unanswerable despressing topic that goes nowhere

missing girl a 'porn star'

so i just read that story: a young girl that does DIY porn on the internet, and why the hell not, well she goes home with some older guy she just met from a bar. she ends up a missing person; his motel room is found all bloody. ughhhh. so of course everyone says or thinks tsk, tsk, don't go home with strangers, slut. but god, that could have been me (back in my "slut phase" of course!) or one of my friends. i know i have found myself in ...questionable situations.

the fact of the matter is that guys simply do not have to worry about being possibly raped or killed when going home with a girl from the bar for a one night stand. it's so depressingly true that despite everything that feminism has done for us (we can go to school! we can vote! we can climb the corporate ladder too, hooray!) that we cannot be equals in this way. we walk home drunk holding mace in the dark, looking hot but not too hot because then you're asking for it, god, this is bullshit.

This is a fucking PROBLEM and it seems to be getting worse, or else the media just wants to scare us indoors, or both.

I don't get rape, I'll never understand how so many men have it in them to rape, and how in many men sex and violence are so intertwined. And what about rape fantasies and why so many women have them yet find the idea in real life repulsive, like some cruel trick nature is playing on us all, what do you do with all this?

I just don't know what to think or feel about porn. I get this urge to take a stance on it, but I can't. Considering most men look at porn, and I look at porn sometimes, and we enjoy it together and are able to separate it from reality; but on the other hand most women in porn are victims of sexual abuse in the past, the porn industry is getting noticeably more violent and misogynistic, and it encourages men to look at women as FUCKING OBJECTS. But then I can understand women kind of wanting to be porn stars and getting pleasure out of men jerking off to them, and that they should be able to do so without being judged, but then again they are perpetuating the whole 'objectify me please' thing, so yeah.......

so why are people not trying to find a solution for the root of the problem, or an end to the cycle of sexual violence again?

oh, phantom audience, here's another story

depressing as fuck this will make you cry maybe

The worst years of my life.

Today I looked at the myspace page for Mortified and their web page. I've read about Mortified quite a bit, but haven't actually checked it out. It sounds really cool and fun, of course, and then I remembered my old high school diaryland account that is still online, and thought, well of course I have some hilariously mortifying things I must have written. I'm going to find these things that will seem so cute and silly 7 years down the road -- after all, I'm an adult now! Except that I've been looking through the thing for awhile now, and everything I've read is doing quite the opposite to me. I expected to find sweet endearing things I could picture myself reading aloud on This American Life. I'm even narrating this post in Ira Glass's voice now:

I.G.: Instead, what she found, was a different story.
Me: It's wasn't cute or funny, instead, it made me nauseous and nervous and depressed. I can't even link to it. I wouldn't want anyone to read this, it's beyond mortifying, and I usually don't even feel that uncomfortable about exhibiting my innermost emotions.


so yeah disappointing.
this is one thing i found that's a bit "haha, wtf":

i do remember one thing. today i learned that the reason burglars in movies put a stethescope up to a combination lock is so they can hear the little tick when they get to the right number. i don't know why i never thought about it before, but i was watching a fish called wanda today, and this dude used a stethescope in the movie, and it just hit me. so that's why they do it!!

this makes me kind of worried yet happy. worried that anyone can break into combination locks with a stethescope. it's just kind of unsettling. you might as well just leave the damn locks off. yet i'm happy to know that if i ever need to break into something with a combination lock, i only need to first find a stethescope.

hey here's another unsettling fact: three of the last 50 people to look at my diary looked at it because they typed something along the lines of "poop shit girls" into google.

I wonder why I was so worried that people could break into combination locks.

I can't sift through any more entries to try and find anything "good"...I wish god would strike me with amnesia for fall 2000 - summer 2002. 80% of the entries are about a certain abusive relationship and reminded me of things I don't want to remember. I still have occasional nightmares about it. I guess I should "get over it", it wasn't "that bad".

is my life worth the space in the world it takes?

I spend a lot of the day reading Jezebel (and not commenting). Usually it makes me happy because I like their confused feministy point of view, that is feminist, but also "girly", while still intelligent. The women that comment are also for the most part very witty and smart and caring people. Today there was shit talking about 1. leggings and 2. Sex and the City.

How I feel about leggings. Wonderful article of clothing they are, and I say this in the least brainwashed way. As for Sex and the City, OMG I am so excited for the movie. Shut up. Yes there's the stupid Carrie Bradshaw "It made me wonder...." and Samantha's ridiculous dick size obsession, etc., and the stupid shoe buying they always bring up that we're supposed to relate to or something, but I love it, and I still love it. I still love it even though so many girls took the message of the show to be whore=female empowerment (another topic altogether). Am I a shitty person for loving leggings and Sex and the City? Am I one of THOSE people? Am I missing something totally profoundly wrong about these things that should make me have nothing but contempt for their existence?

Other things I like that make me stupid:
The Hills
Reading Cosmo cover to cover while traveling
Reading Perez Hilton sometimes

Why should I care? Do jocks ever go, "HMMM buying into all this traditional male gender stereotype stuff by consuming media with misogynist undertones and attending sporting events where machismo and competition is valued over any other aspect of being a male human in this world, well, maybe it is making me an asshole...."

I guess the difference is that a jock at a sporting event probably feels good about himself. He feels like a member of a team, his adrenaline is flowing and his mind is focused on one simple thing. Oh yeah, the other difference is that men pretty much run the fucking world so they don't have to feel bad about anything.

Me reading Cosmo is a different feeling. It makes me feel a bit anxious about things, such as relationships, weight/body issues, my own girliness that is perhaps not enough because I don't actually care THAT much about such things. Mostly it makes me feel anger that women actually read this bullshit. Yet I do it, WE do it sometimes and it's FUN. Isn't there some asshole who said something like "all women are masochists"?

This blog entry has spiraled out of control!

Weird Sunday, this mentions both rape and abortion.

Sunday, yesterday, was a creepy day. I woke up with one of the worst hangovers of my life, seriously, it was like a 9.5. The night before I was obnoxiously drunk, and after getting home from 2 shows, went on and on to Mark about living in this rape culture and being like, no, really, hip hop is dirty and degrading and it promotes treating women like the objects, and I bet like half of the women in the world have been raped at some point, when you consider rape as not giving consent to enter your body. (This includes surprise buttfuck.) I started crying about being raped in the butt when I was 16, and I didn't consider it rape. I said at least 3 times to stop and just decided to wait until it was done, and then I was bleeding and felt ashamed and wanted to cry. I had tears in my eyes, but I didn't cry because I didn't want to make a big deal about it. I thought because I didn't fight back enough it was my fault, and so it was better to act like it was ok then feel used. I've been reading a lot about rape lately and I'm angry. Ugh, well anyway I was crying for a long time that night and Mark hugged me sympathetically.

I woke up with burning eyes and the usual sinking feeling I get in the morning. What did I say and does Mark still love me despite what I said? Yes, he seems to still, it's ok! Mark wanted to go get spaghetti and that sounded really good. We drove to Little Italy, and we passed where I got my abortion. The flags by the hospital were all at half mast. Look, it's for our aborted baby, I said. It's for all the aborted babies, Mark said less enthusiastically. Mark still gets a bit uncomfortable when talking about the abortion, probably because I am overly cavalier about it sometimes, while other times, I CRY ABOUT IT WHEN I'M DRUNK. (I actually haven't done that for a long time.)

