Me (#4)

Someone (me, maybe?) spilled a ton of beer on the dance floor of a party I was at last night. This meant that my go-to dance move was sliding all over the place. I started dancing with a really nice friend of mine and all of a sudden he was on the ground. I thought he had tripped, so I started laughing very hard. 


Turns out he had busted his knee somehow and was seriously injured. When I helped him off the dance floor he looked at me and said, "Did you see what happened? I was just dancing and I felt like someone kicked the side of my knee." Then someone drove him to the hospital.


If memory serves, I had developed a slide-kick move at that point. 

Gross #18 (Puking)

Quick update on my trip to Miami: Two nights in a row now, my friend Ashley has puked so hard she peed on the floor. (We're calling it peeking.) I puked out the window of a taxi last night, and two girls we know puked on the street twice each. One of them also puked in the lobby of Ashley's apartment building. This morning I woke up with three other people in Ashley's bed, wearing Ashley's sweater-dress and no pants or underwear.

Airplane (Things I Hate)

I usually prefer to talk about how I'm gross and leave hate to other people, but I am on an airplane, so here is a list of things I hate (airplane wifi is not a thing I hate):

1. This one guy who is wearing the dumbest hat. It's like a beret, but it's puffy around the sides, flat on top, and kind of rolls up in the back.
2. His dumb kid! This kid was, like, demanding math problems from his awful dad. Shut up! Math is the worst!
3. The dumb math problems he actually gave his kid. He said "2+2," and the kid was like "THAT'S EASY, give me a hard one," and he said "what's half of 2+2?" And the kid said 2, and he said no, and then the kid said 1, and he said no again, and then then he said "what's half of 2?" and the kid said 1, and he said "plus 2?" and the kid said 2, and he said "no," and the kid said 3, and he said "FINALLY you got it." Way to go, your dumb kid is going to be as confused about math as he is obnoxious.
4. This guy's accent.
5. The guy sitting behind me who started carefully telling his kid that the stewards and stewardesses are the teachers, and we have to listen to our teachers. You shut up too, that is such a dumb thing to think you need to tell your kid!
6. The fact that when a steward came by, this fucking dad stopped him to tell him about the dumb thing he just told his kid.
7. The fact that this steward actually used to be a teacher.
8. The fact that the steward was REALLY into it.
9. The fact that this guy asked him if he likes being a steward better than he likes teaching, and was so into the answer, which was yes.
10. The fact that the steward got so into this little farce he has been talking to them throughout the whole flight.
11. The fact that the steward said "Are you ready to go to space? Want to stop by the moon and see what's going on there?"
12. The fact that the steward told the kid that if he was good he would give him a special treat, and then came back five minutes later and said "are you ready for your special treat?" like an old pervert.
13. The fact that I totally missed what the special treat was. I bet it was cookies.
14. The little portable DVD players this guy and his kid are both watching without headphones.
15. The crazy-faced crazy lady stewardess who looked completely fucking scandalized when I asked her if I could get past her to go to the bathroom.
16. Racism.
17. Genocide.

Gross #17

I had dinner with a guy I fuck sometimes named Wade last night, and it was the first time I'd ever spent any time with him sober. We went to sort of a nice restaurant. About ten minutes in he admitted that he got my friend Jeremy's number and called him about me earlier, to find out whether or not I'm a serial killer. That weirded me out a lot. The next day, Jeremy and I had breakfast and he told me Wade basically said this:

"We're always wasted when we see each other, so he pretty much just tells me I'm beautiful for a half hour and then pukes."

-Wade

Me. (#3)

Two nights ago I went to a bar and met a magician. His name was Magic Jay. He performed a series of card tricks which, as I drank more, became more and more amazing. When I went home and took off my clothes, I found an Ace of Hearts in my bra. I don't really know how that happened.

This out-of-control spending spree is OVER.

A friend of mine was recently hired to do a commercial about tax cuts for a conservative Republican organization. He did the voiceovers himself the first time, and they asked him to use someone else's voice. He asked me to do it. So here that is.

Facebook

Can't believe he saw that.

Alaska.

This is a tale that was passed to me from my dear friend who has been living this year in a house in Alaska doing volunteer work. As you can imagine, she has some incredible stories, most of which she writes on her gorgeous Alaska blog. The best stories, of course, can never be posted where her family can read them: 


Yesterday I woke up and was super sick to my stomach. Took a shower. Still sick. Didn't brush my teeth, because I knew it'd make me throw up. Left the house. On the porch I noticed that it was a super clear morning and it was still pitch black, so I could see every star in the sky. And then I put my head down to walk down the stairs. And immediately vomit next to the driveway.


Have a mildly shitty day, and then I get home, I feel like I should check on my vomit and probably bury it. But when I get back it's frozen, and all the clumps of dirt near it are frozen. So I put a log over it.

And the thing that's sad, or perhaps make it "the worst," is that the thing I ate too late at night was a vegetable stir fry, and if you knew how expensive vegetables are here, and how rare it is that I eat stir fry, you would know the true tragedy of then throwing it up.

