[Conversational tangent leading up to an intellectual discussion on the best strategies to prevent international terrorism. In rainforests. By loggers and such.]
Ninja Turtle: We should threaten 'em with bombs. 'Cause who isn't going to stop destroying the rainforest if they're threatened with a bomb? Crazy people, that's who!
Dropout!: But if they're destroying the rainforest, THEN AREN'T THEY CRAZY BY DEFINITION?
Ninja Turtle: [punching me in the hoo-ha] Oh, are those ovaries I'm jostling?
[Conversation on ways to kill someone, including death by: bees funneled into your nose; paper cuts; writing too many papers; wasps eating you from the inside out; kudzu; scorpion taped to the face, etc.]
Ninja Turtle: First you tell someone you're going to shoot them in the face, but you don't shoot them in the face, you shoot them in the shoulder a couple times, then you stomp on their esophagus, then maybe pour some gasoline on the body, and flick a match. Then they're thinking, "What's that burning? Do I have strep throat?"
Dropout!: No, cause you're dead! And on fire!
[Conversation on how rape isn't really rape, it's more like surprise sex]
Ninja Turtle, spotting a girl walking by: Ooh, surprise sex her.
Dropout!: Ok! No wait, you should do it, you know, heterosexuality and everything.
Ninja Turtle: No, I don't like surprise sexing strangers.
Me: Oh, but you're fine with me doing that, to some girl with God knows what in her vagina? [Pause] I'll do it!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Why I Miss School (But Not Really)
Last year, when I was still in that communist hellhole called college, I took a Human Evolution class. There was one girl in it who had nothing distinctive about her except for her enormous breasts. She always wore low-hanging shirts which she'd keep pulling up every few minutes, as if she were pretending to have a shred of modesty. (And no, ripsy, I am not talking about myself.) She had a habit of relating boring and pointless stories from her life, but since I went to a college where most students share personal details of their life and believe that they are actually contributing to class discussions, this didn't make me despise her any more than I did everyone else who talked. Talking's for people who want the teacher to think they've read the assignments. In other words, losers.
One day, we (and by we I mean they) were talking about sexual attraction between our humanoid ancestors, and the teacher mentioned something about pheremones. This led to one of the most disturbingly awesome comments I've ever heard in class, from Boobies, natch: "Yeah, whenever I visit my boyfriend at MIT, he doesn't want me to shower or use deodorant before I go, because he says he likes the way I smell."
The class got kind of quiet, and I tried to contain my giggles. Who the fuck tells a class full of strangers that her boyfriend likes her B.O.? Does she want the teacher to think about her doing some guy? What is wrong with her?
A few days later, I was on the phone with a friend from home, and I started telling her the Boobies B.O. story. I was walking to the library, and right after I finished imitating Boobies in a ditzy, grating, loud voice, I noticed that I had just walked past her. I cracked up and practically shouted in my phone, "HAH, I just passed her and I think she totally heard me. Does that make me a bitch?"
It doesn't make a bitch, by the way. Probably beating that hobo to death does, though.
One day, we (and by we I mean they) were talking about sexual attraction between our humanoid ancestors, and the teacher mentioned something about pheremones. This led to one of the most disturbingly awesome comments I've ever heard in class, from Boobies, natch: "Yeah, whenever I visit my boyfriend at MIT, he doesn't want me to shower or use deodorant before I go, because he says he likes the way I smell."
The class got kind of quiet, and I tried to contain my giggles. Who the fuck tells a class full of strangers that her boyfriend likes her B.O.? Does she want the teacher to think about her doing some guy? What is wrong with her?
A few days later, I was on the phone with a friend from home, and I started telling her the Boobies B.O. story. I was walking to the library, and right after I finished imitating Boobies in a ditzy, grating, loud voice, I noticed that I had just walked past her. I cracked up and practically shouted in my phone, "HAH, I just passed her and I think she totally heard me. Does that make me a bitch?"
It doesn't make a bitch, by the way. Probably beating that hobo to death does, though.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
I Am a Classy Lady Who Acts Appropriately in All Situations
Monday. Around 1 PM. I had to pee like a $10 hooker with... a disease... that makes you pee a lot... So I speed-walked to the bathroom, and as I rounded the corner, I saw the door to the men's room open. I looked down as the guy walked out, and quickly evaluated him out of the tops of my eyes-nice clothes, tall, probably good-looking. OK, prepare to look up and eye-flirt. On three.
One.
Two.
Thr-
Bam! It was CuteBoss. He gave me a half-smile and said hi. I smiled in embarrassment and mumbled hi back. Fuck! This office building needs more cute guys. And better plumbing, but that's beside the point.
Tuesday. Around 11 AM. On the phone with CuteBoss, I almost called him CuteBoss. This whole "being professional" thing isn't working too well. As my Crippled Friend put it: "you need to get out of there before you accidentally rape him."
So true.
Tuesday. Around 2 PM, after a birthday party for awesome January-ians like me. I had turned into a chocolate cake zombie, so I snuck back into the par-taaaay room when most people were in meetings and stole another piece. I couldn't just leave it at that, though-I saw a beautiful blob of chocolate icing sitting next to the main cake, staring me in the face, calling out to me: "Eat me. No time for pleasantries, just scoop me up and eaaaaat meeeeeee!"
So I reached a finger down and scooped him up. I have no willpower when it comes to chocolate icing with the powers of speech. Right as my finger hit the icing deliciousness, I looked up at the door and saw HotOldMan, a hot old man who works in my office, standing in the doorway. Staring at me. I quickly wiped my finger on my plate and walked out with a suave smile. I'm totally cool, guys! Totally cool.
