dancing like an asshole.

2.2three acres!

2009-09-24T15:09:00.000-07:00

i have not been here in a long time because i have been under tremendous stress. the stress is so overflowing that i think it's quite amazing that i still have hair. i have a comb-over now. in two weeks or less that this stress will be greatly reduced and i can move into a new phase of obsessing! long story short is i have never masturbated more in my life than i am now. yes! even more than when i first found out that i could do stuff like that to myself!

2009-08-10T12:45:00.000-07:00

i like having the drinks but sometimes lately i feel very hung over very fast even if i've only had like 2 glasses of wine with lunch. yes, with lunch, don't you dare judge me. then some of those times i feel like i need to puke even. what is this business all about anyway? if you say i'm knocked up i will personally shit in your shoes because i'm not so take it easy. i just sneezed seven times and little sneezelets snuck through my hand and speckled my computer screen. anyway, i watched a movie about a girl who went down on her dog in college and was later torn about whether or not shoe should tell her fiance. dude. and no, they didn't show it. they = that raspy bobcat character who directed the film. the moral was no, do not tell your fiance that you're creepy and the sickest chic ever. jeeze.

2009-07-30T15:22:00.000-07:00

my first night in mexico i found a bartender and i sunk my giant, very long acrylic nails [which were painted with tiny palm trees and corona bottles, alternatively] deep into his face so he would love me for the entirety of my time there. he was so totally my bff that he even invited us to the mountains with him and his family on his only day off. i agreed in my drunken state but then thought better of it in my hangover state the next day because we were afraid we'd be sold into white slavery or something. the sun rises very late there and that confused me but mostly because i was always hungover and eager for it to become 10am so that i could shampoo myself into a less shitty feeling with a tom collins or a vodka lemonaid slushee from my bff. oh how i miss that man. i'm sorry to say there weren't many ladies who were lookers at the resort, maybe 5 at most, and i was one of them. you bet your ass those acrylic nails put me in the top 5.

sometimes i go to the bathroom at work and just sit on the toilet infinity after i'm done peeing and i call it 'me time'. sometimes 3 or 4 people will come in and pee while i'm enjoying me time and a lot of times at least one of those people will leave without washing their hands. i'd love to leap off the pot to see their shoes so i know who's gross but then i'd be the gross one with my cheek to the bathroom floor.

2009-07-29T12:25:00.000-07:00

the night my vacation started we went with happy hour. we ate a lot of stuff and drank a lot more. a conversation at the bar lead to me suggesting we drive out to vegas that night and finish out that weekend proper. everybody was in except one crybaby who was being such a crybaby that she forced me to corner her in the bathroom and strongarm her into going with us. my lesson there was to make sure i was taking fake shots while everyone else took real ones, that way everyone would be 100% in and i might even still be able to drive.

we didn't go.

i remember having a conversation with a hot old guy and wondering if i could get him to fuck me in the bathroom. he was really old too. what the hell is my obsession with old guys anyway, seriously?

anyway.

on our way to another bar i backed into an illegal without a license. her shotgun rider was getting smart and tried to get money out of me. i got brave and offered to just call the police instead. the lady selling roses in a bucket assured her that was not an acceptable option and we were on our way. shit my pants much? kindof!

2009-07-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

fuck work.
fuck it right in it's pretty little mouth.
i was getting so depressed about having to go back that i've been ripped since saturday afternoon.
i'm pretty sure i'm still drunk now so we'll talk later.

This text is set to "small" instead of "smallest" for old blind people since the old and blind is the demo for this blog

2009-06-25T09:35:00.000-07:00

ok so yeah my binger will be 33 days rather than 30. so fucking what. fucking sue me. i don't know how i can be expected to run 13 miles hammered. it was not supposed to happen this way. speaking of hammered, i think it's charming when you young guys say words like 'hammered' and 'bro' and 'sick'. and when i say charming i mean that in a summer's eve kind of way. remember when i only attracted 23 year old hot chics who thought i too was 23 so it was ok for us to make out in public? well it appears i've moved on to 27 year old doucheys who think i too am 27 so it's ok to make out in public. yes sir, wear your aviators in bars at night and keep your breezy button down shirt buttoned down to show your hairless chest and silver ring on your middle finger. this is not the one who had my hand down his pants though. no, not him. i would never hold the cock of a man who wears a middle finger ring.

tight

2009-06-24T09:26:00.000-07:00

3days until i start a 30day binger. wait, maybe 2 since that bitch should technically start friday. yesss friday. i plan on being a lady lunching a lot. lunching with all the friends i can't ever seem to make time for during the real life times. i plan on thrift shopping with my sigg bottle full of a vodka concoction twice weekly. i plan on catching the pig flu in mexico while making out with some bartender in some resort bathroom then recovering from said flu easily because i won't be able to tell if it's actually the flu or just a hangover. by recovering i mean shampooing my drunk into a nice drunken lather again. rinse. repeat. all i can talk about is being on vacation and when i get back i'm going to read this and be so fucking pissed off that i'm not still on vacation. i have 4 new years resolutionswritten on a piece of scrap paper and taped to the wall of my office. i have already failed at the first two. wait, looking at 3 & 4 it seems i am failing at those too. also, i gave breastfeeding advise yesterday.

ps. xtx, i'm coming to near you sometime in the next 30 days so whattaya say to a liquid lunch? and maybe a burrito. your beaches are better than mine.

16 days shy

2009-06-22T10:42:00.000-07:00

hooray for the world, i am drinking again. 6 months is a long time and now i'm buzzed from one beer while i wait in line for an hour and a half for a hot dog. i'm buzzed from one glass of wine while i sit in a rocking chair with my feet up on the fire pit. i'm buzzed from 3 shots of rice wine, all taken with erect pinkies. it will be a long road to get back to the point of going down on 3 martinis before i notice the stirrings. one thing though, the conversations are easier. to start, at least. i'm the bravest little chicken shit you know. i don't need booze for anal and he does. weird.

2009-06-02T17:08:00.001-07:00

i'm leaving on a
red-eye
for NY tomorrow.
not fun NY, upstate NY.
this trip comes at a very
inopportune time
for me as one of my traveling companions and i are in a
rough place.
fake smiles,
even for someone like me, are
ridiculous.
baseball hall of fame.
i would like to stand toe-to-toe with someone in
that town
and look into her eyes.
UP
into her eyes
(i'm short)
and give her the look of
doom.
i'm sure you had no idea how
scrappy
i am.
yankee game.
no beer.
lame.

douchey

2009-05-26T10:13:00.000-07:00

No, I am not on vacation...yet. I have been busy being a douchebag. Here is a list of douchey things I have done since we spoke last:
i wrote code for 3 weeks straight then birthed a brand new website and it was painful and gave me stretch marks and has a douchey face that only a mother could love. i finished 90 days of that douchey p9ox and it was painful and gave me stretch marks but now i have douchey guns with cannons and rocket launchers and scopes attached. i have stuck to my douchey personal goal of not drinking alcohol for 5 of the 6 proposed douchey months and it has been painful and has most likely given me stretch marks and come day 6months +1day when I do finally drink again it will be a douchey waste of 'all inclusive' because i'll be shitfaced after one drink. i have eaten some chocolate fondue that was so delightful that i swear it was actually shit from heavenly angels with beautiful breasts and shiney hair. ok, so that wasn't so douchey. maybe the analagy was. not sorry. but i will be on vacation soon.

