Entries from January 2004 ↓

Sick as shit with severe pukenitis. Hungry as all fuck, thought of food makes her want to die. Dry heaving now. Purpley spots around both eyes a result of broken blood vessels from extreme wretching.

Nausea constant. Breath deadly. Misses cable. Will watch Rushmore instead. Again.

Needs her mommy.

Upon listening to an acquaintance’s dating trials and pre-relationship tribulations (”A goal or a bathroom, I figure he should at least have one or the other.”) I remembered that much of the wisdom I’ve gleaned in the Boy Dept. isn’t incredibly applicable to most women. You see, I’ve had the distinct pleasure of dating not one, but two homosexual men.

I take that back. They were swishy, International Male-wearin’, lisp-havin’ queers who found yours truly to be the perfect hairy beard. How I didn’t know is really only a shock until one learns, like you have now learned, that all of my relationships until I was twenty were solely about me. I hadn’t the wherewithal to notice that my boyfriends were totally content to watch cheerleading competitions with me on ESPN.

So I’ve compiled a list of WAYS TO KNOW YOUR BOYFRIEND WOULD RATHER BE FUCKING A DUDE:

-He wants you to wear his class ring right away and everywhere. It took a handjob to get that from your quarterback boyfriend.

-He is reading Out magazine because he “mistook it for a clothing catalogue.”

-He borrows all your cap-sleeved, stretchy shirts.

-You met at the casting for Anything Goes!

-He has paperbacks about Paula Abdul, whom he just loves!

-You’ve kissed five times in five months.

-All anal, all the time.*

-Your mom wants you to marry him. (She always will.)

-He only likes to go dancing at The Chute. The music everywhere else is a bore.

-He likes to go dancing.

-He taught you a fresh, new tap dancing move.

-When you place his hand on your breast he insists he’s shy and this is all just a little to fast. (It’s all just a little too NOT A PENIS.)

-He sends you the most elaborate bouquet of daisies and purple sweetheart roses. For no reason.

-He buys you lipstick. He thinks that shade would look nice on you.

-He says he fell in love with you when he heard your favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz. Then he does the whole Tin Man song and dance scene. Flawlessly.

*The VCB’s contribution.

I think my favorite command in any piece of software ever is one found in Kazaa Lite: Clear Downloaded and Erroneous

Yours?

Well, that was quick. It’s been a dang week already. Some time around Wednesday I got the urge to blog about something silly but refrained since I didn’t want to seem all clingy. Now the week is up and, truth be told, I have nothing to show for it.

I went to work every day. I began reading Still Life with Woodpecker. I came to grips with the extent of my utter poverty and found new and interesting ways to not spend money. Like watching the laundry pile grow into this enormous, hairy, stinky beast with bras for arms and orange sweater hair. Dreaming is totally free so I’ve been doing a shitload of that. I’ve been interviewing rappers. Putting off any and all writing. I’ve even taken a small vacation from showering. Soon enough I’m going to have one enormous dreadlock with 8″-long dark roots.

I did splurge last night to see Big Fish since I’d heard some good things about it. The Kids (what the VCB and I call our roommates) invited us to see it at the very last minute and it seemed like a fine idea for a Saturday night. I’d been waiting for something substantial from Burton ever since Mars Attacks!, which I love with my whole heart, and I knew very little about his newest piece. Could this be Burton’s long-needed redemption?

In a word, nuh-uh. Let’s put it this way: Lucky Charms is a good-ass cereal, no? You’ve got wheat puffs in primary shapes and bright, totally non-food colored marshmallows that aren’t quite marshmallows since they aren’t chewy so much as styrofoamy. Mmmmm. In a big bowl of milk this all tastes like everything that is good and light. Clearly the best part of this cereal is the sweet, artificial moons and hearts and shit, but consider for a moment this cereal without the boring wheat puff thingies. You wouldn’t want to eat that. A soggy spoonful of nothing but tiny, super-fake marshmallows would be kind of foul without the “wholesome” grain taste to balance it all out.

Big Fish is devoid of any good-for-you wheat puff stuff. It is nothing but a mouthful of sugary, gooey, synthetic sweetness that leaves you bitter and pissed there was nothing more substantial or real included in order to make you appreciate all that candy.