We went to this odd looking restaurant and could not tell if it was a corporate chain from the outside, but once we walked in the answer was quite obvious. They had the same font on their menu as Potbelly's and the architecture had that postmodern cartoony look that corporate chains have now. The food was also typical chain food: an overly meaty salad, bland greasy sauce, Xtreme portions. The restaurant had something really cool that you don't find much in Chicago: get your own fountain drink!! They also had iced tea and fresh lemons. AND they had red cream soda! Mark mixed like 6 lemon wedges and red creme soda, and it tasted really good, like strange creamy lemonade. The ceiling was very high and I had that hungover floaty feeling, so the whole time I felt like I was not myself and weird about being in this strange world outside the Logan Square area. A world where you can get iced tea and make "suicide" the drink.

We went looking for this park with a fountain that we drove by earlier to lay down and digest. On the way, we walked in front of this creepy apartment building. It was one of those crappy looking buildings that you would not be proud to live in, very squarish, two stories, all shades of brown, scary looking sliding doors, mini blinds. It's the type of building you would see flashed on the news where a girl would get found raped and murdered in the bathtub. I don't even know if it's because the building looked this way, but we both suddenly felt like we were being watched. I felt it, and then Mark said it out loud.

I think there's dead bodies in there, he said, They're watching us now! He flipped them off and said, hurry up, I just pissed him off! We held hands and walked quickly towards a huge fenced off mound of dirt that looked like a pitcher's mound, for 500 feet tall giants.

Look, there's a cute dog! I said, I feel better now. But Mark was so creeped out and kept talking about the vibes being off. I mentioned how we should tell the cops because we were positive this dude had dead bodies in there. I could smell them now in a way that felt real but I knew was hallucinatory, but it might have been my 6th sense. There were ghosts around us, things kept randomly whistling. I am very serious about this. But the cops could not get a search warrant for bad vibes. They wouldn't ever listen to us.

We walked in a circle and ended up at the back of the apartment building, sitting on a hill staring at the window, daring him to shoot us. Mark flipped off the guy and yelled fuck you I know what you're doing really loud. Oh shit, he's so pissed now, we have to get out of here, Mark said. We were running and I pictured us running across the grass like in a movie, through the guy's sniper target. Mark said, I am going to stand in front of the building and flip off the murderer for two minutes. You can time me. NO! Don't do that! I said. He said, Yeah this is like playing with fire, we have to get out of here NOW.

I had to drive even though I didn't feel like I was on the road. We stopped at a stop light at Chicago and Ashland and looked at a poster.
That poster is cool, Mark said.
Yeah I like it, I said.
I don't like some of it, Mark said.
I don't like the POW, I said.
I like the POW, Mark said.
I don't like the FUCK, I said.
I don't like the way FUCK is written, Mark said.
Yeah, I like the drawing, I said. I think I like it. I don't know.
Mark said I don't like the way the words are written.
I don't like you, I said.
Just kidding, I said really fast.
The light turned green and I turned, almost hitting somebody crossing the street. OOPS. I CAN'T DRIVE ANYMORE!! I yelled.
Why did I say I don't like you, I was wondering and thinking about Freudian slips and I got really scared. I should not say this part out loud. He probably forgot about it, I didn't mean it, is it possible a small part of me meant it? I am mad at him for making me drive but I don't not like him. That is it. I feel weird. I don't want to not like Mark, why am I thinking this? I feel possessed by another brain. Do I have choices in life, or is this brain just like doing things I don't want it to.
Let's go to the record store, Mark said.
OK, I said.
I bought music and Mark bought music and we listened to my new CD and then things felt more normal.
Little Italy is fucked up, we agreed.

where are the toilets please

we just got back from london yesterday. i'm not in the mood for capital letters.

today i wanted to quit my job very badly, because 1. i had the worst cramps in the whole world, and 2. my boss left a shitload of notes on 3 fold-up pieces that go in boxes, wanting me to add certain colors (against the concept) and move a certain picture (pointless) and make fonts bigger (ugly), and squish everything else on the back, even though there is no room, because he doesn't want to pay more to print it nicely, and all of these suggestions will make it crowded and cheaper looking. i imagined a generic bridge-burning scene, where i would throw the papers at him while yelling "fuck this shit" and then i would storm out and diarrhea on the ground, because my stomach hurt.

but then i got the tablet.

its name is mother theresa jr.

i've been so happy since i installed it, and now i cannot quit my job, for i could get in trouble if i stole mother theresa jr. from the office, and i cannot part ways with her. this is true luv. my boss is pretty nice, actually.

in london they always ask where the "toilets" are. you would think they would say "restrooms" because that sounds classier and more brit-like. you would also think they would use elevator instead of lift, because it sounds more intelligent and proper, but nope.

"hipsters"

i can't remember if i've talked about this in this blog before or not, but it's popping up in threads all over the internet and i want to punch each single search result in the face. it's an overdone conversation in real life too, so i won't specifically talk about the actual things these people say, except that while defining a hipster it always mentions at least 3 of these things: american apparel, irony, wicker park or williamsburg (depending on location), getting money from one's parents, art school, indie rock, pretentiousness. the tone of this discussion is most often vicious and hateful. it's not uncommon for a member of the discussion to imagine violent scenarios where hipsters are being killed, while other people in the conversation applaud and empathize with their anger and disgust.

it's also a cliche point that the people criticizing hipsters do many of the things they are talking about, while vehemently abhoring "hipsters" and pointing out that they do many of the aforementioned "hipster" things, while acknowledging their hypocrisy (hipsterocrisy!!! new word!). so in a sense they are being quite ironic about the whole thing. then, as the thread goes on, usually it is brought up that if you go to a hipster bar dressed like an average joe they all "stare at you like a ____" because you weren't wearing skinny jeans. i suppose i have an ironic (actually meta-ironic) tattoo and wear leggings and tapered jeans and went to art school and used to live in wicker park so i am a hipster. so what. i am not an asshole and i am interesting.

so everyone just needs to shut up with the "hipster bashing" and jump on the fuck it train, and realize that with the lack of concrete subcultures and the new internet culture, that kids and young adults now have access to a wider variety of material, and therefore cultivate a wider variety of interests than previous generations -- who mostly heard about things from actual people IRL, therefore having an actual tangible herd of people to bond with and feel comfortable around -- instead of the way it is now: feeling isolated and knowledgeable and awkward because you spent all of jr high/high school/college on the internet and never knew how to make friends (such as most people on discussion boards). i think the only thing we should care about in people is whether they are interesting or boring and whether he/she is a person who hurts others and the world or a person who is considerate and treats people the world in a good way.

also quit giving irony a bad name.

talking about hipsters = boring
talking about hipsters = assholish

me reading these posts = waste of time
me writing this = i don't know, i would hope one person would read this and change their mind, then it will have been worth it.

the whole thing needs a huge "who fucking cares" thrown at it..........agh!!! i think this is why i don't ever want to participate in anything.

more neglectful behavior

Yes I am neglecting you.

But whatever happened to Screech's sex tape? Surely someone is neglecting their duties, since it is not all over the internet yet. Is it ever going to see the light of day? Does it really even exist?

I would google it now, but there are a few (very few) things I'm afraid to google at work, and "sex tape" is one of them. No it's not, I'm lying. I'm going to go google it now.

authentic genuine pizza love.

It's always very satisfying to remember the funny/quirky/cool things you did as a kid, and then be proud of them today. It's as if it's proof that you have been cool since the days of yore and are not a poseur of today. One of these things I am proud of is my childhood love for pizza.

1. As a 6 year-old, I didn't understand what my dad did at work. He was an engineer. (I still don't understand what he does at work) Anyway, that sounded (still sounds) so boooring to me, so when Natalie asked me at school what my dad's job was, I lied and came up with the most glamorous job I could think of: I told her that my dad was a pizza delivery man for Dominoes. I think she thought it was cool, and being so impressed, went home and told her mom I was lucky because my dad brought home free pizza every night. Then (I don't remember this part but Natalie told me about it) her mom talked to my mom and I guess mentioned it to her, and then my mom told her that my dad was an engineer for some company and did not deliver pizza for Dominoes. boo.

