Chronicles of Madness

Yo, this is a shitty picture. I know. But it tells a story, so bear with me.

On friday I escaped work early. YAY!!! What the fuck to do? I called JP, I had to drop some stuff off at his house, and he was all, "blah blah blah I gotta work. Swoop through though, keep me company" and I mentally deleted the comment "Dude. I've fucking seen you too much lately. The thought of seeing you one more goddamn second makes me want to go postal." Instead I said, "Well I'll drop off the stuff real quick, but I'll probably jam pretty quick." He said ok, and I said thank you god. Then my cousin E called.

"Hey stupid. Come run errands with me if you got nuthin to do. I'll take the t-tops off of the car."

It's friday, I'm free with nothing to do and all I want in the world is to be outside.

"K"

But bastard tricked me. He headed to a head shop and made plans to get his tattoo touched up. FUCK. I'm stuck inside for hours now.

And...

I think I want a tattoo. Wait... no. Bad idea.

But... Hey!

They do piercings! So I call the on call girl, "How much is a nose piercings."

I'm bored, the girl sounds stupid, but what the hell. If I have to go out of my way I'll never do it, but this is kind of convenient.

She shows up and the girl is fucking stupid. She pierces me where I tell her, point fucking blank, I don't want it. I look in the mirror and the first words out of my mouth are, "this is exactly what I told you not to do. I don't like this. This is NOT what I wanted."

Everyone tries to convince me otherwise, I am fucking bleeding everywhere, and I am pissed to all hell. Fuck.

"Do it again" My cousin is shaking his head and I turn towards him, "fuck off bastard." The tattoo guy laughs, but he agrees, it looks like shit.

This time she gets it right. Everyone now admits that the first piercing looked like shit. THANK YOU!

I am not some cool inspired artist, but I am a freelance photographer, and a girl who wanted to be an interior designer. DON'T FUCK WITH MY VISION. Composition is everything to me and I fucking hated what that girl did to my face. Bitch.

I tipped her ten bucks for having to put up with my perfectionist bitchy ass. Even though my whole face was throbbing and my nose kept filling with blood. Are you grossed out? Because I was!

Anyway, when I walk through the door JP says, "what the fuck happened to your face?" Then he laughed. He liked it, but being one of my best friends he felt the need to fuck with me. Asshole.

JM saw me the next day at my sis's bday party. Within two seconds JM says, "Whoa. You pierced your face! What did your mom say?" Ok. Here's the thing. She didn't notice! Neither did my dad, my sis, or my aunt. NO ONE NOTICED! He started laughing and tried to run over and tell on me. After seven years he knows my mom pretty well and he wanted to see the ass kicking that was sure to ensue. I stopped him. Hah. JM knows better than to fuck with me. I'll kick his ass.

Anyway, here's the point. No one in my immediate family has noticed, which makes me think one of two things, Man their eyesight has really gone, or b, they really never look at me. What the fuck?

Today we partied like it was 2005. Because.. well... it was 2005. Oh, and the sis's bday.

Alex proved she knew how to do a cannonball. It's a good thing too, any sister of mine that doesn't know how to cannonball is getting their ass kicked. By me.

my friend J and I jumped in the bouncy castle. I took blurry pictures. I take lots of blurry photos because I'm a good photographer. Heh

It was a kids party, and some masked girl crashed the party and started drinking. who could that masked girl be?

my mom and aunt thought they'd try to be cool like me. Jokes on them. No one's as cool as me.

Now I look at them and get nasty thoughts. Nasty.

I just got an email from corporate headquarters saying to go home at 3:00! It may have ended with, take all your shit with you, but I didn't read that far ahead. YAY! I'm going home at 3:00 motherfuckers! YAY!

There is a heaven, and they should have a sex swing there with my name on it. Why oh why did my friend tell me about her new sex swing? It's like she hates me or something.

But, um, yeah, from what she told me, everyone needs to own one. FYI.

a message from your local "spreadin the love" broadcast station.

