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Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Where Was My Camera!? At this crucial time: 6:30am, sunrise.. have been a little obsessed with it, lately. Orange streaks on the water, glassy green and spotted geometric, from the drizzle. Sunny and it's raining, yes. Young seagulls with their brown spots, still stand next to me, don't fly away.. This is my time. No night crawler me, I had you fooled. I'm a creature of the dawn. The brightness that shatters, exposes the filth that accumulates when it's dark. And thus, is often mistaken for the dark.. But this is not about me no This is about the old people: Men in their Hawaiian shirts and bermuda shorts. Ladies in their floral mumus. Standing in a circle on the sand, each old person rubs the slumped but happy shoulders of the one in front of them. A circle of back-massaging old people. Laughing so fucking hard. I can't wait till I'm old. Till my tits fall and my thighs expand and I know I'll look well, old no matter what I do so I quit trying to wrap myself in a little cupcake package and face each day armed only with my smile and my eyes, my wisdom and the peace that comes with knowing I'm FINALLY on my way out.. A circle of back-massaging old people. On the beach. Fucking hilarious. Where was my camera? | Monday, July 24, 2006 Now you can watch the sun rise if you uh.. happen to be behind me.. These pictures do not rightly portray the lovliness of my new tattoo:  TOPLESS! OHHH!! Come on, it's just my back. Get over it.  Done by Rebecca, the best tattooer in the land. tattooheathen.com Based on this Russian prison tattoo (look about halfway down the page) What's with the fonts on this post? | Sunday, July 23, 2006 Welcome to my First Blog Post from Work Here's all I have to say about work: | Saturday, July 22, 2006 Today My mom would have hated turning 51.. | Friday, July 21, 2006 Who put the rose on my car?  It smells good. See, here I'm smelling it:  Think it was just a fluke.. no one's got a big creepy crush on me now, as far as I know. **** and BY THE WAY motherfuckers.. where were you tonight??? it was the printers' ball. tons of hipsters showed up.. but where were the WRITERS!?!?!? I recognized 3 people there. a good 3, but only 3!? you all missed out on free magaznies and such  ooh! magazines! someone take this god damn camera phone away from me.. haha | Wednesday, July 19, 2006 Tip of the Day When you are served a big cup of nothing but vodka.. for fucksakes, don't drink the whole thing in 5 minutes!! bluhhhh | Saturday, July 15, 2006 At one point in my childhood, I thought Bill Clinton and George Clinton were brothers.. |
itch itch.. sneeze.. I am allergic to latex balloons, especially when vagina-shaped.  Now it is in the freezer, where it cannot harm me. | Tuesday, July 11, 2006 For those of you who missed the reading, last Friday The Planet of Bald Men There's this planet of nothing but bald men. Every Saturday, they send a shiny-scalped ambassador to find me here on Earth at the club, dance beside me in the fog and flashing lights, entice me with his flawless oval skull. This week, the ambassador is thin and wearing boots. An improvement on the hulking Mr. Clean they sent, last week. "Queen, you really should return..." he starts and shakes his narrow butt so slightly to the bass. I play dumb, pretend I don't know what he means, "Queen? That's slick. Does it ever get you laid?" Then he grabs me by the fingers and gives the secret handshake. To see if I still remember: 1, 2, 3 taps on the wrist, then slide... I've started wearing gloves to the club. Lace, satin, latex, whatever matches my outfit. If I don't, the ambassador- the bald man's- palm will tantalize me with it's smoothness, smooth like his head, reflective, perfectly curved. Then I'll recall the dances on the planet of bald men. All the many bald heads, spinning, shining, a bowl of ants. I'm in the center, nude. They swarm around me, their sweat-slick scalps glide over the curves of my body. One shoves his baldness between my boobs. Another drags his baldness down the small of my back, to my ass. Another burrows his baldness deep between my thighs, to where I am also bald... I am some sort of queen or a concubine and that planet is my hive, inhabited by nothing but bald men. And me. I tell the ambassador, the thin one with the boots dancing beside me, "If you want me, you'll have to catch me," tickle the air with my fingers. Toodaloo. Then prance away from the dance floor, join my friend Sari, back at the bar. Sari looks like me: pale, red lips, nose ring, black dress. But 5 inches taller and 20 pounds thinner and 4 years younger. She is the hot one, as I'm constantly reminded... Sleazy Ted, the bartender is lurking behind the beer taps, leering at Sari. Ted has a nasty habit of asking girls to blow him in the bathroom. Sari sees me coming and grins with relief. I say, "This dude tried to dance with me..." "Yeah, I saw. Seriously, you're always getting hit on by bald guys. What's with that?" she asks. I know the answer. But how to explain? "I dunno, maybe they dig the bangs," I point to my head, "wish they had hair so they could have Bettie Page bangs." That same damn Morrissey song- you