Saturday, August 14, 2004

caution: hurricanes may cause the drinking of hurricanes.

oh lawd.

i live on the eastern sea-board thingy. so hurricane Charley is about to crawl right up in my ass and pick out curtains. last time a hurricane came to town i broke my arm on it. i just threw the old cast away, and i really dont want a new one to jump on my elbow. that would suck.

so ive got candles all up over this bitch. you may remember them from such posts as, 'jesus fucking christ we still do not have power', or 'why does god hate me and think im job'. those posts may have been histrionic. but i still have the lots of candles. thank his god-ness.

all i have to do is try real hard not to surf in the middle of said hurricane when i dont know shit about surfing, and ill already be one non-broken arm ahead of Isabel.

i rule. and so does malt liquor.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

bob and stuff.

my roomate might be the largest dipshit on the planet. but he also might be the nicest person ive ever met. except when he wants to fight glasses that need to be broken. but thats funny so its ok.

sample of bob wisdom: 'i dont know what you think youre doing, but youve got to talk to me sometime. because all this seclusion and not hanging out with any of your friends is bullshit. youve got to talk to somebody. and im leaving for 5 days and i like you and im worried about you. for christs sake you make me look like a pussy. im all about building emotional walls and shutting people out...but goddamn...did you graduate college with a degree specifically stating how goddamn stubborn you are?'

to which i replied, 'flgljljmeowbwahaha'.

i am not eloquent when i have a big knot in my throat.
its very hard for me to come to terms with the fact that someone does not like me. im ok when its a mutual thing. thats fine. no one gets hurt. the end result is 2 people who enjoy insulting each other, which is kind of fun because you have to develop new and ingenious ways to degrade the other person. its all good and verbally sparrific.
what i dont enjoy is when ive invested time and emotion into someone, and i come to find ive been grabbing my ankles the whole time, and that im a total moron for having deluded myself into thinking that i havent been grabbing the living shit out of my ankles. this is all part of being a dumb girl.
monkeys. i am a dumb girl.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

the kitchen maggots pontificate on voting.

a girl with a clip-board walks up to a group of cooks smoking in the back parking lot. she says tentatively, 'any of you guys want to sign a pledge that says youll vote this year'?

nobody says anything. they continue smoking, and look at one another, waiting for someone to make her go away.

finally one of them says, 'im a convicted felon'.

she looks them and goes, 'oh. ok.' and walks quickly away from all six of them. later i ask the guy who spoke up if he really and truly was a convicted felon. and he said 'hell no, i just didnt want to listen to her and/or vote'.

Monday, August 09, 2004

hockey hair.

since the hair nazis have left town, i think im going to have to fix the dead animal on my head. at least i hope they're gone. id feel like a total shit-bird if one of them came in and i had obviously tweeked out the mullet-y part.


ive been thinking. about lots of random crap. the problem is, i cant seem to concentrate on one thinkable subject for any significant amount of time. i have all these problems that need solving, but i dont know which one i should solve first, so i dick around and indecisively distract myself with shiny objects.

and then i cant decide if some of these so-called problems are actually real and as problem-y as they seem.

like this whole languishing in williamsburg thing. i dont know what im doing here. im pretty smart. i think. so i could probably work for the man and wear lots of j.crew if i so desired. but i like my soul, and would be bummed out if my occupation required me to sell it. i might not know what i want so much, but i certainly know what i dont want.

ive worked just about every shit job i can think of. lawn mower, concession stand dude, waitron, referee, wee child watcher, secretary, dispatch phone doosh...etc. all these jobs suck balls. i dont think theres a job in this world that doesnt suck salty, salty balls.

and im ok with that.

ive come to terms with the sucking and the saltiness.

i just dont think it matters. not even a little. i make drinks for people. thats what i do. its not who i am. but some people, mostly the dudes who have socially acceptable jobs, look down on my form of employment. and sometimes i let it get to me. and i think, geezus, maybe i am a total piece of shit. but then i think about the office jobs ive had, and how badly everyone blew in cubicle land, and i pity the poor bastard in front of me flashing his citibank platinum card for to impress the fake tits sitting next to him.

i still have options and stuff. that guy doesnt. soon enough he will find the fake tits he wants to marry, and then he'll have some ankle biters and a dog and a mortgage, and he wont have done anything the least bit different from his parents.

and one day he'll be 65 and he'll be like, 'holy fucking shit, ive never seen Bangladesh'.

and ill be like, 'yeah. what now. bitch.'

