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Wednesday, May 31, 2006
drinking | Monday, May 29, 2006 Went out again.. fucking hell the old scene fits me like a black constricting shoe If I look good today, I'll go out tonight. If I go out tonight, chances are I will meet new or see familiar guys who will offer me drinks. If I accept their drinks, I will have to kiss them. If I kiss them, maybe one will take me home. If one takes me home, there's a 1 in 10 chance it'll be good. If it's good, then we'll exchange numbers. If he calls me and we get together a few more times, we might develop mushy feelings. If we get the mushy feelings AWWW then we might declare ourselves a couple. If we're a couple, we can break up. Fuck that! I'm done with the human mating dance. The labels, rules, restrictions. "It's over," you say but your soul may not agree. Your third-eye may still have the other on psychic speed dial. Ego is the abandoning master. Emotions are the whimpering puppy on the doorstep, not sure where to go, stupidly begging to be let back inside with the ego who's rejected it. Can we fucking be nice for once? Can we let the puppy in? Nice puppy! Chews up your black constricting shoes but they were too tight anyway! good puppy! puppy chews up everything oppressive That's it. I just wanted my body back. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz | Sunday, May 28, 2006 Objects are so much better than people! Today I got me a fan and a bicycle. And get this.. the fan has REMOTE CONTROL! WOAHH! The bike is nifty too. I am pleased. |
It was easier in December to wear black velvet and dance for hours. Though last night the music was spiked with extra badness (electronic ho-hum), so there was not much dancing to be done. Eh. It was Nocturna: say hi to people, look pretty, have a drink. Got hit on by this girl with a fuzzy raccoon shaped backpack. She told me all about her dead cats within 5 seconds of meeting me: "Francine got hit by a car. Tulip got cancer and allll her fur fell out.." You think the guys I attract are weird, you should see the girls! To make a long blog post less rambly and misguided, it was a good night. Saw people I'd forgotten existed outside of myspace. Kept out of trouble. Arrived home safely at 5:30am. Now it's 10:30. Work time. On this beaming summer day, I'll be stuck in a trendy office loft. But it's okay. The discipline is good for me. Oh yeah, one more thing. My hair is black now. I just don't feel like a sunny blonde anymore. I fully admit, I have a hair-changing compulsion. It's something I can drastically change at will. Something stirrs inside me and I can't relax until I cut or dye my hair. I have no hair left because of this. Okay, enough. Gotta go. | Friday, May 26, 2006 Commercial for Dopescrew 9 Two hosts. One sound guy. One senator. One federal judge. A whole lot of FBI. And a tragedy on the launch pad. What are the obscene and terrifying secrets behind Dopescrew 6? And was Dopescrew 7 really a cry for help from the community, or just a cheap ploy for money and weird photographs? On Dopescrew 9, we investigate the disappearance of Dopescrews 6 and 7 and unveil the truth, and you won't believe your ears when you hear what that truth is! Dopes and degenerates, stay tuned. | Thursday, May 25, 2006 The Agreement a very short play Boy and Girl tie themselves to each other as they say their lines. Ropes, ribbons, caution tape, christmas lights, etc.. can be used for this. Boy: I will love you and stay with you, so long as you're well behaved. Girl: I will love you and stay with you, so long as you do whatever I say. Boy: I get exclusive rights to your body. Girl: I get exclusive rights to your time. Boy: And if this agreement is violated.. Girl: All love declared henceforth shall be considered null and void.. Boy: And we'll part ways immediately. Girl: ...forever. Boy and Girl: Deal. Sign their names on the contract, shake hands, obligatory kiss. Boy and girl try to exit the stage in different directions, but can't because they are tied together. | Tuesday, May 23, 2006 You're right. What a relief. |
I'm the same girl I was last Thursday. |