Last night I had a dream complete with soundtrack. Fucking weird huh? But it had really cool background music, fade out scenes, slow mos, awesome closeups and then quick pan tos. It was awesome. But then, when I woke up, I was thinking, damn I'm a geek. Wait, spin, NO, I'M CREATIVE. subtext: really. I'm a geek.

Hmm. On the upside I can't wait for my first porn star dream.

confession: I once had a dream about two hot girls with implants mud wrestling. they were cheap looking in all the right ways. But there was no background music so it doesn't count.

Note to the Driver on 880 this morning:

Next time, fuckwatt, don’t put a goddamn bumper sticker on your piece of shit, queen slash king of suburbia, four door, four cylinder, I would kill myself if I could just escape, Honda.

Sorry to all Honda owners. I know, I know, they get good gas mileage, and everyone steals them so they must be cool, but, um, I would probably just die if I owned one. Also Saturns. Saturns make me hyperventilate. Then again, I hate conformity, so it’s easy to see why I hate cars that everyone drives.


Anyway, back to fuckwatt.


Thanks to your “educational” bumper sticker this morning I veered over two lanes and spun out three cars trying to learn some new useless fucking information, and while I could blame this on my poor decision making skills, I instead choose to blame it on your inability to purchase a fucking bumper sticker with a larger font size then 12. That’s right buddy, that huge fucking fiery explosion?

All your fault.

Shit, I wonder how long before the police find me?

See I could’ve stopped stopped and avoided hit and run charges, but… I need a break from work. And three solid meals a day didn’t sound bad.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

If I were a rich man I would buy a big fucking house and sleep with little boys all the time and then act surprised when everyone was shocked and disgusted.

Oh wait…

This book is titled, What NOT To Do!!

He he. My bad.

Cuz I’m bad and you know it, uh huh. Who’s bad?

Also (and FYI for editing sakes I do understand that the post should be over now and anything else is just verbose and way too wordy to keep your attention, but really. Who gives a fuck?) is anyone else struck by the absurdity that he named the freakin mansion Neverland?

Ok, I’ll admit it, I’m somewhat of an information buff, which I really fucking hate because knowledge forces me to have opinions on shit I’d rather not give a fuck about. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I like swearing.

Anyway, I watched that movie, “Finding Neverland” and before I watched it I read a bunch of informational articles on the story to get the full background and the “real” story. Movies take licenses and I hate people who quote movies instead of finding out the real story and then go spouting incorrect facts and making themselves look like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. FYI: If you don’t know shit then keep your mother fucking mouth shut so that I don’t know what an illiterate ass wipe you really are.

So here’s the story, the guy who wrote Peter Pan used to spend a lot of time alone with three little boys “playing” with them, as if he, himself, were a child too. Word got round in London and everyone was SHOCKED! OOH, what a pedophile! Lot’s of people were pissed, but then Peter Pan rocked, and I guess money fixes everything. According to everything I read, his interaction with the children was completely innocent, however there were a ton of rumors and many people openly expressed their distaste for the situation.

Coincidence? I think not. MJ, I’m on to you. You were planning this from the start.

Oh, something else that pisses me off, why wasn’t this guy in a straight jacket years ago? HELLO? I think it is fucking SAD when a persons fame and wealth can alienate them so much that no one, absofuckinglutely no one, can find the humanity to point out the obvious. The man is INSANE! But since he’s rich, let’s just make fun of him instead.
---------------------------------------------------------------

I like those Bratz dolls. I really really do.

“Why Terra” you might ask. “Why do you like the Bratz dolls so much?

Is it their huge malformed heads?

Their big stupid feet?

How about their collagen injected lips or their over-plucked eyebrows?”

And I would have to answer, “No.

It’s none of those reasons. Although all of those reasons are pretty cool.”

You see, I simply like the fact that they are training young impressionable girls to be whores.

