Jillanne84's Journals

They had to fuck with jill_havok...

I enjoy getting where I have to go in record time. One could say I'm a speed enthusiast. One could say that I might be a little too in love with the gas pedal but Christ on a cracker, why wouldn't you be? In your car, you seemingly have more control that you could ever possess in the workplace or in love or even in fellatio, so why my dear readers, would someone want to slap a fine on your beloved narrator for wanting to get home quickly in the late 2 o'clock hour?

The answer: because obviously there weren't any drunk or illegal drivers on the roads that the stupid fucking police had to worry about on that fine Saturday night/Sunday morning. There wasn't that one blue shit 1986 swerving Mazda with expired tags that I bypassed in my incessant need to get to bed. Or the black Magnum in the fast lane going a conscientious 45 mph (had to make revisions from original journal for my beloved American readers) in the "fast" lane. No. They had to fuck with jill_havok.

I was having such a great night. I hung out with good friends and had even "enjoyed" 2 mugs of Tea (thatâ�™s right... this bitch doesnâ�™t drink and drive) earlier in the evening. Perhaps I should have left my friends' house just 5 minutes later or earlier and this entire process would have been avoided but no. God's cruel sense of humour was raining down in my direction in this, the week before the Pleasure Palace, drops. So I see the bright red lights behind me, as I was weaving in and out of the 55 mph traffic. I usually stay at the steady pace of 70 mph so the po-po's can't catch me slipping, but the other cars were moving at a snail's pace and I became frustrated. I go 0 to 60. There is no middle ground for me. Calm to fury. Maybe it was my music choice. Usually I drive home with ballads but for that nights trek I chose some more aggressive musical stylings. A little Pantera and there you go, red light in my rear view fucking mirror.

So my little invincibility complex led me to believe that the red lights behind me belonged to an ambulance, so I got over to the left so that they could pass and save a life. Then they the red lights got behind me. Fuck. That is not an ambulance, that is the fucking Highway Patrol and I'm about to be ticketed. Fuck me. So I pull over to the "emergency lane" and I get a cute loud speaker, telling me to exit the freeway and turn right. I pulled off the freeway and realized that I was shaking. Not because I was scared but because I was infuriated that I was about to lose 30 minutes of my life while these assholian Highway Patrolmen would have to write my ticket. 30 minutes where I could have arrived home, removed my dried up contacts from my precious eyes, disrobed. Now I would be sitting in my car seething and helpless. Fuck.

I pull over, turn my car off, kill the lights, and take my seatbelt off because I should at least experience some comfort in my discomforting situation. The officers turn on their blinding white lights and approach my seemingly hostile vehicle. They then shine their flashlights from heaven into my face from both sides of my car and I am temporarily blinded. I hate them and I wish my car would explode, and send us all to the hell that waits. Self sacrifice. To think someone once told me I was selfish. Harrumph.

"So you were going pretty fast weaving in and out of traffic, why the rush?" Officer Douchebag 1 asks in his dick like tone.

"Just wanted to get home", Havok replies.

"Do me a favour and look into this blue light. Don't turn your head; follow the light with your eyes." Officer 1 says. Of course I'll do you this favour Officer, but just this once because we're friends and you're NOT accusing me of drinking and driving, I think to myself. I also think how if I sassed him, would I be shot in the face or would he throw a brick of cocaine in my backseat and send me to federal prison for the next 25 years of my underwhelming life. Hmmm better not chance this one. So I obey and follow the light. He then puts the light away and asks me if I had been drinking tonight. I think to myself, I passed the light test, so that must mean sobriety right retard? No, he's probably disappointed that he won't be charging this lady with a DUI, so I have won a little for the night and that's always my ultimate goal. I tell him that I hadnâ�™t drunk anything and he pauses pensively. I use the word pensive very loosely as I suspect this 5'4 meathead moron doesn't think hard all that often.