My Cousin Part 2.

Well, we had another family gathering recently, and guess who I got to spend a good deal of time with? 

He has a cell phone. He now text messages me.


3:55PM: Cool dude. Awesome dude 101.


He has a signature on his texts. And then I got this one:


6:45PM: You look nice in black... Awesome dude 101.


Yep.

Gross #16

I went to a party called Tranarchy last night. This is a picture of me motorboating some woman. She looks like she hates it.

Text Message From a Boy Redux: Facebook Message From a Boy

You may know him as the mime that played terrible drums at that Halloween party. If you run into this human, please remember this entry and...just DON'T. He will text you "baby". He will flex at his reflection. He will grow out a bad handlebar mustache and call himself a cowboy. Here is the last exchange between the two of us. My comments are in italics, because sometimes I can't help myself.

Mime (11 de noviembre a las 6:04):
Marriage a from scenes, back that need I'll (backwards this read)

Mime (13 de noviembre a las 6:57):
?

Me (15 de noviembre a las 0:07 ):
hey,
yes i have them. our receiver just broke (i don't know why) (his response to my phone breaking the previous week was "why??" so I had to clarify this) and i'll have to take it apart to get disc 1 out of it. it's stuck in there, of course.

Mime (15 de noviembre a las 23:04):
: reasons I don't loan my things.

Me: ( 15 de noviembre a las 23:3):
you suck

Mime ( 16 de noviembre a las 1:47):

I suck, really? You're seriously one of the most boring girls I've ever met, I never felt like I could say anything meaningful to you in spite of it. Don't talk shit to me, I don't/didn't give a fuck about you or any of your psychoanalysis. You seriously know nothing about me, I'm extremely introverted with everybody. I sure as fuck didn't give you a thing (other than empty sex) and I've given that to a lot of people, and am still, was when I was with you, and will for a good while. Girls are nothing but games. Give me my DVD you borrowed: you can just drop it off any night, to ---- at ---- -----. If we never spoke again I wouldn't give two fucks, ciao.

Me (16 de noviembre a las 2:10):
Empty sex that YOU BEGGED FOR.

Mime (16 de noviembre a las 2:23):
It's a game. Each girl is different, you weren't that intriguing, though. I never begged for anything, and was fucking/am fucking more than five girls (including you). You're not even my type at all: I just got pissed with your cavalier attitude and did or said whatever it took to fuck you again. Playing hard to get was the only thing that interested me, and that wasn't that fruitful considering I'd already fucked you, but I could've went further, it just got old.
Note: I had stopped talking to the kid. He later apologized for...he wasn't quite sure...then he texted me "I'm in love with you" after suggesting we watch Toy Story 3 and have make-up sex.

Me ( 16 de noviembre a las 17:36):
You asked ----- for my number the next day. Then you texted me asking if we could see each other again. I was OK with never seeing or talking to you again.
Ooh gosh, you've really got us women figured out. Doing and saying whatever it takes to get fucked is not sly, it's pathetic.
I don't care who you're fucking now or who you were fucking while we were hooking up. And don't be naive enough to think I wasn't doing the same thing. (I wasn't.)
Playing hard to get always works. If my arrogance gets me laid, then that's awesome.

Mime (16 de noviembre a las 17:40):
That's true, but you don't have much else, perhaps I thought you did at some point.

Mime (16 de noviembre a las 17:41):
I'm sorry, but you have nothing to be arrogant about (except the fact that I'm smarter than you and have a college education), my friends were all asking me why I was even fucking with you. ("friends".)

Me (17 de noviembre a las 21:36):
Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? I don't care what your friends think of me. My roommate and I tried to take the receiver apart and it's impossible to get DVD 1 out. I can leave the others with ----- at my earliest convenience.
Man, you really shouldn't lend your things out.

Me (17 de noviembre a las 21:40):
Also, please do not attempt to come over my house. I will call the cops.

Mime (17 de noviembre a las 21:43):
--------: you're a fucking idiot. (Good one!)

Mime (17 de noviembre a las 21:47):
Give me my DVD back (what the fuck is a receiver) that's a stereo component? Your DVD player? Fucking idiot. Do you understand how fucking stupid you sounded at ------'s? There was no way to keep a straight face.

Me (18 de noviembre a las 0:54):
Attached is a picture of a receiver. I'm blocking you now, I'm sure ----- will let you know when your DVD is at ---- -----.

Gross #15

Earlier, I drank a glass of milk that is three days past its expiration date. It left kind of a gross taste in my mouth and I didn't want to brush my teeth, so I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out where I packed some half-empty pack of gum. I didn't find it, but I found a pack of cherry-flavored soft-chew Rolaids, and I ate one. That taste was way worse than the spoiled milk taste, so I spent another ten minutes looking for the gum again, and then I brushed my teeth.

