BOO

Here are me and LaSassy last Halloween… LaSassy dressed as her LaSassy-self… and do believe your eyes – I am that apparition to the right of her… yup, my good ol’ fashioned lazy costume idea, a sheet with 2 holes.

Clearly, I’m still alive today. The White Trash KOIT Bandits briefly woke me up at 4 am with country music this time. Traitors to the Lite Rock, Less Talk. But anyway, I was lying there thinking, “you motherfuckers, keep playing that music because I’m coming out there,” but they didn’t. They stopped it after about 3 minutes. And I fell back asleep.

Well, now I’m off for 5 days to visit the lil’ sis in Connecticut, where yes, I plan to find some hottie Yale grad student to fund my year long jaunts to 3rd world countries and give me back massages and buy me diet cokes… and sure I’ll give him blow jobs here and there. Hahaha!

So everyone, have a Happy Halloween…. And miss me until the trip recap on Tuesday, November 1st! 

Lite Rock, Less Loud You Stupid Motherfuckers!

The White Trash K.O.I.T bandits. They live next door to me. I hate them. I fucking hate them. I especially hate them at 3:30 am when they blast Love Songs After Dark on KOIT. Who really needs to hear Lionel Richie sing, “Once, twice, three times a lady,” in the middle of the fucking night?!?!? Secondly, you know they’re fucking crazy-ass tweak’ers if they’re listening to Lite Rock, Less Talk on KOIT. I mean these guys are chub-white-men who repeat their sentences, “live and learn man – live and learn,” “I hear that dude – I hear that,” and wear red bandanas and ugly jeans... I mean, these do not look like Lite Rock folk... they look like ACDC air guitar beer drinking bearded men. C'mon now, what the fuck? They must be seriously fucked to be blasting that kind'a shit. Lite Rock is gynecologist waiting room music. Jesus!

They’ve done this for the past 2 nights in a row. They’ve been doing this relatively often for the past month. I’d say something if they couldn’t hop onto my fire escape from their balcony and come kill me or steal all my cd’s… oh wait, I don’t have their lite rock bullshit. Instead I do all the pass aggressive shit, like open and close my window… turn my lights on and off. I’d call the police, but I don’t know what apartment they’re in and their 5-plex has a gate at the bottom with no doorbells and shit.

So I feel fucking stuck.

I lie there for two hours thinking how I want to buy eggs and get onto my roof and throw them at their bearded faces. Or in the morning when they’re asleep, set a battery operated boom-box on their balcony with Nine Inch Nails blasting. 3:30 – 5:30 am those motherfuckers kept me up. I fucking hate them. Maybe I should just risk my life and belongings to tell them to shut the hell up. UH!!! ARGHH!!!!

Okay, tonight’s the night. If they’re blasting Richard Marx and Luther Vandross, they’re fucking dead meat. Or well, maybe I’ll be dead.

The Break-Up Dinner

I had the Tortellini. He had the steak. On the car ride over, he touched my knee a few times, out of habit. Our conversation started out really well. We discussed our weeks – our weekends. Then the conversation turned to “what went wrong?” I felt like I needed to get certain things off my chest. I felt like he didn’t see any fault of his own. The reason things ended is that I just couldn’t “hang” with his musician lifestyle. But puhleeaaaze, what woman really wants to always be put 2nd and to never have sex (which he claims is a result of music being 1st ) and to plan her schedule around his and to feel like anything that’s going on in her life just isn’t as important as his music? I mean, who wants that? He just didn’t see this – doesn’t see this. I ask, okay, if this is our “Break-up Dinner,” then let me learn where I faulted in this.

I asked him, “what did I do wrong?” hahaha… he said I was needy… no guy has ever told me I was Needy before. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m needy to want to fuck or to make plans or to be taken out on a date more than once in 4 months. Fine, whatever. So then, Brother, “what compromises did you make in this relationship?” No answer. Yeah, well whatever.

Oh, about ¾ of the way into dinner, both of us were regretting having gone out. He was probably thinking I should pay half of the bill suddenly… and I was thinking, no way in hell will I be paying for half the bill, hahaha!

The walk to the car was silent. Once in, I finally said, “look, let me come check out your new place. These break-up feelings are still fresh in the mind. I needed to get these things off my chest and hoped we could talk about them as adults. Let’s have this be the last time we discuss these things. Let’s now talk about all the things we do like about one another and did like in our short but sweet relationship.”