He then asks for my license, registration, and insurance. What he didn't know at this point was that I unstereotypically possessed all 3 in proper and current condition. So fuck him. I make a point of opening my glove compartment tortuously slow and then proceed to throw everything on the floor in a more than dramatic manner, in an effort to find his 3 requested precious items. I slowly rifle through my goods and find all accounted for, I pass them to Officer Douchebag 1, Officer Douchbag 2 stands on my passenger side shining the unnecessary light on my more than irritated face.

Officer 1: " Where you coming from?"

Danger: "A friend's house in Mount Pearl"

He walks away with his piece of shit partner and a new Honda speeds past us and I think to myself, there weren't bigger fish to fry huh? I wished for the 20 minutes that they were writing my ticket and profiling me that I had just been a big titted, small waisted, platinum blonde caucazoid. In my present and future condition I would never know the amazing feeling of getting caught speeding and being sent off without a ticket. I mean a couple years ago, I got a seatbelt ticket and I was wearing a fucking seatbelt. The only luck I've ever known is the bad kind. Damn this white chip on my black shoulder.

Okay now its 2:20 am and I'm starting to fall asleep in my seat, a despicably drunken thing to do for a sober lady, but fuck my eyes are dried shrivelled raisins and I'm emotionally exhausted from this bullshit. Then Officer Piece of Shit 2 walks up and it's his time to shine. He is a middle aged stumpy caucazoid with a militant crew-cut. Something about the look in his eye and his supremacist moustache tells me that he defiantly voted Conservative (FUCK you Steven Harper).

Officer 2: "Can you sign here"?

Danger:" How fast was I going "?

Officer 2:" 85".

Danger: "Really"? (In a rather condescending tone)

I immediately flinched and realized that that brick of cocaine is about to be left in my trunk this very minute. By the way, my entire car is filled to the brim with boxes and at least 2 suitcases that he had been eyeing suspiciously when they first pulled me over. I didn't feel the need to explain that I was moving in a week because what the fuck do they care, they have a quota to fill. He then tells me my court date is on the bottom.

Officer 2: "Do you have any questions?"

Danger: "Nope." (I really popped the p on that one because I didn't care about a brick of cocaine in my backseat, irrationality thine name is Danger.)

He then proceeded to walk away and I yelled out the window, "Am I free to go?" .They did not respond. I wished for their immediate demise and proceeded to cautiously pull away. I took the street all the way home so I could think about what just happened. I was overcome by a thick feeling of paranoia and sadness. As I drove 60mph on the surface street (in an effort to redeem my ego and give a silent fuck you to the shitty CHP) I realized that though I could complete traffic school and avoid my insurance being raised, I wouldn't be able to speed for a year and a half without getting a point on my record. These bastards had just ripped away from me the very thing that brings me joy on a daily basis. I know that it's unsafe and potentially life threatening but speeding soothes the day to day work pain and life pains that I'm always trying to flee from.

Then the denouement... I got home and took a second to look at the ticket and examine it for my court date. Febuaryr 3rd. 3 weeks before my 25th birthday. You Bastard.

Thanks God. What's next? Rabies. Or maybe mono?

Adam Carolla and NWA had it right. Fuck the police.

Don't depend on the light to find you...

Hey,

It seems so long since we've talked. I'm well... very well indeed. Maybe even happy enough to say that "I've found Jesus!" No but really... I made a pledged to myself a few months ago to stop the past from ruining my expectations. The repayment of doing so have dwindled my tension level to a measure that I didn't consider to be probable.

Although I still agonize about classes and work, I now grasp that, at this point, nothing is excessive and I can get through it as it means zilch 6 months down the road. I feel bad that I don't get to write to anyone anymore.

I virtually never check my mail (since its usually filled with junk and FW that mean nothing). Journal writing has also been put on the back burner for the past few months. I reassessed my notes/journals that I've written in the previously... how sad that the past consumed me and my thoughts. I decided that I deserved more in life than pain.