It takes a lot of the weight off of parenting. I mean remember when we used to complain about how Barbie was ruining our idea of womanhood and setting an unattainable bar so high that it’s impossible to reach? Boy, did we fix that problem! I mean, fuck, Barbie is a doctor, a wife, a mother, a vet, and somebody’s cute sister. Fuck that shit. Now girls can be geishas and cheap whores that don’t even get paid for sex. Wow. I love this. (I’ll post pics later)

By the way, I’m fucking serious. Go pick up a goddamn Bratz book, you know the kind they sell to kids? And read the fucking drivel in there. It’s enough to make me fucking puke, and whoever is writing this shit? You are going to hell. If there is a god in heaven you are going to hell and if I ever meet you I am beating the shit out of you.

Happy 9th birthday lil sis, that Bratz book I bought for you? Yeah, it’s in the garbage. Salvage it over my dead body.

(In marketing I learned that if you tell consumers only retarded inbred fucking morons don't like your product, then they'll buy your products just to prove that they're not bottom feeding human waste. Pretty cool huh? Now, on to the poem)

... hearts are beating here.

Did you come in mid-sentence?
Mid-dream?
So did I

This poem is
Off rhythm
off beat
UnCentered
A reflection of me

And I am asking you
No
Imploring you
for a road map
a destination
A reflection.
Of me.

Dear friend:
I can't see you through this haze,
this fog,
this, discovery of self.
But, wait, patiently
for the resurfacing
of the lost,
Drawn by the temptation that
maybe... just maybe

... hearts are beating here.

Read your site. But lately I am just stuck on comment stupid. I read, but I don't comment.

I try not to comment on T and A's site, well, cuz frankly the comments on their site fucking ROCK! I have never ever fucking seen funnier comments.

Wait, Dane, your comments on my site always make me laugh. He he. Penguins. Also I loved the story of your adopted parents beating you. Pointless violence always makes me chuckle.

And Summer? You're just too hot. I can't comment. I'm outleagued.

Anyway, my list of comment laziness just goes on and on. But I'm too lazy to finish this post so screw it.

On Sunday I hurt my ankle.

I'd like to say that I hurt my ankle performing some cool sex trick that involved a swing... but alas. No.

I actually hurt it trying to get out of a garbage can, which may in fact prove the rumor that I am trash, true.

But no, I'm not trash. HA HA! You guys will have to prove that some other way. No, I was helping my dad with yard work. Which I hate and have hated as long as I can remember. Lately though I've been trying all this new stuff that I've always believed I didn't like. So far it turns out that I actually LIKE cauliflower, lobster is as gross as I imagined, asparagus is, if not yummy, at least edible, and ketchup isn't so bad after all.

I'm 25. Time to get over childhood fears.

So when Dad asked, hey Terra, come help out, I felt my foot go down in teenage rebellion, and then I got over it.

"Hey Dad!"

I'm standing in the bin on top of leaves.

"I don't think this is going down anymore. We're running out of room."

"Terra, I think it'll be fine."

"Umm" I glance down at my feet. "I don't think so." suddenly I spy a very fast moving spider. "And oh, there's a spider, picking up speed. I DON'T LIKE SPIDERS"

I bend down, grasp the side of the bin and start to stand on the lisp of the garbage can, which is, of course, not very wide. This spiders moving fast and I'm pretty far from the ground, surrounded by cement stairs and a pool. This is NOT a good place to fall. I've got one foot on the left side of the garbage can and I'm raising the other foot, precarious, when I notice OH SHIT THREE MORE FUCKING SPIDERS RUNNING RIGHT TOWARDS ME.

I can't get out of this can without falling on cement, on stairs, on piping, or into the fucking pool and if I stay still spiders are going to be all over me.

ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

I'm screaming, I half fall out of the garbage can and now I'm hyperventilating and fucking crying. I'm not sure but I think this is the definition of hysterical.

oh dear. I remember now why I hated gardening.

My dad wipes the spiders off of me and I'm trying to stop screaming. thishastobethemostembaressingdayofmywholefuckinglife

Later Dad walks by me, and trying to be helpful, explains that the only poisonous spider in California is the black widow and nothing else can kill me.

hmm.

Did I ever once say that this was a rational fear? NO.

So end verdict, ketchup yes, cauliflower yes, asparagus no, lobster no, and gardening? FUCK NO.

pleasegodletmemarryamanwhowillkillallspidersformeandthechildren...amen

Look. I told CL to stop drinking... BUT NO.