I checked out his new digs, and we kept the rest of the conversation positive. In the end, we both agreed that dinner was a great idea…. That we can go watch stupid blockbusters every now and then… so that was that.

April Sometimes

Sometimes I keep drinking when the bartender refills my sangria for free.
Sometimes I get really drunk and call everyone I know late at night.
Sometimes when I shit, I think, “wow, this smells like shit.”
Sometimes when I shit and the toilet paper runs out, I think, “oh shit.”
Sometimes these things happen this morning.
Sometimes the people I called the night before call me back in the morning, and I say I forgot why I called.
Sometimes I really do forget why I called.
Sometimes I give up drinking.
Sometimes I forget to.
Sometimes I just want to crawl under my covers…
“Into the night – With Charlotte sometimes” – Charlotte Sometimes, The Cure

PISS OFF!

Did someone declare this Piss Week, and I’m just completely out of the loop? It’s only Wednesday, and I’ve already seen a million (okay, slight exaggeration) GUYS pissing on the street. The first guy didn’t see me coming, so I appreciate that he was somewhat startled and pretended to be checking out the bricks on the wall. The second guy, didn’t give two shits that a hundred people were standing around waiting for the 22. There he goes, looks me in the eye, and starts pissing on a tree. Buddy, if you’re reading this blog (which you’re probably not ‘cuz you’re an idiot and can’t read), you stupid motherfucker… you’re why women call men DOGS. And then another boy wished me a wonderful morning by pissing on the convenient store as I walked out my front door. But anyway, guys, keep your dicks in your pants and hold your piss you fucking Neanderthals.

Update:

One of my complaints about The Brother was his lack of effort to plan anything. I’m not claiming to be a feminist, so I do appreciate men paying for the occasional dinner. He bought me a birthday dinner, but that was the only dinner in 4 months. That is not an exaggeration. Toward the beginning of the relationship he was telling me and Midge, “I wine and dine my girls. You have no idea. I treat them like queens.” I must not have been one of his “girls” then. I didn’t see any of that. A couple weeks ago, I jokingly said, “Hey, what ever happened to that wine and dine bit?” He of course has a million excuses… he really needs to save money right now. It’s just not a good time, blah blah blah. SOOOOO…

Last night, The Brother calls. He just wanted to touch base after the break and confirm that we indeed can be friends despite his immediate emotional reaction on Monday. He agrees that breaking things off is the best idea. He feels that he does need to do some soul searching and admits that perhaps he wasn’t ready for a relationship, but didn’t want me to pass him by. THEN, OF ALL THINGS, HE ASKS IF HE CAN TAKE ME TO DINNER, AN EXPENSIVE DINNER. He said he wanted to show me that there were no hard feelings and that he wants to keep me as a friend. OKAY – OKAY – OKAY…….. of course this is supposed to be a nice gesture and all, BUT, what the fuck?!!? What about all those excuses he had? I told him, sure I’ll go to dinner, but why didn’t you do this sooner because clearly you could have made this happen if you wanted to. You so could have done this before. Why now? Whatever. We’re still over. I’m sure we’ll be friends. Maybe when he’s ready, we’ll see. But that wouldn’t be for a very long time.

I miss him. I'm so weak. Ah.

Oh Brother!

The Brother and I are dunzo again. My mom says couples break up a few times before it really happens, the end, that is. This will be our third time and most likely the final.

One of the biggest issues was physical intimacy. The Brother just wasn’t into it. He was into it on occasion, on a rare occasion. I could have made that compromise if everything else was in place. Clearly, everything else wasn’t.

He’s an amazing man, but maybe he’s not quite ready to be a boyfriend. He’s ready to have a girlfriend. That’s all I would’ve been. I felt like I was making all the compromises to his schedule and his life and his mind and his physical desires. He, on the other hand, wasn’t making any compromises. There have been 2, yes, just 2 things I told him were important to me, and he couldn’t commit to being present.

And it’s just so fucking sad. As children we always thought we’d have these great relationships. Instead we grow to learn that we can’t have everything… that relationships end constantly and when we’re in them, they’re fucking impossible. I hate the cliché that everything happens for reason and I need to learn something from this to know what I want in the future. I already fucking know what I want. Here we waste our time getting to know shitheads, so we cross them off the list.