3.5 wks

2009-03-13T10:21:00.001-07:00

This has to be some kind of fucking record, right? Well I guess it's more of a non-fucking record if you're gonna get all technical with it, be that way, jerk. Yeah, go ahead and rub it in. You heard me. Anyway. I was at the mall the other day, I just strolled along by myself and would find myself ducking in and out of the usual stores. Some were for girls a lot younger than me but I still kind of feel like I can get away with it because I'm little and youngish looking. I tell ya, I can fool you with like 10 years, I swear. Well I also found myself in the same stores, at the same time with this stunning ladyperson. It wasn't like I was stalking her or anything, and trust me I would totally tell you if I was, but I guess we were just walking on the same path in the mall-two people who started at the same place. So I told you she was stunning and she was. She was thin and porceline and had a really cute little sloped nose. My guess is that she was a ballerina and I guessed this because she was thin yet muscular and had very good posture. Like, she was silently encouraging me to straighten up. Her hair was dark and her eyelashes long. She had little boobs but a killer butt. I think you get it, she was a looker. I'd hit it. Anyway, a little while later I found me and my fake-shopping buddy in a shoe store where the shoes are expensive but sexy-just like me. haha, just kidding, I'm not THAT sexy. So I'm waiting for the sales guy to bring out fourteen pairs of shoes for me so I'm just sitting back on the leather couch with both arms splayed out to the side, you know, relaxin. Of course in walks lady friend and she seemed to know exactly what she wanted because she walked up to a black patent leather jobby and asked for a size 8. She sat kind of across from me and got ready to try them on by taking off her own shoes. You know when someone's voice doesn't match their face? Well her feet didn't match her at all because they were gnarley. I'm serious. Our fake-friendship ended right then and there and maybe that's silly or petty of me but damn woman! And I think that locked up the fact that she's a ballerina. I bet you only kept reading because you thought something better would happen so sorry to dissapoint you. Oh wait, here's something! Soon after that I got a text message that read, "I'm gonna jack off in yer hair." It was from a girl. I laughed and tried on all those shoes and walked out the opposite way of my ex fake friend.
Like I said, it's some kind of non-fucking record.

2009-03-03T11:09:00.000-08:00

Only a couple more days of livin my life as xtx' favorite number and it seems that all of my friends have become knocked up douchebags. seriously, all of them. they're all knocked up. they're all killing me with their douchebaggery. i'm being a bit of a crybaby so ok enough. check this out. i get a month off work. for free. this is in recognition of working in the same spot for 5+ distinguished years. so i am busy planning what i will do with this time and it's harder than you think, especially because the state of california is being a huge dickface and not sending me my money. you know what california, you stupid bitch? what if i owed YOU money and was like "hey, i mis-managed my money so unfortunately i'm not going to be able to pay you. indefinitely. whoops! sorry about that." yeah right, try saying anything close to that and half my check is going to that dirty whore california and i wouldn't be able to say shit about it. so what i'm saying is, california i love you and your perfect weather but give me my fucking money. skank. i do not know why california is a female. i digress. i am leaving this country during that free month off. i am also running a marathon. i am also camping. not in that order. when i leave the country i will go to another country where i only speak the language when i am drunk. well guess what?! since i am training for that marathon i am not drinking! how will i converse with the people in this foreign land? how will i make out with girls in their 20's without first drinking 3 beers followed by 3 shots? (that is not required but it is usually what preceeds my making-out-with-2o-yr-old-shenanigans.) hot 20 somethings love me and they love making out with me. it is a curse. one that i hope never ends.

2009-02-05T16:47:00.000-08:00

i'd say that 98% of my life is spent wondering how the people i encounter in my daily life are in bed. and how they'd fair with me, if given the go'head. like that super nice guy at work, all american, kind of looks like mr incred ible from that cartoon movie. sometimes his pants are a tad too short but this is more about fucking and less about fashion, right? i guess. anyway, he's the kind of guy who asks you how you're doing every time you pass him in the halls-then i feel bad because i just say fine and dont' ask back. i'll walk behind him and find myself thinking 'well, he has a kid so that means he had sex at least once. so is he like my bf-hating every minute of it, doing everything in his power to make sure he doesn't have to look at the vagina? or is he like me, completely starved and wishing on shooting stars that someone will fulfil my rape fantasy or pray that one day, ONE DAY, i'll be lucky enough to get DP'd all proper like?' i settle on the thought that he and his wife plan every encounter-mostly around her period or whether or not he was a good boy and took out the garbage without her asking. all while he's secretly searching craigslist to find and fuck a mexican tran ny with too much eyeliner and a tight, tan ass. that fat jerk two offices down: likes to be called daddy and secretly wishes he could find a hot young japchic to sh it oh him. the chic who told her (now ex-shocker!) husband that he couldn't take her in the ass until their 10 yr anniversary: gives terrible head must shower immediately afterwards. my boss: loves to bend a lady over anything, just as long as she's completely naked. the security guard at the gate of the garage: on more than one occasion has turned up in the emergency room with a litebulb up his ass. the douchebag who sold me my phone headset at the kiosk in the mall: puts a gun to his girlfriends face while he fucks her, while they lay upon a bed of dollar bills (wishes they were hundos). everybody. i study their faces looking for any clue they'll give me. how do their hands hang at their sides? how do they walk? how are they touching the person they're with. this is not a science. i'm gross.

2009-02-02T11:34:00.000-08:00

I would tell you all about it if I thought you wanted to listen. Instead I talk about things that I know will get a response. Still, I'm having a hard time dealing with feeling like I have no control over a lot of things. It's ironic to say you just want to be taken care of, then all of a sudden you're unable to take care of yourself. I'm pretty sure that's not even irony. I'm a comedian in my own head. I will sit in an empty room and strain to think of something genius. Like when you're concentrating so hard that your tongue pokes out of the side of your pursed lips and your eyes squint and your back aches. It's disappointing when all that comes to me is the image of U ma Thur man with blotchy red eyes and a jagged cut on her left cheek making dirty love to an obese man with tits larger than her own. His frown says he's just as disappointed as you are while his fat, sweaty balls wish they saw the light of day more often than they do. U ma wishes she didn't queef while she did yoga but the fat man forces so much air up there when he fists her. She's still more content than I am.

sometimes

2009-01-29T11:37:00.001-08:00

sometimes, you cannot speak of your love for another.

sometimes, someone will suck you in and spit you out when you get too close because that is all they know how to do.

sometimes, someone’s heart will break and crack into tiny little fragments in their chest before it even hits the ground.

sometimes, the timing is off.

sometimes, things go right and sometimes things go horribly wrong.

sometimes, you give and sometimes you take.

sometimes, you say you are sorry.

sometimes, you walk away.

sometimes, things are not your fault and sometimes others will see differently.

sometimes, love just isn’t enough.

sometimes, well…sometimes, love is too much.

sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem.

sometimes, you have no energy and it takes every ounce of strength left to open your eyes, stare up at the ceiling and force yourself out of bed.

sometimes, you can’t breathe. you can’t even whisper a barely audible hello to a complete stranger because you know the second you open up your mouth, your voice will crack and the tears will fall because your heart and mind just can’t seem to stop thinking...

