This is fun.

I'm a fifteen-year old South-Floridian female living in a 18th century home. (figuratively, I mean.)

My mother was raised in a small New York apartment most of her life, under the scrutiny of her totalitarian mother, and wasn't even allowed to go shopping by herself until she was seventeen. Why should you care?

Lets just say history has a way of repeating itself. And if you care enough to read my entry, then you must care enough to hear about my problems...

Ok. Maybe I'm being a little bit too cynical. I love my parents. I really do. I guess they just must love me TOO much.

It's not like my life is one big blue period Picasso painting or anything. I'm just an ordinary teenager growing up in a nice little suburb of miami...i have two brothers, a cat (my confidant), and a chinchilla. If you don't know what a chinchilla is, look it up. I hate explaining things over and over.

I mean, i don't really have anything to be upset about...not really. But shit happens you know? And i like having my computer, with my little mug of coffee there with me to spit it out.

Whatever. It's late. I'm tired. I need my beauty sleep. Good-night.