Yeah, cure me of the desire to want any stupid boy. All these start-stop-start-stops. Annoying. I hate investing my time. I just don’t want to meet anyone else. I don’t want to date. And I know eventually it happens, but right now, I’m so fucking bummed. With The Brother, there were moments where I thought the game was over. I was sooooooooo wrong – wrong – wrong.

Fuck a Duck.

Here's an email I just sent to a friend of mine... it sums up my latest thoughts:

so you like TR... that's cool... the beginning's always the best part.
it'd be nice to have a million beginnings... to never get to the part where going to bed at nine instead of hanging out seems like a better option. i hope things continue to go well for you and tr... i'll try not to be judgemental of her tr at 25... i'm trying, hahaha... not successfully however! hahaha! who am i to talk though, i dye my hair every color of the rainbow and think about tattoos i want to get.

here goes a bit of my rant that you were supposed to be on the receiving end of last night.... i have this psychotic self-awareness... i watch myself getting annoyed or frustrated or let down, and i know i should just be chill... let things roll off my back... but instead i give those negative thoughts a life... and then the downward spiral ensues.

The Brother is just not living up to my expectations... but no one does.... ahhhhhhhh......... i worry sooooooo much that i'll never be satisfied. that no one will ever be good enough. soooooo then, when do i except that and say that some guy is enough? why can't i just close The Brother door? decide one way or the other?

i just feel like a complete ass the majority of my days... like why the fuck am i so over-analytical? why can't i just think about shoes and handbags? why does everything have to be so meaningful and perfect? when will i stop kidding myself, you know?!?!?!

it's so difficult to see both paths i can take... and know which i should take and be so conscious of it... and then, take the other and clench my teeth and squint my eyes knowing i'm sooo going down the wrong painful idiotic path.... and saying why-why-why?!?!! i'm such a foolish - foolish girl.

god.

What Disgusts Miss Curious?

I spent my entire bus ride this morning wondering if I was leaking blood on the seat. And how I’d have to crawl over the person beside me, so he could see a nice spot on the seat and an even nicer spot of my pantalones. Fucking period. I hate you. Not much disgusts me, but periods, they do. It’s just fucking gross to have blood dripping from your kooch.

As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing good about menstruation. Not one thing. I get all cranky and weird and needy and bloated and crampy and delusional. (Were there any good adjectives in that last sentences? I don’t think so.) AND, I of course over-analyze even more. The Brother isn’t giving me enough of this or that. And I just like being alone. Thank God I’m single so I can hibernate in my room for the rest of my life. I hate everyone. Everyone’s a loser, and I’m so fucking alone.

And fuck those girls from Female Sexuality at Cal trying to tell me periods are great and earthly and natural and to go bleed on a rock. I mean sure I’m somewhat open minded, but bleeding on a rock and saving my period blood ‘cuz it’s good for my plants, I don’t think so. You’re a ho.

Update:

But anyway, nothing’s really happening in my life right now. Except of course the things that I make up in my head and think are real. There’s no movement on The Brother front. I spend 6 nights a week in my own bed. “Friends” pretty much defines us right now. I actually do like my solitude. It’s cool.

I’m finally studying for my Real Estate exam. I have the first half this Sunday and the second half (the more difficult part) on November 30th. I’ll probably fail, but who cares. I’ll keep taking it.

Hm. I’m going to Connecticut in two weeks to visit my lil’ sis in college. I feel kinda’ dull right now. Devoid of feeling. Which is a nice break from my usual psychotic behavior. Hm. I spend most of my time listening to music. My wife calls me and plays Tori Amos clips, and I like it. And what the fuck do I do? What defines me? Why do I fucking care? Hahaha!

"While Everyday My Confusion Grows" - New Order

I wish there were AA for relationships…. Some sort of support group where you can quit relationships altogether…. A 12 step program that helps us quell any desire for concupiscent love. A castration of sorts. I wonder what life would be like without such a desire. To have no bizarre love triangles. To have no need for physical touch with another human being. To have a support group of others trying to quit. Because the need for erotic and emotional fulfillment from another individual is much too binding. It’s this addiction. People are always writing songs about it… making movies… writing poems… it’s this universal obsession.

I wish I could find the cure. I wish I could rid myself of this fierce hunger. The things people could do. Endless possibilities. Without those ties that bind us. We could procreate in test tubes. We’d still have love for friends, but a platonic love… platonic love is sensible. Romantic love is like alcohol. When we feel romantically for someone, we act unreasonable. We do foolish things. Our heads aren’t clear. We haven’t the prudence one needs for the path in which we’re headed.