Friday. Around 9 PM. I was hanging out with a woman from my office (which, whole other story), and we had each picked one movie to watch. She chose some crap action thing with Michael Douglas. Although it was crap, it was entertaining to watch him pretend to be a super special Secret Service guy while running like a grandpa. I chose Thank You For Smoking, a comedy-ish thing I saw last year. I remembered liking it, but not much else, so it didn't matter that I had seen it. Except then I was put in that awkward position of being all enthusiastic about a movie and then having to sit there for an hour and a half while trying to see if the other people watching like it as well or think you're a moron. Her description of "It was cute," said in the manner of a mom receiving a gift of a couple brown dots on a piece of paper from her mentally challenged toddler, answered that question for me.
Eh, who cares, though. Her movie sucked ass, so at least mine was cute. And it had lots of cursing and a few sex scenes. Yeah... only problem with THAT was that her 15-year old son watched it with us (and it really does feel like I'm describing an awkward date I had with an unwed mother, which I will expand on in another post). I had sort of forgotten about the constant cursing. And the sex. When Hot Aaron Eckhart opened the door to Katie Holmes' apartment, 30 seconds away from banging her from behind over her kitchen table, it all came back to me, and I turned my head in shame and mumbled, "Uh yeah, they have sex now..."
I really shouldn't be allowed to do things.
Today. Five minutes ago. I went into the break room to get some day-old iiiiiiccccccing for my various chocolate-cake-zombie needs. Since I was in the middle of writing this, and thus reminded of my misadventure in icing-stealing, I took the proper precaution. Instead of scooping up icing with my finger, I took a plastic knife and chopped off a piece. Then I stuck the knife in my mouth. You may be thinking, "That doesn't seem substantially different from what you did yesterday." But what I didn't tell you is that I watched the door this time. So if anyone walked by, I could duck really fast and pretend I was never there. It was a foolproof plan. Unless somebody walked into the room and saw me cowering behind a chair. Or saw me in the process of ducking. Which most likely would have happened. Because I would need to see them to start ducking, which means they could see me, and I really didn't think that through. I guess I'm lucky nobody saw me the one time I did that.
Ok, three.
And fine, maybe one time I used the main cake knife and had to restrain myself from licking it, settling for wiping off the icing with my finger. Don't judge me. It's not my fault. I'm a zombie.
One.
Two.
Thr-
Bam! It was CuteBoss. He gave me a half-smile and said hi. I smiled in embarrassment and mumbled hi back. Fuck! This office building needs more cute guys. And better plumbing, but that's beside the point.
Tuesday. Around 11 AM. On the phone with CuteBoss, I almost called him CuteBoss. This whole "being professional" thing isn't working too well. As my Crippled Friend put it: "you need to get out of there before you accidentally rape him."
So true.
Tuesday. Around 2 PM, after a birthday party for awesome January-ians like me. I had turned into a chocolate cake zombie, so I snuck back into the par-taaaay room when most people were in meetings and stole another piece. I couldn't just leave it at that, though-I saw a beautiful blob of chocolate icing sitting next to the main cake, staring me in the face, calling out to me: "Eat me. No time for pleasantries, just scoop me up and eaaaaat meeeeeee!"
So I reached a finger down and scooped him up. I have no willpower when it comes to chocolate icing with the powers of speech. Right as my finger hit the icing deliciousness, I looked up at the door and saw HotOldMan, a hot old man who works in my office, standing in the doorway. Staring at me. I quickly wiped my finger on my plate and walked out with a suave smile. I'm totally cool, guys! Totally cool.
Friday. Around 9 PM. I was hanging out with a woman from my office (which, whole other story), and we had each picked one movie to watch. She chose some crap action thing with Michael Douglas. Although it was crap, it was entertaining to watch him pretend to be a super special Secret Service guy while running like a grandpa. I chose Thank You For Smoking, a comedy-ish thing I saw last year. I remembered liking it, but not much else, so it didn't matter that I had seen it. Except then I was put in that awkward position of being all enthusiastic about a movie and then having to sit there for an hour and a half while trying to see if the other people watching like it as well or think you're a moron. Her description of "It was cute," said in the manner of a mom receiving a gift of a couple brown dots on a piece of paper from her mentally challenged toddler, answered that question for me.
Eh, who cares, though. Her movie sucked ass, so at least mine was cute. And it had lots of cursing and a few sex scenes. Yeah... only problem with THAT was that her 15-year old son watched it with us (and it really does feel like I'm describing an awkward date I had with an unwed mother, which I will expand on in another post). I had sort of forgotten about the constant cursing. And the sex. When Hot Aaron Eckhart opened the door to Katie Holmes' apartment, 30 seconds away from banging her from behind over her kitchen table, it all came back to me, and I turned my head in shame and mumbled, "Uh yeah, they have sex now..."
I really shouldn't be allowed to do things.
Today. Five minutes ago. I went into the break room to get some day-old iiiiiiccccccing for my various chocolate-cake-zombie needs. Since I was in the middle of writing this, and thus reminded of my misadventure in icing-stealing, I took the proper precaution. Instead of scooping up icing with my finger, I took a plastic knife and chopped off a piece. Then I stuck the knife in my mouth. You may be thinking, "That doesn't seem substantially different from what you did yesterday." But what I didn't tell you is that I watched the door this time. So if anyone walked by, I could duck really fast and pretend I was never there. It was a foolproof plan. Unless somebody walked into the room and saw me cowering behind a chair. Or saw me in the process of ducking. Which most likely would have happened. Because I would need to see them to start ducking, which means they could see me, and I really didn't think that through. I guess I'm lucky nobody saw me the one time I did that.
Ok, three.
And fine, maybe one time I used the main cake knife and had to restrain myself from licking it, settling for wiping off the icing with my finger. Don't judge me. It's not my fault. I'm a zombie.
Monday, January 22, 2007
I'm really functional when I'm high, I just can't, you know, do things.
