Earlier this evening I was watching "Entertainment Tonight" which for the most part is not so much about entertainment as it is about Vallerie Bertenelli gaining, and losing, and then gaining weight over and over again. Or about the day to day tribulations of Carnie Wilson. Let me digress for a moment and see if I can get a show of hands of anyone who actually gives a shit about Carnie Wilson? That's exactly what I thought.
Though tonight in between Carnie and Valleie was a heartwarming puff piece detailing Hannah Montana star Miley Cyrus singing a "Pledge of Purity" promising to remain a virgin until marriage. She then detailed how important she thought it was as a role model to young girls, to remain a virgin until marriage. Let me just take a moment to say...what? Since when is that what we've ever wanted from our Pop Stars? Am I completely mistaken in saying that we as Americans want them to pretend to be virgins but in reality be complete whores? We want them to be on the cover of Seventeen, and then a week later flash their peesh to the world. (Well maybe that's not the case for Miley seeing as how that would be considered kiddie porn.) But for the most part, that's what we've always wanted isn't it? Maybe it's just me. Forget I even said anything on the matter.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Family Interaction
Scene One
She lays on her bed, sheets wrapped in her lilac comforter. Her face is hidden though a few stands of dark brown hair peek out from the top. I hear her whimper softly, as I enter her room. She's refusing to go, she says in a muffled whisper. She refuses to do the things that they want of her. She refuses to see the people that she has tried so far to distance herself from. She doesn't care if she's doing it for someone else even if that someone else is her mother. It doesn't matter because she is too strong willed and defiant to be talked into anything that she doesn't want. She is steady, and strong but she's slowly cracking I can tell. I sit down on the bed beside her and pull the sheets back. She tells me that they lied to her, they said she'd never have to see them if that's what she wanted. They lied to her, and she can't forgive it. She can't see those people who said all of those things, ever again. She's too proud, she's too stubborn, and I know all of this. But I also know that she's just like her big brother, and she's about to break. Because we can only stay strong for a small amount of time. Eventually we're going to give in, and go out and face the things that we don't want to come within a hundred yards of. Not because we want to, not because anyone forces our hands, but because deep down we're good people. And as good people, we know it's the right thing to do. I tell her to just get up, and go get dressed so we can get it over with. She stalls for a few more minutes and eventually agrees. And as she's getting up to close the door behind me so that she can get dressed she looks me right in the eye and says "I hope you know, I'm going to be a total bitch for the rest of the day." But she didn't have to tell me, I already knew.
Scene Two
We walk into their small two story town house, a house that has seen it's fair share of shoddy repair work, and a total of sixty three ceramic statuettes in just the bottom floor alone. She moves to hug us, and we look to the floor for answers, as our hands move to our pockets. We've come because it's the right thing to do, but we're not bowing down. That's not how we do things. It never has been, we can't help ourselves. She looks awkwardly at us, and we stumble into the living room, and quickly take a seat on the sofa. He looks different than the last time we saw him four or five years ago. His face paler, his formerly large framed body, has turned frail looking. We are all seated, the TV is blaring in the foreground. Apparently Chevy Chase is trying to take his family on a vacation, and hilarity is ensuing. I can't take it all in. The ceramic angels, and the his pale face, and most of all Chevy Chase. I can't deal with it all at once, I could probably handle it all separately but not at the same time. It is too much, and yet it is so little. He is sick, and that's the only reason we came, and that makes me sad even though I know the reasoning behind it. She's sick too, but in a completely different way. A manipulative, and self serving kind of way. The kind of way that you never expect a grandmother to be. But that's the hand we were dealt. It's not without it's flaws, but they live their lives and we live ours. We go along our own separate ways every single day of our lives. And we only stop by when someone is dying. And he is dying, much like the fragile relationship between us died a few years ago. It suddenly strikes me between the awkward conversation, how little I care. I really don't care if he's sick. And it makes me a bad person, I know. But I really don't, it means so little to me that I am surprised. I am surprised that I could ever turn my back on someone, but I have, and I did. And, maybe I'm sick too.