Enough about me... how have you been?

maybe I am maturing?

Hello all,

Iâ�™m a doucheâ�¦ deal with it! I think more of myself than others at all times. I need attention like an infant. Sorry there havenâ�™t been messages, notes and journal entriesâ�¦ Iâ�™m a heartless whore who has realized that she needs to focus on dealing with her problems rather than shovelling them down stranger pie holes. Iâ�™ll try to keep in touch but Iâ�™m not as in love with this commercialized site anymoreâ�¦

Much Love and Nonsense,

Jill

Here's to the bride...

Why must I give him everything? Iâ�™ve been with this man for 4 years. Iâ�™ve given him my heart, my bed, and a spot light in my lifeâ�¦ Yet heâ�™s not satisfied?

When will love be sufficient? I fritter night and day attempting to gratify him. I laugh at the badly informed jokes, I smile when I want to cry, I hug when I want to hitâ�¦ He doesnâ�™t appear to notice?

What will be the consequence? Iâ�™m the unaffected person that he theoretically fell in love with all those years ago. Iâ�™m still independent to a fault, Iâ�™m still afraid of marriage and I still donâ�™t have a maternal impulseâ�¦ Iâ�™m not the one whoâ�™s changed!

Iâ�™ve given you my heart, I forgive and I want to forget, in spite of everything Iâ�™m meâ�¦ Why have you changed and presume that you can modify me to suit your latest â�œyouâ�?

No one will win this fight. No one will be left unscathed. All because I refuse to be known as a Mrs.?

The end is but only the beginningâ�¦

A clear mind, a solid heart and a fractured body makes me what I am. Life can surround me all it wants. Fill my world with wonder and mistrustâ�¦ I live for me now! In the past, I have dwelled too often on memories that only damage me more. I required space from this life. Alone with my thoughts I writeâ�¦ if only for my sanity.

â�œIâ�™m not sure, Iâ�™m HIV positive

I just lay witness to one of the funniest social commentaries that basic cable television may ever offer my gentile eyes. On an all new episode of South Park, Eric Cartman contracted the HIV virus from a botched blood transfusion during a routine tonsillectomy. After he receives this horrible news, his teachers announce to his friends that he has contracted this horrible illness. Kyle, Ericâ�™s mortal frienemy, thinks this is the funniest check karma has ever cashed and he canâ�™t control his urge to laugh in Ericâ�™s face.

An enraged Cartman enlists the help of his faithful dipshit sidekick Butters to hoist Cartman into Kyleâ�™s room while he sleeps so that he can deliver revenge. Cartman proceeds to draw blood from his arm and inject that needle into Kyleâ�™s cheek. Days pass, Kyle gets sick, goes to the doctor and finds out that he has HIV as well. After receiving his prognosis and an anal sex question from his doctor, Kyle is enraged and seeks Cartman out for a fistfight in the schoolyard. A few references to cancer being the new disease du jour and AIDS being retro and an appearance by Mr. Jimmy Buffet, Kyle and Cartman pretend to be cancer patients to get free airline tickets to fly to Los Angeles where they find Earvin "Magic" Johnson. After touring his mansion they find out that Magic sleeps in a room filled with cash and this has made him stay healthy for the last 18 years. The 3 of them rush to a research facility where scientists inject Kyle with $180,000 dollars worth of liquefied money, which cures him and the boys are treated to another Jimmy Buffet concert for helping to cure one of the deadliest diseases ever known to man. A brief shot of Africa and a funny catch phrase, â�œIâ�™m not sure, Iâ�™m HIV positive, help round this episode out with a few laughs for the intellectually challenged viewers.