My brain is pretty frazzled right now. I don't have a good reason, my weekend was stress-free, I got enough sleep last night, blah blah-I just can't think straight. Plus, I'm turning 21 in 2 days (3 days?) and I'm not in the mood to do all this WORK, so here are some old quotes.
DrugMan: Fuck you, I do drugs that open my mind.
Cripple: Yeah, so people can pour shit in there... like coffee.
Blondie: [defiantly] I'm not liberal, I'm independent.
Dropout!: Do you hate Bush?
Blondie: Yes.
Dropout!: Didn't you work for the Kerry campaign?
Blondie: [scrunches her nose]
Dropout!: I know a few words of French! Hola! [Pause] Yeah, that was Spanish.
[20 minutes of back and forth "your mom" insults.]
It: Your mom's cold.
Dropout!: Yeah, she's a frigid bitch.
It: Your mom's a frigid bitch.
("It" is a transgender friend I have. When I first found out, my friends and I didn't know whether to say he or she, so we ended up calling it "It" for a while. A short while. Obviously we don't do that anymore because it's disrespectful and we would never be disrespectful. Cough. Cough.)
Dropout!: I went to a party in Queens.
Cripple: Queens? How did you get there?
Dropout!: The subway...
Cripple: The subway goes to Queens?
Dropout!: Yeah.
Cripple: So is Queens in Manhattan?
Cripple: Are Canadians circumsized?
DrugMan: Fuck you, I do drugs that open my mind.
Cripple: Yeah, so people can pour shit in there... like coffee.
Blondie: [defiantly] I'm not liberal, I'm independent.
Dropout!: Do you hate Bush?
Blondie: Yes.
Dropout!: Didn't you work for the Kerry campaign?
Blondie: [scrunches her nose]
Dropout!: I know a few words of French! Hola! [Pause] Yeah, that was Spanish.
[20 minutes of back and forth "your mom" insults.]
It: Your mom's cold.
Dropout!: Yeah, she's a frigid bitch.
It: Your mom's a frigid bitch.
("It" is a transgender friend I have. When I first found out, my friends and I didn't know whether to say he or she, so we ended up calling it "It" for a while. A short while. Obviously we don't do that anymore because it's disrespectful and we would never be disrespectful. Cough. Cough.)
Dropout!: I went to a party in Queens.
Cripple: Queens? How did you get there?
Dropout!: The subway...
Cripple: The subway goes to Queens?
Dropout!: Yeah.
Cripple: So is Queens in Manhattan?
Cripple: Are Canadians circumsized?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I Prefer Journey
I was flipping through the channels on TV and saw Jewel performing live. I actually said aloud, to myself, "Seriously? Jewel? She's still alive?" Which, you know, considering she was a teenager when she got famous a decade ago, probably shouldn't be that surprising.
But seriously - Jewel?
(And since this is now about cars... Did you know Jewel used to live out of her van? Crazy!)
But seriously - Jewel?
(And since this is now about cars... Did you know Jewel used to live out of her van? Crazy!)
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
I Shit Out a Novel - Here You Are
I really should give up the facade and make this whole thing explicitly about transportation, since that seems to be what my life revolves around right now. I could call it "On the Road Again." It'll be just like Kerouac, except with fewer drugs, more sentence structure, and much more boring stories. So, not really at all like Kerouac. But hey, who's gonna notice anyway? All I have to do is not point it out to anyone.
Now I shall relate a harrowing story involving me and - surprise! - a car:
It started off just like any other day...
I was enjoying the warm sunshine and deserted back-roads as I drove home on a Sunday afternoon. I pulled up to a rusty gas station to fill up my tank. Staring off into space, I stood holding the pump as it filled me up (dirty!). Then my eyes focused on something. My keys. In my car. My locked car. Fuck.
I panicked. My parents were in another city, so they couldn't bring me the spare key, and I was surrounded by emptiness.
The sun started to go down. I shivered in my thin t-shirt. Rolling around the desolate wasteland was an empty cup, no doubt trying to cry out for a merciful death but unable to because of its lack of a mouth. I wondered if I would die there, in the middle of nowhere, hacked to death by a serial killer and then eaten by raccoons.
Then I remembered that I had a AAA card. Whew. Crisis averted!
Or so I thought...
By the way, if you ever find yourself stranded by the side of a road with very few drivers on it, it's probably not the best time for your cell phone batteries to die. It definitely didn't please me, especially since it forced me to flag down a trucker and please HIM in exchange for use of his phone, well, CB radio, but long story, and then I had to give him more sexual favors so that he would wait until they came, and then even MORE sex so that he didn't kidnap me and take me back to his dungeon where he would torture me, and this was after I had tried to spell out a huge HELP sign with sand and weeds, but then I realized that I was spelling it wrong, and who's going to be flying over there in the first place, which is why I switched to watching the road.
Ok, so maybe none of this actually happened. Except for the part where I locked my keys in the car. That totally happened. And my parents were in a different city, so in a sense I was alone. In a metaphorical way. You know, where someone's among a ton of people, but they still feel alone because their one true love isn't there? Or something that doesn't imply that I'm in love my parents. (I just use them for sex.)
I wasn't in so much of a wasteland, though, as I was in a crowded parking lot inside a little shopping center that's a few blocks from my house*. And the lonely, suicidal cup was mine - I had pulled in for a refreshing Starbucks blended coffee beverage, but got tired of holding an empty cup and put it on top of my car. The wind blew it off; I picked it up and tried once more. Again it fell, but this time I couldn't muster the energy to care. I just watched it. I couldn't leave my car! I was really bored! C'mon, pity me!