Gross #14 (2 GROSS 2 FURIOUS)

I went to a party called BathHouse last night. There was a pants-check at the door, and it was basically a ton of gay dudes in their underwear. I don't really remember it. I remember that I was in a shirt and briefs. I know that my phone is broken now. I know that I was still drunk well into the afternoon. The rest I've had to learn from my friend Jeremy. Here's what I know now:

At some point, I was making out with some hot guy with a hairy back who was in his underwear, and his hands were in my underwear. Jeremy and his friend Varuni went and danced, and when they came back, they found me peeing in a corner of the bar. I finished my beer while peeing and threw it against the wall, smashing it. Three bouncers came over, but somehow Jeremy talked them out of kicking me out. Later, Jeremy bumped into a friend of his (a promoter who's pretty connected and helping Jeremy with a project he's working on) and asked if he'd seen me. He said he had, and that he'd (also) had his hands in my pants (underwear), and that they were wet*. I laid down on the sidewalk while Jeremy got his car, and once we got to his place, I puked behind the toilet.

*from sweat!

Gross #13/Awful #2/Dumb #2 (Sexting!)

You know that thing where someone accidentally sends you a text about you that was meant for someone else? I've gotten a few of these- three of them in two weeks one time. One of them was sent from a girl whose house I was at, and it said "He's still here. It's been awful." I've also done it twice. The first time, it was about my sister's birth control. The second time happened last night, with this guy I met one time and have not spoken to at all since, because he's sort of lame and annoying. The worst part is that I was kind of trying not to be a dick, and then I was such a dick!

Matt (11:00 PM): Help.
Me (11:01 PM): Help? What's up?
Matt (11:01 PM): I have this raging erection
Matt (11:01 PM): And it won't go away

Me (11:03 PM): Dude. This is the most pathetic and unappealing way a person has ever tried to hit on me. Hands down.
Matt (11:05 PM): ...I wasn't trying to hit on you. It was a joke.
Me (11:05 PM): Good one.
Matt (11:05 PM): Sorry, I guess I shouldn't went with "hi" or "Sup"
Matt (11:05 PM): *shouldve
Matt (11:07 PM): I wow. I feel stupid now. I just can't win with you, can I?
Me (11:10 PM): Matt. Relax.

Matt (11:12 PM): I was texting you to see if you wanted to grab dinner sometime this week?
Matt (11:12 PM): No stupid pick up lines involved.
Me (11:14 PM): Text me sometime. I'm moving this week, but I might be free.
Matt (11:14 PM): Do you need any help? I have arms. And legs. And a jeep.
Me (11:15 PM): I'm covered, but thanks.
Me (11:28 PM): Just had the following text conversation with a guy I met one time but did not make out with or fuck--
Me (11:29 PM):

Matt (11:00 PM): Help.
Me (11:01 PM): Help? What's up?
Matt (11:01 PM): I have this raging erection
Matt (11:01 PM): And it won't go away

Matt (11:30 PM): ...pretty sure you sent this to the wrong person.
Matt (11:31 PM): Good luck with the move David. Later.
Me (11:32 PM): Jesus. I am so fucking embarrassed. And sorry. Shit. I am really sorry.
Matt (11:34 PM): David. Relax.

Moving (Craigslist is The Worst)

I've been looking for a new place to live. I finally committed to a place where I'll be living with two really cool nerds in a really cool house today, but before that, I put out an ad on craigslist. I got a few insane responses, but I wanted to share the most insane response I got.

Subject: This is a compliment.........you sound interesting!

if you are a girl and

if interested..........go here www.myspace.com/misipitrik but even if you're not into Vikings...come hear me play sometime....you sound like you might like 'jirmenko music(folk-flamenco-Pine Top Perkins-no shit)

Ragnar and I are looking for a roommate, not a renter. We will negotiate, of course. This is the way it's got to be. I play at open mic at Hill's Cafe on S. Congress on Tuesday's after 7:00 pm, and usually at Trophy's on S. Congress after 9:00 pm and now BB Rovers at 7:00 on Sundays............come incognito if you wish, if you are blasted right through the wall say hi and I'll buy you a Guinness....we'll talk(I got scammed when I got here, with me you will know what's going on....totally. Go here: www.myspace.com/misipitrik click 3 times on the Texas DL Pic then go to profile and blog.


One huge studio size room($500.00abp) or one oversized bedroom($400.00abp)Cable hookup, washer, dryer, fridge, gas stove, deck big enough for a blues band, privacy fence with 8 trees inside and 11 around, hanging over/also, living room carpeted with fireplace-rest tile/hardwood, ceiling fans in bedrooms, two large cactus plants growing together in back yard......Ragnar the Terrible(fatboy) can get up to speed(100 lb sweetie), older/like a cabin...... I have a night dayjob......my peers are Kris Kristofferson and Jimmy Buffet......we are all pilots...who pick, who started out to be astronauts....I'm the only one who made it(Graduate/An Officer and a Gentleman School/Star Fleet Academy, also BA Eng Lit, Scholarship athlete, No. one Salesman for Texaco 1971
If you like/understand what you hear and bring something to the table.........say hi, we will shoot the shit.