2. One time, around the same age, I was at my grandparents' house and had the most brilliant idea for a book (pieces of printer paper folded and stapled together). It was all about a pizza company called "One Bite Pizza" that delivered pizza boxes with one slice of pizza with the tip bitten off. In short the story went like this: a very hungry man with a mullet (I specifically remember he had a spiky mullet) calls up One Bite Pizza, orders a pizza, opens the door, discovers one slice in a box with a bite taken out, yells "AAAAAAAAAAAAA!", calls One Bite Pizza to complain, talks to a snippy customer service bitch named Gladys (who tells him the bite is their trademark), and then gets a gun and goes to kill Gladys. Complete with funny pencil illustrations. I asked my mom to mail it to me, but she was sure my dad would not want to give it up. I think the violence kind of worried my mom, but I'm pretty sure my dad was really, sincerely impressed and proud of me for this.

psychic

It's been awhile and I've been discouraged to write. This blog feels so gross and sloppy now, because I need to go and change all my picture links, since I had to set all my flickr photos to private (thereby changing the links), because my stalker found me again -- due to my own stupidity. Then I had my privacy violated by the breaking in and going through of all my personal belongings; the subsequent finding out about this miserable person using my computer while I was at work; who knows how many times. Anyway, I've obviously wanted people to fuck off and it's made me feel stupid for writing my personal things on the internet, again. I have gotten in trouble so many times with these things.

I am back from China now, and I have pictures, maybe I will put them on my Flickr (boohoo). Actually I started this wanting to write about a particular thing, but I started by apologizing, and that took too much time, and I can't remember the original thing now....uh............

Well I can't remember, so these are some new things:

The Dr. says Mark has asthma: I am worried about him. I think I am going to go buy a vacuum from Target because I have been sneezing and allergic to my own bed since I've been back. I saw on Oprah that you should vacuum your mattress for dust mites which can cause breathing problems. So then I am going to vacuum Mark's mattress and make him vacuum his whole room (ha ha). It sounds kind of fun and satisfying. I also think he has a lot of mold spores in his apartment from rain leaking in every time it rains, and it's been wetting under the floor for years. Then he has no ventilation and smokes a lot. He's part of the inhaler club now!

Last night I had some of the most vivid, psychic, psychedelic dreams ever. They were kind of lucid dreams. Firstly, in real life, I felt very powerful and pretended to cure Mark's breathing problems as I drifted off to sleep, and it seemed to be working, because when I put my arm around him and concentrated energy onto him, he stopped wheezing! Then I dreamed about seeing a glass case full of crystals and I was staring into them and they were projecting all kinds of light, different colors, and energy and I was absorbing it and it started levitating me.

Another one: I ordered a pizza from Target, then I went out to the parking lot to find Mark. I was aware I was dreaming, and I imagined that in my dream I was communicating with Mark in real life, so I asked him, "Mark, did you know you're in my dream right now?" and he goes "yes" and it was very ghostly and ethereal and romantic (he was kind of see through) and I floated over to him like it was a movie, and I think we even both had our hands outstretched to each other very melodramatically, and it was in slow motion.

The next one, really fast, was somehow I was chosen for a government experiment about outer space. They simulated outer space and my sister was there and Nancy was there. They were watching us do things (?) Nancy figured out how to fly: you look at the ceiling and visualize your head touching it, and you just go. Then we all figured out how to raise objects telekinetically. This felt very very real.

I wonder why, on top of them being AWESOME, that my dreams are so cheesy?

It's been a weird week.

Let's just start this by saying I have a clove of garlic up my vag, because it sounds absurd.

See, Saturday night, in Mark's enthusiastic quest to please me, he stimulated my g-spot with some dirty ass fingers; I have been consistently more itchy since then. Last night I kept awaking in the middle of the night to find myself scratching myself, and it wasn't comfortable, and I am pretty sure I looked unattractive. This is how my vagina is doing. Anyone who pays $20 to the man for some crazy chemicals from Monistat to kill off yeast needs to hear this. This is a public service anouncement: don't buy yeast infection medication. They used to be prescription only, because they are so strong. Consistently using them could lead to your yeast developing a tolerance to the medication, creating a super yeast that cannot be easily killed and may take over the world! You just need a clove of garlic wrapped in gauze, inserted up there like a tampon. Or some plain yogurt squirted up there (somehow). My sister thinks this sounds disgusting, but is fully willing to overpay for some unknown, smelly, goopy chemicals that she'd shoot up there and have dripping out all night/day, while I have a firmly placed organic non-drippy piece of seasoning in me.

I don't think I even smell like garlic bread. It's a win-win situation!

Otherwise, my apartment got broken into, nothing was stolen from me, but my diary was found sitting atop my bed. Roomie's computer and camera were stolen, which really sucks. There was no evidence of a forced entry.....so we're thinking... someone who had a key... hmmmm?

This was the same day that Milly the Millionaire was struck by a car and killed. It's very sad because she is one of the best dogs that ever lived, and her life was gone so fast. I even cried a little bit, and she's not my dog!

Also there is a lot of drama going on in my friends' friendships and relationships, and for once, my relationships are going good (as far as I know). I'm not used to not being the one with shitty things happening all in a row. I mean, I did have a break-in and a yeast infection, but I feel completely normal, just sitting here with garlic wedged between the walls of my vaginal canal, designing mirror plaques. Sarah's coming Friday, and we're all going camping!

periods from hell!!!

Day two of my period and I'm pretty much bleeding out of my ears. Yes, the core of me is that inane; I am going to blog about my period. I could make a book about periods. MAYBE I will.

I'm angry about my period. It ruins my life two days a month. Oddly enough, instead of from the moment I woke up, yesterday's attack of the crampies came as I was leaving work -- just in time for the drive home! And there was an accident in the left lane, so I spent over an hour holding my uterus and making twisted wincing faces at other drivers. Last night I laid in bed, doubled over in pain, watching Engaged and Underaged, unable to do anything besides eat mashed potatoes and a push pop. Actually I got up and put glitter on a picture we're working on, then felt over exerted and went back to bed. I couldn't fall asleep for hours because my lower back hurt too much to lie in any position and the cramps were still there.

I must point out that yesterday I had two Midols, and four Ibuprofens, which reduced cramps and back pain by like 25%. I had a moment of utterly serious contemplation where I fantasized about injecting the morphine HL left behind. Today I am barely able to move my head, dizzy and nauseous from Midol at my desk and the cramps are still working away at me. Top this off with sporadic spouts of diarrhea, and maybe next month I should inseminate myself just to avoid this!

So fuck you, I'm on my period I hate everything and everyone.

my neighbor Britney Spears

Britney Spears was in my dream last night. In some kind of magical way, she just like, lived next door to me. I was walking down the alley, past her back door, and she called out to me "Hey! Do me a favor! I'll pay you!" I very nonchalantly walked into her house, which looked like the house I grew up in, and in the kitchen she asked me to write a letter to someone. She gave me a pen and paper and threw $22 at me. Two tens and two ones. She was all wound up and really bitchy about it and had that same stupid outfit on she's been wearing every day: thick cloth headband, annoying sunglasses, spaghetti strap tank top, short shorts, cowboy boots. I was very calm about it; I was not even thinking that I was in a famous person's house. I was just like, there's my crazy neighbor and her poor kids. But instead of two little boys, her oldest was a 9 year old girl, and I remember thinking, wow, it has been a long time since I looked at the gossip blogs! The girl was very sad that her mother was crazy and never gave her any attention. I said, hey, at least your mom is really rich. Some people have shitty parents and they're poor too! That would suck!

