Thursday, October 28, 2004
It’s really disconcerting when my feelings about this presidential election are in alignment with a cartoon character rife with controversy.
Who are you voting for? Will it be the giant douche bag or the turd sandwich?
South Park pretty much summed up my opinions about both presidential candidates. I honestly do not have a desire to vote because I think both Bush and Kerry are inept dicks and I feel that the, “lesser of two evils” is unbelievably ignorant and I refuse to play that game. In my opinion, both would be equally damaging to this country. It astounds me that otherwise intelligent people are allowing their utter discontent for Bush to obscure the fact that Kerry is just as dangerous for this country as Bush. Come on people. Does anyone REALLY feel that Kerry is the voice of reason for our country? Does anyone TRULY believe that Kerry will steer this country off of the Romanesque path we are clearly on? NO! People force themselves to believe in Kerry because they despise Bush. This election is like being trapped under a fallen tree and the only way to escape death is to saw off your leg with a Swiss Army knife. Both scenarios fucking suck!
So do I want to vote? You bet I do
Do I want to vote for the candidates that are on the ballot? I’d rather saw off my leg with a Swiss Army knife
Am I going to be stroked into voting for a person I have absolutely NO faith in? I did that last time and look where it got me
Am I pissing away my God given right and duty as an American citizen to choose a leader for this country? If that is the way you perceive it, then the answer is more than likely, yes
If I chose NOT to vote will it be a vote for the, “other” guy? Sure, if you say so
I cannot wait for this election and the plethora of voter fraud lawsuits that will most definitely ensue to be over with. We are heading to hell in a hand basket faster than you can say, “We are SO fucked” and the only thing that can save us is our will and our ability to make SOUND DECISIONS BASED ON FACT AND NOT OUR LEMMING EMOTIONS.
Who are you voting for? Will it be the giant douche bag or the turd sandwich?
South Park pretty much summed up my opinions about both presidential candidates. I honestly do not have a desire to vote because I think both Bush and Kerry are inept dicks and I feel that the, “lesser of two evils” is unbelievably ignorant and I refuse to play that game. In my opinion, both would be equally damaging to this country. It astounds me that otherwise intelligent people are allowing their utter discontent for Bush to obscure the fact that Kerry is just as dangerous for this country as Bush. Come on people. Does anyone REALLY feel that Kerry is the voice of reason for our country? Does anyone TRULY believe that Kerry will steer this country off of the Romanesque path we are clearly on? NO! People force themselves to believe in Kerry because they despise Bush. This election is like being trapped under a fallen tree and the only way to escape death is to saw off your leg with a Swiss Army knife. Both scenarios fucking suck!
So do I want to vote? You bet I do
Do I want to vote for the candidates that are on the ballot? I’d rather saw off my leg with a Swiss Army knife
Am I going to be stroked into voting for a person I have absolutely NO faith in? I did that last time and look where it got me
Am I pissing away my God given right and duty as an American citizen to choose a leader for this country? If that is the way you perceive it, then the answer is more than likely, yes
If I chose NOT to vote will it be a vote for the, “other” guy? Sure, if you say so
I cannot wait for this election and the plethora of voter fraud lawsuits that will most definitely ensue to be over with. We are heading to hell in a hand basket faster than you can say, “We are SO fucked” and the only thing that can save us is our will and our ability to make SOUND DECISIONS BASED ON FACT AND NOT OUR LEMMING EMOTIONS.
Monday, October 25, 2004
His cons were dirty and worn, unlike the other spoiled kids whose mommies tried to buy them, "the look" the day before. What they didn’t know is that, "the look" is 80 % attitude - attitude that a person has to be born with - attitude that you can’t buy at the mall. He owned the fucking joint without even trying. You could see it in his walk and in the way he shoved his hands in his pockets. It was even in the, "kiss my ass" way he chewed on that damn toothpick. You could see the envy in their eyes as he sauntered into the dance. Envy that told them that he had it and they never would.
Friday, October 22, 2004
I habitually found myself in precarious situations when I was in High School but I would have to imagine the greater sum of us suffered that same fate.
The first time I ever kissed a girl was the first time I ever kissed a boy AND a girl at the same time. Even though my masturbatory experience had pretty much included only women up to this point, I never in a million years thought I would be standing in Jill, the high school stripper’s kitchen, kissing my very good friend and her recent ex who I had a crush on. While the three of us were groping and tonguing one another, we headed towards the bedroom. I panicked and “tripped” knocking the three of us down and then we broke out into a fit of laughter. The experience ended there and I probably owe Kent an apology for ruining every teenage boy’s fantasy of having two girls at once.