Scene Three
We're a different kind of family now, the kind that we choose to be around. The kind that let me play with their two year old daughter, and their Pitt Bull puppy. And insist that I take home some movies to watch. The kind that tell me about the time they walked into our aunt's house and saw not only her snatch but also her vibrator. The kind of family who doesn't judge me for falling off my chair from laughing when they told me that last part. The kind of family that asks me for a cigarette and just sits outside with me while we smoke. The kind who talks about nothing, and everything at the same time. Between filing for bankruptcy and how all of us are guilty of watching Hannah Montana. And it's good to know that not all family members are basically just strangers that you happen to be related. Some family members are the kind of people that you'd probably want to be friends with anyway if they were just a bunch of randoms. And that's comforting. I think I'll go watch those movies now.
She lays on her bed, sheets wrapped in her lilac comforter. Her face is hidden though a few stands of dark brown hair peek out from the top. I hear her whimper softly, as I enter her room. She's refusing to go, she says in a muffled whisper. She refuses to do the things that they want of her. She refuses to see the people that she has tried so far to distance herself from. She doesn't care if she's doing it for someone else even if that someone else is her mother. It doesn't matter because she is too strong willed and defiant to be talked into anything that she doesn't want. She is steady, and strong but she's slowly cracking I can tell. I sit down on the bed beside her and pull the sheets back. She tells me that they lied to her, they said she'd never have to see them if that's what she wanted. They lied to her, and she can't forgive it. She can't see those people who said all of those things, ever again. She's too proud, she's too stubborn, and I know all of this. But I also know that she's just like her big brother, and she's about to break. Because we can only stay strong for a small amount of time. Eventually we're going to give in, and go out and face the things that we don't want to come within a hundred yards of. Not because we want to, not because anyone forces our hands, but because deep down we're good people. And as good people, we know it's the right thing to do. I tell her to just get up, and go get dressed so we can get it over with. She stalls for a few more minutes and eventually agrees. And as she's getting up to close the door behind me so that she can get dressed she looks me right in the eye and says "I hope you know, I'm going to be a total bitch for the rest of the day." But she didn't have to tell me, I already knew.
Scene Two
We walk into their small two story town house, a house that has seen it's fair share of shoddy repair work, and a total of sixty three ceramic statuettes in just the bottom floor alone. She moves to hug us, and we look to the floor for answers, as our hands move to our pockets. We've come because it's the right thing to do, but we're not bowing down. That's not how we do things. It never has been, we can't help ourselves. She looks awkwardly at us, and we stumble into the living room, and quickly take a seat on the sofa. He looks different than the last time we saw him four or five years ago. His face paler, his formerly large framed body, has turned frail looking. We are all seated, the TV is blaring in the foreground. Apparently Chevy Chase is trying to take his family on a vacation, and hilarity is ensuing. I can't take it all in. The ceramic angels, and the his pale face, and most of all Chevy Chase. I can't deal with it all at once, I could probably handle it all separately but not at the same time. It is too much, and yet it is so little. He is sick, and that's the only reason we came, and that makes me sad even though I know the reasoning behind it. She's sick too, but in a completely different way. A manipulative, and self serving kind of way. The kind of way that you never expect a grandmother to be. But that's the hand we were dealt. It's not without it's flaws, but they live their lives and we live ours. We go along our own separate ways every single day of our lives. And we only stop by when someone is dying. And he is dying, much like the fragile relationship between us died a few years ago. It suddenly strikes me between the awkward conversation, how little I care. I really don't care if he's sick. And it makes me a bad person, I know. But I really don't, it means so little to me that I am surprised. I am surprised that I could ever turn my back on someone, but I have, and I did. And, maybe I'm sick too.
Scene Three
We're a different kind of family now, the kind that we choose to be around. The kind that let me play with their two year old daughter, and their Pitt Bull puppy. And insist that I take home some movies to watch. The kind that tell me about the time they walked into our aunt's house and saw not only her snatch but also her vibrator. The kind of family who doesn't judge me for falling off my chair from laughing when they told me that last part. The kind of family that asks me for a cigarette and just sits outside with me while we smoke. The kind who talks about nothing, and everything at the same time. Between filing for bankruptcy and how all of us are guilty of watching Hannah Montana. And it's good to know that not all family members are basically just strangers that you happen to be related. Some family members are the kind of people that you'd probably want to be friends with anyway if they were just a bunch of randoms. And that's comforting. I think I'll go watch those movies now.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Frivolous
I've been trying to blog for the past few days and can't think of anything to say at all. So instead I'm going to fill this post with meaningless vamping words to fill time and to distract you from my unfunny. Knick-Knack! Lampshade! HullaBalloo! Soft Shell Crab! Flim Flam! Sophia Petrillo! Dooh Dah Parade!