sometimes, you are skipping down the street whistling a merry, little tune because you are the one that walked away.

sometimes, you are so sad and alone that you can’t even stand to be in your very own skin.

sometimes, you are in love. so much in fact, that nothing else really seems to matter and you are flying. you are flying so high that you literally cannot breathe because the beautiful feeling next to you feels that good.

sometimes, you can’t sleep at night. you toss and you turn and it sucks because you know in just a few short hours you have to force yourself to get up and go to work.

sometimes, writing in your journal just isn’t enough. so you find yourself typing uncontrollably and you send your passage to a wide, open space for all the world to see. and you find comfort in that because someone out there is going through the exact same thing as you and no matter how uncanny it is, they can 100% relate to everything you are saying/typing, feeling and thinking. you then realize that you are not alone after all.

sometimes, you sleep well. a little to well.

sometimes, you regret things; whether it be actions or words and sometimes you don’t regret a thing.

sometimes, you wake up and look over at your beautiful feeling, who is sound asleep, and think about how much you love them. then your ego takes over and tells you how much you despise them. how your beautiful feeling is no longer beautiful because it is bringing you down and everything else around you. it is too much work, too much energy for you to deal with. your beautiful feeling has gotten to close and it has made you see things in yourself that you were not ready to see, nor were you prepared to see. you start to get angry and make up every excuse as to why it won’t work. without hesitation, you get up, you get dressed, you pack up your belongings and slowly and quietly creep towards the door, knowing full well it is a point of no return. whatever reasons your ego is giving you to walk beyond that door, you are listening because your ego is a very powerful thing; despite what your heart says, your ego forces you to open that door. it’s not your fault, nor is it your beautiful feeling’s fault.

sometimes, things just happen and things occur and it is out of your control. so you open that door and you leave with no kiss on the forehead, no handshake, no peace, no wish you well, no note or message of any kind. you just simply walk away.

sometimes, you wake up and look over at a total stranger because you were trying to fill a void by having meaningless sex.

sometimes, you wake up and look over and see nothing but an empty space. so you roll over on your back and stare up at the ceiling and a tear falls and gets your ear all wet…but you don’t care because you are much too involved in your thoughts. and you begin to wonder about your beautiful feeling because it wasn’t too long ago that they lay next to you. and you realize your ego was wrong all along…you don’t hate your beautiful feeling. in fact, they were one of your greatest teachers. had it not been for them, you would not have learned all that you did since your breakup. and then you realize you never stopped loving that person. in fact, you love them just as much, if not more, today than you ever did before; even though it has been months since your last interaction. and then you get upset, sad and frustrated because you can’t call them or email them to say hi or to even say thank you for whatever reasons you have.

sometimes, you treat another horribly; even though you know it is wrong and would never want to be treated in the same fashion yourself, you do it anyway. why? after all, you did share a history with that person. it doesn’t matter how or why it ended, what does matter is respect for another human being. swallow your pride and kick your ego to the curb and at the very least, shake hands before you walk and kick them to the curb.

sometimes, you are the crusher.

sometimes, you are the crushed.

sometimes, you cannot speak of your love for another, for whatever reasons you have. no matter how intense, how strong, how passionate, how beautiful, how chaotic, how distant or how real your feelings and love are…sometimes, typing is all you have left.

sometimes, you want to talk with that person and tell them anything and everything, even if it is as just a friend. you miss this person in your life, just because. but you can’t tell this person anything because this person doesn’t want to be contacted because this person’s ego says so.

sometimes, you are the one in control and say, ‘please, no contact.’ no matter who you are and what the situation is…everyone deserves a second chance. we have all been the crusher’s and we have all been the crushed, so we all know what it feels like on either side. why spit on someone then? if you can aide in closure, in giving someone peace…please do so. if you are not willing to give a second chance to the friendship and or the relationship, at least say, ‘peace to you’…then walk away.

sometimes, when i think of you and i, i wonder...was i the crusher or was i the crushed?

sometimes, i wonder about you, just as i am sure you wonder about me. i mean, we are human after all. but god forbid one of us picks up the phone or emails the other. despite everything that has happened and every thing that was said…god forbid, because we have too much pride, don’t we? so i will continue to wonder about you, just as you will probably continue to wonder about me. and as a result, i will always wonder what could have been.

just like i know you are going to automatically think this is about you.
well, it’s not.
because you see…sometimes…
sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem.

sometimes, i forget.
which ever role i played.

2009-01-23T16:37:00.000-08:00

sometimes i floss my teeth with my hair. only when i'm bored at work and i've run out of things to look at on the internet which means i don't do it often. i have thick, luxurious hair that works well for flossing. i also lose a lot of hair while blowdrying or flatironing or breathing, mostly because i have so much of it. one day i will weave you a fine bolero jacket from lost hair. but only after i take a handfull of margarine and smear it all over your face. ok, just your mouth. then we'll kiss hard and rough to ensure that i have equal amounts of margarine on my own face. then i'll walk away and you'll stare at my ass and shake your head in disbelief, like, AGAIN?

un-lady-like

2009-01-14T11:39:00.000-08:00

i think this is weird but i jilled off 6 times this morning. idunno how it happened. i was on the couch putting on some makeup and watching the news and was like, it's time. perhaps it happened because i was checking out my vadge in my little hand-held make-up mirror? perhaps. i know it wasn't the news i was watching. you'd think the news would hinder the act but i was pleasantly surprised to find out it didn't. and i know girls aren't supposed to say things like this but i tasted it. i also wanted to go back to sleep but sadly i had to get dressed for work. i wonder if he knew what was going on after he got out of the shower because you know when you get yourself a lot of times in a row it smells like sex in the room. i was thinking that he notice because we both were freshly showered and you might smell something out of the ordinary that's not necessarily bad but sex'ish. like i give a shit.

85degrees of regret

2009-01-12T08:58:00.000-08:00

Well what do you know, to bask in the warm 85 degree southern california weather was fantastic for my health. Of course it was. Laying on the beach in January is the best thing ever. i think it would be ironic if i moved to san diego and my sister decided to move back to the bay area. l.a. is an enigma to me. i saw a short little midget-esque woman doing squats with a huge weight bar on the beach. we weren't even anywhere near venice. how did she get that piece of gym equipment out to the beach anyway? i saw a very jazzersize'esque tranny strolling in front of pinkberry like only a tranny can . i took my eyes off my heavenly yogurt only for a moment to admire the legwarmers and ankle weights. he was followed by a bette midler fake impersonator. if that's red, what's orange??? i probably said that too loud. i hung with a lady with 25 mice in her home. she saved them certain death by snake ingestion. she was very hospitable and offered many varieties of stuff you put in a bong. i saw a man enjoying a leisurely beverly hills lunch with his dog on his lap. his lapdog was a 70'ish lb lab. oh beverly hills, you so crazy! spy photos! i also saw pineap ple express which is now in my top5 and it's not just because i was introduced to a certain person in that film when i went to visit his dad. if that was the case i would have liked spiderman a lot more than i did. yes, i regret not fucking him.

happy birthday jesus, you magic man!