Frankly, it is hard to believe so much imagination can seem so unimaginative. Something that is meant to be fanciful and magical is instead just pretty and average and typical .

Rent Mars Attacks! instead. Because, “even in a time of intergalactic crisis, people still want to roll them bones.”

[I am still very sorry to Internet Explorer users. I know the links are unreadable and I don’t know why. Fucking maddening. It looks great in every other browser, so I suggest you get a better one. Not because you can’t read my site, but because IE sucks major dick. Mozilla has a tab feature I adore. It also blocks pop-ups. It looks real pretty. Get it. I hear Firebird rocks, too.]

I’m taking a week off from blogging. I’ll be back refreshed and at the ready in seven days or so.

In the meantime I totally expect you to visit the fine folks listed at right. They got the goods. I won’t be missed.

I’ll be periodically adding extraneous links to this post, rather than to the sideblog. That way there can at least be a discussion using the comments below.

To busy you while I’m away:

This almost made me like Bush for about a nanosecond.

Join Us Now…

The Stained Apron: Where resturant employees go to Bitch

Medical Marijuana Voter Guide

Blogging Sundance

Charlize Theron plays Aileen Wournos

Best of the Hubble
Hubble Abandoned

Ariel’s Warmies

Summary of Critic Top Ten Lists

Found: Big Bang Goo

Only six?!

FIFA president calls for sexier uniforms for the women

Oh, and if you get bored you should do something totally punk rock this week. Steal something. Insult a preschooler. Smack your mom’s ass and then give her a huge thumbs up. Skip class and watch those good-ass courtroom shows. You know you so want to.

So, uh, see ya, I guess. Wouldn’t wanna be ya.

That the symptoms for pregnancy and PMS are the same.
That the man who we call president wants to send men to the moon and Mars.
Goatse is dead.
My ankle.
My bank account.
Me, regularly.
Rather than buying posters for movies I like, I like to buy posters or art found in movies I like. (My collection is way small.)
The VCB has never seen MST3K.
The Scene has asked me to write another piece for them.
The way Tara Reid talks.
This picture.

This might be the best line I’ve ever written in an email (today):

Oh, and I should apologize for being such a total cunt in high school.

Hiya.
Continue reading →

When the Real World aired on MTV in 1992 I was 14 years old. Wedged in between repeats of Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy” video was this totally different and funny show that showcased the lives of young adult writers and poets and dancers and bohemians and rocks stars–real people–living in New York City. And my teenaged, country-bumpkin ass loved every minute. And my love for the Real World held strong until, oh, the crappy Las Vegas one, I guess.

I got into Road Rules, too, for a while. But only watched about three seasons of that. I liked these shows mostly because I thought they were pretty funny. Real people are way funnier than television and movies most of the time. But Road Rules stopped being funny after they began the voting off of folks and picking people based on their ability to bitch relentlessly and be big whores.

But I stuck it out with the Real World. I would watch marathon after marathon of that shit and came to know some of the “dialogue” by heart. When Steven slapped Irene in Seattle I was all like, “Oh, NO HE DI’INT!” And when Tammy cried rape I felt sorry for poor David. I had a big crush on Judd, that cartoonist from the San Francisco cast, and can you believe he went and married that doctor lady from that same show? I could go on and on, but chances are you’ve seen them all, too. Don’t even try to lie.

Because liking the Real World is a big dorky no-no. Nobody admits to liking it up front, but about six beers later everyone is talking about how London was the most boring season and how Montana is a totally fucked up name. Well, I for one was never ashamed of my love for the Real World. (Up until slutty Las Vegas, that is. They was just a bunch of hos. And, now I have no cable.)

Which is why I am sort of awestruck that Dan from the Real World: Miami cast reads my weblog. (Hi, Dan!) I love Dan! Or, at least in that way I loathe or love all the cast of the Real World. It blows my mind to think of a time when my sister and I would lie on the couch in the living room, swearing that when we were old enough we would totally apply. Now we lie on the couch, watching, kicking ourselves that we are now too old to do so. She is so gonna kick my ass, but one time, after a particularly rousing or moving Real World episode Amy looked at me and said, “Sometimes, after I watch that show, I feel like I’m on the Real World.” I shamefully nodded my agreement.

And now, one of the people I watched week after week watches me back.
Neat.