When the AAA guy finally came, I stared him down, trying to figure out whether or not it was him. He was wearing a bright yellow polo and a baseball cap with no passenger, so I figured it must be him, even though his car wasn't marked. Who else would wear that outfit? My eyes hopefully followed his car as it drove across the lot toward me. We made eye contact, and he pulled into my parking lane thing and parked right across from me. Yesss! Victory, oh it tasted sweet. I turned around to watch him, and I put on a "worried but still friendly" face so that he would definitely know I was the one in need of help. Because, you know, it's easy to get that confused with someone just hanging out alone in a parking lot.
He didn't get out of his car for a while, though. He sat in the driver's seat, looking back at me, and kept the car running. I turned away, kind of scaring myself with all the staring and thinking that maybe he had some important business to do or was preparing his tools. I don't know how these things work. Then I heard his car turn off, and I tried not to turn around - play it cool, man! After a minute without him coming to save me, I turned around and saw him walking into a restaurant. It was then I realized he probably was not my man. I wonder what that guy thought of me, and of all the staring. Maybe he thought I was waiting for someone. Or maybe he thought I was a hooker. It's easy to get those things confused.
This same thing happened with at least 5 other guys. I stared them down, felt a rush of relief roll over me as they parked close to me, then slumped over as they gave me odd looks and walked into a restaurant.
"What the hell?" I shouted into the wind after guy #4 deserted me. "It's not even 6:00, why is everyone fucking eating dinner!"
P.S. I retract my previous statement about cars being cool, even if that title was partly in jest. Cars are stupid. Not me. It's definitely the car.
*And yes, of course I considered walking home and getting the spare key, but I would've had to break a window to get in. Also, it involved walking.
Now I shall relate a harrowing story involving me and - surprise! - a car:
It started off just like any other day...
I was enjoying the warm sunshine and deserted back-roads as I drove home on a Sunday afternoon. I pulled up to a rusty gas station to fill up my tank. Staring off into space, I stood holding the pump as it filled me up (dirty!). Then my eyes focused on something. My keys. In my car. My locked car. Fuck.
I panicked. My parents were in another city, so they couldn't bring me the spare key, and I was surrounded by emptiness.
The sun started to go down. I shivered in my thin t-shirt. Rolling around the desolate wasteland was an empty cup, no doubt trying to cry out for a merciful death but unable to because of its lack of a mouth. I wondered if I would die there, in the middle of nowhere, hacked to death by a serial killer and then eaten by raccoons.
Then I remembered that I had a AAA card. Whew. Crisis averted!
Or so I thought...
By the way, if you ever find yourself stranded by the side of a road with very few drivers on it, it's probably not the best time for your cell phone batteries to die. It definitely didn't please me, especially since it forced me to flag down a trucker and please HIM in exchange for use of his phone, well, CB radio, but long story, and then I had to give him more sexual favors so that he would wait until they came, and then even MORE sex so that he didn't kidnap me and take me back to his dungeon where he would torture me, and this was after I had tried to spell out a huge HELP sign with sand and weeds, but then I realized that I was spelling it wrong, and who's going to be flying over there in the first place, which is why I switched to watching the road.
Ok, so maybe none of this actually happened. Except for the part where I locked my keys in the car. That totally happened. And my parents were in a different city, so in a sense I was alone. In a metaphorical way. You know, where someone's among a ton of people, but they still feel alone because their one true love isn't there? Or something that doesn't imply that I'm in love my parents. (I just use them for sex.)
I wasn't in so much of a wasteland, though, as I was in a crowded parking lot inside a little shopping center that's a few blocks from my house*. And the lonely, suicidal cup was mine - I had pulled in for a refreshing Starbucks blended coffee beverage, but got tired of holding an empty cup and put it on top of my car. The wind blew it off; I picked it up and tried once more. Again it fell, but this time I couldn't muster the energy to care. I just watched it. I couldn't leave my car! I was really bored! C'mon, pity me!
When the AAA guy finally came, I stared him down, trying to figure out whether or not it was him. He was wearing a bright yellow polo and a baseball cap with no passenger, so I figured it must be him, even though his car wasn't marked. Who else would wear that outfit? My eyes hopefully followed his car as it drove across the lot toward me. We made eye contact, and he pulled into my parking lane thing and parked right across from me. Yesss! Victory, oh it tasted sweet. I turned around to watch him, and I put on a "worried but still friendly" face so that he would definitely know I was the one in need of help. Because, you know, it's easy to get that confused with someone just hanging out alone in a parking lot.
He didn't get out of his car for a while, though. He sat in the driver's seat, looking back at me, and kept the car running. I turned away, kind of scaring myself with all the staring and thinking that maybe he had some important business to do or was preparing his tools. I don't know how these things work. Then I heard his car turn off, and I tried not to turn around - play it cool, man! After a minute without him coming to save me, I turned around and saw him walking into a restaurant. It was then I realized he probably was not my man. I wonder what that guy thought of me, and of all the staring. Maybe he thought I was waiting for someone. Or maybe he thought I was a hooker. It's easy to get those things confused.
This same thing happened with at least 5 other guys. I stared them down, felt a rush of relief roll over me as they parked close to me, then slumped over as they gave me odd looks and walked into a restaurant.
"What the hell?" I shouted into the wind after guy #4 deserted me. "It's not even 6:00, why is everyone fucking eating dinner!"
P.S. I retract my previous statement about cars being cool, even if that title was partly in jest. Cars are stupid. Not me. It's definitely the car.
*And yes, of course I considered walking home and getting the spare key, but I would've had to break a window to get in. Also, it involved walking.
Turd Sandwich vs. Giant Douche
Vote* for who you think should win in this epic battle of SouthParkian proportions, with lots more choices! Part I, named Sally? Part II, named Sally II? Sally III? And so on and so forth? Choose your decision wisely. It may be the last truly important thing you do in your lifetime. Unless, you know, you live to vote in an actual election. Or make a sandwich later.