Friday, July 18, 2008
I Love Gifts
My dad bought me a new digital camera today because mine broke the other way on my way to the Lafayette Zoo. Also, just in case you were ever planning on visiting the Lafayette Zoo, save your eight dollars and don't. They have exactly half of a giraffe and a mosquito. And, I'm pretty sure that mosquito gave me the west nile virus, so all in all not worth it. Anyways about the digital camera, it's red and shiny which are two of my favorite attributes of new electronics. My dad said he bought it because it was on sale but I like to think he's trying to make up for the time in the tenth grade when he called me a fatass. Either way, I'd let him call me fat again if I could score a new laptop.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Fancy May Have Been Her Name
I think I met my soul mate today. Well I didn't so much meet her as I did happen to stop at a red light right next to her. I could tell that we were meant to be together because she was smoking a cigarette, and singing along with the radio. The radio was playing "Fancy" by Reba Mcentire which clearly means that we were MADE FOR EACH OTHER. And all of this time, I thought I was the only person who did that.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Barry Manilow Lyrics Go Here
By some weird twist of reality I had my hair cut not once, but twice today. As you probably know I have a lot of hair issues as stated previously here, here, oh and also here. Most people would be satisfied with just getting it done once, oh but not me. I have to go balls out at all times apparently. Let me start you off with the story then, shall I?
I have been getting my hair cut at the exact same place since I was five years old. Apparently when I was that age the only person who could get me to sit still long enough to cut my hair was a particular woman at this particular establishment. I say woman, because I'm not exactly sure of the proper term for someone who cuts hair for a living. I could say 'hair cutter' since that is essentially their job but that doesn't seem nearly regal enough. And I can't stand the word 'cosmetician' because for some reason it conjures up images of a fussy old lady helping a drag queen getting ready for her big show. You know, hands filled with q tips, and glitter eye shadow, and duct tape to help him tuck it in. And that really doesn't do it for me, at all. I also don't like the word beautician because I have never, nor will I ever 'get my hair done' it's just a cut let's not glorify it. No one comes out of the salon looking more beautiful. They just come out looking worse for wear, and usually covered in their own hair. Let's not turn it into something that it's not okay? But anyways I digress.
I veered from the normal plan of going to my normal place because I'm adventurous as long as there's no possibility of any risk of loss of blood, vision, or any Phil Collins playing inside of the establishment. I think those are reasonable rules to have. So I go to the mall today, and decide to get a trim. I don't have an appointment, but they say they can take me anyways. As I detail to the woman exactly what I want because I am very particular she nods like she's heard it all before. Her own hair has been dyed so many times the ends are frayed. What's evens hocking is that her eyebrows are dyed the exact shade as her highlights. Not a shade darker, nor lighter but the exact same color. I swear it looks as if they have streaks in them too. It's very distracting. So I sit in the chair, and she informs me that her name is Mandy. I don't know why she even bothers, I highly doubt I'll be needing her name throughout the course of the procedure. Although for some reason, I trusted Mandy. If she did that much experimenting on her own hair I was surely in good hands. She was experienced I could tell. Who knows, me and Mandy might have even become great friends after this meeting. I could just tell that my follicles were in such good care, that we would clearly have a lot to talk about afterwards at Starbucks over lattes and cigarettes.
She begins to pantomime cutting my hair behind my head. Very rarely do I actually feel scissors making any contact with any of my actual hair. After about five minutes of this very precise miming she takes off my apron, puts away her scissors and informs me that she has an appointment and that my total is twenty five dollars. At this point my glasses are off and I can't see anything. I reach into my wallet and pull out the appropriate amount of currency. I pay her, and leave in a hurry. I walk to my car, and look in the mirror and find myself looking back the exact way I was before my trip to the mall. It looked as if my hair hadn't even been touched. At this point my love affair with Mandy was over. I trusted you Mandy, and you did this to me? How dare you, after all I had invested in our relationship? It was very disheartening, especially since I tipped the bitch ten dollars. This is what I get for being adventurous, and nice. I get fucked almost every time. So after attempting to do something new, I ended up going back to that old gallery of hair cutting and pay a cheap ten dollars to get what was promised to me in the first place.
So the moral of our story is never try anything new, you will eventually end up to regret it. Also, never trust anyone by the name of Mandy.