What I'm looking for is a sense of humor attached to a real live girl..............like: Rita Rudner, Bonanza Jeally Bean, Tina Fey, Judy Meredith(the real Bonanza Jelly Bean..."Heavy Duty Judy" in older blogs..if you can get into the stupid mutherfucker now that it's new and improved...I can't, Margret Mead(but a Cowboy/Pilot/Picker with a coon dawg........maybe. Ragnar and I have been here 10 months looking for just that.................I'm going to make a video soon(music and stand up in the music room). One more thing......I'm cocky, not arrogant, I can back this shit up...quote: Karen Green, two time Grammy winning sax player in 1997.."you are probably the best acoustic guitarist who ever lived who wasn't a musician.......uh, ok

Also bring Poise pads, I'm kinda funny

You......college graduate unless you are a cowgirl with a coondawg, play the blues or can make me laugh Trik 512 *** ****
neighbors: they don't want me to know they are there
Applegate and Jean Dr area

Interaction at a Flea Market.

Today I woke up and decided to go to the Waldo Flea Market to look for VHS tapes. I also wanted a few metal t-shirts. And, alas, I saw one.

Like this but with more gold. There was an older gentleman working the booth, and he took the shirt down and offered to let me try it on. I did, then, when removing the shirt, managed to take off my undershirt and flash the whole flea market, including the man selling me the t-shirt. Embarrassed and half-joking, I said, "Well, now, since you saw those, I think I deserve a discount. A discount for a taste of the goods." He said, "No," in an deadpan. My ego was incredibly bruised, and well, I guess my face fell, because the idiot thought he needed to explain himself. "I mean, they are nice. I mean, if I were 20. If I were 20. They really are nice. A nice set." He continued mumbling about my tits while I shuffled off to the next table to look at some knives.

Me, on the Prowl.

Went to two different grocery stores to scope out guys. Bought half of my groceries at each.

On the phone with a friend two days ago accidentally said, "It's so fun being bad!" 

As if I was my mom and I just had a margarita before 5pm and said, "It's 5pm somewhere! ..."

Also, this is my life:

Don't we look so good together? Isn't my hair so beautiful?

And a lovely million-year-old man and his little Irish wife came into the restaurant where I work today and played checkers for hours together. When I was bringing the check to the table, the man said, "Can I ask you a question? Is it rude for a man to beat his wife in checkers?" I said, "Depends on the wife." She laughed a little, and he reached for her hand across the table. "I don't think she cares. It took 55 years, but she finally stops caring if I win." Then he turns to me. "I hope you have the good fortune to be married for 55 years."

And I burst out laughing so hard that I spilled coffee on myself.

Tuesday. It's super!

I am watching live-streaming Election Day coverage via some weird ABC news Facebook application because I don't have T.V. I am out of cigarettes (and money to buy them with), so I stress-eat: a bowl of pasta with about a cup of cheap generic parmesan cheese and a sprinkling of broccoli, a leftover shortbread confection from my favorite local eatery, a bowl of popcorn, and finally, a bag of red and green dark chocolate M&Ms from Christmas 2009. I have just gotten to the bottom of the bag of M&Ms, and can now see the small spider crawling around in it.

And I still don't know who is going to be the governor of Florida.

The Way I Live Now.

I am OK! Kind of!

I had been in monogamous relationships for four years and, well, now am not in one. Rather than, I don't know, go to India and eat and pray on shit, my life has become a series of escalating idiotic experiments. Every day (and, admittedly, mostly under the influence) I've taken to doing things in a way only someone who lives alone would do. It started out very slowly, like accumulating a good deal of junk. Then my bed became my desk, because then I didn't have to leave my bed to start work in the morning. Then I bought a box of juice pops that were very delicious. I ate some. I loved them. Then I decided that I could eat them for breakfast without consequence.

This morning I ate my popsicle for breakfast while in the shower, still drunk, singing Lil' Wayne's Right Above It. My favorite line is "Women are possessive, and they try to possess Wayne."

I sing it "Women are possessive, and they try to possess me."

Gross #12

People I made out with last night:

1. Crazy girl whose name I thought was Oral for a while, and who is DEFINITELY a squirter.

2. Funny little guy whose "chosen name" is Make, whose "given name" is something I can't remember, and who followed me out when I left.

Whoops and whoops.

Dumb #1

Eddie (8:42 am): WOMEN'S SUFFRAGE
Me (11:53 AM): LOLOLOLOLOL
Me (11:53 AM): SUFFRAGE, WOMEN'S SUFFRAGE

Text from My Mother.

"Forgot to tell you that I was looking for sea glass and found upper dentures...I wonder who they belong to?"  1:55pm


"I thought of you when I found them." 2:03pm

Gross #11 (Sexual Harassment)

Last night, I went to a bar with some friends. Some of their other friends showed up a bit later; one of them was a girl who's been telling everyone I pooped in her backyard during a party (Gross #9). They sat separately from the rest of us. I got my friend Tad to give me her number. Here are all the text messages (sexts) I sent her between 1:37 and 2:40.