2009-01-05T12:57:00.000-08:00

the best christmas tradition we have is the one where we stay in new pj's all day and drink mimosas. last year we also threw in 9 hours of guitar hero. i figured we'd do the same this year but instead we had all of the single men we know with nowhere to go on christmas day over to our house. this will always seem like a good idea when you think it in your head and even maybe when you say it out loud to said single men, but when they start showing up holding bottles of alcohol you start to wonder, really? what kind of idiot are you? I was happy to see 6 more bottles of champagne, you know, to keep the mimosa train rolling. when i saw 1 bottle of cheap vodka pass through my front door i was leary but thought that might also work well with the oj. but when one bachelor showed up with 1 bottle of absinthe...well lets just say i pretty much knew right there that this would end badly. already drunk me + pj's that show off more boob than is appropriate for men other than your boyfriend + being the only "lady"/attention whore in the house + absinthe layered over vodka layered over champagne = this will end badly. like i needed to lay that equation out for you. i remember dancing in the kitchen to some bowie on vinyl while i checked out my own rack in the mirror. i remember mentally high fiving myself but real life winking and finger-gun-shooting at myself as i admired my tits. i remember watching porn in the basement with 4 dudes watching behind me. i remember not being as uncomfortable with this as i probably should have been. i remember more dancing, more absinthe, and karaoke. then the rest comes in flashes. flash to puke. flash to the shower. flash to the bed. flash to another chic. flash to the dog barking. flash to finally locking the front door and turning off all the lights. at 10pm. TEN PM! now that's how you celebrate jesus' birthday right there.
i don't drink anymore.

sometimes we'll go a week without...and when we do...we do not discuss

2008-12-22T12:04:00.000-08:00

sometimes we'll go a week without
weeks. like, a few weeks. this is very difficult for me since i am entering my prime. your 'low drive' excuse is tired because i'm quite certain you toss off once a day. your 'catholic guilt' excuse is also tired. those two in that list of excuses are accompanied by the 'i saw my mom get hit' excuse and the 'i don't want you to think i see you as a sex object' excuse. i'm tired of all of them because being an object isn't a bad thing every once in a while. being slapped can be fun. i can get with that. also, i am not your mom. the worst on that list is the one where you say that the sex is not the most important thing in a relationship. don't you go making me feel like an addict. don't you dare. i don't go around calling you a fag because you aren't consistently fucking me, now do i? no. sometimes we'll go a week or three without.
and when we do
you don't look at me. ever. you only like to fuck me from behind. make no mistake, i do like it that way, but once in a while it's nice to feel the weight of you on top of me. you don't pull my hair hard enough. it's like you only do it to hold on and it's only for a minute. leverage. you don't say dirty things to me. you don't say anything actually. you don't make a sound. nothing. it's quiet. not peaceful. awkward, almost. it'd be nice to hear just a little grunt to let me know you're even ok with how far down my throat your dick is creeping. speaking of, your face hasn't been down near my spot in i don't know how long. i can count the number of times it has been in two years, on one hand. it seems as though you're totally put off by me. by sex. by my sex. remember that one time i pounced on you wearing only a tank & boyshorts? and you told me to get off of you because we had to go? because you had work to do? ouch. and that's just one example. and when we do it's just ok.
we do not discuss
fantasies. past experiences. there is no giggling at embarrassing old sex stories. we do not share. i'm not ashamed or afraid. i'm interested in hearing what you've done, what you want to do, what you won't do. i'm open to anything and that's not just because the times we finally do are few and far between. like i'm desperate. for affection and sex and connecting. because of all of this, it's like my ego has been stomped on by optimus prime. i've stopped asking for it. i've stopped part of who i am because no ego can recover from being stomped on by optimus prime. we do not discuss because i fear that you will resent it. the catch 22 is that i am beginning to resent that we don't. we do not discuss.

distraction

2008-12-05T16:20:00.000-08:00

I don't think I'm going to go for that run, after all. It was one of those things that totally runs through your mind and once you say it out loud you're like "Wow me, that would probably end badly. Perhaps you would be better off sitting around playing Klondike on your iPod while you listen to something emo. You know you have something emo on your iPod, you douchebag. Oh and eat a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos once in a while too, because you're totally depriving yourself, asshole." Maybe you're not as hard on yourself as I am and that's great. I eat a lot of tuna. That is not a euphemism for something else. I also eat a lot of beets. I have very low cholesterol so there's that! Anyway, may all your guilt shoe purchases work out for you. I'm afraid to say I have sort of similar type guilt but in my version I bought a pair by a dicktress hotel tycoon's daughter. They are so high I also fear for my life since I'll be drunk when I wear them. Maybe a boob will pop out. Fingers crossed!

3 short notes

2008-12-01T13:46:00.000-08:00

I have made some (sometimes creative) awesomeness with leftovers. Today is the very last of it...brown rice. I am so asian. I ate it with hot dogs. That might negate the asian part, but it's like heaven to me. I'm only asian'ish.

I was day drunk in SF this past Saturday. It resulted in me drunk shopping. That resulted in me drunk spending a lot of money on a dress. My intention is to drunk wear that dress to a giant corporate Vegas themed Christmas party this coming Saturday. I'm hoping the final drunk result is me getting cock-slapped for looking so gorgeously slutty. I need shoes.

I had a dream that I was (long story short) looking for someone to go down on me. I was like a feign, racing around a big space needle type building in search of a volunteer to get all oral-mania on my girlparts. Every time I'm dreaming of something sexual and trying to "plan" it out (for whatever reason) it doesn't end up happening for me. I need to learn how to just go with it in my dreams, let go, let the filthy gas station attendant go at it with the same kind of fervor that I have to get it. I'm not sure what my subconscious problem is but it's annoying. And blue-ballish.

triste

2008-11-25T11:06:00.001-08:00

Wow. Haven't been here in a while. It's been so long I didn't even remember my password. I wonder if anyone will even notice I stopped in.

That's ok, I want to say somethings about someone and those somethings are some of those things you don't usually talk about in public but rather you keep them in your own head because they those things/decisions that if you talk about out loud then you realize how insane they actually are. And you know it's insane but your mind has a funny way about it, taking something so crazy and actually convincing itself that it's an awesome idea. Weird. Maybe not so weird.

Maybe I won't talk about it at all.

There is this savage that started coming around back in ancient times, like BC. The best and the worst kind of savage that only brings out the premium in you. And no matter how hard you say you try to run from this savage, you know that you're really not trying to run. You're secretly sitting there out in the open, waiting for this savage to pounce on you. Years and years of this silly savage and mouse game go on and you can't/don't want to shake the savage but you do. No you don't. Yes, you do. If you knew what was best for you, you would. But you don't. Does it even matter when you don't speak the same language? It doesn't, really.

Now what? Now you're older and the savage is older. Now you think maybe you finally stopped pretending to run because running makes you tired and pretending to run is even worse on your thighs. Now it's final. Finality has begun to set in. But that savage would like one more run at it. For old times sake. For fun. For shits & giggles. For the fuck of it. Before finality really really sets in. Because you can't run to that state. Because you can't pretend to run from so far away. Nobody would be around to pretend not to see you pretending to run.

The one thing you know for certain is that it would be the run of your fucking life.

2008-06-13T16:47:00.000-07:00

WTF CanadaFace, Vadge, Danskin? Where the eff my grammas at?
Everyone must be getting laid.
I hate you all.