Nothing is simple. These silly feelings for The Brother. I don’t know where they’re going. And then the idea of another? Rid me of this disease.

"I've Got That Boom-Boom That You Want" - Britney Spears

The boom-box is a mystery to me. Sure I’ve had boom-boxes in my time, but I pump up the jams in the privacy of my own home. So I ask, who are these fools that drag their little white plastic scratched up boom-boxes with them everywhere they go?

No, not everyone on the fucking street wants to get stuck behind you and your puffy black jacket crew bumping tunes louder than I play when no one’s home. NO, I don’t want to hear

A dead bitch can't tell a ni#*a shit
One less bitch you gotta worry about
She's outa here and that's how it turned out

Clever lyrics, certainly, but I’m not always in the mood for killing bitches. And perhaps the bitches on the street won’t want to hear about how you’re gonna’ knock her off. But whatever.

Who I hate even more then the backward hat swiss k homies, are the ones that take the boom-box on the goddamn bus. I fucking hate you! NO NO NO… don’t sit at the back of the bus with your boom-box all turned up and shit, bumpin’ your head with your legs all spread out and your huge jeans taking up an entire row. Fuck you! I mean, who does shit like that?

Do they say to themselves, oh this is my fucking bus everyone has to listen to what I want to listen to? I mean, what the hell? One day, I’m going to ask one of those bitch-ass-motherfuckers why they do that. And those who know me, should know that I’ll bat my eyelashes and in my So Cal goofy voice ask why?

Update:

Hmm. Why are friendships and relationships always so complicated? I have that weird thing with The Brother… we’re not boyfriend/girlfriend, but we hang out pretty regularly. We peck and cuddle, but aren’t really that physical. In the back of our minds, we’re both thinking, “oh hey, when The Brother has more time, things will be wonderful with us and we’ll be together forever.” But now that we’re doing this friend thing… I’m starting to feel like, hey we are just friends. And how do you suddenly start looking at someone in a sexual light again? Fuck a duck! What happened to black and white (no pun intended) thing? Why all this lame-ass gray (grey) area? Fuck you Grey-Gray! Go Fuck yourself GRAY-GREY! AHHHHH. Guess only time will tell, but hurry the fuck up already, right?!?!

"It Reminds Me of the Pain, I Might Leave Behind" - Jeff Buckley

Where are the Eddie Vedders? The Kurt Cobains? The Jeff Buckelys? I desperately miss lamenting male artists. Those artists that are pained because they were made fun of in high school or had their heart broken from in kindergarten or their parents are the only parents in the world that got divorced or they had some deadbeat dad. Where are they? I miss them. Sure they whine and moan and are white men in America, but they have these intense emotions, passions, craziness… they make us lil’ depressives seem like Strawberry Shortcake and the Berry Princesses. I don’t care where the pain came from or whether it’s justified. All I care about is that they have it, and I eat it up. And when I hear their music or go to their shows (2 are dead), I need to exhale because of whatever wave of insane emotion they emanate has come over me… and it’s like crack. So Eddie Vedder, where the fuck are you?

Instead this is what our world has become, Billboards top 10:

1. Gold Digger – Kayne West (Well, the act of gold digging’s smart? Note to self: gold dig. Sure, he’s got some great lyrics, She went to the doctor got lipo with ya money, She walkin around lookin like Michael with ya money, She aint messin’ with no broke nig*#z)
2. Shake It Off – Mariah Carey (she still has a career?)
3. Photograph – Nickelback (okay, they’re slightly pained, but way too white trash for me)
4. Like You – Bow Wow (the name speaks for itself – here’s my cheesey line, “Bow Out, dude”)
5. My Humps – The Black Eyed Peas (My humps? My humps?)
6. Wake Me Up When Summer Ends – Green Day (Wake me up when this song ends... and Billie Joe, lay-off the black eyeliner you punk wannabe, harsh? oops!)
7. Play – David Banner (I have no idea what the fuck this is)
8. Soul Survivor – Young Jeezy featuring Akon Corporate (I’d like someone to make a list of how many song titles have Survivor in it… Jeezy? Young Jeezy? Who wakes up and decides his name is gonna’ be Jeezy? Who does that? Aren’t people paid to come up with better ideas?)
9. We Belong Together – Mariah Carey (2 songs in the top ten, seriously? All right, Mariah Carey’s okay… I want people who make drunk appearances and videos where they shake their fake tan asses as water soaks their low cut tops… I like them… they entertain me, so Mariah, you stay there in the top ten and represent America! And oh, Who is it that Belongs with Mariah Carey? Young Jeezy, perhaps?)
10. Sugar We’re Goin’ Down – Fall Out Boy (Another punk band, but another “all right” I’ll give them props for the chorus, A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it)

