alya

Let's see, I'm a tough biker chick from the wrong side of the tracks, but I have a heart of gold. Actually, I'm just an average suburbanite who enjoys Dreamsicles and Pornosaurus. I write and watch/worship Conan O'brien. I think that's about all. Color me boring.
Oh, and contact? I don't think I'll be contacted, but whatever.
AOL Instant Messenger, hoz: See Bob Dole Run
Yahoo: ParlorDoor
Xanga: http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=lovelyecho
E-mail: [email protected]
Likes:
Grammar, interesting people, funny people, film making, writing, art, music, creativity, Mexicans, boys who are my weight but a foot taller, crappy teenage facial hair, love, nice people who talk shit about people I hate, those kids in class who make fun of other kids who make their dogs lick their balls, singing badly in my car, when there's no traffic, chandelier earrings, eccentric jewelry, guilty pleasures, King Kabob, vegetarians/vegans, FGOTL (fagoatal--fat girls on the loose), sweatshirts, funny t-shirts, piggy back rides, my ship of fools, video games, crossword puzzles, feeling smart, guys who wear button down shirts, flowers, Donovan, baking sweet treats, a well dressed boy, good breeding stock, The Oregon Trail, and sleeping.
Dislikes:
Ignorance, racism, close-mindedness, boring people, Hot Topic kids, whiny kids, cutters, suicidal kids, anime, suburban kids who complain about being depressed, people who are not easily entertained, being cold and not having a blanket, wet hair in the winter, unbrushed teeth, smooth jazz, fashionably bisexual people, and bad conversationalists.
AKA: Uncle Terror, Little Lepp, Romes, etc.
I think this little story I wrote a few years ago will sum me up:
Uncle Terror: The Man, the Mystery, the Legend.
The concept of Uncle Terror might confuse you, but don’t worry, this is normal in today’s world. The society which we have all grown up in is censored so thoroughly that our forefathers, the brave men who wrote the Constitution, would frown down upon us if they only knew. The best way of explaining Uncle Terror would be to start with Uncle Terror: The Man.
Uncle Terror is not a man. Uncle Terror is a small southern girl, who looks no fiercer than a playful puppy.
Name: Alya
Height: 5’
Weight: 103
Hot?: Oh yeah.
Cool?: Fascinating new studies have proven that I am, indeed, too cool for school.
So why would a teenage girl call herself by a man’s name? Is she butch? The answer, dear readers, is no. Uncle Terror is neither a lesbian, nor does she desire to be a male member of society. Uncle Terror is simply a separate entity, which my mind has conceived, birthed, and loved. This concept is best described in a touching quote by me:
“Sometimes I get the feeling that someone is trying to tell me something. Then I just get smacked upside the head by my pimp, and I continue whoring around.”
This quote sums up the inner turmoil of my mind. Will these thoughts ever be freed? Will my mind finally be able to fly? Am I butch? No, god dammit, I am NOT a lesbian. Just because my name is masculine, does not mean that I am a manly woman who desires sweet, sweet woman meat. What? You still wanna call me gay? Well, I have a scary boyfriend who can bench press 500 pounds who’ll say otherwise.
So you know the (wo)man, you know the mystery (I’m not gay), now it’s time to learn the legend… the legend of Uncle Terror.
“And introducing our special guest this evening, Justin Timberlake as drunken pirate ..12!” Uncle Terror announced over the loudspeaker. This new job as a variety show announcer was sweet. I mean, it was seriously sweet. Uncle Terror had finally found the perfect job… it was as if it was destiny. But something went wrong. Terribly wrong. You see, this was a few years ago when Justin had an afro. A la Michael Jackson’s Pepsi commercial fiasco, Justin’s hair had caught on fire, and, looking for a scapegoat, everyone blamed Uncle Terror. Uncle Terror had been chased out of town by an angry mob, tearfully swearing revenge the whole time. Some say something inside that previously normal mind had snapped. Uncle Terror had been driven insane.
Roaming the countryside, the ex-announcer spread sheer terror throughout the country, killing babies, eating small animals, mutilating families, coughing on virgins, and generally running amuck. Uncle Terror became obsessed with destruction and soon became the target of government employed assassins. But no one could touch Uncle Terror. No one. No. One. They tried… oh, how they tried, but Uncle Terror was invincible. Eventually Uncle Terror decided to create a 60s-style band, akin to the groups of the British Invasion. Along with Kate and DJ Lube, the trio started making music, which didn’t sound at all like the British Invasion, but, you know, whatev. Unfortunately Uncle Terror destroyed Kate, but the band continues, and Uncle Terror still seeks bloody revenge. And that is Uncle Terror in a nutshell.