Sunday, August 08, 2004

slap-shot hair.

i got my hairs cut today. dude comes up to me at the coffee shop and is like 'hey dude, you want a hair cut?' i wasnt offended or anything, cause my hair was approaching haggard. since my mood the last few days could most aptly be described as nutbar, i was all 'yes. yes sir i do want a hair cut'.

and dude gave me $50 and a bag o' hair products.

it was pretty sweet.

i sat on a stage and a bunch of hair cutter people watched me get an almost-mullet. it doesn't look like ass, though, if it starts to grow out in an accentuated mulletinous shape, ill be forced to take action.

but im a model, bitch. and as such, i will conduct myself in a manner befitting the fine tradition of the fashion career. im doubling my cigarette intake, cutting my sleep in half, drinking martinis for breakfast, and forgetting what solid food tastes/looks/smells like. in a few short months, by cultivating a pronounced eating disorder, my emaciated body will grace the cover of vogue and make normal women feel like shit for not having the body of a 13 year old boy. excellent. *tents hands*.

i forgot about the cocainia. all the money i make is going straight up my nose.

seriously though, go watch the movie slap-shot. its from the seventies, it has paul newman in it. an outstanding-er movie about hockey i have yet to see. anyway, theres a scene in the movie where the players are being made to model some clothing for sponsorship. look at the guy who goes onstage first. thats my hair.

so hard.

this is how it is suposed to be. i like you. you like me. we spoon a little. we maybe start to dig each other. but there is certainly no way i am allowed to give a shit. and there we are.

and now i am doing a car bomb.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

a few extra chromosomes.

you silly, silly girl.

why would you go to the sandwich shop located in the middle of colonial williamsburg, on saturday, at 12:00 sharp, in the height of tourist season. you are not a smart townie.

but that was a good motherfucking sandwich. i tell you what.

ive been putting off writing a real post for a while now. and by real post i mean something with more depth than that of a baby pool. wise-assical observations aside, ive been having a shit time.

we just got our power turned on. the fridge started working yesterday. there's finally hot water. but living in the 1800s shouldnt have bothered me as much as it did. i lost my shit, and it didnt come back for a couple few days, during which i subsisted on cigarettes.

but now my shit is mostly back, and i am relieved.

also very tired. im going back to sleep.

Thursday, August 05, 2004


are you ok?
yeah, but the room is spinning when i close my eyes.

have you been licking frogs again?
no, ive been kissing them.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

trucks with dogs coming out of them.

there is still no power in my house.

there is no hot water. the hot water thing is almost ok, because it is hotter than the fire of a billion suns in williamsburg. but, the drains are still clogged. i used drano. i shot high velocity water directly into the drain. i yelled at it. i cried at it. i showered and eventually swam in it.

i am seriously considering locating where it is that high school science teachers find their hydrochloric acid. and then, that drain, shall be my bitch.

the only thing that makes it somewhat ok is the fact that after all of this plentiful suck has run its course, i will live in a house that is within walking distance from my job. and i can finally, FINALLY, have a dog.

it's been four years since my dog died.

i guess its odd for someone who didn't grow up, or ever have a dog to understand how important and excellent they are. ive never been without a doggy friend for this long. and let me tell you. it SUCKS.

the first dog i ever made friends with was a part of the doozer household before i was even born. and we totally dug each other. we had a special bush we would hide under together. and i would pet the dog. and he would growl at anyone being mean to me. he ruled.

i miss going home to my parents house and being greeted by a giant fuzzy mass of awesome drooling love. i want to be the person my dog thinks i am. word.