I have long held the conspiracy theory that Magic Johnson had bought the cure for HIV since way back in high school. It has been one of the longest running arguments I share with my mom, who feigns oblivious to the ultimate power of money. I remember being like 7 or 8 years old when the news of Magic having the disease came out. It was the first time I had really paid attention to what would become a pandemic. I, then grew up and subconsciously awaited the news of Magicâ�™s HIV turning into AIDS and eventually seeing one of the most successful black entrepreneurs of my time pass away to my behest. But a funny thing occurred to me back in the tail end of the millennium when Magic started opening a chain of successful flare inspired diner styled restaurants. I realized his illness seemed to be in remission. He never seemed to lose weight, his complexion never sallower, he was high energy, and never appeared to be unhealthy at all. If anything he has only grown more healthy looking and active as the years have passed. I know not all cases of HIV mean you become deficient or like Tom Hankâ�™s from Philadelphia but to live for this many years with a depleting immune system and no major hospital visits? Hmmm. Ignorance aside the paparazzi pray on this kind of news so someone somewhere wouldâ�™ve made mention of it. Patrick Swayze was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer like 4 minutes ago and they are on his ass and he hasnâ�™t been relevant since "Roadhouse". Whatâ�™s happening here?

I came to the realization after a few years passed and a couple of Magic Johnsonâ�™s Starbuckâ�™s opened that this man who topped Forbes list year after year may have purchased a cure to this "incurable" disease. I sit and think about the innumerable charities and the millions of dollars donated to this cause, this hot social button cause for ten plus years and yet no progress? Polio cured, astigmatism cured, fucking syphilis cured and yet nothing for AIDS. It makes negative sense until you think of how this backwards country works. Well I couldnâ�™t quote statistics or give you a fancy number to prove my point but how much money does the pharmaceutical industry make from an AIDS cocktail? A truckload of pills you absolutely must take on a daily basis or your immune system shuts down when you catch a head cold. Iâ�™m not talking about a few poppable Airborneâ�™s (RIP fraud), Iâ�™m talking $20 a pill horse tablets. And you must ingest like 20 a day to remain healthy.

Where are these research faculties and these mastermind scientists? What did they do with the billions of charitable dollars? Are they knee deep in china white or are they preparing one miracle vaccine only to be distributed to those who possess great wealth, not riches, those who understand what our economy stands to lose if word should ever leak that this fatal disease is with cure.

Think of the Republicans committing mass suicides at the thought of a cure for AIDS going public and the gays coming together to fuck simultaneously without rubbers on the White House lawn in celebration and rebellion. Think about the Democrats, Democrat being another word for a slightly less conservative Republican, projectile vomiting at the mere thought of all the race mixing that will occur when all the hicks that think all blacks have AIDS start getting the good taboo and race mix until America is a sea of beige and the white superior race is practically extinct.

Social order is fucked and no one gives Matt Stone and Trey Parker credit for anything. They havenâ�™t been relevant since 1997 to lesser minds but the truth is they are onto something and they donâ�™t give a fuck who knows. South Park is more aware than your Deepak Chopra and youâ�™re "Secret" or Eckhart fucking Tolle. They all ready got on Oprahâ�™s ass, scientology , AIDS and youâ�™re precious global warming. Beware Clinton-Obama youâ�™re about to get found the fuck out like the governor of New York. Whatâ�™s up Client 9? South Park bitch. Tune in next week.

let it snow...

If Las Vegas is just sin city then St. Johnâ�™s is Sodom and Gomorrah and I think its going to implode momentarily. One can become misaligned with thoughts of committing a small infraction and engaging the cops in a high speed chase just to get a little camera time. The fact that the evening news still has Britney Spears custody battle as the follow up story to the raging fires and the horrible floods.

My odds are at an odds with the fact that we still want to enrapture ourselves in these celebrity miscreants to escape the truth, that the apocalypse has arrived and a lot earlier than expected. We are being brainwashed and consumed to not live. They view us as vegetables juxtapose life forms. We are worse than banana leaves, sallow, vapid and pointless. And so this great false city is starting to turn in on itself. The most obvious suffocation of life since the extinctions of dinosaurs.