(Just for the record, reading these sober is kind of horrifying. And I can't believe I typed out the lyrics to a Selena song.)

Me (1:37 AM): I (heart) u so much. Love, David

Me (1:38 AM): I think about you all the time. (heart) David
Me (1:38 AM): I want to poop inside you. (heart) David
Me (1:39 AM): Your vagina would look beautiful with poop on it and in it. (heart) David
Me (1:40 AM): When I jerk off to you, your tits are being ripped off by swords made of poop.
Me (1:40 AM): I jerk off to you everyday, poopgirlfriend.
Me (1:40 AM): My butt and your mouth need to go on a date.
Me (1:41 AM): I want to be inside you.... Via poop.

Me (1:41 AM): I want you to burst open from all my poop inside your body.
Me (1:41 AM): Imagine my poop slammin your clit.
Me (1:42 AM): I want you to vomit my poop onto my dick
Me (1:43 AM): I made a likeness o your clit out of poop, then ate it
Me (1:44 AM): Even though you are the worst, your poop makes me reeeeally hard
Me (1:44 AM): I'm coming
Me (1:44 AM): I'm coming
Me (1:45 AM): I'M COOOOOOMMMMMMIIIIIIIING
Me (1:45 AM): UGH
Me (1:45 AM): UGH
Me (1:45 AM): UHHHHHHHHHH
Me (1:45 AM): YEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

Me (1:45 AM): I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU
Me (1:45 AM): AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH
Me (1:46 AM): I WANNNNNAAAAAA MARRRYYYYYYYYY YYYYOOOOOUUUUUUUUU
Me (1:46 AM): YOUR VACANT, DEAD EYES ARE MY SOOOOUUUULLLL
Me (1:47 AM): YOU YELL LIKE A BITCH LIKE MY SOULMATE
Me (1:48 AM): I neeeeeed to poop-fuck you again soooooooon
Me (1:49 AM): My angel.
Me (1:50 AM): My soulmate
Me (1:51 AM): Yo pussy is so fly
Me (1:51 AM): I love you
Me (1:52 AM): I love you
Me (1:52 AM): I love you

Me (1:52 AM): I love you
Me (1:52 AM): I love you
Me (1:52 AM): I love you
Me (1:52 AM): I love you
Me (1:52 AM): I love you
Me (1:53 AM): I love youI love youI love youI love you
Me (1:54 AM): I raped your dad with my poop and he died from it.
Me (1:56 AM): YOUR DAD WAS MY LOVER I MISS HIS COCK AND ASSHOLE EVERY DAY
Me (1:57 AM): His mouth begged for my poop, beautiful, beautiful
Me (1:58 AM): A haiku: Pooping in his mouth/ he cries with glee, I love him/ with my man's butt hole
Me (1:59 AM): I ove him i love you i love him i love you you're perfect so perfect marry me marry me marry me my daaaaaaarling
Me (2:00 AM): Gonna tear your pussy open with my pooop, consensually

Me (2:00 AM): Gonna love dat clit with my poop
Me (2:02 AM): Run and tell that, poopgirl, pooppooppoopgirl
Me (2:03 AM): I'm obsessed with you
Me (2:03 AM): I NEED TO BE WITH YOU FOREVER
Me (2:04 AM): BE ME LOVER LOVER LOVER
Me (2:05 AM): I WANT YOUR ASSHOLE TO BE FULL OF MY POOP
Me (2:08 AM): Sosexy
Me (2:08 AM): Dying to be fulla my poop
Me (2:09 AM): You're perfect
Me (2:10 AM): You're an angel
Me (2:22 AM): Ya pussy like butta made from gold
Me (2:40 AM): Late at night when all the world is sleepin', I stay up and think of you... And I still can't believe that you came up to me and said I love youi: I love you too. And now I'm dreamin' of you tonight, 'till tomorrow- I'll be holding it tight! And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be... Than here in my room, dreaming about you and me

(Whoops.)

Gross #10

Earlier today, I decided to walk to a coffee place a few miles from my house. I walk here a few times a week. I stopped at a taco truck on the way and bought four awesome tacos. I ate them while I walked, and I was so absorbed in them I started walking completely in the wrong direction, and didn't realize it until I finished the last one, looked up, and found myself a mile back. Also, my hands were really sticky for the rest of the walk (because of sauce, obviously).

In conclusion, (1) it took me a really long time to get here, and (2) tacos are the best.

Gross #9

Earlier today, my roommate told me she needed to ask me something in private and led me out to the backyard. It turned out that she needed to ask me whether I took a shit in her friend's backyard. That is apparently something her friend is telling people I did.

So, cool.

Anecdote

Also, I just used some toilet paper from a roll that has a little bit of pizza stuck on it.

Gross #8 (Lisa)

Lisa: I'm guessing all you ever post on The Worst are things about your diet and our communication.

Me: Hahahaha, also my sex life is REALLY gross.

That said, here are some recent texts from Lisa. Almost all about her vagina.