Sally
Life of the Party: have you seen the show psych?
Cripple: hell yeah
Cripple: you like it?
Life of the Party: yep
Life of the Party: it's like if we were on a tv show
Life of the Party: and you also had a penis
Life of the Party: and were black
Life of the Party: and i was a fake psychic
Sally II
Life of the Party: [some reference to Cripple's newest blog entry]
Cripple: i'm guessing you found my all-new, all-awesome blog entry
Life of the Party: ?
Life of the Party: you have a blog?
Cripple: lol
Cripple: no
Sally III
Life of the Party: god i could just rape you right here!
Life of the Party: i mean...
Life of the Party: no, i meant rape
Cripple: hehe
Cripple: don't flatter me too much, LotP
Life of the Party: ok whore
Life of the Party: was that too nice?
Cripple: nah
Cripple: i'll tolerate it
Life of the Party: GOOD
Life of the Party: ...WOMAN
Cripple: that's too rude.
Sally IIII
Life of the Party: right, but i’m rebelling against people in desks
Cripple: ?
Cripple: um
Cripple: you're rebelling against YOU in desks
Cripple: anyway i have to go
Life of the Party: ok have fun
Cripple: i'll tell Boyfriend you say hi... or maybe i wont.
Life of the Party: yeah i don’t really know him
Life of the Party: but whatevs
Cripple: but if i touch his penis i'll probably think of you
Cripple: (not the whole time, but...)
Cripple: anyway!
Sally IIIII
Cripple: can i give you an aim hug?
Life of the Party: um
Life of the Party: how does that work
Cripple: i have no idea. i was hoping there was a smiley that sort of resembled a hug
Cripple: but... no.
Life of the Party: then yes you may
Sally 6
Stranger: Sarah, is that you?
Life of the Party: nope
Stranger: sorry
Life of the Party: no prob
Stranger: bye
Life of the Party: it was really good talking to you, take care
Ishmael
I needed to return an overdue book to a college library, but I couldn't find it. I frantically searched through my house for it. "Shitballs!" I thought. Then I thought, "Oh, fuck it, it'll only be, what, like twenty dollars to replace it?"
I later found it on my bed. That should really be the first place I look for things from now on.
*This is a command. Vote or Die, motherfucker.**
**I don't care what you base your vote on. Or if you vote at all, actually. I just needed some excuse to throw all this crap together. Plus, I like saying "vote or die." OR DO I?
Sally
Life of the Party: have you seen the show psych?
Cripple: hell yeah
Cripple: you like it?
Life of the Party: yep
Life of the Party: it's like if we were on a tv show
Life of the Party: and you also had a penis
Life of the Party: and were black
Life of the Party: and i was a fake psychic
Sally II
Life of the Party: [some reference to Cripple's newest blog entry]
Cripple: i'm guessing you found my all-new, all-awesome blog entry
Life of the Party: ?
Life of the Party: you have a blog?
Cripple: lol
Cripple: no
Sally III
Life of the Party: god i could just rape you right here!
Life of the Party: i mean...
Life of the Party: no, i meant rape
Cripple: hehe
Cripple: don't flatter me too much, LotP
Life of the Party: ok whore
Life of the Party: was that too nice?
Cripple: nah
Cripple: i'll tolerate it
Life of the Party: GOOD
Life of the Party: ...WOMAN
Cripple: that's too rude.
Sally IIII
Life of the Party: right, but i’m rebelling against people in desks
Cripple: ?
Cripple: um
Cripple: you're rebelling against YOU in desks
Cripple: anyway i have to go
Life of the Party: ok have fun
Cripple: i'll tell Boyfriend you say hi... or maybe i wont.
Life of the Party: yeah i don’t really know him
Life of the Party: but whatevs
Cripple: but if i touch his penis i'll probably think of you
Cripple: (not the whole time, but...)
Cripple: anyway!
Sally IIIII
Cripple: can i give you an aim hug?
Life of the Party: um
Life of the Party: how does that work
Cripple: i have no idea. i was hoping there was a smiley that sort of resembled a hug
Cripple: but... no.
Life of the Party: then yes you may
Sally 6
Stranger: Sarah, is that you?
Life of the Party: nope
Stranger: sorry
Life of the Party: no prob
Stranger: bye
Life of the Party: it was really good talking to you, take care
Ishmael
I needed to return an overdue book to a college library, but I couldn't find it. I frantically searched through my house for it. "Shitballs!" I thought. Then I thought, "Oh, fuck it, it'll only be, what, like twenty dollars to replace it?"
I later found it on my bed. That should really be the first place I look for things from now on.
*This is a command. Vote or Die, motherfucker.**
**I don't care what you base your vote on. Or if you vote at all, actually. I just needed some excuse to throw all this crap together. Plus, I like saying "vote or die." OR DO I?
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Cars Are Cool!
On Friday morning I drove my mom to a car repair-y place so she could pick up her repaired car, and she complimented my music. I told her it was Bill Withers and started skipping through the tracks to find an upbeat song. I stopped on a song which, unfortunately, is called "Moanin' and Groanin." It's a pretty graphic sexual song, but I wasn't paying attention to the lyrics at first. Once I realized what was playing, I froze, which isn't the best thing to do while driving, and considered changing it, but then I thought it might draw attention to it, and she might not have noticed the lyrics, and what if I just don't look at her and pretend it's not talking about young girls becoming women, would that work?
Yeah, I don't think it did.
Friday night, as I was driving home in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I kept sane by focusing on the car in front of me, a green minivan. After a while, I looked away for a second, and when I looked back at the green minivan, it wasn't there! Some car had come between us! I became confused and inexplicably angry-how had that happened so quickly? Why hadn't I noticed? Where was the minivan? Why the hell wasn't I behind the goddamn green minivan? Why did I care? This all ran through my head in the split second before I realized that the new car, a green car, was in fact a green minivan, and the whole thing had been in my head. Why would my head do that to me? Meanie.