Just kidding.

remember...when you eat, you're a vacuum with tits.

2008-03-04T10:18:00.000-08:00

2 more days and Ima little bit closer and a little bit further away. I don't have any plans but I took the day off anyway. And the next day after that, too. 2 more days until Ima off for 2 extra days and I probably won't even masturbate once in those 4 days. Maybe it's because Imaddicted to scrabbulous. Maybe it's because Ima hoping Ima getting laid so Ima saving up. Sometimes I pretend my hair is a mustache on my own face. Sometimes I hate myself for always hating reality TV but finding out I love Project Runway. I tried to love ANTM but I think it made me stupid. I cleaned out my storage this weekend and sold all my ex' crap that he refused to pick up-on craigslist, for example, I sold a box of playboymags for $25 to some asian business man in a very expensive suit. Ima not too hot on asian mens but Ima gonna admit that while he looked through the box of mags I might have had a flash in my head that I fucked him in the storage. It's dusty in there, the storage. While we fucked, I flipped through an issue with Shannon Do-whore-ty on the cover then I blew him and he came on my tits.

Sorry Carlos, I meant to save those mags for you.

and her cat sits with his tail out so his anus touches everything

2008-02-20T15:14:00.000-08:00

Hey why don't you stop crying for a minute and let me explain myself.

I don't have an explanation, I don't even care.

Sometimes I forget to even read blogs and I actually do care about that because after reading some fucking shitty writing lately, I realize that XTbagX is a genius and if I'm not reading her blog every day then I'm a total fag.

Someone I call Phenomenal here at work (because she says to 'have a phenomenal day' on her voicemail) asked if I wanted to try some of her tea so I says "yeah sure, what flavor?" and she said, "comforting".
wtf?
I wonder if they have "ejaculating".
Then someone I call Christie Black (I think this nickname is pretty obvious here) asked if I wanted her banana because it was too ugly for her to eat. I told her she was a shallow bitch and I took her banana anyway and ate it like you'd hope to catch me eating it.

Anyway, everything is mostly the same except I have to spend more time designing things on the computers and less time not doing that. I raked it in with my own special brand of Valentine cards and art that now hangs on other peoples walls-people who could give a shit about the artist but just want to say they have local art on their wall.

Anyway stop fucking crying before I fucking give you something to fucking cry about.
Wow, THAT'S love.

it's either that or a cockfight

2008-01-07T11:41:00.001-08:00

Awesome is accidentally dropping your last tampon into the toilet before you get to tampon fuck yourself.

Ladies, can I get a WHAT WHAT?
Fellas, can I get you to not puke on my shoes?

ktksbye.

london you're a lady

2008-01-02T23:31:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder if everyone else jills off as much as I do. I mean I have a pretty good idea that somextxone does but sometimes think I'm friggin amazing for pulling out so many of those puppies in one sitting. Or maybe that's not even a lot what the fuck do I know? Or maybe I'm totally underestimating myself because I honestly don't count how many times I get there, I just go. One then wait about a minute then again, then wait another minute then again, next thing I know I'm sweating more than I did when I ran my last marathon and my legs are fucking killing me...like that crease where my legs meet my hips is so stiff and the pain is so ridiculous that I have a hard time straightening them back out. So yeah I'd say I go 25 times at the least, 50 times tops and I'm sure it has a lot to do with the fact that I'm single but I still remember doing this shit a lot even when I had a live in. I've gotta say it's really pretty addicting because I'll plan on getting it on with myself but I'll say 'self, first you must read 20 pages in this book you're reading and THEN you can handle your biznaz' but then I'll be reading and I'll be like 'dude, Phillip K Dick is a fucking awesome writer! Dick! Time to get off and then I can't even think about reading anymore because I'm consumed with dick! Shit dude. Yeah so if you could clue me in on yours I'll be totally stoked. This is all with the monarch, in case you were wondering (and I'm sure you were), nothing going in, this is all surface work we're talking about here. The best thing about being single is being able to fall asleep in the middle of my very awesome bed with my head floating in the middle of all 4 feathery pillows and my vibrator resting quietly against my inner thigh. The worst thing about being single is that all of that happens but there usually isn't any jizz on my chin or tits or on my person in general.

Enough about me, where have I been for the past couple of months anyway? Not working and getting my head shrunk, that's where. Now the holidays are over and I'm back to work and I have a lemon sized head. Weird, right? I mostly missed you.

it's like shitting - just let it go right on the couch

2007-11-16T07:23:00.000-08:00

Ok so I had this dream the other night that I was dating Damien Rice. I don't know where or how we met but all of a sudden he was sweet on me and me him and we were this out of nowhere couple complete with me being included in all of his TV interviews. He was promoting his 9 album and I'd sit there next to him all cute, constantly looking back and forth between him and whoever was interviewing us (Larry King, once) and smiling and laughing and he'd put his hand on my leg and squeeze it when he was embarrassed . Sometimes I'd answer questions, but they were always about him like "What do you guys watch on TV?" and to that I replied "We watch Curb Your Enthusiasm but I'm pretty sure he only watches it for me and that he hates Larry David. The big story wasn't his new album though, it was the fact that Damien was dating a non Hollywood/music industry type like me. He kept calling me "a regular" and when asked how he felt about that he'd say that it was totally fucking awesome dating "a normal" like me except he didn't say 'totally fucking awesome'-instead he'd use some obscure Irish antidote that nobody understood, not even me. He'd say we do all the things "the normals" do like lick our fingers after we eat Doritos and hike Mt. Tam and fuck in the shower. Of course I would blush when he'd say the word 'fuck' but only because we did fuck in the shower. Maybe it's because he liked to immediately wash "the normal" pussay off of him, idunno. And none of that bothered me because I knew he was a rebound for me anyway and I knew that he'd soon break things off all dramatical-like so he could go off and date a younger blonde chic with no ass. Yeah, that was all fine with me because I had my eye on Harry Osborne and Harry is local and spending weekends in Ireland was often tiring. Plus Harry is more emotionally stable than Damien anyway so what the hell, right?

I love it when Richelle has the nerve to call me a whore and to keep my legs closed.

go all slappy-town on him

2007-11-13T07:23:00.000-08:00

You should know that I'm still here, in fact it's kind of like I'm back and in the best way you can imagine which means living life the way it's meant to be lived. One thing you should know about your Jades is that it's important to NOT FUCK WITH ME because the mind fuck that comes back your way is brutal and I hate crybabies. Also, Dan will kill you on my word and I don't think you even want to get any hamper action all over your stupid face. So this weekend I had this dinner party for my mom and the fams is drunk on margaritas and playing Cranium and it's my turn to do a humdinger (not code for dirty things). I'm just mentioning this because I am Queen of the Humdingers (in every way you can think of) and believe me you will guess that song in 2 notes. Also, I wish my karaoke skills were up to this level. I think one difference is that I don't spit during humdingers (same thought as before) so everything is beautiful clear throat action. I was going pee earlier. That's not all! I pulled around the little strings that tie around the back of my shirt so they wouldn't dip into the tank and they were warm. I'm guessing it's because they were nestled in my asscrack. HAMPER!