Lisa: There is something like a tambourine sticking out of my vagina and I think you could help me identify the song it's playing.

Lisa: This song is about my vagina.

Lisa: If I get laid first I'm going to rub my armpit smegma on your cheek. Goddamn, smegma is not in my phone's predictive text.

Lisa: Got a number. Gonna stretch my coozie out soon! :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

Me: I can put hot wax on it.

Lisa: I don't trust you with my coozie.

Me: Do you have a penis I can put hot wax on?

Lisa: No, but whatever penis I find is MINE

Lisa: Feels so good. I'm going to finish dehairing my cooz, shower, get ready for work and then come over.

Me: :) :) :) :)

Lisa: Is that a human centipede or are you happy to see me?

Lisa: Como se dice labia?

Me: No idea. Actually, I think you'd just say labios.

Lisa: I don't have hair on my asshole anymore either.

Lisa: My roommate has a filthy hairy back!

Me, Drunk, Eating.

Croissantwich with extra cheese and hash browns.

Someone handed me a pancake they didn't want. So I made it into a combo. I am a sandwich monster.

And this is a different kind of sandwich monster.

Dear Diary, Mood: Desperate

The last time I expressed my personal feelings over the internet was two minutes ago on Twitter.But, beyond just a mere sentence or two referring to today's bowel movements, livejournal was my haven for angst-filled, Dashboard Confessional inspired paragraphs on my middle school boyfriend's crater tongue, and hours worth of AIM fights with my best friend.

I like to think I've slowly evolved away from delving my personal life all over the internet, but now that people can disperse their narcissism over so many websites, my narcissism really has no limit. I post pictures on tumblr, write facebook statuses and twitter updates and mobile updates and poop updates and likes about poop updates to almost a thousand of my closest "friends".

I really do miss my Xanga/livejournal/deadjournal at this point. At least I got to decorate them. My internet personality contains no virtual colors, sparkles, or borders. It's one big never-ending mess, where everyone is a guilty witness to my overexposure.

This is my ultimate first world problem. What the fuck is my internet personality if I'm just incessantly overexposing myself?! It's not like my real one even matters. Everyone has a multitude of personalities to choose from that are all so easily identifiable it's fucking gross, hilarious, and THE WORST. But, I want my own! Here are some examples I could choose from:

mysteriously anonymous indie chick, takes too many photobooth pictures of herself with her cat. Just because the contents of her face aren't applicable to FACEbook, doesn't make her more interesting. But, she does bring all the semi-virginal androgynous boys to the yard.

The one on the far left corner has 4,500 friends. She loves reminding them that she LOVES HER SISTERS SO MUCH!!!!! But, it's easy to love so many people that look like exactly like you. I hate too many people to even be blessed with taking a group photo, and probably way too homosexist.

This is the worst. Performing as a demon drone will probably get me the most crusty inclined girlfriends, but also a variety of infectious diseases. I don't even understand the origins of this personality, other than it's completely weird, desperate, and horrifying.

Just like me?

Gross #7 (or: The Daily Schedule of An Unemployed University Graduate: An Alternate Perspective)

I woke up at 11:00 AM. I hadn't slept that long, but I discovered that I had five responses to drunken texts (sexts) I sent between 4:00 and 5:00 AM last night. I was too interested in responding to them to sleep anymore, so I got up.

I spent a few hours looking at shit on the internet, and then I ate some rice and beans. I have had two meals today: rice and beans, and then rice and beans and fish sticks. Fish sticks are awesome.

I tried to read Watchmen (the comic book series), but I passed out on the couch instead. I woke up when Lisa texted me a picture of the strip of paper she used to wax her vagina. I thought it was a pretty cool drawing for a second. I wondered how her vagina-wax would look in a gallery. I also noticed it looked an awful lot like some drawings she made with plaster and hair. Cool.

I spent about an hour figuring out a way to text message a guy I went on a date with last night without seeming desperate. Eventually, I settled on something about music. Then I just waited around for a response. Just for the record, he took 22 minutes to respond.

Then I read some more Watchmen. I noticed that every line on Doctor Manhattan's body is connected to parallel, horizontal hatchmarks, except for his penis and ballsack, which are just two simple lines. Maybe the artist was trying to not overdo the detail, especially because penises did not turn up in comics very often in the '80s (and still don't), but they seem weirdly prominent instead because they're the only part of his body that looks like that, and it makes them look like they're glowing. I mean, he gets progressively more naked as he becomes less connected to his humanity, so maybe his dick is actually supposed to look like it's on fire? Also, his ballsack and penis are perfectly symmetrical, which seems weird. Whose ballsack is symmetrical like that? And also, is he supposed to be circumcised or not? I guess not. Maybe I am thinking about the wrong things here. All I'm saying is, for a comic book about penises, Watchmen could use more penises.

After showering, I went back to reading Watchmen, but I fell asleep again. After I woke up, I ate my second meal. Fish sticks are so awesome, why don't I eat more fish sticks?