I have been getting my hair cut at the exact same place since I was five years old. Apparently when I was that age the only person who could get me to sit still long enough to cut my hair was a particular woman at this particular establishment. I say woman, because I'm not exactly sure of the proper term for someone who cuts hair for a living. I could say 'hair cutter' since that is essentially their job but that doesn't seem nearly regal enough. And I can't stand the word 'cosmetician' because for some reason it conjures up images of a fussy old lady helping a drag queen getting ready for her big show. You know, hands filled with q tips, and glitter eye shadow, and duct tape to help him tuck it in. And that really doesn't do it for me, at all. I also don't like the word beautician because I have never, nor will I ever 'get my hair done' it's just a cut let's not glorify it. No one comes out of the salon looking more beautiful. They just come out looking worse for wear, and usually covered in their own hair. Let's not turn it into something that it's not okay? But anyways I digress.
I veered from the normal plan of going to my normal place because I'm adventurous as long as there's no possibility of any risk of loss of blood, vision, or any Phil Collins playing inside of the establishment. I think those are reasonable rules to have. So I go to the mall today, and decide to get a trim. I don't have an appointment, but they say they can take me anyways. As I detail to the woman exactly what I want because I am very particular she nods like she's heard it all before. Her own hair has been dyed so many times the ends are frayed. What's evens hocking is that her eyebrows are dyed the exact shade as her highlights. Not a shade darker, nor lighter but the exact same color. I swear it looks as if they have streaks in them too. It's very distracting. So I sit in the chair, and she informs me that her name is Mandy. I don't know why she even bothers, I highly doubt I'll be needing her name throughout the course of the procedure. Although for some reason, I trusted Mandy. If she did that much experimenting on her own hair I was surely in good hands. She was experienced I could tell. Who knows, me and Mandy might have even become great friends after this meeting. I could just tell that my follicles were in such good care, that we would clearly have a lot to talk about afterwards at Starbucks over lattes and cigarettes.
She begins to pantomime cutting my hair behind my head. Very rarely do I actually feel scissors making any contact with any of my actual hair. After about five minutes of this very precise miming she takes off my apron, puts away her scissors and informs me that she has an appointment and that my total is twenty five dollars. At this point my glasses are off and I can't see anything. I reach into my wallet and pull out the appropriate amount of currency. I pay her, and leave in a hurry. I walk to my car, and look in the mirror and find myself looking back the exact way I was before my trip to the mall. It looked as if my hair hadn't even been touched. At this point my love affair with Mandy was over. I trusted you Mandy, and you did this to me? How dare you, after all I had invested in our relationship? It was very disheartening, especially since I tipped the bitch ten dollars. This is what I get for being adventurous, and nice. I get fucked almost every time. So after attempting to do something new, I ended up going back to that old gallery of hair cutting and pay a cheap ten dollars to get what was promised to me in the first place.
So the moral of our story is never try anything new, you will eventually end up to regret it. Also, never trust anyone by the name of Mandy.
The World Is Not So Magical Afterall
So I'm back from vacation. I know the entirety of the Internet is rejoicing and throwing 'welcome back' parties as we speak. Please stop, I don't deserve all of that. And at the very least if you're going to throw them, please invite me and also make sure to serve chicken wings I've been jonesin' for some real badlike. I have alot of things to tell you of course. For some reason when I have days, and days to write and easy access to a computer I can't think of anything to say at all. And then as soon as I leave that convenience I can't turn around without coming up with something else. I guess inspiration is funny like that. Posts are coming, please be patient.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Magical World
I just wanted to tell you that I am leaving for vacation starting tomorrow for Disney World. I probably won't have a very great time, so be expecting lots of drama and bullshit when I get back.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Exaggeration
I had a horrible morning in case you were wondering. It started off with absolutely no sleep, and by the end of it I was covered in sweat, grape juice and dirty rain water. Also, I have a bladder infection and my kidneys have stopped functioning. I have carpal tunnel syndrome, and my wife is leaving me. I owe nine thousand dollars in back taxes and child support. My landlord is kicking me out for not paying my rent for the last six months, and I don't know where my next meal is coming from. I don't know how much of that is actually true, but I believe it. So, I guess that's all that matters right?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
On Summer
I love Summer, and not for the cliche reasons that most everyone does. I don't like the beach, and I hate wearing bathing suits, and shorts. I don't want to tan, or play volleyball in the sand. But I love Summer for a million different reasons. The way it makes me feel is completely different than how I feel for the other three seasons of the year. I am my favorite self during the summer. Full of hope, and enthusiasm for the unexpected, for the tiny amazing moments that happen unexpectedly on a hot summer night in Louisiana. Those conversations between two friends that go beyond boundaries that have never been crossed before. Those moments, when you don't care about what tomorrow might bring, because we're living in the here and now of this moment, in this night, of this summer. I get restless in the summer, my excitement for the world bubbling right underneath the surface of my skin. I'm reckless in the summer doing things I know that I shouldn't, but it doesn't matter. It's Summer, so I have that excuse to back me up.
