Saturday, October 29, 2005

making my pain into a funny

dear idiot ex:

1. if you make a habit of sexing people in the same circle of friends every time, eventually, we're all going to get together and talk about your penis. in all the ways that are not good. dumbass.
2. youre ex-girlfriend is fucking psycho. that is all.
3. i wasnt referring to myself in that last point. seriously.
4. and admittedly, im pretty fucking crazy. so shes like...whoa.
5. you seriously have no emotions. what, with that, is up? i mean, i understand that dudes have to be cool and dude-like. steve mcqueen and all that shit. that otherwise, matter and anti-matter would fuse and render the universe an asploded, shriveled, blackened husk of a wasteland roughly the size of a quark, but whats the big fucking deal?
6. please stop taking perverse pleasure in your lack of emotional intelligence. its not brave. its just sad.
7. grow a pair of nuts and tell the nasty truth. in a timely fashion. not months later when im attached and my dog is attached and youre still a butthole.
8. please. for. the. love. of. god. stop. popping. your. collar. its just awful.
9. also, you need to tell people on the first or second date that you used to listen to Creed. and that you still defend Creed. and that you still think Creed is a good band. and that you still have 5 or 6 Creed CD's, (Creed live?!), tucked into your collection. and that you think scott stap is 'misunderstood'. thats like having HIV dude, you gotta give full disclosure as soon as possible so the lady can make an informed decision about the future of the relationship. imagine my horror at finding out the truth months later. <shudder>
10. my dog never liked you.

Friday, October 28, 2005

that guy

you see, this is the type of shit thats gay. if you werent such a massive butthole, id be calling you right now to see how you were doing. i know you just lost your game and all, and that probably sucks. so maybe you dont want to talk to anybody anyway. and thats fine. but because you cant stop yourself from being the biggest tool in the shed, i wont be calling you at all. ever. and thats the gayest gay thats ever gayed.

yeah i know. youre always going on about how we should totally keep in touch and how i should totally visit you and how it wont be weird at all. and obviously its all my fault that we arent talking. you know, cause it was me who didnt call you back that one time, or didnt come visit you when i was in town. and youre so motherfucking enlightened and cant understand why we shouldnt stay friends.

im tired just thinking about it. ill rebut this later.

Monday, October 24, 2005

sentimental valiums

homecoming is silly. it took me three months to grow back my stomach lining. and now what.

gone. thats what.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

ode to my life

dear life,

please stop sucking. there is only so much suck one person can suck on before they start choking. maybe if you could start small. for instance, you could let my dog know that peeing all at once is far more efficient than saving it up for each and every bush and lamppost ever. EVER. and then you could tell him to stop being a whiny little bitch at 9am when im sleeping. yes. im the only one whos allowed to be a whiny bitch. and even i dont pull shit like that at 9am.

then maybe you should have a talk with my parents about how i need my space. im probably being a huge pain in the ass by occupying my old room and bringing a hulking pussy dog with me, but i really dont need the constant lecturing and advice and the popping in and out of my room at constant intervals when im clearly trying to wallow in my own misery and how can i wallow properly with all this fucking racket. yes dad, i am aware that my car is a shit-hole. yes i will be cleaning it. and do you know when that will be? do you?? WHEN MY BACK ISNT BROKEN ANYMORE AND I CAN BEND OVER FAR ENOUGH TO CLEAN THE MOTHERFUCKER.


i realize that a less than spotless car means i am a failure at life. man, i suck. i am the worst person that has ever walked the planet. hitler is better than me because my car is dirty. god hates me. i will never amount to anything. kittens are being smashed right now, jesus is crying, and the devil is doing his happy dance because i haven't cleaned my car since 2002.

whew. ok. needed to get that out. so. when youre done with that, life, im really going to need you to sign a pledge that says you will not fuck me in the ass for at least a good six months. i think thats more than fair. youve had your time. yeah. thatd be great. seriously. i mean, its been fun and all, never a dull moment or an un-sore ass, but surely there are other tender asses in the world to fuck. frankly, im just kind of tired. its hard work.

if you could address these issues i would be stoked. and i would take a nap.

thanks dude.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

harry potter hell

i have read five harry potter books in the last week. im halfway through the sixth. im going to cry when i am done. there will be nothing left to make me not bored. and im pretty sure a fuck-load of people are going to get killed off at the end of this book, and its going to end all dark and disturbing like, and then im going to have to wait for three feking years for the last bloody book to come out so i can finally see out how it all ends.

in other news: i cant believe im reading harry potter. seriously. jesus.

harry potter is mildly addicting, in the same way that i hear crystal meth maybe also has some addictive qualities.


so i have a pile of books on my bedside stand about four feet thick. so what. i dont have a problem. leave me alone. put those shades back down. oh the light, the light it burns.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

am sad

so i was talking with a friend last night about the emotional murdersuck that life can sometimes be, and he was all 'dude, thats the best part, feeling all these different emotions, the stronger the better". and i was like "are you high?!", which, of course, we were.