Ok. Here are the things that did NOT happen last night. No matter what anyone tells you!

I did not drink too much.
I did not get drunk and kiss a girl.
I definately did NOT kiss TWO girls.
I did not walk up to a guy in a pink shirt and ask him how that was working out for him. THAT would be rude!
I did not ask Duckie if his momma does it like this. That's just sick you sick sick fuck.


However, I did drunk text JP... turns out he was drunk too. We laughed about that this morning. Well... um... not that I was drunk. Because I wasn't.

I went to Cindy’s house last Sunday, and I just have to say, Caden is THE CUTEST kid. Cindy makes cute kids. She’s like a cute kid factory. Except she only made one. So she’s like a lazy cute kid factory that keeps getting shut down by the safety department.

When Caden first saw me, he hid. Which made me think, “smart kid”. Later though he warmed up to me. Don’t be surprised! It’s all part of my deadly charm. Caden didn’t have a shirt on and on his trip to go get one, a sticker sheet of smiley faces distracted him. I know. Cute!

Told you.

He came back to the kitchen and debated in front of us where to put this sticker. It was so funny. Before I left he gave me one and I promptly put it on my shirt. Then I headed over to my friend Tonie’s house to paint clouds on her nine-month-old daughter’s ceiling. In the middle of painting I lay down on the floor to inspect our handiwork and Angelina crawled over to me. Drooling she eyed my smiley face, “No way kid. Back off. That’s mine.” She smiled, but I was serious. Tonie looked down and smiled, “Cute smiley face, she just drooled all over it”. Kids.

To protect the smiley face it was removed and placed on my purse. This is where it stayed and it traveled back and forth with me from work to home. Occasionally people comment on it, “Heh. Cute sticker Terra”. Yeah. I know.

Then the other day I took the sticker off and stuck it on the counter at home. For a few days I tracked it’s progression around my house until I lost sight of it.

Last night while taking off my shirt I spotted it. On the inside of my bra. How in the hell did it get there? And why, does the smiley face now look bigger?

I’ve been reading this book about Mormonism and um. Hey. Like I’m a prophet and shit too.

So, I was out back walking around and this angel came up and was like, “Hey”. And so I said, “Wus up?”. Cuz I’m cool with angelical beings like that. Then she threw this big fucking book at my head! Knocked me flat. Fucking bitch.

I got up and threw it back, “Check this shit out, you might fly but I got a rifle and a good aim, snatch.”

She was a little pissed off, “Do not make me smite thee”.

Eh. Fuck off.

“Thou hast been blessed by the Lord. Take these books and show the world their failing else the lord becometh angry and wipe them from this earthly plane”

What? Fuck this shit. That’s no angel, that’s just my drunk ass neighbor fucking with me again.

I started walking off and called over my shoulder, “remind me later to thank my friends for slipping acid into my dinner. Shit, no better way to keep me busy for a couple of hours.”

And then… beneath my very feet… the earth cracked open.

“Mere human, do not maketh me stick thouest head into that crack and close it!”

Well, on second thought “Ok… heh. Why don’t we chat or something?”

Then the angel revealed to me that earth had lost its way. Its’ path had been corroded by money, power, greed, and fast automobiles. You know… all that stuff I love?

So I read that manual and apparently I’m supposed to lead you to glory and tell you about all that stuff Moses forgot about. Dumb ass motherfucker, I think his brain got fried from wandering around in the freakin desert for so long.

OK… here are my revelations and stuff

1. You must obey your prophet… ME.
2. You must give your prophet all of your booze. Now.
3. You should probably give me your virginity too… that way it doesn’t get stolen by the devil.
4. So that you don’t get corrupted by money… give it to me so that I might do the lords bidding (which is fix my cars check engine light. How do you expect me to lead you to glory if my car breaks down for Christ’s sake? Fuck.).
5. Women should marry as many men that they want so that they might never be tempted outside their vows. (Joseph Smith was once tarred and feathered and eventually killed over a similar revelation about men marrying multiple women. Obviously he had it backwards and so therefore got what was coming to him. Don’t fuck with God)
6. If you don’t do what I say the lord will smite you with all powerful and… um… horrible vengeance. So basically you’ll be dead and shit.
7. And… um… anyone who gets in our way is going to hell, and we should probably help them get there a little faster, as that is our duty… so sayeth the lord.