Loserpalooza

FUCK, now it's August.

Lollapalooza is this weekend, and I'm hoping I see some celebrities about town. Perez Hilton is CLEVERLY throwing a Lollapalooza party at the HARD ROCK cafe. That's a really good idea to get everyone pumped up for the weekend festivities, because there is a bartender there with a three foot mohawk. They probably all have tongue piercings too!

The whole time living in Chicago, I have only seen two celebrities, and they barely qualify as celebrities: Dave Navarro and his sad looking band walking down Milwaukee Ave (before I realized it was him, I felt sorry for these douchey clueless looking guys in all their Alley gear and 90s alternative hair cuts strutting around the Double Door like high schoolers from the suburbs...tee hee) and SANTINO, which was much more meaningful. It was right after he unfairly lost Project Runway, and he was stalking* around Marshall Fields with a hat and sunglasses. We followed him for awhile and then he noticed and I was too nervous to talk to him.

*i say stalking, because he looks like a beanstalk, though I was the one stalking.

Anyway, I think it will be really fun to hear what celebrities are in town, and then type up stories about them to make them sound like miserable people, and send them to Perez Hilton.

I'm feeling crappy today. Mark and I got into a dumb fight last night that wasn't really a fight, more like me crying about failing in life and acting like the future is a huge cage I'm slowly stepping into, and Mark feeling like I was talking about him. I wrote him an EMAIL about it today. I hadn't taken that step yet. Am I just exacerbating the situation? Meow meow I'm depressed. He hasn't responded yet. BLah. I had a clever dream about the word "masturbation" but I can't remember it.

I really love jezebel.

phonies

Today is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooo
long.

That was obnoxious!

I typed "Jack Kerouac sucks" into Google, and apparently nobody thinks he sucks. I don't really think he sucks, but it would make me feel better if somebody felt that way. Alls I know is that I had to force myself to finish On the Road and I felt guilty about not enjoying it as much as I should. And Dharma Bums, psh, I just quit. I kind of forgot what that's about. Something about traveling around with hippie-jock types and being all Eastern. UH, I don't get it. Jack Kerouac seems like he'd be really annoying to hang out with, he'd be all normal and happy and well-adjusted; Experimenting with drugs. Did Jack Kerouac fuck a lot of girls? I can't remember. I don't really know about him. Is this sacrilegious? I appreciate the stream of consciousness style, but I keep thinking he's an asshole hipster type.

I just looked him up on wikipedia, and started to feel guilty again about not liking him. He influenced a lot of people! He lived a life of heavy drinking! He liked cool things! Then I just stumbled across this:

Kerouac came to be called "the king of the beat generation," a term that he never felt comfortable with, and once observed, I'm not a beatnik, I'm a Catholic

Touché.
Douche!

Part TWO:
Mark and I went to this party/show thing last night, and there was some band making noise/experimental music or something. It was loud, it was what it was. Mark was getting into it, and kept poking me and smiling; I did not want to move to it because most everyone who was was doing it very self-consciously, like they were smarter and more arty than others, and all in on some profound secret. (fyi Mark was not one of those people) Afterwards we argued in a healthy way. I knew he would think I just didn't get it, but I did, it just wasn't that great or much of anything to me. I mean, I think I got it. Mark said they were mixing their hearts and souls together through their sounds, like it was some spiritual thing. (Guilt - I guess I don't have a soul) My closing argument was that those guys totally over planned their wardrobe to make it look like they didn't plan it, and they acted pretentious and hung out with the hottest youngest looking hipster Cobrasnake type girls afterwards. Jack Kerouac would totally be friends with these guys.

I don't know, maybe they're not that bad, and I indeed have no soul and I am unpopular.

short hair

I got my hair cut real short, short enough that I feel breezes from the fan on my neck, and short enough that people don't recognize me right away, do double takes, and must mention the fact that I cut my hair, or they think I will think they are avoiding the topic because they can't bring themselves to say anything nice. It looks good, I think. I like it, do other people like it? I've noticed that guys in general aren't looking at me as much, but certain guys look at me more. I think I now singularly appeal to guys that are INTO girls with short hair. This is fine with me, as they are probably the type to think short hair equals edgy, smart and funny, and I won't get as many hey baby honks because I look tough and not girly. In fact, the probability of getting raped has probably decreased 50% at least. I totally look like a lesbian now; a fellow short haired girl gave me a flirty smile the other night.

The night I got mine cut, Vanessa got hers cut too. She got a cute layered cool/regular/rock n roll cut. We went out to the Continental and met The Worst Asshole Tool In The World. He hit on Vanessa all night because he liked her hair, and bought us 3 rounds of drinks. He kept saying my hair looked horrible and why did I do that, why did Vanessa let me get ugly hair, and I don't appeal to many people, and that I look tough and scary. Then he gave me a full pack of Camel Lights and made fun of me for smoking them ("Why do you smoke 'man cigarettes'?" (he smoked Capris)) and asked why I drank PBR because it's disgusting. He had the haircut that all the 19 year old boys do when they're "emo" and was wearing a pink Gap hoodie and was insecure and nervous about making eye contact. It was like he was trying to be ironic, but failing miserably -- but actually I think he was trying to be ironic about being ironic, while actually being pathetic. I really feel pathetic for thinking about it. I was tired and I just sat there perfunctorily. Vanessa was trying to milk him (of course), because she didn't have much money (of course). So I talked to Nicole about how this guy is The Worst Person I Have Ever Met, and danced while sitting in the booth; the bar was so full I wasn't able to get out of my seat without having to slither through Big Curly Blond Bitch Who Tried To Steal My Cigarettes and Polo Shirt Asshole Who Kept Staring At My Cleavage In Front Of His Girlfriend. Luckily they were at least playing good music (that nobody was cool enough to appreciate). And so, it turns out hating the dude was, surprise, the most entertaining part of the bar! As I always do, I regret going to that shitty bar. Fuck free drinks. He bought Vanessa a shot before we left and said "You are disgusting." His friends all ditched him and he didn't even try to get Vanessa to come home with him.

Some drama I want to avoid.

Geez I am sorry about the last entry, Blog! It could only be described as bland, boring and purposeless. It's just so hard to think straight over here. I can't get into a groove. That sounds gross.

Why am I typing this?

Yesterday night HL had a bunch of her annoying (I can only assume) teenager friends over to (I can only assume) do a bunch of coke, while drinking Sparks at the same time (guaranteed heart attack formula). I could hear them in the kitchen while I read the Reader topless in my bedroom before bed. The Reader had a thing about local screenprinters, the printing "scene", and their work that was pretty good and cool. It ended up making me feel a bit depressed, as I looked at the screen sitting against my wall. I want to use it, but have no facilities. Well, I guess I could get it together at home, but it seems like the most annoying hassle ever. Everything would be dirty and the sink would be perpetually clogged with ink. All of my wet prints would get cat hair all over them. Then I'd have to buy a table and clamps and a light and more. It would make a lot of sense to go somewhere to screenprint, but I feel defeated already, because that requires being social enough to seek that out, like these people, who are productive enough to be featured in the Reader and who apparently have "studios" and "friends". I sat on the bed feeling pathetic. Accepting that I am just too socially inept to change my position in life, I figured I might as well accept it, and stick to things where I don't need facilities or other people, and I just lied there feeling helpless and whiny for a second, comparing myself to others. BUT(!) before it got TOO far, I turned it into RAGE and directed it towards HL!!!

