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.