We have less use than ever. Every single one of the deadly sins has been exhausted in this great melting pot iconic city of ours. And we will now pay. Flee west my wayward children for St. Johnâ�™s will be done forever in a second. The snow is closing in towards our vanity and hedonism. Suffering will cease as this urgent time driven youth obsessed city shall once and for all do us all the way in with no lubricant.

Hop into your environment friendly electric vehicle, grab a biscotti and skip the tanning salon for today you drive away from this bubble or you will disappear forever, just like Britney Spears self respect.

Antichrist Superstar.

I have come to some exciting conclusions about the state of the world in the last week. 1). The end is definitely near. and 2) Oprah Winfrey is the real Antichrist superstar. What with Britney unravelling at the seams and a woman or black man on their way to running the most powerful country in the world, I've decided that the end is here and it will reach its denouement at the hands of Oprah "watermelon head" Winfrey.

Whoa, all ye scientologists, Jehovahâ�™s Witness', and Mormons. I know this will be hard to swallow for you new age traditionalists but come the fuck on. Any middle aged white woman alive in this country at this minute would gladly castrate their husbands and mail the dead phallus to Harpo Studios if Winfrey even began to touch on this idea. Now I'm not one to dog out, I mean under better circumstances I'd run down the streets screaming that Oprah is the reparations the "man" promised us. A woman who's mere hour-long daytime talk show has served as a catalyst for women's rights, better education, adoption awareness and some damn good Mac 'n' cheese recipes from Mrs. Patti Labelle y'all.. but no. Come the fuck on. This bitch is pure evil.

For all of you in denial, middle America, housewives all across those great states, prepare yourself for the truth. Steadman is a beard. Still not clear enough for you? Mrs. Winfrey is a big former fat muff diver. She eats Gayle from Atlanta to the bay area. Don't be shocked and defensive, I'm no homophobe I just like to point out the obvious. Gayle is namedropped on every show. Steadman appears bi-annually on O's arm at traditional American campaign dinners or an occasional award show. Oprah has bought Gayle a house, is probably raising her son and I even suspect Oprah told Gayle she was going to come out of the closet a few years back so Gayle got a divorce. I've done some research and no one has seen Gayle's ex husband in years. Oprah's eyes twinkle when she speaks her beloved's name. Gayle, that is.
Poor Steadman. He'll never be able to lay another woman or live in a house that homes Twinkies in the pantry. I hope your successful law career was worth it Sir. Pussy.

Now Oprah's book club is where I think the master plan lies. My theory is that Oprah has hired an army of special scientists to prepare the books she chooses on a monthly basis. They range from fiction to autobiography's all the way back to cookbooks. These scientists then track the sales of these books and have concocted a chart. The Chart D' Apocalypse. Here in lies our problem. The books Oprah "chooses" possess an unreal momentum and are blowing records and selling at all time highs. It has come to the point where she only devotes one minute to the book of the month segment and women are hauling ass to the bookstores to get their fixes. Pay attention you assholes. If my theory is correct once Oprah gets her faithful devotees to purchase exactly 10 million books in one week, the end will begin. Oprah's waiting to reach her peak of power.
Her P.O.P.
One month from the date of the ten million sold. Oprah will announce her bid to be the President of the United States. Now this could happen in a non election year, like 2013. But it won't matter because with the newfound power Oprah will receive, women across America will overthrow the government, and anoint Oprah the king of the world and Gayle their queen. Tampons and Coach purse in hand, there will be no stopping them. John Travolta will be the secretary of state, and Tom Cruise will be hung in front of a Roscoe's chicken and waffles. The proud sponsor of Oprah's campaign for good will. All the starving children of Africa will be adopted by the Jolie-Pitts minus Angelina because O will have her slaughtered for never gaining any weight. Writer James Frey will be beheaded by way of the guillotine as Katie Holmes will experience a clitoris circumcision for staying with and making a child with Tom Cruise.
A monument for Dr. Oz will be erected where the Washington Monument once stood and Dr. Phil and family will be killed via firing squad and fed to wild boars for having used and betrayed the new royal family.
And though color will never again be an issue for Americans, we will all have to watch "beloved " every Sunday to pay for our past sins against its crummy box office. The 3 o' clock hour will be the hour of worship where everyone in America will have to stop and watch the gospel as provided by Oprah and Gayle on ABC 7.There will be no alternative religion. Tyler Perry is the prime minister. David Letterman will spend his eternity kissing Oprah's big black ass. Her teeth will never be whitened and Tyra Banks will begin her formal training to replace the queen after her 30 year reign is over.
You can stop this now. Stop buying the fucking books or your children may live in the horrors of watching "Beloved" and worshipping her disciple Halle Berry forever. Stop the insanity of road trips and Nate the designer and bad ass kids being diagnosed with ADHD. Fuck Dr. Robin .We must rise and find a defence!! We must start the revolution now!! Vive Rachel Ray!!