Moving on.

freaking is not a crime

2007-11-07T07:23:00.000-08:00

Can we please fucking talk about something else around here? I mean if you're going have your mind consumed with something then, for the love of balls, let it be about something good. Or minty. Seriously, you guys have a problem. WTF. I have to think of a new diet plan. Currently I walk around my house in a bikini so that every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror I stick my finger down my throat. I have tons of mirrors up in my house, maybe one on every wall. I have to because I'm gorgeous and I was told that's what the beautiful people do. Just kidding about the purging thing, btw, you're forgetting I'm also very cheap. Anyway, you'd be surprised to find out that I somehow became a total lightweight when it comes to booze and that all of a sudden one pint has me acting like I did on a half dozen dirties. I mostly blame the running and you should too. Please don't be disappointed. ps-ruffies still work on me. I should be leaving for Vegas tonight but fucking shocker-I'm not.

Here is where I was going to show you me as the Mad Hatter on Halloween but I can't because it's too fucking funny mostly because my nipple was showing.

I thought guys liked having big necks?

2007-11-01T07:23:00.000-07:00

I should seriously consider becoming the girl Magnum PI because I am a super detective. I pretty much already have the 'stache for it so I'm only a hawaiian shirt and a pair of aviators away from owning my own PI business. Seriously, I would earn so many dollars-US, like enough to buy myself my own beach, a Baskin Robbins store, a hammock, and maybe a cool skateboard every month. I know you're probably doubting my skills right now but give me a test assignment and I sweat to god I'll come through. Yeah, I said sweat. Now this kind of newfound skill is both awesome and depressing or what some of you might call bittersweet because I have been know to work for myself on an occasion or two, finding things that make me feel like like I got punched in the stomach by Fatso's hairy fists of furry. Not awesome. I'm glad I finally got to change the Italian mosaic picture on my calender. Again , bittersweet because I no longer have to glance up at that dick mosaic man looking past his fine woman anymore-but now that brings me closer to Pearl Harbor day. And believe me peeps, bombs will drop again that day, not atomic, but of the jades variety. You will NOT enjoy having the jadesbomb drop on your stupid receding hairline either because it will hurt worse than when I kick your low-hanger balls. Fuck. I haven't decided which will come first though-any thoughts out there? Moving on. Ah yes, moving on. It will be nice and sad and kind of gives me gas. Horiz? You feelin me on that one? But really, moving on. I'm thinking about ditching my vibrator. It's cold and doesn't bend and my hands are way cuter anyway. Actually my hands look like old lady hands so I can get a better picture of what it'll be like when I'm 67 and still groping myself. HOT! No, not hot so maybe I'll just wear gloves. How dainty! I was the Mad Hatter for Halloween. 3 things pissed me off about Halloween. The fact that I may or may not be getting sick was not one of the 3 because I am totally used to that. When I was a kid I was sick on Halloween from age 9-14. Swearsies! Ok so that first year I wasn't really sick, I just had 7 teeth pulled so I was all doped up and drooling all over the brown and yellow vinyl kitchen floor.

I'm also giving up food.

your house is a midget hot dog

2007-10-29T07:23:00.000-07:00

Oh for fucksake and jeezusHchrist, I already know I'm a total bearded dickface so save it. Things are confusing and messy and cloudy and shit but that doesn't mean I can't take a little vacation down to good ol' Los Angeles for a day or six and do all things touristy, right? By touristy I mean sitting in the front row at Leno and being handed a chance to look at a pregnant actress panties during the entire taping of the show. First I have to admit that I was totally high the whole time and second I am disappointed that I didn't get a chance to meet Fatso, my hero. Everyone's all OMG HOW DID YOU GET THIS HOOKUP and I'm like yeah I know peeps who know I like to see pregnant actress panties oh and tight ass country singer jeans including man-toe. I also ate Roscoes and Pinks and Pinkberry and you'd think that Roscoes still held my heart but after a meal of pastrami ON TOP OF MY HOT DOG then following that orgasm up with weird plain frozen yogurt holy crap, it's reason enough to move down to LA I swear. I might be banned for a while though because I told off quite a few people including the boyband reject KJ at some supposed karaoke hotspot and some prick homo at some prick Chinese restaurant. Yes, I drank a lot more than is acceptable-thank god for that Gran Burrito place in the ghetto because those mexicans saved my ass, even if they do poison white people with 'hamburgers'. Who orders a hamburger in a place like that anyway? Crackers do, that's who. I'm only half cracker so I'm not talking about myself here. I also spent a fair amount of time at the beach because it was hotter than crazy, starting fires and shit. I saw this one chic power walking along the sand like a mofo, her iPod on blast, and I thought OMG IS THAT XTX BECAUSE I WILL TACKLE HER FINE ASS RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW but I didn't want to take the chance being I was still drunk from the night before and not being able to get up from my blanket etc. Drinking is getting as old as I am and just when I think I'm over it I accidentally get shitfaced as soon as I got back from my vacation and had to call in sick. I swear it was an accident too. Well ok maybe not because I was drinking with Irish maniacs but they weren't my planned company for the night so see? Accidental-like most anal. Oh that reminds me, I bought a hella cute jacket that the hot wife on Curb Yer Enth wore on the show at some freaky thriftish store and that was mostly for Dan. It was either that or a can of Spam costume and I know some of you are kind of mad at the decision I made, but dude that can was thirty bucks-fuck that!

I think I'm convenient and that's annoying.

we need to talk about the ipod...tenderoni

2007-10-18T07:23:00.000-07:00

So's that RoHobo wants me to talk about my beard, hu? You fucking skank I swear to god when you come out I will leave you for dead in the streets of the Castro. SO WHAT if I have to wax my beard man, not everybody has perfectly smooth porcelain chink (no offense-me) skin like you do, Canadaface, so why don't you suck it? You know I love you more than hot corn so calm down. The story in question here is short, but about the time I went to get my shit waxed and when the little love-you-long-time lady was done she goes "ok honey, now you don't look like husband anymore!' Fuck that and I have a pretty good idea of how sexy you think I am right now. I swear this little blog circle could take our little carnie show on the road though, you aren't perfect. Speaking of hot tits, I'll be down in SoCal this weekend for one more short run and a lot of being totally hammered. You ever ask someone if they want to do something with you when you don't really want them to do it but you're 99% sure they'll say no and then the mutherfucker up and pulls a yes out of their ass? That's me. This weekend. Fuck. And it all relates to my little dramatical crisis but all you can do is be a crybaby and hate 17 year old girls.

I'm the hottest I've been in a while. Trust me.

ran like I stole something...

2007-10-15T10:08:00.000-07:00

2:15:53 was fifty three seconds over my goal and that means I kicked so much ass.

and I'm totally walking like I got beat down for stealing something.

j/k, I didn’t cry. I flashed him.