And then! 20 minutes later, some asshole old person cut me off at the entrance to my - MY! - development. As we crawled to the first stop sign, alone in the night, I bored a hole through his seat and into the back of his skull with my powerful death ray eyes. I looked away for a second, though, and guess what had happened when I resumed my death stare? Someone else had cut me off! How did that happen? There weren't even any other cars on the road! Did a magical car just appear out of thin air and come between me and the asshole?
No, stupidhead. It was my mind again. Duh.
Yeah, I don't think it did.
Friday night, as I was driving home in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I kept sane by focusing on the car in front of me, a green minivan. After a while, I looked away for a second, and when I looked back at the green minivan, it wasn't there! Some car had come between us! I became confused and inexplicably angry-how had that happened so quickly? Why hadn't I noticed? Where was the minivan? Why the hell wasn't I behind the goddamn green minivan? Why did I care? This all ran through my head in the split second before I realized that the new car, a green car, was in fact a green minivan, and the whole thing had been in my head. Why would my head do that to me? Meanie.
And then! 20 minutes later, some asshole old person cut me off at the entrance to my - MY! - development. As we crawled to the first stop sign, alone in the night, I bored a hole through his seat and into the back of his skull with my powerful death ray eyes. I looked away for a second, though, and guess what had happened when I resumed my death stare? Someone else had cut me off! How did that happen? There weren't even any other cars on the road! Did a magical car just appear out of thin air and come between me and the asshole?
No, stupidhead. It was my mind again. Duh.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
A Story
In sixth grade, everyone in my grade had to take a peer counseling class once a week. Since I was way too cool for lame-ass "feelings" and "resolving conflicts without violence" and stuff, I typically didn't speak during those classes. The "teacher," though, said something one day that pissed me off. She insinuated that we should be as responsible as some 40-year old, and I objected. Since I wasn't used to talking, it took me a few seconds to start, and by then someone else had already started voicing the same objections I had. Her words wiped mine from my brain, and I accidentally used her same phrasing. Everyone ignored it because we all wanted Mrs. "Teacher" to explain herself. She didn't, at least not to our satisfaction, but we decided to be magnanimous and let it go, feeling bad for her crappy life and crappy job. Either that or we kept trying to get her to assure us that we weren't responsible for any of our actions. I can't remember. Probably the latter.
As we were all walking out at the end of class, she asked me to stay behind. A few of my friends waited by the door as this alleged "Teacher" told me in a concerned voice that she thought I was a follower. I tried to explain the confusion, but she talked over me. She wanted me to come into my own! Express myself! Not look to other people for validation!
I stood there in mild shock - I had barely spoken to this lady in my life, and she presumed to know me? How dare she say that I don't speak for myself!
As I was thinking all this, my still-waiting friends jumped in. "She's not a follower!" they cried in indignation.
I recovered my speech and eloquently mumbled, "yeah." Then I followed them out the door. That showed her!
As we were all walking out at the end of class, she asked me to stay behind. A few of my friends waited by the door as this alleged "Teacher" told me in a concerned voice that she thought I was a follower. I tried to explain the confusion, but she talked over me. She wanted me to come into my own! Express myself! Not look to other people for validation!
I stood there in mild shock - I had barely spoken to this lady in my life, and she presumed to know me? How dare she say that I don't speak for myself!
As I was thinking all this, my still-waiting friends jumped in. "She's not a follower!" they cried in indignation.
I recovered my speech and eloquently mumbled, "yeah." Then I followed them out the door. That showed her!
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Fun With Crazies
My mother thinks I have Asperger's, a mild form of autism. Awesome. I asked my dad if she said anything to him, and he basically told me that 1) she has no medical training and 2) she's crazy. Both of those things are true. I may be a loner who has difficulty interacting with my peers, displays eccentric behaviors like spending hours each day preoccupied with counting cars passing on the street, and has Asperger's*, but how dare she!
There was this kid at my school who had Asperger's and rode around campus on a Segway, supposedly for his asthma. Everyone knew about him within the first week, and all anyone said was along the lines of "That Segway kid? Yeah, my friend met him, he's a huge asshole."
A real exchange:
Guy #1: Fucking Segway Kid. This campus is tiny, he can't walk the 10 fucking feet to class?
Guy #2: I think he has asthma.
Guy #1: What the fuck? I saw him at a party smoking.
Guy #3: He has asthma? I thought he had Asperger's.
Girl #1: Yeah, that's why he's such an asshole?
Guy #2: He has both.
I like to imagine that he didn't have either, but he wanted to create a new persona for himself, shed the loser image from high school, have people notice him, blah blah, so he decided to get a Segway and say he has Asperger's. You know, to set himself apart and explain his social awkwardness. He needed something, since he couldn't get that parrot to stay on his shoulder. "Stupid parrots. You think you're so cool because you have wings and can fly and stuff, but you know what? I don't need you, Mr. Parrot! I can get a machine to walk for me! Can you walk for me? NO!" I'll bet that's what he said. And then he broke down in tears because he really thought he and Mr. Parrot had a bond.
Before Segway Kid, there was Suit Guy. He wore the same deep purple suit every day and cemented his dumbass status by running for student government without knowing anyone. His flyers were just him, not smiling, in his suit, with the words "Vote for the guy in the suit." He wasn't elected. I liked the flyers, though.
Segway Kid and Suit Boy: They Love To Be Weird For No Reason And Leave School Before Second Semester Of Their Freshman Years Because Nobody Likes Them, And For That, You've Gotta Respect 'Em ('em?). Or Mock 'Em. Whatever.