My sexual experiences since been varied and plentiful. They range from extremely unsatisfying to, date rape humiliating to, escapades porno’s are modeled after – literally. I guess the precarious situations I found myself in during high school never really ended.
It’s sad to me just how empty sex can be no matter how weighty it may seem to a passerby. I think about how much I have learned about myself sexually but it astounds me what sex has taught me about other people. The bad far out weighing the good. Sex is more addictive than heroine and more destructive than a cutter and we justify every ounce of it because it feels fucking great when done correctly.
The first time I ever kissed a girl was the first time I ever kissed a boy AND a girl at the same time. Even though my masturbatory experience had pretty much included only women up to this point, I never in a million years thought I would be standing in Jill, the high school stripper’s kitchen, kissing my very good friend and her recent ex who I had a crush on. While the three of us were groping and tonguing one another, we headed towards the bedroom. I panicked and “tripped” knocking the three of us down and then we broke out into a fit of laughter. The experience ended there and I probably owe Kent an apology for ruining every teenage boy’s fantasy of having two girls at once.
My sexual experiences since been varied and plentiful. They range from extremely unsatisfying to, date rape humiliating to, escapades porno’s are modeled after – literally. I guess the precarious situations I found myself in during high school never really ended.
It’s sad to me just how empty sex can be no matter how weighty it may seem to a passerby. I think about how much I have learned about myself sexually but it astounds me what sex has taught me about other people. The bad far out weighing the good. Sex is more addictive than heroine and more destructive than a cutter and we justify every ounce of it because it feels fucking great when done correctly.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Most of the time it simply isn’t worth the effort to hash out what is in this head. I get bored with myself and it has been a long time since I have known a person who has ignited the creative passion to make the effort of purging seem not so excruciating. I miss that muse. That one person that inspires me to react rather than to disregard the voice that demands I create. The propensity to ignore that voice is rather easy when I have responsibility and obligation screaming louder and longer in each ear. It wears a person down especially when you are carrying guilt and remorse on your already aching back. My camera is lonely, my website is sad and my journal wants nothing more than to lay down and die. If I have to work this hard for so little perhaps it just isn’t in the cards for me. I mean, you can eventually suck, squeeze and cajole mother’s milk from a man’s tit but that doesn’t mean its natural.
I guess I just have to remember that perseverance is my friend and not just that ugly bitch that heckles me after I’ve slapped that, “I’D RATHER BE SLEEPING” bumper sticker on my ass.
Not to mention.
I’m getting old. You would think two bottles of Wella Black No. 51 would do the job but I spent five minutes in the bathroom trying to rip out ONE fucking silver hair only to walk away with a fist full of (other) hair and a semi-sore scalp.
Last week I had a dream that I fell in love/lust with a highly evolved chimpanzee that looked like a man and talked like a man but I knew that he had been born a primate. He had bright pink hair and pulled off that punk meets rockabilly meets hipster look that I love oh so much. He lived in the zoo and his apartment was a store filled with his handmade jewelry. It was sad when I met his midget wife and his normal son and we realized that we could never be together. When my class had to go back to school he chased my bus down the street – the most chimp like thing he did the entire dream. I am entering into therapy tomorrow.
I guess I just have to remember that perseverance is my friend and not just that ugly bitch that heckles me after I’ve slapped that, “I’D RATHER BE SLEEPING” bumper sticker on my ass.
Not to mention.
I’m getting old. You would think two bottles of Wella Black No. 51 would do the job but I spent five minutes in the bathroom trying to rip out ONE fucking silver hair only to walk away with a fist full of (other) hair and a semi-sore scalp.
Last week I had a dream that I fell in love/lust with a highly evolved chimpanzee that looked like a man and talked like a man but I knew that he had been born a primate. He had bright pink hair and pulled off that punk meets rockabilly meets hipster look that I love oh so much. He lived in the zoo and his apartment was a store filled with his handmade jewelry. It was sad when I met his midget wife and his normal son and we realized that we could never be together. When my class had to go back to school he chased my bus down the street – the most chimp like thing he did the entire dream. I am entering into therapy tomorrow.
Friday, October 15, 2004
matt
The suck thing about having pull my pig tails and smack my ass long hair is that on windy days such as today, I would be better suited writhing around on a car for a WhiteSnake video. Does anyone have an I-Roc I can borrow for a coupla hours?