2007-10-11T07:23:00.000-07:00

I'm turning in work that will be submitted for some statewide student competition and the shit makes my pits sweat and not in that hot Juliette Lewis on stage in spandex kind of way. In my very high and inflated opinion of myself, there is only one other person in my class that is up on me with his design skillz but thats ok, we're not competing against each other or at least I don't think we are. I'd peel that guy's shallots. He's legit. (Not code for anything)

Anyway, I was leaving the mall the other day and it seemed like this chic was following me to my car because she was kinda next to me since the shoe store I stalked. Weird that she walked to the car right next to mine and when we got to our cars, she was driving one just like the first car I ever purchased with my own money given to me by my grampa. So I'm like 'Hey, I used to have a car just like that! Crazies!' and she goes "Weird, yeah I've had it since 1998" and I'm all "Dude, I traded mine in that SAME year" and she's like "NO WAY" and yep, you guessed it, same fucking car. So then I'm all "Dude, is it cursed for you because that bitch was cursed for me" and you could tell by her eyebrow movement that she was not amused. I'm like "Yeah, one time, at this very mall, someone keyed
HERPES HAVING BITCH
across the entire passenger side of that mofo!" Then I laughed and shook my head and in my mind went back to the day I rolled up to some dude at a light and he's motioning to me with his hand in a circular direction like roll down your window and I'm thinking dude, you mean "..." and I made the little finger pushing a switch down motion because duh, power windows. He's goes "Did you know it says
HERPES HAVING BITCH
across the side of your car?" and I'm thinking NO WHAT THE SHIT!??!! and jumped out of my car post haste and sure enough that's what it said, it said
HERPES HAVING BITCH
and that shit was keyed from tire to tire. I'm sure I've told this story before and I'm sorry if you've heard it but it's weird that this chic was parked right next to me, no? So the light turned green and the guy goes "Hey good luck with the herpes!" and drove off while I stood there in shock, everyone behind me honking like impatient assholes with no concern for the bitch with herpes*. That's when I knew it was gonna be a good day.

*I don't have herpes.

awesome boned blouse holey moley

2007-10-10T07:23:00.000-07:00

Ok so wtf is up with my sister finding gray hairs in my head while we're trying to drive to the flea market? Is that even appropriate? I know a lot of people get weirdy about their age but I'm not usually one of them until my hair starts shitting gray. I also look kind of young, so I've been lied to, but I can't deny that I kind of got all crybaby about it. Does hair turn gray or grow in gray? I wonder. I also oftentimes I wonder if the laptop he gave me records keystrokes. Certain keyword searches I do in certain sites would make him really fucking uncomfortable, and to be honest sometimes even make me a little uncomfortable so I hope you're prepared for those fucked up results you're gonna get, dude. I'm not sure why, but I'm kind of reminded of the time we were at the drive through at In&Out and some crazed hobo kept walking into the passenger side door of the car, screaming that we were blocking the crosswalk. Think zombies with less urgency about killing but the same amount of dirty face.

I'm 30 if you round down.

with pork music and tamborines

2007-10-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

You know you have an addiction to karaoke when you beg your sister to bring her home karaoke system up from LA and when she does you end up passed out in your chair with the mic between your tits because you refuse to stop even at 3am. This is, of course, after having awesome battles such as The Battle of the Faggy Boy Band Jams or The Battle of the Jams You Wish You Could Sing Well or The Battle of the Songs You're Embarrassed You Know the Words To (Straight Up-Paula Abdul-clearly I won this one). So what if you're a couple of bottles of red deep and higher than Fatso's blood pressure, hu? Who fucking cares at that point because I'm not stopping and I'm certainly not about to let you win with a fucking Dido song. I think the ultimate winner of all time will be decided when we battle it out next weekend over Live Karaoke in front of people other than someone who gets his cigs swiped off his porch by a hobo going through obvious nicotine withdrawals.

I am running another marathon this weekend and let me tell you I am the dumbest mutherfucker out there. You'd think I learned from the last experience that I am not built for this bullshit but no, I apparently have something to prove. So today I ran with the running club of my place of employment (don't even get me started on how nerd herd this is, I'm already aware and I take shit for my membership daily so don't you even fucking start too) and I'm running hard and my iPod is not being so dickly for once and I'm like fuck yeah who's hardcore? I'M hardcore bitch! when my panties start wrangling in places that might not be appropriate in times of intense nerd competition. You guessed it, totally got me hot. So I was both confused and pissed off and trying to beat out someone wearing a belt with a waterbottle attached to it and shaking my head when I start thinking about my new scenario. Sonofabitch. I cannot find out that I have another issue because I'm serious when I say I'm full-no more. I know, this doesn't make sense to me either. I mean, who admits that shit?

THIS IS A DUET BITCH!

memories of a dirty whore

2007-10-08T07:23:00.000-07:00

He asked like he deserves an explanation, like he ever had the balls to tell me wtf, like he never pulled the same bullshit on me three times in three years. Or was it four? I lost count and got very numb somewhere around three. Its hard to explain simple things to a crazy person. I think it's safe to define someone as crazy when you don't talk for 5 months and they're still calling you 'girlfriend'. Weird. So now he has finally caught up to me and he's all excited and full of hope and hella winded because he's been running his fucking ass off to get to here. Hey guess what-it's too late but welcome to the story of my life. It would be easier to stand there assured and face the other way if I didn't know that one thing I know that I wish I didn't know. Now because of that thing I know I'm looking back but trying not to look like I'm looking back, kinda sideways and out of the corner of my eye. I'm having a hard time believing there's sincerity in anything I hear. It's easier not to listen or pretend not to listen or listen and be all fucked up because those are just words and anybody can speak for fucksake, I mean we taught the dog to speak in less than a minute. It's pretty much works the same in the way in that if you say what they want to hear then you get a treat and if you don't say anything at all you just get el ojo until you do. I give a killer blow job. Speaking of dirty whores, I have this new thing/situation/scenario I think of when jilling and it's awesome and it gets me there in seconds but now I come across certain people during the course of my days and I find that I have a hard time looking them in the eye. Whoops! Who am I kidding, I don't even care. I have a feeling that maybe there is such a thing as karma and now I'm getting mine but in this pansy-pussyface way which is more annoying than getting it dickslapped across your face because at least that way you know you deserved it.

My mind is a David Carson creation.

steroids made your big toe live in a separate county from the rest

2007-10-04T07:23:00.000-07:00

I'll say this one more time because I'm still baffled by it....Yesterday in Yoga, on two separate occasions, someone was hella tooting, hella loud. I couldn't even believe that shit man. I was looking around for the piece of shit culprit but nobody had any kind of guilty look on their face which blew my mind even more than actual toots. Then again, maybe it was queefing and who knows better than anyone that you just can't control that kind of air? Me mutherfucker but still. Also, I think it's pretty easy to control a queef in Warrior I so yeah it was toots and what's worse is I'm 12 and toots still make me laugh so was laughing the kind of laugh where you try to hold it in but it comes out through your nose accompanied by snot. I know you're confused by my usage of the word 'toot' instead of 'fart' up there but today that f word is causing upset stomach and I can't even believe I just used it right there. Sick. The substitute yoga teacher also called the Happy Baby pose - the "Welcome Home, Honey!" pose and I seriously lost my shit on that one. Homegirl is like 60 and still presenting her flower like it bloomed just yesterday. That is so gross. It's true that I often think about sex via yoga poses like which I'll try next or which would maximize balls-in-my-face time. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who does this either but when I do it in class I find myself getting a little more worked up than is conducive to my workout. I don't have enough sex. Another fucked up thing about yesterday was when a good friend reminded me about the time my vibrator was stolen. No, I do not think it's sailing the pacific or hot air ballooning above Scotland. I'm pretty sure it's been up inside some meth-head whore since I don't believe yacht sailors or hot air ballooners steal vibrators. Then again, there is such a thing as Tommy Lee so yeah.