I tried to get almost everyone I know in this city to hang out with me, but they were either at Austin City Limits, or at work. People I didn't text message include: people I only know because I have had sex with them, wanted to have sex with them, or still want to have sex with them. I sat around and helped Lisa figure out (via text message) how to say that she no longer has hair on her vagina in Spanish. She has a Mexican secret admirer at work, so I figure she's trying to make small-talk. Hola! Come estas? Ya no tengo pelo entre mis piernas.

I made a mix CD. I made another mix CD. At 11:00 PM I was feeling restless and decided I should get out of the house. I told Kristin, who is staying on my couch, and she decided to come with me, which I thought was cool, because she has a car. But then she seemed into walking, so I pretended I was into walking too. About three miles later, Kristin realized we had just walked three miles, and I realized she was actually into driving but pretended to be into walking because she thought I was into walking. Whoops and whoops.

When I got here, I considered ordering a beer, but they don't sell any. I realized this is the first day I haven't had any beer or other alcohol in... Well, I don't know. I don't want to know.

It's 2:00 AM, Kristin is asleep on our table, and I am more or less just starting my day.

Me. (#2)

I am sick, and not allowed to drink for a week. So, what do I do? I drink every night . Last night I decided that I was so afraid that I would forget something that I started writing notes all over my arm. Which means that I had to beg all the bartenders for pens. They hated me. 

Here's what I have on my arm:

"Gif."

"Juggalette." (With a picture of a juggalette next to it.)

"Jessica." (I remember how this came about--"Hey, can I close my tab?" "What's the name?" "We know each other!" "Um." "Right." "Is it Jessica?" --I then went on to create a Jessica identity for myself, yelling at the bartender, telling him my name was Jessica Corelli and that I loved my mom, while I spit beer everywhere.)

"The Freak, Acid Burn, Zero Cool, The Plague." (I re-watched Hackers at some point last night.)

And finally, this:

"It's this year's Blindside."

I was watching a preview for a movie and this was one of the reviews. If anyone can tell me what movie this was referring to, I would really appreciate it. 

I woke up this morning with about 20 pictures on my camera of me in front of a Prince poster that is not mine. This means that I was at a friend's house and forced someone take all of those pictures.

Family portrait.

(Gif courtesy of Heather's Animations. Thx, Heather!)

Everything.

This is a picture of a Kid Rock music video. In a movie theater as a pre-preview.  Because, apparently, one now has to go through Kid Rock to see a movie.

Me. (#1)

This will continue for a long, long time. But I woke up this morning to a picture of my boob on the internet. And I ate this:

I've ordered the Mega Waffle at The Clock many, many times. It usually is just a waffle covered in strawberry syrup and a blob of whipped cream. I must have enchanted the waitress, because I've never had one with a face on it before.

This is me eating it:

Shame eating.

Gross #6

Last night, Lisa's truck got stuck on the remains of a pole. We tried lifting it off with a jack and with our hands, and then some drunk lady tried to push Lisa's truck with her truck, but in the end I called AAA. They told us it would be 45 minutes, which was exactly enough time for us to take my friend Jeremy's car to Whataburger, buy a ton of food, and eat it in/spill it all over Lisa's truck at 3AM.

This morning, I went to court for a public intoxication charge. I was still a little drunk. The prosecutor decided I did not need to take an alcohol awareness course. That guy is pretty cool.

The Airport./The drive from Jacksonville International Airport to Gainesville, Florida.

Norfolk International Airport

I am so poor that I have to take ridiculous, round-about flights across the United States to get anywhere. I take cheap, airlines that have jokes built into the pilot's script:"Whoa, Nelly" every time the plane lands. I do not get free drinks, I do not get to carry on luggage. I usually do not have seats on flights. I usually spend hours in airports, along with the saddest people. Right now I'm stuck in a two-hour layover in Regan National Airport. I waited in the longest line possible for shitty mexican food because, well, I had the time.  And my life has stopped here, in the airport, where I just get sadder and sadder by the minute. 

My dining companions, Reagan National Airport.

The drive from Jacksonville, Florida to Gainesville, Florida is an hour and a half of speed traps, four gas stations, no light and I think around 20 minutes into the drive, no hope. If you have something to go home to, you are bound to get a hundred tickets in the speed traps that rise up from oblivion. You have to go 25 miles an hour for 10 miles for a town that is two blocks long. I think I'm slowing down for a town that is really just a Sonic, and, I guess, for the people who come out of Sonic. They all belong on my windshield, every one of them, they should all feel the mighty wrath of my car's grill. 

 There needs to be an airport cab/prostitution service. Having someone to pick you up from the airport is the ultimate test of loneliness . If you are alone, like, say, most people, you can fake being a functional human up to a certain point. That point is the airport, specifically at the arrival terminal, when you haul all your shit to the parking garage, pay an astronomical fee of freeing your car from the lot (just in case you didn't hate everyone and everything enough) and drive the terrible drive to your home, where there is nothing waiting for you. I propose you call a number, pick an escort (I'd like to request anyone who looks like Sam Elliot in Roadhouse, please), and have them pick you up in a car, drive you back to your apartment, fuck you senseless, leave, and bill you in a month, after you are over all the humiliation of flying. 

