June 17, 2003: I absolutely hate my mother. She is the biggest egocentric pain in my ass I’ve ever known. I’ve been wanting to do my hair (color it black) for months, and she is just so “busy” that she can’t find 30 fucking minutes out of her fucking busy life to do my hair? Bullshit. So, realizing that the stupid bitch was never going to to it (the passive-agressive little shit she is), I took it upon myself to find the developer, a timer, and all I wanted to know was what kind of bowl to mix the color with the developer in, so as to not stain any of my grandma’s dishes. She of course wouldn’t answer a single question. “Don’t ask me any questions!” she chanted. I felt like stabbing her with the nearest blunt object when she started asking me what kind of pantyhose she should wear on her interview. So I told her what she told me: “Don’t ask me any questions”. What an ass. Grandma is talking to me about my mom and stuff, I just finished all my back-entries. And she just left, right when I don’t need her to stop talking for a bit so I can finish. How murphy’s-law. I think I fell asleep in my room.