He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her. You probably know where that's from. When I was a kid, my grandma took me to church. They had me memorize Bible verses. I was really good at it. They gave me trophies for it. And the verse about the "first stone" sort of stuck in my head all these years. Jesus said it when this crowd asked him to judge an adultrous woman. And I thought of that quote tonight because I've fucked up. Let me explain.. On Saturday, I caught the bouquet at my friend's wedding. I'm clumsy as fuck and wasn't wearing my glasses, but somehow my hand just shot up, like a bouquet attracting magnet was stuck in my palm. As the cameras clicked, capturing me and the lovely bride in this moment of hope, as my friends and random guests congratulated me, I began to think that maybe love and happiness were things I could find too.. Then I realized I had love already. It hit me: oh my god, I'm with a good one! Sure we had our issues but overall, our moments together were happy. And that terrified me. So I looked for a problem, found one. Sabotaged what he and I had in the quickest and cruelest way. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that and have every right to ditch me. But I'd like to think a person is more than just a summary of their actions. I'd like to think that love is being able to look at your loved one as a whole and say, "Your not perfect. In fact, you're a pain in the ass sometimes. But I accept you how you are." I'd like to think that love is patient. I'd like to think that what we had is worth salvaging. Maybe I'm being naive, but I still have hope and this damn bouquet in a vase. If there were anything.. a cookie that lets you travel through time when you eat it, some perfect, affirming apology.. that I could do to reverse this.. maybe a little time can heal us.. If not, at least I've learned something. I won't sleep tonight. | Friday, May 19, 2006 Graduates Beware! Okay, you know those letters you're getting? The ones that promise amazing .00004% interest rates if you re-consolidate your student loans? Well, don't do it! At least not for a while.. If you reconsolidate your loans right after you graduate, you lose your 6 month grace period for paying them back and will start receiving bills immediately. Just a warning. As always, I learned it the hard way, so I thought I'd share. Now back to our regularly scheduled irreverance. |
I'd rather fold my laundry than write in this blog. That is sad. | Tuesday, May 16, 2006 Just one big fucking joke, huh?!
| Saturday, May 13, 2006 I know that weird little ae characters show up when I paste stories into my blog from Word.. But I'm too lazy to go through and change each and every one.. So just know that ae means ' |
A Serious Story This is what I read at the Hothouse, yesterday. I'm trying to push past my usual shock tactics and tell stories that are amusing, but with depth beyond poop and sex. Jack’s Backyard The night before Mom’s wake, I was lying on my back in Jack Malone’s backyard. A wet August night in the Suburbs. It doesn’t matter which suburb. You know it sounds like crickets and everyone’s sleeping. Jack and I were lying side by side on a blanket, watching a meteor shower. I’d only known him a week, but he was the closest thing I had to a lover at that point, a stand-in. The sex was rotten. He couldn’t uh… keep it up. But still, I’d throw pebbles at his window well into the fall. Just because he was there for me the night before my mom’s wake, you know? But this is not really about Jack Malone. I digress, I distract. I don’t want to tell you about Mom’s wake. Everyone writes boo-hoo eulogies for their dead parents and well, I don’t exactly want to relive the whole ordeal. What a circus. So many white lilies, they almost smelled like gasoline. The mobs of wailing toddlers (Mom was a preschool teacher). Me, the manic hostess in black polka dots. Pretending I was just the party planner and not the dead lady’s daughter. Greeting sundry second cousins at the door of the funeral home, “I’m so glad that you came! There’s cookies and coffee in the basement…” So I’ll start somewhere safe. On the blanket in Jack Malone’s backyard, behind his parents’ beige, aluminum-sided fortress, within the comforting rectangle of privacy fencing. The wet grass had soaked through the blanket, through our shirts, chilling our backs with every breeze. But we did not hold each other for warmth. Not that Jack wasn’t a pretty boy. His face was sculpted to golden proportion by doctors, after a disfiguring car accident when he was 9. But I wasn’t looking at Jack, his full lips, his Michelangelo nose. Human bodies felt so temporary, like fast food wrappers. I couldn’t fathom attraction to something so disposable. So I just watched the meteors streak white and gold across the black sky. Counted them: 4, 5, 6… No, I didn’t sigh and say, “Oh Jack, do you think my mother’s looking down at us right now?” My eyes were not red and swollen from soul-shaking sobs. Yeah, I cried for about an hour when I first heard. This cop was the one to