*I don't actually. OR DO I?**
**No, I don't. (That is never going to get old for me.)
There was this kid at my school who had Asperger's and rode around campus on a Segway, supposedly for his asthma. Everyone knew about him within the first week, and all anyone said was along the lines of "That Segway kid? Yeah, my friend met him, he's a huge asshole."
A real exchange:
Guy #1: Fucking Segway Kid. This campus is tiny, he can't walk the 10 fucking feet to class?
Guy #2: I think he has asthma.
Guy #1: What the fuck? I saw him at a party smoking.
Guy #3: He has asthma? I thought he had Asperger's.
Girl #1: Yeah, that's why he's such an asshole?
Guy #2: He has both.
I like to imagine that he didn't have either, but he wanted to create a new persona for himself, shed the loser image from high school, have people notice him, blah blah, so he decided to get a Segway and say he has Asperger's. You know, to set himself apart and explain his social awkwardness. He needed something, since he couldn't get that parrot to stay on his shoulder. "Stupid parrots. You think you're so cool because you have wings and can fly and stuff, but you know what? I don't need you, Mr. Parrot! I can get a machine to walk for me! Can you walk for me? NO!" I'll bet that's what he said. And then he broke down in tears because he really thought he and Mr. Parrot had a bond.
Before Segway Kid, there was Suit Guy. He wore the same deep purple suit every day and cemented his dumbass status by running for student government without knowing anyone. His flyers were just him, not smiling, in his suit, with the words "Vote for the guy in the suit." He wasn't elected. I liked the flyers, though.
Segway Kid and Suit Boy: They Love To Be Weird For No Reason And Leave School Before Second Semester Of Their Freshman Years Because Nobody Likes Them, And For That, You've Gotta Respect 'Em ('em?). Or Mock 'Em. Whatever.
*I don't actually. OR DO I?**
**No, I don't. (That is never going to get old for me.)
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
A Non-Exposition-y Post
My dad, leaving work earlier than me: "Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow. [Pause] I mean at home."
Me, on the hypothetical absence of all trees: "It'd be weird, but it wouldn't break my heart."
Botany Teacher: "That's because you don't have one."
Chick: "You're popular for a guest professor."
Botany Teacher: "That's just because I'm good-looking."
Botany Teacher: "I would rather turn a trick in a leafy garden than a vacant lot."
Me, on the hypothetical absence of all trees: "It'd be weird, but it wouldn't break my heart."
Botany Teacher: "That's because you don't have one."
Chick: "You're popular for a guest professor."
Botany Teacher: "That's just because I'm good-looking."
Botany Teacher: "I would rather turn a trick in a leafy garden than a vacant lot."
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Hobo Stew: Reheated Leftovers
Home Alone 7: Where Not Much Happens
My parents are, shall we say, "out of town" for the night, and I have the house all to myself. Naturally the first thing I thought about was what I was going to have for dinner, since usually I'm not hungry when I eat around my family. I realize that's weird. I don't know why it is so. Let's gloss over it and move on to REALITY, where the world doesn't play by YOUR rules, and maybe some things are meant to be a mystery for all time, like where I hid that paper clip at work or how your mom came to be such a tremendous blight on society. Anyway, this was my time to shine (in eating)! Make whatever food I wanted and actually be hungry for it!
I ended up buying Instant Lunch soup and Mentos. I guess you can take the girl out of college, but you can't take the college out of the girl.
Heh. Heh. Fire.
I probably shouldn't be allowed to drive, ever. I'm not doing too well. I was driving pissed off and distracted earlier today and almost rammed my car into another. Funnily enough, it was in the exact same spot as the last time I almost killed people. Maybe if I avoid that spot, the world will be magically rid of all ailments. Especially your mom.
Yay me!
I think I deserve some applause for the expedient and excellent job I did in carrying out my top priority New Year's Re-slut-ion of not posting every day. Whew! It was tough work, but somebody's gotta not do it.
It's late, I'm tired
If I don't give enough back-story to something, or start to slip, sorry*. I'm doing this mostly so that in a year, when I've forgotten this existed again, I can rediscover it and read through it and laugh. I try to not need explanations; it makes life easier. Lots of exposition bores me in any book, so it's even worse when I'm expositing my own life. Now, I know what you're thinking. "But LotP**!" you cry out in your mind. "You do such a wonderful job with it, just as you do with everything else in your life!" And yes, this is true, but it isn't as fun for me.
*I'm not really sorry.
**What if I was a rodeo clown, and my name was Life of the Rodeo? Then it would be shortened to LotR, and tons of Tolkien fans would think I was hella tight. Too bad I'm scared of clowns.
My parents are, shall we say, "out of town" for the night, and I have the house all to myself. Naturally the first thing I thought about was what I was going to have for dinner, since usually I'm not hungry when I eat around my family. I realize that's weird. I don't know why it is so. Let's gloss over it and move on to REALITY, where the world doesn't play by YOUR rules, and maybe some things are meant to be a mystery for all time, like where I hid that paper clip at work or how your mom came to be such a tremendous blight on society. Anyway, this was my time to shine (in eating)! Make whatever food I wanted and actually be hungry for it!
I ended up buying Instant Lunch soup and Mentos. I guess you can take the girl out of college, but you can't take the college out of the girl.
Heh. Heh. Fire.
I probably shouldn't be allowed to drive, ever. I'm not doing too well. I was driving pissed off and distracted earlier today and almost rammed my car into another. Funnily enough, it was in the exact same spot as the last time I almost killed people. Maybe if I avoid that spot, the world will be magically rid of all ailments. Especially your mom.
Yay me!
I think I deserve some applause for the expedient and excellent job I did in carrying out my top priority New Year's Re-slut-ion of not posting every day. Whew! It was tough work, but somebody's gotta not do it.