See, we kicked out the crazy old roommate with a note, and I haven't had the balls or the patience or the desire, really, to face her in reality. Instead, I am working through this conflict the best and most fun way I can, which is in my head. I imagine her reading the note. She goes through the stages of denial, anger, depression, and acceptance. In my mind, her reaction is full of hurt and anger and immaturity and cluelessness about the reasons as to why, and this is so much more preferable than if we actually talked about it as "adults". This way, I am allowed to hate her comfortably from a distance. I don't run the risk of seeing her blotchy face and developing these wimpy empathic feelings and then start being nice to her by accident. I don't want to end up saying something like "Sorry we had to do this." I am not sorry. I'm GLAD she had obnoxious people over last night and I could hear them until 6am having (what I assume is) contrived conversations, all speaking and acting like characters in a book or movie, romanticizing self-destructive drug usage, in the annoying way. (the let's watch "Requiem For A Dream" way (actually, she has watched that more than once since moving in, I think)) It makes it much easier for me. We've been hiding in our bedrooms with the doors locked. Mark is out of town and I plan to go hide out there some, hang out with Smiles Davis and Shirley, maybe clean out the Crock Pot that's been molding in the fridge for months. I should take Ludwig with me.

I am full off of a salad.

I am very full and satisfied after eating my salad for lunch today. It was accompanied by a cup of water with Emergen-C residue that was stuck to the inside of the mug. In fact, I might say that I am overly satisfied by my salad. A salad is real food.

Today's trip to Jewel was eventful, because there were 4 people at the salad bar that all began the construction of a unique salad simultaneously. It made for awkward maneuvering around the ingredients, but being from the city and not as timid as considerate suburbanites, I plowed ahead and finished mine first. But I forgot to grab a fork with a folded napkin wrapped in plastic (instead I used a fork from work, and a paper towel from work). My ideal salad these days contains: lettuce, spinach, shredded carrot, 2 cherry tomatoes, green onions, 2 slices of cucumber, broccoli, chopped red onion, chickpeas, bean sprouts, red pepper flakes, light french dressing, a sprinkling of sunflower seeds, giardinera, topped with a taste of tuna. (wow! no wonder I am full!) Today at Jewel I also bought Midol because I'm bloated and cramping. Now I'm slightly floating above my desk chair.

Well, off I go to peruse other internet sites.

Nancy has gone to China.

Next week is going to seem like a year, because Nancy is in China, and she will be there all next week. While I am eating tuna at my desk and writing yelp reviews, it won't even be the afternoon in China. I will not receive any fucked up links sent personally to me, nor will I have anyone to send them to. I'm starting to get nervous already!

Tonight Gravy Train!!!! is playing at Empty Bottle, and do I have anyone that wants to go with me? No. Without my Lifestyle Partner, my lifestyle is not full.

leggings.

There's something terribly wrong with the opinions people hold these days. And one of those opinions is about LEGGINGS. The multi-purpose spandex infused kind that are available in every shade your heart desires at Target and American Apparel. They are perfect for short short skirts in summer weather, and to add that extra zing to an outfit that just doesn't seem to have enough going on.

It bothers me that some choose to view leggings as something that is acceptable to wear if and only if you are in the 80s or early 90s, and at any other time it is a dumb retro trendy trend. Then there are the leggings skeptics whom may purchase a pair of leggings and then talk about it to their friends in a tone that says, forgive me, for I am being ironic, and then, my, I do feel quite fun! Like I'm in grade school again! (a first revisiting of leggings is akin to jumping in a "Moonbounce") I have overheard conversations such as, "Are leggings actually cool these days? I don't know, I just can't do it." Today, I was reading gofugyourself (well, yeah, they are kind of square, but the writing is actually good and funny), and whoever writes it said:

...I am secretly a total trend-whore (don't tell anyone. The only thing I've been able to resist are leggings. Okay, and tiny vests. And Uggs. And formal shorts...

Ok.

Throw your shallow preconceptions out the window and allow me to demystify Leggings.

Leggings, these days, in 2007, have officially lost all irony. People, for the most part unself-consciously wear leggings, just as you would any other normal article of clothing, like tights. Yes, they are summer tights!

And, so what if they are trendy. It's not some preposterous fashion invention that makes no sense. They look good! Leggings are definitely not on the same par as Uggs, which are just, well, you know....fugs.

They may be somewhat retro, but they are quite reinvented. Walking out the door in leggings does not equal a Clarissa Explains It All wardrobe change. In these modern times, leggings are often paired with skirts instead of oversized t-shirts, with gold jewelry instead of plastic, etc.

My final point is that leggings are not hard to pull off. They look good on every body type and especially on me because I want to wear short H&M skirts and hide my thick pasty legs.

I believe people who are anti-leggings are the same pompous types that call people "hipsters" all the fucking time and still consider mullets to be ugly hipster hairdos. The same people who are afraid to dress fun or different for fear of appearing trendy, stick to bootcut jeans, and decry tapered skinny jeans as hipster asshole jeans. (skinny jeans quickly: they look cooler, are more flattering, and don't scream Casual Friday.) Who really cares anymore. The best way to describe people are as boring/fun, asshole/nice and phony/sincere. PERIOD.

The defense rests its case: My opinion is correct.

double chin

i'm trying this name on for size and stuff.

i was just looking at pictures of this weekend, oops i mean the past two days, which were full of independence day festivities, and i realized that part of the reason i love mark is that his face is puffy.

a lot of times i feel like my face is puffy, too.

i think it is awesome how in pictures, he can look bloated and insane, AND still hot. i like to kiss his double chin because it makes him slightly self conscious. but not only that, but because i love it. it's so funny and purposeless. it's not in proportion to the rest of his face and body, as the rest of him is much more slim. i don't understand how it manages to exists. it is steadfastly fighting against all odds, for no reason at all. perhaps this is why i love it. i love that everyone hates double chins, and so, i feel rebellious in loving one. i hate my own. this is starting to sound boring and fruedian, that loving his is my way of accepting myself, but isn't that what a large part of love is. i imagine slicing it off of his face with a knife and squeezing in my hands like a stress ball, rubbing my hand back and forth over the stubble, and grasping it in my sleep.

i think i may fictionalize this, and then i wouldn't be embarrassed if people read it.

pretending its the worst day of my life

i have unofficially declared today "the worst day of my life", just for fun.

i'm making audible groans of disgust and annoyance as i read my email. i looked at hl's myspace page to piss myself off. i visited thesuperficial.com before lunch. i stared at the toilet paper in the basket on the sink in the bathroom and just resigned myself to letting it demean me (if i move it, they will just move it back, what's the point).

nancy is not at work, so i have nobody to talk to about this, except for you, Blog. i kind of want to change the name of you, Blog (i don't like you current one much and was quite stupid the day i made it (sorry)), and i may change your name to The Worst Day of My Life. kind of cute? too cute? too ironic? what do you think, Blog? i'm not that depressed, really.

it's just that today i am very hungover piece of shit and am angry that this idea -- the idea of having a wednesday holiday off work to get drunk and party all day, and then continuing the work week on thursday and friday -- exists and the universe is actually allowing it to happen. it's not a dream! my thumb keeps twitching.

and, because of a wardrobe mishap (i tried to shotgun a beer, and ended up spilling half of it on my white skirt) and because i was too lazy to stop by my house for new clothes, i'm wearing mark's pants and no underwear, and the zipper doesn't stay up. there's also some dried cum residue on the inside which i noticed while i was peeing, and i can't decide whether to feel slightly disgusted or slightly horny. its both, and the two feelings go hand in hand because i am a dirty person.

quick therapy

i have anxiety about these things right now:
- that nobody will be in the book club i'm trying to start
- is there a reason people don't write me more
- am i capable of putting together a simple book club, or will this be another failed idea?
- mark being unemployed
- trapped at my job
- people responding to my myspace messages
- what i am going to do tonight
- what i am going to do on fourth of july
- getting license plates for my car
- that everyone secretly hates me
- that mark is secretly mad at me
- that maybe my throat is closing up
- the chances of getting a disease
- why do my eyes burn
- do i talk too much on the internet?
help

goodbye, june

I'm pissed that it's July and June is over. June is the best month of the whole year, and I'm feeling a bit of midsummer depression. I don't want summer to be almost half over. I want it to be summer for a whole year. I have not even sweat enough this year. It's the most depressing thing in the world working full time in the summer. AND Mark called me this morning, telling me he's getting laid off or a pay cut. If he leaves, he gets 16 weeks pay!!! I'm so jealous. 4 months of pay...without working...LUCKY. He gets to enjoy the rest of the summer, while I sit here writing a slightly bitchy email to Cracker Barrel, letting the best days of my life slip away, as we know they do, after 4th of July. I haven't even really been swimming.

update on the toilet paper

I put it on top of the toilet in the first stall. 4 hours later, it is still there.