Can't decide on a name. Air hookers? Fuck and Ride? Help me out here, people. We could make billions. 

These are some airport prostitutes from Philadelphia. They are not really my type.

Rather than have access to this service, I am instead going to go home, buy an incredible amount of alcohol, and watch the music video for Heartbreaker until I pass out. 'Cause I just love everything Jay say, Jay does. Huh. Ha. 

Gross #5

Amanda: I stole some barf bags from the plane to put in my car...with you in mind. I would give anything to have you puking near me again.

Me: You know you haven't seen me puke for the last time.

Gross #4/Awful #1

My roommate and I got hungry and made ourselves some food. I made two sandwiches, and each one had mayo, whole grain mustard, tomato, provolone, cajun turkey and a fried egg in it. They were awesome.

Once I had stuffed both of them into my face, we started talking. She said this to me:

"Oh my god, you're the big gay wolf. You're all manly, and you walk around with your big, erect dick, and you just lay claim to all these gay boys."

Scary and gross, so here it is.

Gross #3

I was at a friend's house, and she microwaved a $3 family-sized box of six frozen chicken parm fillets. Everyone tried them and hated them, so they sat in the kitchen until I came in an hour later and ate all six.

Gross #2

Sometimes you need to take a shower because you are basically covered in lube.

My Cousin.

We all have cousins that are the worst. This is mine:

These are the things he says:

"Of course that broke. It probably came from China. Stupid China."

"I'm so glad you two aren't dating any more. His skinny jeans! They were so dumb. He would grow up and eat rice and beans at the artist's festival."

"Gay says what." (Many times.)

"As Paula Deen says, 'You want the best seat in the house, move the cat.'" (Then his mom says the same thing to me about a half hour later. Then his father says it again to me the next morning.)

"You know there is a movie called, 'You Say What, You're Gay.'"

"Everything bad comes from foreign. Look at Obama? Oh, hey, that's where I found my stick." (We were on a terrible hike together.)

Rather than address the obvious issues, I took pictures of him. Here he is, being himself.

Gross #1

Last night, I ate a ton of pizza, drank all night, ate a bunch of ranch-flavored Pringles and sour candy spaghetti, drank some coffee, ate a breakfast taco, and finally puked into an outdoor trash can at 8:07 this morning, in front of a bus stop full of people (three times). I was listening to beautiful music.

Then I went home, brushed my teeth and slept.

People and how I feel about them.

A moment from Swayze Dances, an instructional video.

It's hate, mostly. And the fact that everything about you in the south is like an invitation for people to talk to you. When I prefer, two thousand percent of the time, to not talk to anyone. As soon as I opened up my computer a man in a hawaiian shirt decided to try to talk to me about my desktop image, which is a very fat woman on an underwater motorcycle. He asked if it was a picture of me. 

I also hate couples, and how they are constantly in a state of almost killing each other. Is being alone really worse than being with someone else? It becomes apparent, right this second, that it has been almost six months since I've written anything but an order slip for food at my restaurant job. It seems more natural for me to write "TOM SOUP 3, GNOCCHI 12, CHEESECAKE 5, TBL 3" than to actually talk about anything. Luckily I plan on limiting myself to discussing what's important to me, and which I will be writing about for the most part. 

1. Terrible things. 

2. Terrible people. 

3. Food. 

4. Movies.

There's a terrible person cleaning her ipod with her spit right next to me. I'm on a plane heading to Asheville, North Carolina. A mostly unhorrible city, if I remember it correctly, but I'll just have to find the right places. Planes are always the most terrible places, and if everything in my technological arsenal wasn't out of batteries at this moment (come on lap top, hang in there for 15 more minutes, at least until boarding is completed) I would be filming all the terrible coming down the plane aisle past me, smashing into my elbow. Waking up at 6am to drive to the airport really puts me in a mood to start this, and so does the smell of the clearly non-airport purchased croissant that the woman next to me is eating.

The options for my in-flight entertainment. Grim.

Croissants, I find, can range from hardened and stale pieces of greasy bread to a pastry that can unfailingly be a hundred adjectives at once, buttery flakey magical beings. There is a huge difference in the taste and texture and importance of, say, a gas station croissant and something you find on a side alley in the 5th of Paris at 7am made by a woman that clearly walked out of a Disney cartoon and whom you desperately try to hit on because, my god, if she could love you then she could MAKE THESE CROISSANTS FOR YOU WHENEVER YOU WANTED. Oh my. My fingers were slamming on my keyboard a bit there. 

At a certain point in your life, though, if you are cut off from good croissants for long enough, you start lusting wildly for any type of croissant. And, well, I would have no problem killing the woman to my left for her croissant. She's so skinny, she's going to throw it up anyway, and she's probably hating herself for every bite. I would not hate myself for any bites, so, come on lady. Maybe I'll just steal her spitty iPod for vengeance.