Back It Up
I was in a small wreck a few weeks ago after backing out of my friend's driveway. I was in reverse and as I got into the middle of the road about to put it in drive I hear the sounds of screeching brakes. My heart froze because firstly my insurance rates just went down from the first wreck I was in. Secondly because I was going to have to call my father and explain to him why I was backing out of this particular friend's driveway in the first place as he doesn't want me to have any sort of contact with him at all.
But then suddenly the noise stopped and his car barely nudged the back of mine. I barely even felt it, there certainly wasn't any noise. I calmly pull back into the driveway, and open my door to see if everyone is okay. But before I can even try to assess the damages, the other driver stops in the middle of the road, flings himself out of his truck and slams the door behind him. All of a sudden there is an explosion of redneck swearing. A fiftyish man in overalls and a buck ass white t-shirt, with the filthiest mouth I've ever encountered is all up in my face in a hot minute. As I fling apologies out of my mouth, he counters everyone with a concise "motherfucker".
And as the never ending parade of dirty words come from his mouth I think to myself when did it become okay for complete strangers to cuss each other out? I cuss on a secondly basis, I have one of the dirtiest mouths I've ever encountered, and yet I would never cuss in front of someone I wasn't familiar with. I don't cuss in front of children, or adults that I'm not familiar with only my peers. So why is okay for him to do it? Is it an effort in intimidation? Is it because I'm younger and infinitely better dressed than he is? (Did I mention the overalls, because they were very denim like and overallish in their appearance) What is it? I mean, neither of our cars were damaged, it was a silly little mistake that could happen to anyone. And I'm just anyone, and so is he so why is he making such a big deal out of a little thing?
And before I can take a second breath, he's out of my face, and back in his car. And shaking, trying to light a much needed stress relieving cigarette Id rive off and I wonder if it even happened. So in case he, or any of his relatives, ever come across this blog and remember the incident I want you to have something I think you would enjoy...herpes.
But then suddenly the noise stopped and his car barely nudged the back of mine. I barely even felt it, there certainly wasn't any noise. I calmly pull back into the driveway, and open my door to see if everyone is okay. But before I can even try to assess the damages, the other driver stops in the middle of the road, flings himself out of his truck and slams the door behind him. All of a sudden there is an explosion of redneck swearing. A fiftyish man in overalls and a buck ass white t-shirt, with the filthiest mouth I've ever encountered is all up in my face in a hot minute. As I fling apologies out of my mouth, he counters everyone with a concise "motherfucker".
And as the never ending parade of dirty words come from his mouth I think to myself when did it become okay for complete strangers to cuss each other out? I cuss on a secondly basis, I have one of the dirtiest mouths I've ever encountered, and yet I would never cuss in front of someone I wasn't familiar with. I don't cuss in front of children, or adults that I'm not familiar with only my peers. So why is okay for him to do it? Is it an effort in intimidation? Is it because I'm younger and infinitely better dressed than he is? (Did I mention the overalls, because they were very denim like and overallish in their appearance) What is it? I mean, neither of our cars were damaged, it was a silly little mistake that could happen to anyone. And I'm just anyone, and so is he so why is he making such a big deal out of a little thing?
And before I can take a second breath, he's out of my face, and back in his car. And shaking, trying to light a much needed stress relieving cigarette Id rive off and I wonder if it even happened. So in case he, or any of his relatives, ever come across this blog and remember the incident I want you to have something I think you would enjoy...herpes.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I'll Try
Have you ever had so many ideas that you couldn't possibly express them all at once? That's pretty much what is going on right now. Sorry for the lack 'o' updates, bitches.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Say Your Lines But Do You Feel Them?