Yep. So there you have it. I am a prophet here to prepare the way to the Holy Land. More revelations coming soon to a church near you.

Oh?

You wanna SEE the book?

Well… my dad got pissed that I was calling myself a god so he peed on it and threw it in the pool.

I suppose I could’ve jumped in and got it… but who wants a book your dad just peed all over? Not me. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll die soon.

(PS… yes there’s a PS. This is my fucking blog, just try and shut me up! Ahem. Anywayz, after reading this book on fundamental mormonism I realized that the movie Angels In America had been completely based on Mormonism. Now this REALLY fucking pissed me off! How dare they try to convert me under the guise of a fucking MOVIE? Bitches. ALSO! I hate learning shit. If I owned that movie I’d go home and burn it. But it’s on my tivo… and I worship tivo. Tivo is the one true god, all bow before its majesty.)

That's spanish for sleepy, people.

No, I am not bilingual. I just play one on tv. I'M SO FUCKING SLEEPY RIGHT NOW!!!

GARRRR.

I have work to do when I get home. I can't sleep then either and that realization makes me just want to walk over to my boss's door, kick it in and say, "I'm going home. Ass munch."

Instead I think I'll just break all my desk pencils.

If I were rich I’d buy a kid and move to the south… I think slavery is more acceptable down there.

Since I’m Native American, Puerto Rican, French, German, Italian and Scottish it would be pretty damn hard to find a kid of the same race… but I’m not going to even try.

I want a boy. A little Middle Eastern boy, and I’m going to name him Foreigner.

Think of all the fun that we will have in the south, being minorities and all. To Foreigner I will pass on my Native American heritage, and I will teach him to speak Spanish, with a southern accent.

Man that kids going to be so fucked up.

A Middle Eastern kid with a southern accent that knows all about Native Americans and speaks Spanish? Hah. But the girls will love him. Girls love a good mystery. And just to make sure the girls REALLY love him, I’ll make sure to instill him with abandonment issues. “Foreigner! Don’t make me send you back to that shit hole they call a country!” Ha. That shit always gets them.


When Foreigner is really little and just learning to socialize I’m going to teach him how to skate board or mountain bike or something. That kid’s going to be in the fucking X-Games if I have to beat him every day.

At four.

For twenty minutes.

Which sport you ask?

Oh, you know, whichever sport is predominantly white.

And when little Foreigner comes home crying, “Mom, I don’t fit in anywhere” I’m going to say, “That’s because your people flew planes into our buildings killing thousands of innocent Americans. It’s natural for them to hate you. Maybe one of those guys was even your dad. Think about that.”

Sorry, I've been watching Garden State over and over and ... heh. You get the point. That Sam is quirky and funny.

Anyway, I had a dream last night that I was cleaning the lens on my camera, it was way filthy which is so not true in real life, and someone just walked up and poured FOOD all over it. Which freaked me out until I thought, oh well, that's what UV Filters are for. Protection! AND, my camera never leaves home without one! So HA!

But on closer inspection the camera DIDN'T have one! Fuck! I had just ruined my damn lens! Lenses are FUCKING EXPENSIVE! Fuck. In the dream I just sucked it up. Later the entire lens get's smashed anyway.

I dream about camera's and lenses and uv filters. How big of a dork am I?

Ok... busy day today. Gym, laundry, get ready for my photo shoot, photo shoot, and then... DANCING! YAY.

Gawd... have to bring clothes to change into for dancing. SHIT, why had I not thought of that! I AM SO STUPID! K, now I really got to go.

Have a lovely saturday blogger buddies! Do everything I would and wouldn't do!

Then report back.

I'm thinking about becoming a Jew.