know, "I am the sun, I am the air"- comes on and a stampede of people flail their way to the dance floor. Me and Sari stay put at the bar. The club we go to is dark and plays mostly industrial-type music and 80's too. A goth club, I guess. Though I'm not exactly a goth. I'm not melancholy, I just wear black and find I'm allergic to yuppies and hipsters. So I end up here. The bald men fit in naturally, at this club. A tight black shirt and a silver earring and you'd never know that he was an alien.. That I'm an alien, too. I ask Sleazy Ted for another Jack and coke. We're dancing to some crappy EBM. I can feel the bass boom in my bones. The lights are flashing red and blue. The ambassador from the planet of bald men is grinding his crotch on my thigh. He's a big one, I can tell. He bends down, licks my earring. His tongue is hot, a shiver trickles down my spine. He whispers into the seashell of my ear, "The ship is parked out back, disguised as a large, white van. One word and you can return to your throne, my queen." It is tempting. Tempting to ditch my crummy job at Barnes and Noble, my superficial friends, the gaping nights I try to fill here at the club. On the planet of bald men, I'd be noticed, even worshiped. Not just that hot girl Sari's friend. Not just, Miss, do you have the DaVinci code? Oh, it's tempting! We dance close, the bald man's sweat rains on me, my cheek is stuck to his neck. We move together like wrestling worms. To anyone observing, we're just another horny club-made pair in the process of hooking up. "I'll be back," I say, squeeze away from the bald man's arms and run back to the bar, back to Sari. The mohawked fellow sitting next to her, buying her drinks gives me an unfriendly look. I stare into Sari's lovely light brown eyes and blurt, "Okay, the truth is I'm an alien. I'm the queen from this planet of bald men. And the guy I've been dancing with, he's the ambassador who's come to take me home. He's got the space van parked out back..." "Woah, honey. You're gonna to crawl into some van with a random guy?" "He'll take me to another planet!" Sari pinches her eyebrows together and grabs her hip, "How much did you drink?" I look back at the bald man, still dancing. Just another club kid. Not an alien. I laugh, "Yeah, that is pretty crazy. You're right." "Let's leave soon." "Ok, after one more Jack and coke. Hey, Ted!" | Sunday, July 09, 2006 I've Set Standards I should have done this years ago. I'm really not that hard to please. I'm looking for a man (or maybe girl) who: -Is an appropriate age. Between 20-27, no more than 5 years older or 2 years younger than me. -Has a job and a stable home. Obviously. Must live in the Chicagoland area. -Will be respectful toward and not jealous of my friends. Won't expect me to cling to their side in a social situation. -Has no addictions. Not even weed. -Might be dating others when we first meet, but is not committed to anyone else. No other girlfriends. Preferably, no kids. -Has friends of their own. Interesting friends who I wouldn't mind hanging out with. -Has hobbies and passions of their own, outside of work. If we share a few of these passions, all the better. -Is on good terms with their family, but is not a coddled mama's boy. -Is healthy and active. Not a couch potato, but not a gym-going meathead. Someone who takes care of themselves and likes to go out and do things. -Enjoys sex, is sexually functional, but would never act like I owed it to them. -Does not hate women. This is important. -Is of comparable attractiveness to me. Not an ogre, but not too pretty. Has style. Does not look preppy. -Is of a compatible astrological sign. Pisces, Virgo and Capricorn get along best with me. (Of course, this is not an absolute.) -Has strong conversation skills, in public and one-on-one. A sharp, but silly sense of humor. An outlook on life that is neither overly sunny nor overly cynical. -Will act appropriately for our level of commitment. If we met last Thursday, you should not be calling me every day. If we've been boyfriend-and-girlfriend for 2 months, you better be calling me every day! -Has good taste in food. Would not have to quit eating burgers, but wouldn't balk if I wanted falafel. Has good taste in music. Doesn't have to be a snob about it, but not overly mainstream. Has good taste in books. Must actually read them and like to discuss them. -Must support my creative endeavors, must be willing to hear my stories. That's about it. Not too difficult. =) | Wednesday, July 05, 2006 First party at our apt last night good food mostly good time kept awake by guests till 5 slept then woke then worked till 5 I have pretty much been awake since there is something in the human build that does not lend to sleeping while things explode so I rode my bike to the beach and watched more explosions explosions out my window still call me suburban, but it just does not seem safe for 8-year-olds to be setting off fireworks in the alley, by the medical waste at 12:42am ear plugs julie gave me some ear plugs now I can sleep so many blog posts end in zzzzzzzz | Sunday, July 02, 2006 I'll drink your shitty bear I'll listen to you stupud stories good niht zzzzzzzzzzz |
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