Yesterday I was thinking about how big life is, and how small it is at the same time. You go around every day imagining that you're the most important person in the world. That you, and the people around you, and the people you interact with, and love everyday are the only people in the world who matter. And hundreds and thousands of other people just pass you by living their own lives that pale in significance compared to your own. When in reality those people feel the same way when you happen to pass through their lives. No one is more important than anyone else. No one has a better life, or a bigger existence. We are all players in some giant production of some lost Shakespearean tragedy. The beauty of it is that we all get to write it ourselves. Just a few words every day. Babies are born, and people die and it is all typed down in some cosmic word processor. So even the biggest upsets, the biggest tragedies, the best laughs you've had all week don't really matter all that much in the greater scheme of things. We just have to try to play our parts to the best of our abilities. And when we break character is when the shit hits the fans. So we go about reading from the script that we're making up in our heads, and try not to get fired and recast. It really is a tragedy.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Kind of
I'm the kind of person who would rather read something hilarious (see Chelsea Handler's memoir "Hello Vodka, It's Me Chelsea" than see something hilarious on youtube.
I'm the kind of person who will more than likely lie awake tonight thinking about how Barrack Obama might very well end up being the ruler of the free world.
I'm the kind of person who is going to feel sad about the fact that I may not be able to use the phrase "I'm hot for Hillary" in reference to myself any longer after this week.
I'm the kind of person who will more thank likely lie awake tomorrow night wondering what joys the next day of my birthday will bring me.
I'm the kind of person who builds things up in his head, only to be disappointed for the most part.
I'm the kind of person who writes stupid lists like this.
I'm the kind of person that you want to meet.
I'm the kind of person who will more than likely lie awake tonight thinking about how Barrack Obama might very well end up being the ruler of the free world.
I'm the kind of person who is going to feel sad about the fact that I may not be able to use the phrase "I'm hot for Hillary" in reference to myself any longer after this week.
I'm the kind of person who will more thank likely lie awake tomorrow night wondering what joys the next day of my birthday will bring me.
I'm the kind of person who builds things up in his head, only to be disappointed for the most part.
I'm the kind of person who writes stupid lists like this.
I'm the kind of person that you want to meet.
A Little Ugly
Don't you hate the new header? Yeah, me too. I was at first trying to go for something SUPER COOL, to celebrate the birth of our saviour Jordan M. Gribble. But instead I got lazy and then just pushed out that piece of shit. You're welcome. No, really.
Are You Walking That Dog, Is That Dog Walking You?
Although all the dreams I had in my youth point to the contrary, I don't think that I could ever be a celebrity. Sure, I could deal with the constant day to day activities. The fans, the flashing lights, the screaming crowds. All of that I think that I would kind of like. The thing that I almost know that I couldn't deal with is the questions. I hate being asked questions about myself. The words fall from your lips, and I start to squirm. My brain starts to itch, an itch that I can't scratch and even when I try it feels like my mind is falling out of my ears and onto the floor beneath us.
I hate being asked anything that has to do with my personal life. I am a private person for the most part. I think that even if you're not a celebrity people can really be too interested in what your life is like. And I'm not about that. I can be completely open with some people, the people I let far enough into my inner circle. I went through some things a few years ago that made me completely wary of who I tell things to. So though I used to be completely open with my secrets, and my personal issues, I now keep them to myself for the most part. Oh, and sometimes I post them on here, but no one I really KNOW in real life reads this shit anyways. And it makes me sad that I can't always trust people the way that I used to be able to. So now I tell people half of the truth, and leave the rest open for discussion. So anyways, where was I? Oh yes, I don't like personal questions. So, don't ever ask me any okay? Okay.
I hate being asked anything that has to do with my personal life. I am a private person for the most part. I think that even if you're not a celebrity people can really be too interested in what your life is like. And I'm not about that. I can be completely open with some people, the people I let far enough into my inner circle. I went through some things a few years ago that made me completely wary of who I tell things to. So though I used to be completely open with my secrets, and my personal issues, I now keep them to myself for the most part. Oh, and sometimes I post them on here, but no one I really KNOW in real life reads this shit anyways. And it makes me sad that I can't always trust people the way that I used to be able to. So now I tell people half of the truth, and leave the rest open for discussion. So anyways, where was I? Oh yes, I don't like personal questions. So, don't ever ask me any okay? Okay.