it makes sense, if you allow for the assumption that youre going to get an equal-ish portion of all these emotional episodes. likesay, 6 months of misery and 6 months of rapture all intertwined so you dont have to play with too many miseries in a row. except that it doesnt really work that way, and in the real world you do sometimes get all the miseries at once. which really blows.

so i would prefer to not feel so much.

and now im going to quote Harry Potter, bitches:

"Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings are toward Harry anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly."
A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."
"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

stupid dreams

"always seems like your leaving/ when i need you here/ just a little longer..." ~Violent Femmes

i have a recurring dream/nightmare that people keep disappearing. this isnt something that should be surprising or uncharacteristic, i probably have lots of fears roiling beneath the surface of my conscious thoughts. but it seems bizarre that in every one of these dreams i get so frantic and sweaty and just, distraught, when im searching everywhere for someone and i cant find them.

i wake up, or come to, and the feeling just goes away. for the most part. just like that. im not anxious or keen to jump out of bed and search the closet or even the bathtub. thankfully, something i do when im conscious takes the edge off the whole thing. its like when im dreaming, my brain turns off everything else and goes to visit the one stark raving mad part of me that imagines im going to die alone with 30 cats and a really bad mumu draped over my corpulent remains. ugh. its like visiting a version of yourself that feels concentrated, industrial strength despair all the time.

when i wake up it turns into a dull ache. its still there, but i guess its muted by all the other important brain things that happen when youre conscious. i know its probably just residual emotions from all the crap that happened this year. roommate killing himself, him being real crazy from the aids and stealing lots of money from me, boyfriend being a douche and ducking out on me when i needed him the most, friends leaving town and scattering all over the country, me going nutter and moving away as fast as possible to new york, which is not really a fuzzy understanding locale. much. and then of course the whole terrifying fracturing of the back incident. yeah. that sucked.

and there are the other dreams. some of them are kind of scary, but they dont bother me nearly as much as the desperate ones where everyone is leaving me and the harder i search, the more i can sense that everyones moving farther and faster away and i cant catch them, i cant make them slow down, and that maybe theyre doing this on purpose. which is even worse.

the one with the roommate in it is kind of creepy. a lot creepy actually. hes always just sitting somewhere in our old house staring at me. but his hair is longer and more disheveled, hes thinner (no small feat when youre in the final stages of aids), and he always wants something from me. and hes, you know, dead. like he was sitting on the couch the other day just watching me go about my business. i think i was cleaning something. i dont remember talking to him, but i got the impression that he wanted my life. aarrgh. not that he wanted my life, but that he wanted to be alive and have friends and a job, a future. which isnt really much of a stretch, cause thats always how i felt around him when he was alive. and he did look pretty haggard right before he died. his hair was longer, his glasses were crooked like his head had lost weight or something, and he did always look at me like he wished we could switch places. sometimes i felt like i was showing off, or being cruel just because i had stuff to do and places to be and i knew i was probably going to be alive for a while.

and maybe its just the english major in me, but obviously i must now tie these two dreams together in the final paragraphs of my entry, replete with quotes and a really punchy closing sentence. damn the years of conditioning myself to write like a fucking 18 year-old freshman goon, expounding on the brilliance of "grendel" as a response to "beowulf" and how "eaters of the dead" is tripe. i was a tool. "eaters of the dead" is a fucking entertaining book. and i really did write an awful paper on this subject. goon.

so. right. basically, my roommate died alone. literally, physically, existentially, he was all alone when he pulled the trigger. and that sucks. i dont think any human being should have to die like that. its fucking awful however which way you look at it. there are a lot of reasons why i could hate this man. he wasnt a very good person. he did lots of stupid things, and made lots of peoples lives difficult. he made my life miserable. and i am angry at him. or furious. whatever. but eventually when im thinking about something crappy he did, the part of me thats pissed gets all soggy and turns into pity. i feel so badly that this moron lived and died like he did, sad and alone.

all this stuff has had the effect of turning me into a clingy bastard. i think. its hard to have perspective yet, because all this just happened. but i think i have the dreams about people leaving because im afraid of becoming like him, the roommate. and im always planning and constructing ways to make people not want to go away. or ive given up and cut some people completely out of my life because i dont want to feel that stabby, being ditched sensation. i guess most people i know just dont get it. they dont get why im...morose, i guess is the word im looking for.

this all started about dreams, and now its a tangential piece of crap. but i expect thats how its going to be for awhile. when youre sick it takes you a few belts at the toilet to retch up whats really bothering your stomach. i guess brains are the same way. and random. ive never been able to select which shot of bourbon i would rather have exit my system first.