I had an encounter with an old lady at the sink. We have the faucets where you have to push hot or cold and they automatically turn off. One of the 2 sinks only turns on when you continuously push it with one hand, leaving your other hand to try and rub and rinse itself. She was struggling at the bad sink and goes "This sink is so hard to work, god, he's so chinsy" and I was very excited that she said this, that there is synchronicity. I said, "I know, there's not even any paper towels." And she gave me an understanding nod and left.

about to enter a manic phase??

I couldn't sleep at all last night. I didn't have even a bit of caffeine before bedtime, and all I could do was turn over and over in frustration and anxiety. This is very rare for me. I'm thinking it may be the beginning of a summer manic phase!

Every summer it's well known (to me and some friends) that I go a little crazy. My hormones, for some reason, go into overdrive, and I want to do it constantly. This has led to many sticky situations (literally!) and things I look back upon with a certain degree of nauseating regret. Luckily, as with last summer, I am basking in the joys monogamy this year! Praise the Lord! Praise the lord!

So I have all this energy that I have to focus on creating, but it feels too knotted up to go through and untangle. I cannot believe I am sentenced to spend most of this summer indoors, in a gray and beige office, where in the bathroom there is toilet paper in place of paper towels.

Our building manager is known to be an asshole and cheap. On the counter of our building's bathroom, there is a ROLL OF TOILET PAPER. I have never seen anything like this before. This is no oddly placed spare roll, as it's been sitting there deliberately every day, for almost a year. Sometimes they actually rearrange it's placement! The other day, it was set in a brown wicker basket, with a few squares flirtatiously and deliberately dangling off the side, a little installation the janitor set up to say: use me. I've actually seen a couple ladies tear some off and self-consciously "dry" their hands on it and then deposit the wet pulp in the trash can with puzzled faces. I felt embarrassed for them. I feel so demeaned having to see that roll sitting there.

I need to do something. This is not my life!!!

I am going to move the roll into a stall the next time I go to the bathroom. Expect an update on the whereabouts!

whenever i write seriously about discontent with humanity i feel like i'm 15

this is in response to nancy's post.

i say it's ok to think you're better than other people based on decisions you make. why shouldn't we dislike lazy-minded people who don't want to better humankind in any way. "worker bees" that don't care about anything important, or at least interesting. why shouldn't we shun that which not only do we hate, but is detrimental to humanity.

what is uninspiring
what is horrible
what is not progressive
what is mediocre
what is insincere garbage

A movie review!

This weekend, with a purse concealing a large can of Sapporo and a bag of sour gummi apples, I went to go see Knocked Up at the $3 dollar theater. I went with the boy (I mean, MAN) who knocked me up, expecting to see a fun entertaining movie, that would, underneath the cute vulgar humor and annoying poster and typical Hollywood comedy jokes, nicely and profoundly reveal some grain of deeply human social commentary on relationships and how cool they are. And it would do this in a casual way, that makes you feel warm inside without feeling cheesy, like the show Freaks and Geeks did. Like I read in the reviews! The main character's name was Alison, and I am not going to lie, I was kind of excited to see someone in the position I was kind of in last year: unexpectedly pregnant, and then experiencing a deeper relationship with the baby daddy as a result. But, oh, it disappointed me in many ways.

First of all, it's another movie that has a "perfect 10" type woman (beautiful AND smart AND successful!) paired up with a fat loser type. Not like this couldn't happen in real life, or that there's a problem with ugly people dating pretty people, but does every movie ever made just HAVE TO pander to male fantasty? If it ever is the other way around, they have to make the whole movie/show focus on the fact that this "ugly" (average) woman somehow lucks out and finds love. And then we have to deal with shows like Tyra Banks to "empower women" that make no sense, because how is a fat, or even chubby, or somewhat unattractive woman ever supposed to feel good about herself in a world of fat jokes and movies where the equivalent "average" men all exclusively date hot women, especially on a show hosted by a SUPERMODEL? wooo, I'm letting my angry feminist out again! So unattractive!! Back to the movie!

They keep referring to the Seth Rogan character as a "lovable slacker", though I find nothing lovable about him. He's the stupid lazy unemployed funny guy with all the red flags that you must stay away from, unless you want to pay for dinner every time, or spend Friday nights indoors. Eventually, it makes you feel stupid for putting up with it, and you can only feel pity for them when the waiter takes the bill with your credit card, their faces turn red and they awkwardly thank you afterwards. These situations cannot be saved without both parties hating themselves just a little bit, no matter how nice or witty the guy. Secondly, he wasn't even nice. He spends most of the movie getting high with his asshole friends and making misogynist jokes. Sorry, can't excuse that! His humor was ok, but not enough to like him.

The other horrible part was why didn't this character even seriously consider an abortion? There was no real pro-life message, but I suppose this is one of those things you may have to excuse, so the whole plot could happen. Still, we are on shaky ground here! She didn't even consider adoption.

Throughout the whole movie I found myself disgusted at the gender stereotypes they all portray. Both Alison and her sister are often made out to be hormone driven "crazy irrational females" in a ha, ha who-understands-women kind of way*. They explode at the notion of a guy needing some guy time with their friends (come on, we all understand that everyone needs away time). Her sister's self esteem is mostly based on looking younger than she is, and that guys still want to fuck her. Despite being a mother to two kids, she really cares about this that much, really? In one scene, Alison is having sex and refuses to get on top because she can feel him "staring at all her chins". She then goes on to refuse to do it doggy-style, as if that is degrading. Um, I thought it was about that position feels good? This movie reinforces the stereotype of girls as prissy prudes during sex , trying to look hot for the guy, and too insecure to enjoy herself and focus on her own pleasure. In this world, it's the complete opposite for guys: it's ok to be dumb and sex-driven and bond over lap dances in Vegas! Yeah, totally, every guy in the world is into objectifying women, duh! side note: in real life, I have never known a decent guy who sincerely enjoys going to strip clubs.

One scene I did enjoy and relate to, was when Alison is in the gynecologist's office and sees her 8 week old fetus on the ultrasound, and bursts into tears. My eyes got all watery and I almost burst into tears myself. Mark looked at me kind of laughing but like he understood a little too. This movie made me feel very thankful that I know guys that do not buy into this "all males do this" mindset. I also felt very proud and happy that Mark didn't laugh at any derogatory humor, and is sincerely not into that. So this appreciation I already have grew a bit stronger!

There were some funny jokes, but I can't remember any of them right now. Oh yeah, I enjoyed the mushrooms scenes a lot. I suppose I had my hopes too high. This movie is pushing me towards the breaking point of being very fed up with this dominant male point of view in just about every form of media that refuses to die. How can we let men know that being sensitive and a feminist actually makes them the most secure attractive manly man out there? Can we kill these gender stereotypes? HOW?