tell me, this lady cop with an oily ponytail. She had to be the fucking monotone hero, “I’m sorry Allison. Your mother passed away. She had a heart attack in her sleep.” I fell to my knees and screamed, “NOOOO!” Like a bad early-90’s horror flick, when the quarterback finds the dead cheerleader. But one night later, on the blanket in Jack Malone’s backyard, my eyes were deserts. I’d just been swallowed by the Numb. Told myself there’s no reason to get all weepy over death. It’s a waste of emotion. You can’t do anything about death, but accept it. Jack asked, “Heya wanna smoka jaint?” He talked sort of funny. The doctors couldn’t quite fix his jaw after the accident. “Of course,” I said, “got some rum, too?” It had just occurred to me that I could take drugs, drink, stay out all night. My first night as an orphan. Jack lit the joint, sucked in, blew out a cloud of smoke and said, “Heart attack, huh?” Then passed it to me. “Yep. She took too many diet pills. Amphetamines. Speed. That shit’ll stop your heart.” I hit the joint. The air got thicker. My eyelids fell. I passed it back to Jack and said, “But it made her who she was, you know?. Really hyper, really fun. Really angry, sometimes…” We wouldn’t mention the pills, the next day at Mom’s wake. My meathead uncle wouldn’t, when he grabbed the microphone from the pastor and yelled, “Fuck God! Fuck God for taking her too soon!” And I wouldn’t mention it to the parents of Mom’s preschool class when I walked by, shaking their hands, one-by-one as the dutiful bereaved. The kids stood, sniveling single file in front of the casket. A picture of Mom, blonde and beaming, was propped on the lid, surrounded by lilies, so many white lilies. I found myself telling this 4-year-old boy, “It’s okay. You’ll see her again when you die.” But that only made him cry harder. Though I was so disconnected, I didn’t understand why… | Tuesday, May 09, 2006 Gradumawation!!! I got 2 tassles: a silver one and a gold one cuz I'm an honor student. Yeahhh!    | Monday, May 08, 2006 ok | Wednesday, May 03, 2006 9am, Woozy and Hung Over What the hell does woozy mean? Is it even a word? My X post from 3am only half made sense. But that amuses me, so I'm leaving it as is. Here are pix from Dopescrew Episode 8: Fundamentalist Crusaders' Massacre. We posted them last night from the bar. Ahh.. technology. And now I shall drink my detox tea to get all the ickies out of my liver. |
Drunk w/ the letter X It's 3AM.. I SHOULD go to bed instead but... Meme: Comment on this entry and I will give you a letter. Write ten words beginning with that letter, including an explanation of what the word means to you and why. god_is_disabled gave me the letter X. 1. Xanadu: Paradise. To me, Xanadu would be a land of do-what-you-please. Where you live off the pear trees and soybean plants, the neighbors keep turtles in their bathtub, and you blow shit up on a regular basis. There's always beer in the fridge. 2. Xanax: A medication I have not been perscribed. I never had problems with anxiety.. 3. Xanphine- A chemical found in caffiene, so the Skin Clown says. Drrrr.. I like caffiene. 4. Xenophobe- Fear of foreigners. I've never really had this problem. While I was growing up in the buttwad suburbs, none of the white kids wanted to be my friend. I didn't have the right brand of gym shoes, or something. So the foreign kids were the only ones who would play with me at recess. To this day, I'm pretty much cool with anyone, regardless of what country they were born in, so long as we connect on some level. 5. Xerox- Was some kind of mythical panther who stole food, or whatever. Is also a machine I would use if I ever got motivated enough to publish a zine. 6. X-Ray- I got one of these after I rode my bike through a construction zone. I was 9. I did not notice the metal pipe sticking out of the ground until it gouged a bloody hole in my leg. No broken bones, just 45 stitches. You can still see the pipe-shaped scar on my shin, curved like a grin. 7. X-Rated- They call it NC-17 now. If you want porn, just watch porn. Don't fuck around with Saved By the Bell rejects and their crappy ass Showgirls. 8. Xavier- The middle name of one of my favorite teachers in middle school. He assigned us roles and had us act out concentration camps. I'd never learned so much about history. 9. Xuxa- The host of some South American children's show. Xuxa would sing songs. The children on TV would sing along, but I wouldn't. They used to show it on channel 11. 10. XXX- tee hee zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz |
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