Naming your IM screenname a bible verse won't make me look it up so quit being so douchey. I'm not interested in what you're selling.

I only play piano when I'm sad.

Oyster perpetual is a concept

2007-10-03T07:23:00.000-07:00

I think it's interesting and annoying that the fortune inside the cookie I had for breakfast said PEOPLE WHO EXPECT NOTHING WILL NEVER BE DISAPPOINTED. Yes, in all caps, screaming at me while I face the corner of the room and kick at the walls and stands with fists. Fuck you Panda Express. There was a time where I was backed into a situation then stuck there for a long time and had no choice but to accept things as they were because selfish was not an option. Growing some girlballs and making the decision to unstick took many years of thunderstorms inside my head so when the proverbial clouds cleared, well they cleared and I'm sure you get that I unstuck myself. Now don't get your BVD's all bunched in your crack, I wasn't taking a beat down Charlie Brown. My life wasn't all Amy Spears or Brittney Winehouse. I think that zits on your neck is so fucking weird. What I'm trying to say is one day you realize that you're winding your stupid head back around another possible maybe'ish situation and there is no reason for it because it's early and a youngling-not even a Padawan so really, why don't you use your brain this time and maybe check out all the little signs and clues pointing to the neon green EXIT sigh? Or sign. I don't like to use the backspace key because I have this freakish ergokeyboard thing and backspace is 3 miles way from my little pinky.

Story time. August last year, I went out with my two favorite lesbians. We got drunk at a tiki bar and it was there that we ran into the hot guy who fixes the copy machines at work. The lesbians decided we should leave before I got into some major copy guy trouble because drunk then and to this day I would fuck that copy guy until there is nothing left of our private parts. Besides, we weren't out trying to find me a man...we were out to celebrate freedom and justice! We were supposed to drink disgusting dirties (NICE ALLIT.!) at some fag bar when we were kind of pulled by some strange force into the bar right in front of us because we were already drunk and lazy, I guess. For some reason, whenever we go to this bar the punk rock kids love us and end up getting us tequila shot drunk and that night was pretty much typical. What wasn't typical was the hearsay that I tried to pick up on some white and nerdy while playing a game of drunk pool. He bought me a bar rose from the bar-rose-in-a-bucket lady. We stole him at the end of the night and took him with us to a taqueria where he shared his cheese enchiladas (that were so gross) with me. We drove him home but not before we threatened to chop him up and keep him in a suitcase the lesbians had in their back seat. We like that joke and use it often and maybe one day you'll be lucky in that very same way. We made out in the back seat next to that suitcase where I'm sure he kept one eye open because how fucking insane right? Then I walked him to his door because I'm a gentleman that way and then we kissed this fantastic hair-pulling, lip biting, heavy breathed kiss and I was like it is FUCKING ON, NERD! But I didn't come inside when he asked me to-totally fucking wanted to because you know how I feel about my hair and having it ripped out of my head. There were many reasons why I did not come in, reasons perhaps like a) the lesbians were waiting in the car-watching us hot-kiss on the porch, b) I was trying this crazy new "not a whore" thing, and c) I was on the rag. d-All of the above-but mostly the 'not a whore' reason. I mean, I've been with guys who don't mind a little blood fucking but testing that on the night you meet isn't always how I roll. That's more of a 3rd date activity. I'm sure you're smart enough to know that this paragraph has a direct tie to the one above it. I almost told the story about when I went to the Yuba River this summer and at one point when I was TOTALLY sober, I went over a waterfall and not one goddamn person tried to save me, but I went with this one instead. Don't hate me.

Text size seems to be an issue for me.

he's inscrutable, like the chinese

2007-10-02T07:23:00.000-07:00

Someone named Mark Sakamoto keeps calling me at work and I have no idea who this Mark person is or why he never leaves a stupid voicemail. So maybe you've been wondering where I've been or what I've been up to since the other whorepages died out. Maybe you don't even give a pony shit and I'm pretty sure that's the case.

Before I get into that, there is a huge gourde in the break room just waiting for someone to take it home. Random. It's big and bumpy and phallic and I can't lie and say I didn't think of how it might feel rubbing against the inside of my armpit. I'll never do it though, because I'm not really into armpit fucking with food but I have thought about it and don't lie and say you haven't. Why don't you tell me about it, liar? Share your story, you're safe here and I'm very interested. I'm also not really talking about armpits so don't tell that story.

So back to a less disgusting me. Well, that's probably not gonna be true. Ok, you know what, it really hasn't been that interesting. I'd put it in bullet formation but I can't bare to see how lame I've been in bullet points. If something comes up, I'll tell you the story. Hey, that reminds me of this past July when I was running the SF marathon and puked at mile 10. San Francisco has some crazy hills and once you run up hill #17 or something without music because your iPod was a dick I think it's actually forgiven if you yak, even though you trained for months before the race. No, it doesn't matter that you weren't able to take your fundamental pre-race shit. Puke your guts out lover, all over the dirty port-a-potty, until your eyes bulge and your teeth rot and your breath smells like you let old men shit down your throat for cash.

My goal is to get back there in the top echelon of your favorites again. I will not do this with themes but mostly by being an enormous emo douchebag. That's not even cool. I don't want to be cool. I don't want back in the circle.

I overuse commas.

fat brown sumbitch in a tshirt

2007-10-01T07:23:00.000-07:00

A lot of people call it curiosity but I can't really get with that. I think nosy is a better description. I wonder if I could handle being one of those ignorant dummy's walking around all day without that ugly wrinkle/crease in the space between their eyebrows. It's all smooth and perfect because they're happy and they're happy because they don't know. They'll step out their front door without that shitty feeling in their stomach and they'll drive to work and only minimally road rage. I don't even know what that means. There was a time when I didn't know and I wasn't bothered by what I know. There was a day when I was normal and clueless and those were the days that I loved differently. I'll tell you what, that's a better way to love. Now there is reserve and how the shiz can you even call that love? I'm reserved. Gay. It's like being in a straight jacket in the way that you want to punch faces but you're being forced to hug a person you can't even stand which is yourself. I love when shit doesn't even make sense to me. Anyway, it mostly reminds me of the October picture on my calender which is some crazy Italian mosaic of a man and woman hugging and the woman's back is to us and her clothes are hanging low so her ass is showing. But the man, he's looking past the woman-over her shoulder, while she has her arm around the back of his head. It's endearing. But, he's looking past her, not at her. Not in her eyes. Not at her probably bare muffin. He's looking past her and you can see it in his eyes that he's somewhere else-with someone else, probably wondering if he'll ever make it to Mexico, since Mexico is so far away from Italy. But that's the draw, really, because the furthest he can get from this moment would set his comfort level back in the normal range. Weird that I can see all that in a picture of a mosaic. I might need to cover the picture with a page I ripped out of an old Stuff magazine . It's Brooke Burke nudely laying by the pool, pretending to read a magazine with fantastic hair. No wrinkle/crease on that bitch because she has many pages to go through in her magazine and she's back in a time before she added silent e's to her name. She's back in a time before she knew.

This was not meant to be so cry baby.