The image of Michelle Pfeiffer with hideous feathered bangs wearing a satin Pink Lady's jacket singing, "I need a cooooooooool rider..." just popped into my wacky head. Oh the horror.
The suck thing about having pull my pig tails and smack my ass long hair is that on windy days such as today, I would be better suited writhing around on a car for a WhiteSnake video. Does anyone have an I-Roc I can borrow for a coupla hours?
The image of Michelle Pfeiffer with hideous feathered bangs wearing a satin Pink Lady's jacket singing, "I need a cooooooooool rider..." just popped into my wacky head. Oh the horror.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
The Pixies were fantastic and that was by far one of the best shows I have seen. They were so tight it doesn’t seem possible that there has been a day they haven’t played together. It sounded like the late 80’s in the Fox last night. There isn’t anything I can say that could convey just how great the show was. You just had to be there.
I need to be in a rock band damnit and I want to sing in said rock band. I want to ride in a big ass tour bus from city to city and die in a plane crash over the Alps on the way to play my first gig in France. It will be very hectic and cater to my inability to concentrate on any one thing for a long period of time. I could be an archeologist if I could uncover bones and ancient pottery things with a bulldozer. Subtly is my specialty. My all girl cowbell band is going on tour in the spring. Get your tickets now – before they sell out.
It has been three and a half days since my last cigarette and I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD. Today has been the worst and I am pretty bitter that the consequences are horrible if I smoke. This time has been such an emotional mind fuck but I cant seem to find that one thing that made me WANT to quit in the past. This time it’s more of a, doing what I need do just for the sake of knowing I should do it, type of deal which is the suck. I absolutely loathe HAVING to do anything and I certainly don’t hate smoking enough to WANT to quit this go around. Today I have been able to threaten life, limb and imprisonment AND I haven’t physically harmed anyone, which are both good things.
Fuck I am seething and vile.
Sometimes I feel as though I have failed miserably and sometimes I just don’t give a fuck.
I need to be in a rock band damnit and I want to sing in said rock band. I want to ride in a big ass tour bus from city to city and die in a plane crash over the Alps on the way to play my first gig in France. It will be very hectic and cater to my inability to concentrate on any one thing for a long period of time. I could be an archeologist if I could uncover bones and ancient pottery things with a bulldozer. Subtly is my specialty. My all girl cowbell band is going on tour in the spring. Get your tickets now – before they sell out.
It has been three and a half days since my last cigarette and I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD. Today has been the worst and I am pretty bitter that the consequences are horrible if I smoke. This time has been such an emotional mind fuck but I cant seem to find that one thing that made me WANT to quit in the past. This time it’s more of a, doing what I need do just for the sake of knowing I should do it, type of deal which is the suck. I absolutely loathe HAVING to do anything and I certainly don’t hate smoking enough to WANT to quit this go around. Today I have been able to threaten life, limb and imprisonment AND I haven’t physically harmed anyone, which are both good things.
Fuck I am seething and vile.
Sometimes I feel as though I have failed miserably and sometimes I just don’t give a fuck.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
I was living with this guy named Jeremy prior to meeting Johnny K. He was mentally abusive, not to mention the few times he threw me around and the time he choked me for throwing cold water on him while he was showering. I was young and trying to escape what I perceived to be a terrible home life. At night he would light candles and we would write poetry – wretched poetry that makes me howl with laughter when I read it today. Angsty, “gouge my eyes with your stabbing thorns of hate and blood” poetry was my must see TV when I was nineteen. We had definite plans. We were going to take over the world with our (terrible) writing, painting and homemade jewelry made from thick gauge electrical wire. We were going to incorporate ourselves before we even knew exactly what that meant. While I was with Jeremy, I was a teacher at a daycare, a waitress at an oyster bar and a dancer at a night club that paid me in free alcohol. It was a tumultuous four months. Right before I ended our relationship I found out he had slept with his stepsister. That was the vile straw for me.
end random nostaglia
Last night after speaking to a friend the idea of entering into therapy crossed my mind. Not so much to figure out my screwed up self because in all honesty, I don’t really feel as though I am too terribly screwed up. It’s more or less to try to understand and cope with the parts of me that are not so pretty. We partied like rock stars last night and got in at 4:30 a.m. I’m too old for this shit. Things I learned last night: Goth dancing is funny but hipster dancing if fucking hysterical and never ask for Petrón or Grey Goose L’Orange when you are at a hole in the wall dive bar filled with hipsters drinking PBR. The bartender looked at me as if I were an alien. I guess I should have read The Hipster Handbook before going out last night. My fin ass is so midtown but I had a fucking ball.