It's late, I'm tired
If I don't give enough back-story to something, or start to slip, sorry*. I'm doing this mostly so that in a year, when I've forgotten this existed again, I can rediscover it and read through it and laugh. I try to not need explanations; it makes life easier. Lots of exposition bores me in any book, so it's even worse when I'm expositing my own life. Now, I know what you're thinking. "But LotP**!" you cry out in your mind. "You do such a wonderful job with it, just as you do with everything else in your life!" And yes, this is true, but it isn't as fun for me.
*I'm not really sorry.
**What if I was a rodeo clown, and my name was Life of the Rodeo? Then it would be shortened to LotR, and tons of Tolkien fans would think I was hella tight. Too bad I'm scared of clowns.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
That Takes Talent
I didn't go into work yesterday, yet I still managed to embarrass myself in front of the office computer guy. He came to our house to fix my mother's computer, and after I let him in in shorts, an over-sized t-shirt, and no bra, I went back upstairs to my music. I immediately forgot he was here, right beneath me, and started loudly singing along to Bob Marley's "Redemption Song." (I have an awful, awful voice.) I was almost at the end before I remembered about him and shut up.
Off my non-topic of the day, that whole "which came first, the chicken or the egg" dilemma is freaking stupid once you think about it for more than a few seconds. Clearly the egg came first. Other animals produce animal babies with eggs, and in the few million or so years before chickens evolved, some other animal was making non-chicken babies out of eggs, some of which eventually turned into chickens. Duh.
Off my non-topic of the day, that whole "which came first, the chicken or the egg" dilemma is freaking stupid once you think about it for more than a few seconds. Clearly the egg came first. Other animals produce animal babies with eggs, and in the few million or so years before chickens evolved, some other animal was making non-chicken babies out of eggs, some of which eventually turned into chickens. Duh.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Do you like to cuddle?*
Last summer my friend got fired for "sexual harassment." I think I might be following in her footsteps. BossMan is just so cute, I can't handle it. I was meeting with him today and he tried calling a woman to introduce me, but got her answering machine. He left a message, and when he hung up, he shook his head abashedly, laughed to himself, and said, "Well, that was a rambling message." He wears a tie with cute little lobsters all over it. He says "thank you" obsessively. He jokes around about his artistic abilities and how he and another Boss might need a model to draw people to their booth at a convention because he's "not confident in [their] ability to attract people." Ohhh, I came so close to flirting with BossMan, MarriedBossMan, after he said that. For once in my life, though, I stopped myself before saying something stupid.
The thing is, I meet with him a few times a day, and he has this annoying habit of looking into my eyes the entire time, so I'm forced to stare at his cute face and still concentrate. I hope soon I'll come to strongly associate his face with work and unpleasantness. That should solve the problem.
*By the way, I hate cuddling. I once snuck out from underneath a sleeping guy's arm so I could go get some sleep, and I spent most of senior year pretending to sleep while the guy next to me was happily snoozing.**
**I didn't have sex with either of those people, it just sounds like I did.
Update: The "sexual harassment" that got my friend fired? Yeah, so she and some girls in her office were arguing over whether most guys do or don't like to cuddle. She decided to send out an email to all the guys asking if they liked to cuddle. Apparently somebody complained, and that's the official reason she received, although it is suspected by some that the boss just hated her. This friend reads this, so she might want to correct me on something. Friend: If you correct me, I'm afraid I'll have to punch you in balls. I will not tolerate insolence!
The thing is, I meet with him a few times a day, and he has this annoying habit of looking into my eyes the entire time, so I'm forced to stare at his cute face and still concentrate. I hope soon I'll come to strongly associate his face with work and unpleasantness. That should solve the problem.
*By the way, I hate cuddling. I once snuck out from underneath a sleeping guy's arm so I could go get some sleep, and I spent most of senior year pretending to sleep while the guy next to me was happily snoozing.**
**I didn't have sex with either of those people, it just sounds like I did.
Update: The "sexual harassment" that got my friend fired? Yeah, so she and some girls in her office were arguing over whether most guys do or don't like to cuddle. She decided to send out an email to all the guys asking if they liked to cuddle. Apparently somebody complained, and that's the official reason she received, although it is suspected by some that the boss just hated her. This friend reads this, so she might want to correct me on something. Friend: If you correct me, I'm afraid I'll have to punch you in balls. I will not tolerate insolence!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Awkward...
Last week I went downstairs to the little cafeteria in our building to get a sandwich. I smiled and brightly said hi to the guy making my food, as is my wont. He started talking to me, and I got awkward because he's a low talker and I didn't hear half the things he said to me. I'd smile and laugh or nod like I did, though. Same thing happened the next day. I considered the possibility that he thought I had a crush on him, because I become so giggly during awkward pauses and when I can't understand someone, but eventually didn't think much of it. I also quickly dismissed the reverse idea. I mean, he's probably bored out of his mind and just glad to have anyone to talk to.
Except. Today. As I was in the hallway walking to the food place, he was heading out the back door with a bag of garbage, and I'm pretty sure he waved to me when he turned around and saw me. Later when he was ringing me up, he kept staring at me with this goofy grin on his face. Every other time I've seen him, he's had that same grin, but this time it was bigger. And dreamier. And his eyes were gazing at me happily.
Tomorrow I'm bringing lunch.
Except. Today. As I was in the hallway walking to the food place, he was heading out the back door with a bag of garbage, and I'm pretty sure he waved to me when he turned around and saw me. Later when he was ringing me up, he kept staring at me with this goofy grin on his face. Every other time I've seen him, he's had that same grin, but this time it was bigger. And dreamier. And his eyes were gazing at me happily.
Tomorrow I'm bringing lunch.
Monday, January 01, 2007
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