Friday, May 23, 2008
I'm trying to take the surprise out of it.
My birthday is only two and a half weeks away and already people are asking me what it is that I want for the glorious occasion. I have compiled a list in case you're stumped. the items on it range from the mundane and ordinary to my greatest fantasies. You pick which you think would make me the happiest.
1.) For someone to buy me the domain for Postarita for an entire year.
2.) For someone to teach me how to make an amazing website after they buy me that domain, because I have no idea.
3.)This Barnum & Bailey vintage circus art print
4.) For someone to rent out a classy bar in my honor. It would be a theme party of course (as are all great parties) the glamorous forties. We would all sip on Manhattans and eat canapes. Then someone would hire an Elton John impersonator (or the real Elton John if you're really good) to sing me "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" and "Philadelphia Freedom"
5. If you can't find or afford an Elton John impersonator then you could always swing for midget Britney Spears one.
6.) For someone to paint my room this color for me which you can purchase here.
7.) For everyone who comes into contact with me on the blessed day, to sing me happy birthday. Did I ever tell you the story of my eighteenth birthday where I had a perfectly wonderful day. And as I was on my way home driving over the bridge I realized at midnight that no one had sung me happy birthday all day long. So I sang it to myself for ten miles, over ,and over, and over, again. No I never told you that story? Well I totally should sometime.
8.) For someone to make me a kickass mix cd full of songs that I love, and songs that I don't know yet but will love eventually.
9.) For Katy Perry to come to my birthday party. I think she'd be a good time.
10.) For someone to take me back to Graceland.
11.) This RCA Small Wonder Video Camera.
12.) An Andy Warhol inspired art print of myself.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Build Your Wall With Just One Brick at a Time
I have had some crazy kind of writers inspiration lately paired with some crazy writers block. So right now I have about fifteen half written posts (all of which are amazing if I say so myself), and I don't know how to finish any of them.
So I guess that's something to look forward to.
So I guess that's something to look forward to.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Wanted
I need more guy friends. Sometimes I feel like my entire friendship scape is filled with girls and gay guys. Which is fine, because I love them all. But sometimes there's just certain things that you can't talk about to either one of those species. So I'm holding a casting call for a new guy friend. What's that? You might know someone who would be interested? Let me give you the qualifications he would need.
Must be fatter than me, in order to make me look like a sex god in comparison.
Must have a neck tattoo of the name Charlotte.
Must be named something worse than Jordan, like Melvin or Theodore.
Must be willing to let me call him "Bitch Tits" if and when I please.
Must have a rocking set of bitch tits.
Must be willing to ride bitch when he rides with me, because we all know that Kelly Clarkson always sits up front. (Oh you didn't know about me and Kelly Clarkson, did you? I'll fill you in soon, I promise.)
Must be completely single, I am not competing for his time with some buck girlfriend of his.
Must be able to handle his liquor well, lest I get drunk and need a ride home.
Must never call or text me when he knows I'm with someone more awesome.
Must be willing to read the books, and see the movies of my choice that I'm too lazy/busy to read/watch myself and tell me all the important plot points so that I don't feel out of the loop when Bryant tries to bring them up.
So yeah, I think thats it. If you or someone you know is interested please send a headshot and resume along with a taped monologue via youtube link to postarita@gmail.com. K, thanks.
Must be fatter than me, in order to make me look like a sex god in comparison.
Must have a neck tattoo of the name Charlotte.
Must be named something worse than Jordan, like Melvin or Theodore.
Must be willing to let me call him "Bitch Tits" if and when I please.
Must have a rocking set of bitch tits.
Must be willing to ride bitch when he rides with me, because we all know that Kelly Clarkson always sits up front. (Oh you didn't know about me and Kelly Clarkson, did you? I'll fill you in soon, I promise.)
Must be completely single, I am not competing for his time with some buck girlfriend of his.
Must be able to handle his liquor well, lest I get drunk and need a ride home.
Must never call or text me when he knows I'm with someone more awesome.
Must be willing to read the books, and see the movies of my choice that I'm too lazy/busy to read/watch myself and tell me all the important plot points so that I don't feel out of the loop when Bryant tries to bring them up.
So yeah, I think thats it. If you or someone you know is interested please send a headshot and resume along with a taped monologue via youtube link to postarita@gmail.com. K, thanks.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
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