end random nostaglia
Last night after speaking to a friend the idea of entering into therapy crossed my mind. Not so much to figure out my screwed up self because in all honesty, I don’t really feel as though I am too terribly screwed up. It’s more or less to try to understand and cope with the parts of me that are not so pretty. We partied like rock stars last night and got in at 4:30 a.m. I’m too old for this shit. Things I learned last night: Goth dancing is funny but hipster dancing if fucking hysterical and never ask for Petrón or Grey Goose L’Orange when you are at a hole in the wall dive bar filled with hipsters drinking PBR. The bartender looked at me as if I were an alien. I guess I should have read The Hipster Handbook before going out last night. My fin ass is so midtown but I had a fucking ball.
Friday, October 01, 2004
I’m feeling all needy and I don’t know why and it is really beginning to piss me off. I reject the thought of having to rely on ANYONE for any type of emotional support. I pride myself on being able to logic my way through anything but how can you logic your way through being nothing more than a stupid girl. It’s akin to looking at a big gaping hole in your wall but not knowing how to fix it. Perhaps I can attribute all of this nonsense to the fact that while in New Orleans I smoked more than a pack of cigarettes a day and now I am trying to quit. Quitting prior to N.O. would have been cake but bingeing is about the dumbest thing you can do right before you are about to kick a habit. Goddamn nicotine. Stuff needs to be on my terms for the time being and it all seems chaotic and rash and all this bullshit and yadda yadda yadda and crap! This is about the time I do or say something incredibly retarded. God I am twelve.
I think I am going to quit my job, get tons of plastic surgery and become a call girl. I think every girl has the hooker fantasy and I personally don’t see anything wrong with having a person pay for sex. I already whore myself out every day that I walk into this office and in my opinion, sex is nothing more than an action to satisfy a primal need. Is using my body as a means of a paycheck any worse than allowing my job to rape me of my happiness and sanity on a daily basis? I’ve been back for four days and I am already itching to fly far far away so that I may forget this place yet again. I love going away and I love coming home, it just drives me absolutely insane returning to work after doing the things that I love – on my terms. And no, I don’t consider this one of the incredibly retarded comments I predicted I would say.
Yep, I am pretty pissed. For no reason at all. It’s the not smoking. I should buy some Nicorette. I love smoking though. The only reason I am quitting is so my son doesn’t have to deal with my untimely, horrendously painful death. Hell, I don’t want to deal with my untimely, horrendously painful death either but I love those smoky treats. Why cant smoking be good for you? There is not one self-gratifying action that I can think of that is 100% safe and that fucking bites donkey cock on a cold, blustery day.
It’s probably a good thing that Johnny K has plans for this evening otherwise I might kill him and eat his head. Although he is lovely and is my only source of sanity at times such as these, I am a bit out of my mind and cannot claim responsibility for my actions.
I think I am going to quit my job, get tons of plastic surgery and become a call girl. I think every girl has the hooker fantasy and I personally don’t see anything wrong with having a person pay for sex. I already whore myself out every day that I walk into this office and in my opinion, sex is nothing more than an action to satisfy a primal need. Is using my body as a means of a paycheck any worse than allowing my job to rape me of my happiness and sanity on a daily basis? I’ve been back for four days and I am already itching to fly far far away so that I may forget this place yet again. I love going away and I love coming home, it just drives me absolutely insane returning to work after doing the things that I love – on my terms. And no, I don’t consider this one of the incredibly retarded comments I predicted I would say.
Yep, I am pretty pissed. For no reason at all. It’s the not smoking. I should buy some Nicorette. I love smoking though. The only reason I am quitting is so my son doesn’t have to deal with my untimely, horrendously painful death. Hell, I don’t want to deal with my untimely, horrendously painful death either but I love those smoky treats. Why cant smoking be good for you? There is not one self-gratifying action that I can think of that is 100% safe and that fucking bites donkey cock on a cold, blustery day.
It’s probably a good thing that Johnny K has plans for this evening otherwise I might kill him and eat his head. Although he is lovely and is my only source of sanity at times such as these, I am a bit out of my mind and cannot claim responsibility for my actions.