*note I understand feeling very hormonal, but the manner it was dealt with in this movie annoyed me

freaky friday!

I'm thinking that somebody is fucking with me, because after putting up that last post, I was outbid on ebay. I was outbid and it's by someone who just happened to have signed up today. That thing had been up there like 5 days, and had no bids. This sucks. I hope whoever bid on it is buying it for me, but I still hate you. I know that is absurd to think, but I'm really mad that now I have to pay $20 for it instead of $8, and thinking someone read below and was inspired enough to fuck with my head makes the hurt easier to deal with.

In other news, I just went to the bathroom, and somebody in this building left pee on the seat of my favorite toilet, and it's been sitting there long enough to dry.

Today I feel frustrated.

It's like I want a nice record collection but I don't want to do all the work of looking for and buying them one by one. This is how I feel most days, but ESPECIALLY TODAY.

I'm bidding on this cutie:



So far it's at $.99!

I just want to sit outside with this cute portable record player and awesome summer tunes, but I don't want to spend time at record stores/yard sales/even the internet finding these awesome tunes. I don't know what my problem about music is these days, but I have gotten very lazy and am not actively seeking out anything new to listen to, and mostly all I want to hear these days is Beach Boys and Beatles and old country. And horrible 90s music. The bad bad horrible songs, that they used to play on the radio in 1993, and you never even knew the band's name because that was their only hit. Or you did know and you got free tickets to their concert at the outdoor amphitheater (Better Than Ezra). I like that song by them that goes "I remember running in the wet grass..." because it reminds me of a simple time that seemed complicated.

I think I do indeed remember running through the wet grass, and that makes me remember getting high from smoking Newports. We would say, "I can't wait til the day when we can smoke real pot," and then we'd discuss what we imagined it would be like. I pictured the smoking pot days to come would be like this: I would walk down dilapidated wooden stairs and there would be a fog machine effect going on. I would lie on the floor at the foot of the stairs and look up into the sun, and there would be stars too. Somehow it is both day and night! I'm also inside, but also outside. My mom is calling me to come do chores, but I am in a daze and walking out the door. I leave the door open. The sun reflecting off a red truck blinds me, and there's a hose sitting flirtatiously on the driveway. I walk cooly down the sidewalk to meet up with my friends feeling like I own the world. This sounds like a music video. It probably was a music video, but I forgot.

Anyway, it totally didn't happen like this! My friends weren't INTO smoking pot, and whenever I did, I was mostly alone and depressed and worried.

I'm thinking of all the things I want to do, but don't want to do by myself, and that's the second frustrating thing of the day. For example, I was having fun trying to make music with Mark but it turned not fun when he tried to control the whole thing because he wanted it to sound "good". Secondly, I could buy my own 4-track and make my own music, but I picture myself doing it all alone in my room and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I have an irrational fear of recording equipment. I wonder if there is a word for that one. I'm going to google it.

Ok, I can't find anything but one of the first search results was about social phobia, so this is probably an extension of that. Social anxiety is such a crappy problem to have, it's the most embarrassing and debilitating problem, and it's boring.

Oh dear, this is another one that sounds interesting in my head but actually disolves into a big whine.

I will finish the rest of this blog in my head.

Something very exciting

I just had this cool realization that the next time something annoying or horrible happens that I can write about it in a funny entertaining rather than a depressing, debilitating way, and that makes it kind of worth happening.

Except it's kind of hard to do right now, because my cubicle only has 3 walls, causing me to worry about someone walking up behind me and reading it. I really want to put a sheet on my cubicle and make people say "knock knock" while shaking it!!

social anxiety vs. not wanting to talk to people

what is the difference? i think i have both. maybe in truth, i avoid talking to people because it causes me anxiety. but, actually a lot of the time, i believe i don't care to, it's just too hard and kind of a waste of time, and what some people have to say is plain old not interesting to hear. not that i don't like said people, there is just no emotional rise to be gotten out of some the inane stuff, the bad kind of inane that is not even entertaining and makes time go by slower rather than faster.

plus, it is too hard to talk when people don't get all the subtext of what you really mean right away, when they're not already on your level that you assume people to be on, it's just too hard and too uncomfortable. so i avoid these situations. i really want to give people credit!

two cats, two facets of me

Ludwig's been making me feel guilty lately, on purpose. It's working. I spend more time with Smiles Davis than him. I have so many more pictures of Smiles. But that's mostly because he doesn't move too much and his eyes are very photogenic.



(those aren't warts on my knee)
He's easier to deal with because he doesn't shed as much when I pet him and then when I touch my face afterwards it doesn't itch for an hour. He's also deaf, so he has the personality of being disabled: he doesn't complain much and is thankful. Ludwig is greedy and wants more and more, but look at Smiles in the above photo and his look of gentle detachment.



Now look at Ludwig. See that intense yearning in his eyes and doesn't it make you a bit uncomfortable. When he wants me to pet him he twists himself sexily on his back while seductively staring at me. Sometimes it's cute, other times it's creepy.

I really love Ludwig and I love his neediness. In fact, I relate a lot to it. Sometimes I behave like this, like when I say Mark's name over and over and pick out pieces of dandruff from his hair. Like when I can't think of anything to write about, and so I write about Mark and his cat and my cat.

But, I also relate to Smiles' dreamy disengaged from reality feelings. Like when people are talking to me but I can't make my brain listen. Like when everyone is dancing, but I can't stop trying to make my mind pretend that I'm an evangelical Christian and how would an evangelical Christian train of thought go. What could I be thinking? I could not think like that!

Have you dated a Ludwig? Have you dated a Smiles? Ludwig would have black hair. Smiles could have black, light brown, or blonde hair. Ludwig would plan things and pay for everything and be very romantic, so much that it might make you nauseous. He would be very dramatic during sex and go down on you for a long time. It would involve a lot of show-offy tongue acrobatics and twisting. Smiles would be very fun and willing to learn, but he wouldn't worry that much about you and you might think it's because he doesn't really care. He also would like to be the spoonee and not the spooner.

They could be anime characters. Smiles would do that big eyes big mouth high pitched screaming thing a lot, and Ludwig would have long eyes and wisps of hair in his face.

boyfriend birthday

Mark is turning 30. It's making me realize a lot of the preconceived notions I had about 30 year olds are not true.

He doesn't pass out early.
He doesn't shower on a regular basis.
He still doesn't have anything to wear to eat with my parents that doesn't awkwardly state, "This is the one acceptable shirt I own for an occasion such as this.".
He is not into furniture and still hates yuppies.

One might say he is still in possession of an ungentrified mind.


I have to get him a present sometime this week. It must express all of the above feelings and the other ones I have succinctly and in a unique alison way ughgghrhg

my #1 cat

Ludwig has a large amount of dignity. I've been with him for 3 years and I have only seen him going to the bathroom twice. He quit peeing midstream and ran to the other room. I walk up behind him eating, casually, without making a big scene of entering the room. Out of the corner of his eye he catches me and immediately walks away like a befuddled bulimic in a binge.

When he doesn't have dignity is when he needs attention. He is only too eager to assume the role of a needy boyfriend. His eyes glow yearningly and his nails dig into my jeans until I pet his squishy head. He turns his head so my hand rubs the glands on the side of his face. He smells himself on my hands and purrs with delight. He has been sitting around the house all day, and my other cat is a rowdy bitch.

frustration

NEWS:
Today I realized another defective part of my personality. I look at what other people do and am like, dear God, I am going to be the last one out of everyone I know to be famous. Or I may never get famous at all. My fame I desire is the kind that is a few google search results with my name, written by other people, and not humiliating. Maybe somebody interviewing me, and they would say, why she is quite a charming, funny girl who has accomplished quite a lot for her age.