Venting over... whew its been a while bitches!

Choose your priorities!!!

The world owes us nothing!

Youâ�™re 23 and what can you say about youâ�™re existence? This question was mockingly asked to me by a â�œfull-fledged grown upâ�. On other occasions Iâ�™ve walked away with a smirk on my face. Iâ�™ve been asked this question several times by this pathetic ageist man!

I guess I have a certain disposition about me. My emotional wall is miles long with no windows for those who ask dim-witted questions. Sorryâ�¦ let me rephrase that. There arenâ�™t any windows for those who donâ�™t have the balls to ask me a question to my face, without phrasing it in a sarcastic style!

This ignorant man believes that a personâ�™s age makes up the volume of ones life experiences. â�œHow can a â�˜childâ�™ be so damn jaded and critical? Little girl, you havenâ�™t lived long enough to be cynical!â� His comments tend to roll off my back. In point of fact, his ignorance of my life amuses me. This man is in his late 40â�™s. He has a mediocre job that he hates and didnâ�™t need to attend college for. Heâ�™s married but doesnâ�™t seem to appreciate that this woman lowered herself and settled when she found herself pregnant. I guess that a child can be seen as a life accomplishment. Though how big of an accomplishment can it be? He found a woman who was drunk, wasnâ�™t on the pill and he broke the condomâ�¦ nine months later hereâ�™s Sara!

This non-achiever has the idiocy to question the events of my life? â�œYou havenâ�™t lived yet little girl!â� Why should I educate this man about my history? I no longer care what ppl think. This world owes me nothing! We are the ones who choose what happens in our lives. I choose to fight for what I believe in!

Jill

if only to have the summers off...

Sometimes I wish I had lack of complaint and patience enough to be a teacherâ�¦ if only to have the summers off! Though the thought of listening to all those gooey nosed children puts my mind back into common sense mode. I might think of admiring these brave ppl that take on such a job but then I think back to the bastards that attempted to â�œteachâ� me. My prayers are with youâ�¦ if I could find time to pray!

Work has been confining these past few weeks. As a way of escape, my mind wonders at the strangest times. One shouldnâ�™t be thinking about laundry when putting down a catâ�¦ itâ�™s just not right. Yet my mind wonders more.

I canâ�™t stop thinking about my trip to Toronto. What shall I wear on the plane? Will I make Drew take the middle seat? I donâ�™t care too much for the window seat of the isle seat either. Oh well I guess the pilot will have to make room on his laps (I like to see where Iâ�™m going!)

I see no end to the laundry list and other miscellaneous deeds to be done at home. Our house has been sold and I need to get my packing done before the trip! At times like this I realize how much of a pack rat that I am. I hold onto the most ridiculous things for dim-witted reasons. But I digressâ�¦ I have to pack!