Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
I've listed some highlights here, for the pleasure reading of the 3-5 people who read this, and their 1-2 single straight friends of which 3/10ths-5/8ths might still be interested in dating this hot mess:
#13 My inability to curb my a) conversation about bodily functions and b) performance of bodily functions.
This is a combination of neither.
# 1 Two words: RAIDER NATION.
#21 Speaking of which,I pee in public on a fairly regular basis, and see no problem with it whatsoever. I do not intend to change this behavior.
#11 I enjoy wrestling and beer-chugging, even at the same time, and rarely know when enough is enough.
#3 I have a side of the bed, a side of the movie theater, and a side of the restaurant booth. Hint: these are all the same side, that side is the right, and this is non-negotiable.
#20 There are very few tall, black, Jew-y dancer-chefs around.
This hooded suit-donning deliciousness also fits the bill.
I can't tell you how many times I've uttered the words, 'and THIS is why I don't have a boyfriend...' Most of these times are escaping me. Feel free to remind me of some, I promise not to beat the shit out of you. (See #19.)
P.S. Upon further investigation of this post, it looks more like a list of 'things that make me more masculine than feminine.' I think this revelation will be instrumental in making me consider changing my conduct, before ultimately continuing to behave just the same as always.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
I got a very quick response from Evan@live.com**, asking if I would be willing to send a picture and participate in a phone interview. WELL. Why the eff not?
I was a sloppy mess in this picture. I'm wearing cat ears, my shirt actually says the word 'pussy' on it, and I had enough to drink that I made out with someone ELSE on the dance floor besides THAT guy I came with, and didn't find out until days later that my fit about him taking me home early was completely justified because of all of the above.
**Email modified for the anonymity of this perv.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Right as I left work I started digressing into a muted shade of funk that I couldn't quite figure out the origin of. If I were to hypothesize, I would err towards the side of I-just-ate-everything-within-reach-all-day-at-the-office-type funk, but really who's to say. Normally this type of mood would push me to go to the gym, but for some reason my only means of getting out of it steered my car in the direction of Bed Bath & Beyond on my way home.
You know those times where you drive and drive, and suddenly you are where you end up and you have no idea how you got there? This was one of those times. Except that I didn't realize I had made it into the BB&B until I already had a Magic Bullet and spaghetti measurer-thingy in my hand, and was forced to snap out of it, drop them both and back away slowly as if from a giant domestic grenade.
I did manage to get out of there with a 30-pair shoe organizer for my closet and a tray for my desk, as well as the determination to organize the shit out of my room till I felt better.
But I don't want to get rid of any of them. I might not have space for them in my life, but each pair is important in a specific way - kind of like my friends. Most are disposable, let's be honest, but there's a little bit of something-to-laugh-at or something-to-use-them-for in each of them..enough to keep them around, even if they mostly feel like clutter.
*You know I care deeply about each and every one of you, Friends.** I merely jest for the sake of jesting.
**Those of you who REALLY know me know that the above aside was just for the sensitive folk who fail to realize that I don't like them as much as they like me. But at least they feel better now. And that's really all that matters.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
For the past several weeks, this door has been locked from the inside. It may seem strange that I even notice, but my stall of choice is one directly to the left, and considering my frequent urination due to extensive daily water drinkage, I'm in there enough to recognize the abnormality of this matter.
There have been several times that I have considered crawling under said stall and unlocking the door, to get this nonsense over with - I mean, there's NO one in there using the toilet, what are all these shenanigans about?
So each time I consider this, a different plausible outcome stops me. First of all, the idea of getting on hands and knees in that bathroom isn't exactly appealing, but lord knows I've done my share of unsanitary things in the past, and that wouldn't be the worst. But this isn't the one that stops me.
NO that's not me. But it wouldn't be that weird if it was.
The most common scenario that drifts into my head and halts my rescue plan, is that there is something so horrible and graphic on the other side of that door, that there's a reason the custodians keep it locked. Like, what if there's a floating head in the toilet? I mean, that could happen, right? Seems the perfect scene for gruesome murder - no one wants to knock on the door and bother someone on the other side while they're doing their business....why not leave the decapitated head there?
Lastly I wonder if some asshole is playing us all, and this 'locked stall' trick is just an evil ploy for some b to get a stall to herself every goddamned day. For all we know, she could have a plush toilet seat and flat screen tv in there by now! What a whore.
And then I breathe a heavy unsatisfied sigh and I zip up. And I flush. And I move on.
All this while I pee. Damn I need a life.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Here's the thing I discovered during my traipses in the Vespa capital of the world*: The consequences of drinking and eating and walking too much, combined with the occasional one (or four) drunken stolen cigarettes? ZERO. It feels GREAT, why can't we do that EVERY day? I am convinced that these people have discovered the secret to a happy, stress-free life, and it should be incorporated into every culture the world over.
Let me give you an example. While cruising on a nite ferry for 12 hours, I somehow managed to eat a full gut-busting meal, drink a full 2 to 3 bottles of wine, smoke a full 2 to 3 cigarettes, and sleep a full 40 minutes. Next day? Felt GREAT. Better than usual, actually, and my Italian had improved.
I'd for reals do this.
But now, back at work, back on my healthy diet with splashes of exercise, all I am is English-speaking and TIRED. The kind of tired that makes me stutter and put my underwear on inside out. The kind that causes me to mumble incoherent musings under my breath and not realize I'm even speaking aloud. I'm the kind of tired that just caused my boss to ask me if I've been drinking, because I'm laying in my chair with my head back and jaw hanging open.
But even after woe-is-me-ing myself to death about how moving to Florence would be much better than sitting in LA at my crap job, I secretly missed this little place. Not so much the place, but the people it houses - my friends, my roommates, my family, and my snowboard and bike, but on a lesser level.
I love that this weekend I'm going to ride to the beach and get day-hammied with great friends, probably fall off said-bike and re-open my skinned knees, get hung-over while I slog through a fatty dinner, and start to drink again. How could I do that in Italy, without my favorite people by my side? I COULD do it, but it certainly wouldn't be the same. Mostly because I'd have a dirty Italian trying to jump my bones while I was passed out, and that's just not ideal.
So lightning may have struck, and I may be closer to eating shit on my keyboard than eating pasta in a piazza, but all in all I'm fine with the outcome.
At least we have Jelly Bellies here.
That's a mosaic. Of Ronald Regan. Made of Jelly Bellies. And I wanna eat it.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I made you a painting. I call it "Celebration." It's sexual and violent. I thought you might like it.
Note: Pretty much NONE of these original texts were sent with ANY response from ME...they just...kept...coming.....
"This is me and my cat Sam. Short for Samson."
("He goes under furniture sometimes. He thinks he's a cave cat.")
"I took this pic myself. Is good yes?"
"I own a Dodge Neon..and the road."
"This is my other cat Darto. Long for Dart. He is fast!"
"Apainting I did of Adam and Eve."
Now...raise your hand if you're scared for me!