1. Googling my name yields no results that are actually me, unlike almost every other one of my friends. To "rub salt into the wound", there are already 2 Alison James that do books.
2. I am the only one that lives in my apartment that isn't moderately famous. (ex. H has been in Reader a few times, HL was in band that people know about (even Marcelo had boughten one of her cds and didn't even know she was my roommate) Even my cat is more famous; well, at least he is more likeable. (Not Grizelda, I mean Sir "Cat of the Year" Ludwig).
3. My boyfriend is kind of famous for music stuff, also graffiti and I picture his friends thinking I am not good enough for him because I am not in a band or have anything going on really.
4. Whenever I think of a way to become famous, or "get my stuff out there" it ends up being like, well I'm not really into that so much, I will get bored. What if I just do whatever I want, offer no useful information, and talk about my sexuality, destroy the old ways of everything, draw one picture a day on the internet, and then people will love me.
5. Then I look at what other people have come up with, like book ideas, or businesses based on stupid kitschy funny crap, and it's all "I COULDA DONE THAT! If I started working on that last year I would already be famous and could quit my job!!!!" and the next stage is: whatever it is not that cool. so phony and I woulda done it better.

So I guess what I just described is a moderate to severe inferiority complex. I need to break this cycle. If I got to quit my job, I could sit outside and drink beer in the grass in the middle of the day if I felt like it. Also, people would think I was cool.

The time is ticking and I am just getting older, and soon it will be expected to be successful in some arena.

EXPENSIVE haiku

gas looks like urine
but unlike urine it is
very flammable

(inspired by stock photo of gasoline on msn.com that i cannot post here)
***

so, since i have to look up everything i do on wikipedia, or i feel like it didn't happen, look at this that i found. ok it might be gone by the time somebody reads this but:

See also

• Culture of Japan
• Haibun – haiku plus prose passages
• Jewish haiku – haiku with traditional Jewish noodging
• Kigo – season words
• Kimo – Hebrew haiku
• Renga – collaborative linked verse
• Scifaiku – science fiction haiku
• Senryu – humorous short verse similar to haiku
• Waka – Japanese poetry, especially tanka
• Bratku - Bratwurst and breakfast meat inspired Haiku

BRATKU????

my ego hurts

Do you ever get scared while beside a person you really love? I probably don't mean it in the way that it sounds. It's not necessarily a fear of intimacy, but maybe it is. It's suddenly realizing that you can't recall where it is that you begin, and that you will never be able to crawl into the other person, which is so frustratingly sad. Being alone becomes so apparent, it's like not existing.

This occurred last night in bed and all I could say was "Wow. We know each other so well. Isn't that weird?"

Shromorial Day Peakend *__* HAHAHA!!!!!

So...last weekend was pretty fun...



Looking guilty! Smiles, what were you doing with my new toy while I was out? As if watching wasn't enough, you pervert! God, don't you just want to pick that black eye snot out of the corner of his eye? Damn his eyes look so awesome.

I found this awesome store on Fullerton Ave. I explored west of Pulaski!



It's a store full of Mexicans, piñatas, and CANDY. It's actually called CANDYWORLD. Of course, I just about came myself walking in the door, what with all the bright colors and characters, and especially with our birthdays right around the corner! Mark and I decided that we must adopt one. The Spanish speaking guy that worked there told us in broken English that they were all 12.99. But no whores. Whores is more.

He meant the big horse! haha!


It's a party and you're invited! Mickey poses for a picture:

Notice the drunk Pooh bear falling over in the background.

I hope to one day be backed by an army of piñatas.


This is the clown we adopted. We're gonna fatten it up, then kill it and eat its guts! I just hope we don't grow too attached.


I also hope Mark doesn't care that I am posting pictures of him on my "blog". Oh well, it's not like anybody even knows about this existing!

The rest of the weekend was fun because on Memorial Day we did mushrooms at a BBQ. Mark came up with a new hit that goes a little something like this: "I'm a Jim Jones kind of lovin' man..." We found this stick that had centipedes and spiders imprinted in the wood. It really did, this was actual REALITY, we weren't just tripping. This fact was confirmed to be true by our jealous non-tripping friends. Since both of us are totally self-involved, we forgot that maybe it's kind of rude to go to a BBQ tripping without having more to offer. This was especially evident when we were rolling on the floor laughing and spouting out nonsense while they were soberly watching. We kept hearing the occasional "man, I wish I was on mushrooms!" Eventually everyone was drunk though, and it was great!

I only wish that my camera could do mushrooms too! Then I could share with you the sink eating my beer can while the BUSCH letters were floating off into the air. Or the crazy pointy clouds that looked like if you poked them, they would be made out of some kind of hard fossilized material. The trip started out kind of slowly though, and we started thinking the shroomies were shit. I was trying to force myself to find Bob Ross's face in the clouds, as though that would be the catalyst that would push open the doors to psychedelia. I mean why wouldn't it? It kind of worked too, soon after everything fell into place.

I felt so in love with the world... oh the world should do mushrooms together!



This is my baby!!


I'm having lighting issues with my camera. I'm not the best photographer. But this flickr thing is kinda fun.

bad habits

I started a nasty habit lately. I think it's because it's allergy season, and my nose feels all stuffed up. I started picking my nose. That part is boring. The exciting part is that I do it with a kleenex over my finger, much in the style of a grizzled geriatric at the dinner table. I even did it at work today, like an hour ago -- in the privacy of my cubicle, mind you. I once thought this was a pointless thing to do: why not just use a plain finger and stop trying to hide the fact that you ARE picking your nose. Stop trying to act like you don't want to touch your boogers. But now, being an Adult who works in an Office, I totally understand this method. The hidability factor is on par with the effectiveness: it really does work better than just a finger. The tissue gives it that extra texture, so the snot can latch onto the little fibers. It's so satisfying to catch and pull them out, in the way that I imagine fishing, or drive-by-shooting to be (but without any of the guilt!). The only problem is for some reason it can make your boogers bloody. But, still, I feel like such an adult for going about it in such a clean manner.

I still don't understand the twist the kleenex into a straw and use that to dig in your nose method. It seems quite ineffective and I'd rather use a Slurpie spoon straw from 7-11.

Monday monday bo bunday Dear god I am bored.

Yesterday was pretty fun for a Sunday. I had a lot of sex, ate Thai food AND pizza, slept a lot, found out who the Carver was on Nip/Tuck, and made Mark retell the story of meeting Eminem (before he was famous).

Another one of my bad habits is making people retell stories and I laugh just about as hard as the first time I heard it. This was the third time for the Eminem story, a story that never ceases to be hilarious even though it is actually two sentences long and all of my questions are answered with I-don't-remembers. It's very amusing to picture an unfamous, ego-less, pre-wife bashing Eminem walking up to Mark and his friends and talking to them casually in that obnoxious voice he has. They were at some sort of festival, and Eminem had won a rapping contest. Mark and his friends were graffiti-ing and Eminem complimented their "crew". I never saw 8 Mile, so I don't know what a pre-famous Eminem was like (or what he wants us to think he was like) but it's nice to picture him as just some regular dude in baggy clothes, approaching a group of strangers he thought was cool, allowing some kind of softer, insecure side to show. Did people ever laugh at his voice, and then when he got famous was he all, "Who's laughing now?", or does he not talk like that in regular day to day life? Mark says he thinks he kind of talked like that. And I of course made sure to ask the obvious question: whether or not he introduced himself like "My name is...my name is...my name is Slim SHADY" He did not, because that song was not made yet Mark said.

this looks like a real blog!

lame 1st time

ok first post, this is going to be lame. I'm putting pictures in a Flickr account. w00t. will delete later. test test 123