"i just want someone to stay with me/ and always be there when you wake..."
~blind melon

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

holier than thou he is not

my brother is a fine upstanding citizen, and after a few years of rumspringa-esque naughtiness he now goes to church and doesn't even smoke cigarettes or anything. i was thinking about how he's so annoyingly put together and how his life is perfect and how for christmas a couple years ago he gave me his old black fleece. the tag said something like, "black sheep of the family: it's your turn, asshole".

fuck. i stepped into that one.

and man, is my shit completely not put together. for the first time since i was a teenager, im living WITH MY PARENTS. that about tattoos a scarlet "L" on my forehead. granted, it's only cause i can barely wipe my own ass due to the fact that there are still missing pieces of my broken back on a rocky outcrop somewhere in rural pennsylvania. im going to have to allow a certain amount of self pity and the embroidering of "L"s on my forehead, and try not to let it get me down.

but the tables were so very in a different position only just a few years ago. when my brother was a massive waste of space and i was a massive over-achieving, douche-bag nerd, whose greatest problem in life was a set of eye-brows that caterpillars kept confusing as one of their own.

i dont know why it makes you feel better that other people fuck up, but if martha stewart and my brother can clean up their shite lives, i guess i have a chance. and ive never had to wear one of those house arrest, lo-jack anklet thingys.

case in point: my brother's old nickname is "penis". that is all. not penis-face. not super-penis. plain, unadulterated, unadorned "penis". this was in high school. he had a van with various many-colored, many-sized renderings of penae(i?) on the roof of the inside of his car. the coup de gras was the enormous, six-foot king penis which all the other peni(ae?) seemingly orbited. he car was referred to as the "penis-mobile".

as i was huge dork with a flock of caterpillars following me everywhere, i tried REAL hard to keep all this penis-ness under wraps. of course, as i was in junior high and murphy's law was in effect because mars was in the seventh house of i hate my life, everyone found out. and i became know as..."PENIS' LITTLE SISTER".

and if you have a more embarrassing memory of your formative years, you can eat a dick because i dont believe you.

anyways, now he's totally normal and he doesnt smoke drugs and no one calls him a gonad. so i think i have a chance. and nowadays i pluck the shit out of my eyebrows.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005


but not in an existential, nine-inch-nails kind of way. yet.

so a week ago i fractured three vertebrae in my back. and yeah, it hurt like a bastard. it still does hurt like a bastard. but really not the worst part, the painful stabbing is.


i cant go anywhere. i cant do anything. i cant stay in an upright and locked position for any significant period of time. zombies would waste me in a foot race. furthermore, if the world is taken over by zombies while im in this condition, i will be completely incapable of defending myself. and that, i think, is where the real danger lies. the threat of zombie uprising is ever-present.

but zombies are always wanting brains, so given that im rehabilitating myself in nova, i should be safe.

im stuck in northern virginia. the natural habitat of the cubicle dwelling, douche-bag being, i-went-to-UVA-look-at-me-im-such-a-fag, nova BUTT-HOLE. and maybe im a judgmental hag for loathing this area and the soul-less, joy-less, fuck-less existence that ive managed to avoid returning to after college, but ive been back here one motherfucking day and that has been one day too long.

to the dude on his crapping cell-phone talking extremely loudly about his "important bid-ness" outside my window at 6:30am: 1)shut the fuck up. its 6:30 in the motherfucking morning. asshole. some people have been up all night howling in the pain of their broken back. and free-basing their vicodin medication. 2)listen fag, youre my age. possibly younger. you dont have any important business to discuss. you probably fetch coffee for people. if youre not discussing sanka with the other fag they just hired right out of college, you need to keep your voice down. fag. 3)you, fag, are not fooling anybody. maybe, and this is a gargantuan fucking maybe, an hour of real work per day gets done in any given office around the country. i know this. anyone who's had the displeasure of working in an office knows this. it's all "let's hit the bald dude in cubicle 3 in the back of the head with my newly fashioned, stealthily constructed, double-rubber-banded-pen-gun-with-paper-footballs-and-ninja-stars-coming-out-of-its-ass weapon". 4)god i hate this place.

may i heal quickly and make my way back to where the wine and whiskey have hurt my eyes but the women have blinded me. i need a beer. or seven.


but it looks like ill be gaying right along with it for some time to come.

so i looked all over the place for something that didnt suck as bad as blogger. but there were stringent limits as to what amount of effort i was willing to put into de-gaying my online publishing gaiety.

i took a good long look at movable type. long enough to realize i didnt know how to install it. long enough to know i didnt want to learn.

but i did take the time to spiff the place up a bit. cause im going to have a whole lot of time on my hands for the next several months. and im done with looking at various shades of puke green in the background of my page. onward and upward to violently ill, neon green. ch-ch-ch-ch-changes...

also, i havent written anything for awhile because ive been busy getting smited. a lot. so i was thinking that id alternate between stories of the recent past smitings and anything new and exciting, (hopefully not more smitings).

there are going to be good feelings and flowers and prancing and all that gay shit all over this webpage.