (because he's weird as mutant muffins)

Why is it my role models are people I've never met? And more importantly people who either a) are going through a wonky phase and will normal out eventually or b) the biggest attention whores in the history of pop culture?

I don't know. At 1am my brain begins to wander. Grand Total of Friends for the summer? 0.
And I bitch and moan about this a lot. Probably more than I actually need to, but when I think about it, there's only three people I can actually enjoy the company of and I am down right terrified of having to lie to someone to get away from them.

The simple equation still stands to be proven wrong: my liking someone > someone liking me.
Perhaps it's the mirror I broke freshman year, or the dynamic change from drama tease to silent psycho. But don't let the internet be your guide here.

No. The tone you read this with will most likely come across as highly negative. It isn't. It's indifferent. You see, me and emotions don't really get along. Must be these soulless black eyes, mmm yummy. Why this topic for a post tonight?

Tonight on the news, there was a report about a study where women and stress are bad together. Oh yes. Very bad. Stress in itself is bad. But women have so much more to deal with besides the recession and children. It's hard carrying a uterus. TO solve stress, simply drink red wine (but not too much), exercise, and be social. People who are social live longer. Which makes sense, because generally things that bring pleasure into your life aren't causing stress, stress kills, therefore pleasure makes you live longer. I drink red wine. I exercise. But I'm not social. Not if you actually know me. I'm picky, and shallow, and a bitch. But if you're intelligent, good looking and tolerate my weirdness (and give me cookies) I take it upon myself to be your guardian angel.

Do I have an angel? No.
Do I want an angel? Maybe.
Do I need an angel? Yes. I'm simply a hazard to the world if left to my own devices.

Deep down in the place of my soul where wishes blossom, I hope that this De Anza thing will bring with it a new armada of interesting people worthy of calling friend. I'm incredibly happy all my classes are in the evening though. I work so much better at night.