Anyway, I want some voices that haunt me and lyrics that freak me out. So c’mon, let’s revive this shit… maybe America’s just too damn happy. Okay, fine.


Let's Talk About LOST and How After Last Night's Episode, I'm Lost Myself!!!!:

Lost makes me feel like a dumbass… kinda like I feel when trying to use eyes drops and none of the liquid gets in my eyes and my whole face is wet before I figure it out.

So I’m a bit psycho and read this, http://www.ew.com/ew/aol/article/latest/0,11892,3113102880,00.html Cut and past that shit, I'm having issues with it... or go here http://television.aol.com/ (maybe another cut and paste) but that'll eventually bring you to LOST, hahaha! Good luck! (my last link to the actual article message boards didn't work, so check out this site ) When on the site, it's fun to read the re-cap, but also for the true psychos... scroll down and you’ll see the message boards. It’s some good shit.

Anyway, after last night’s episode, I was left feeling a) retarded and b) what the fuck? I guess that’s a bit redundant. Here’s my contribution… the Orientation video was right behind the Turn of the Screw.

Throughout the novel many questions were raised when the governess begins seeing apparitions. Her character is never certain whether the phantoms are products of the hysterical mind or real. It is a crucial aspect of the uncertainty about the boundaries of the subjective and objective.

Moreover, ideas and questions: "What is the source of evil?", were they existing amongst the living dead?, And the most haunting turn of all comes with the final questions left hovering before us: Was the deepening spell actually an emanation from forces beyond the dead?

In the end, when you confront your ghosts you’ll finally be at peace and your dispossessed heart can rest in death.

THANK GOD

Thank God:

Thank God for mindless action movies with lines like, “If you want Time, buy the magazine… ‘cause we don’t got time.” (The Fast and the Furious)

Thank God for self-destructive washed-up childhood stars like Danny Bonaduce, who make reality TV shows for our entertainment and also make us feel like the fucking Dalai Lama. I can’t recommend this reality TV on VH1 enough!!! Thus far, we see him injecting steroids, riding his scooter through traffic to get a new bottle of vodka, the classic punching walls, calls to security and… Next Sunday, he slits his wrists… cry for help? Yikes!

Thank God for Tara Reid showing me that my ass isn’t so bad after all. Whew!





















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We Built This City On too Many Hills

Sometimes I hate this city. I hate walking out my front door first thing in the morning and having to use my irritated voice as I tell the bums to get the fuck out of the way, so I can open my gate. I hate checking out guys on the street and realizing that a) they’re homeless or b) that they’re gay.

Sometimes I justify littering like a kid can justify stealing candy from a store. When I litter, I say to myself, “I paid for that shit to be cleaned up with all my fucking street-sweeping parking tickets and getting towed too many times.” I curse San Francisco and those fucking meter readers and tow companies that stand-by just waiting for the idiots, like me, who read signs incorrectly or forget what day it is.

I hate that the same homeless guy comes up to me each cigarette break, never recognizing that he’s already asked me ten times that night and every Saturday night for the past year, to “help [him] and his daughter get a room for the night… [they’re] just nine dollars short,” and each time, I say, “you already asked me.” He looks startled and says, “oh (I did?)” and moves on. No fucking wonder he’s homeless. He’s an idiot.

And people complain about inhaling exhaust in LA? I much prefer that over the stench of piss frying on the pavement.

I hate that there aren’t enough places to run without having to take a plane, train or automobile or living in the Marina, which you pretty much have to run to get to anyway. And I hate hills. I hate running up fucking San Francisco hills. I blame those hills for this big ass of mine.

I hate Ocean Beach. I hate that it’s not La Jolla or Del Mar, how beaches are supposed to be… you know, ones that can actually be used and not just looked at.

Despite the homeless and the piss and the meter-readers and the hills and the useless beaches, sometimes, I love this city.