hello my name is Andrea Hunter. I would have been Andrea Niederauer if i had known how to spell it. i enjoy it when people call me Dre, and to my great amazement people have started doing it. i enjoy old things and i am completely in love with Jesus Christ Superstar. i like clothes, and between new stuff i buy and old stuff my mom gives me, i have officially run out of closet space. i get annoyed when people ask me how i'm doing, just to make convorstation, and i usualy answer with "good" to make them find another topic to fill the awkward silence with. i despise small talk and avoid it at all costs. i'd rather sit in silence then waste energy pretending to be carefree. i try to avoid dumping my problems on my friends but i end up doing it anyway. without my friends i would be lost right now. i enjoy having deep convorations because they get my mind off of the perishable troubles i go through. i have just recently received a stab in the back and and a kick to the heart, but i am glad to say i am recovering quite well, even if i am having troubles. i like to play with matches and lighters, so i guess i am a pyro by definition. i thouroughly enjoy being different, in any way possible. apparently i look exactly like my mom, but i dont see it. i am an avid fan of tea, and have decided that only the extremely cool kids harvest their own, and i am proud to say i am one of those kids. i play too many car games, and my record is one yellow smart car, two yellow, a red and a blue punchbuggie, along with 8 yellow cars, all seen in less than ten minutes. i have a terrible memory and cannot remember what i was about to say. oh yes, the number thirty four follows me around, and i am becoming quite fond of it. only one person would realize this but i have so much to say i made two of these
i don't know what it is but i cant stand you anymore. maybe because I've been with you for 6 weeks straight. then i got two weeks of freedom, glorious freedom, and it's hard to come back to living in this house, with you, with whom i now associate all the wonderful memories of arguments that you could never bare to lose, the days spent waiting at each corner for you as you lagged behind inconsiderately taking pictures.
my friend told me last night, in alcohol fuelled praise, that you were real. that she had incredible respect for you. and i just couldn't agree. you're real only in the sense that you let us know exactly what is on your mind without bothering if it upsets us. but you don't take the time to listen to me, to consider my opinions, because everything anyone else thinks is completely illogical and a waste of time. you can't grasp that you're views aren't one size fits all. they don't work for everyone; especially not me. You can't...
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