Which brings up an old argument between me and O, is being a Jew strictly religious or racial? I say both, she disagrees.

I win. Not because of my superior debate techniques, but because I am just smrtr than her.

Anyway, so obviously I can't quite convert, which sucks. Cuz their bible doesn't include the new testament, so I'm thinking the sermons would be shorter. Plus, Zach Braff is pretty hot. I'd convert for him.

Also, Jesus is starting to piss me off with all this forgiveness crap.

I want God to say, "shut the fuck up Jesus whilst I go smite someone". Heh. That would be cool.

Mental image of God pushing Jesus down and kicking him.

I mean, I think God's really getting fed up with his crap. Plus, he created the whole thing and now Jesus gets all the glory? What Would Jesus Do? Oh and how about those t-shirts that all the Hollywood fuckwatts sport, Jesus is my homeboy? Fuck that.

Christians think they can do anything cuz "Jesus loves them" and all that shit. Where the hell has everyone's accountability gone? It's like a fucking infomercial. Killed someone? Just accept Jesus Christ into your life and all your sins will be washed away.

But not the blood on the carpet. You can clorox the fuck out of that but forensics will still find it.

That's got to say something I think.

Then again there's a Jewish lady at my work, and she seems pretty nice. No walking around screaming, "God will strike you down!".

Must have been that whole holocaust thing. That really put them in their place.

I don't feel bad, because Jesus forgave us... but not them. They're going to hell. I hear it's warm there.... lucky bastards.

I just got the strangest urge to flip my mother off. Hmm. Regressing?

Anyway, FYI: Your pets are not! I repeat, NOT, family members.

They are your hostages.

If you didn't feed them they would attack and kill you.

It's called nature... look it up.

Dance like no one's watching.

Do it.

Go ahead, you know that funny head jerking, arms spasming thing you like to call rhythm. Go ahead. Dance.

We won't laugh.

Promise....

Someone in Italy periodically reads my site... and I don't know why but every time I see that on my statcounter list I get a little tingle.

Mostly because I start imagining that it is some hot italian guy who looks like



or maybe



but more likely he probably looks like this



=(

Oh well. It's probably not even a guy!

Oooooh. Hot Italian girl....

Or by the time you are twenty it will look like it's forty.

....

I almost accidentally hit the "delete this blog" button today. Why? when I want to find the fucking thing... I CAN'T!

So if you ever come back here and everything is gone... it's cuz I'm a fucking moron.

Fall, fall, down the rabbit hole.

Alice I’ve got you now. Dirty apron… what will mother say?

I ran away from my problems today.

And I am… not lost. I am found, wandering corridors you cannot track me down. Hello hello? You hear that? No echo. These, you see, are not empty rooms. They are filled, to the brim, with furniture and childhood whims; covered up with old white aprons. To protect them from the dust, the years, the demands of men, bills, rent, and yes… children.

There is my slinky, rescued from the tree I wrapped it to tight, my game boy, my first bike. Today, though, I’m avoiding the army men and military trucks. Today I’ll wear lip gloss and sip tea from a plastic cup. I know, I know we have very important things to discuss. Like where I’ve been, what I’ve seen and whether or not you’re still in love with me.

But for right now…. For right right now, let me enjoy this moment of reflection. The mirrors are covered, my appearance uninspected. I am eight again, a princess undiscovered, lost in the wilderness of white. And you? You are nothing. Not even my shining knight.

I had too many barbies. Not enough money for ken. You are due at eight. I will grow up then.

I would use it for evil

I would go around saying, "shut the fuck up, I'm like a God and shit"

I would make you juggle for me... in a little jokers outfit... while hopping on one foot.

I woke up this morning smelling like beer and cigarettes.

This used to be a weekly occurence... but not so much anymore. Perhaps I'm growing up?

Nah. I've just been busy.

I was going to drunk blog last night but... then I didn't. i walked thru the door and shed my clothes like a bad skin, fell into bed hating my stupid cell phone that kept fucking ringing.

DUDE! I GAVE YOU MY NUMBER TONIGHT! FUCKING CHILL!

Moron... I really gave your car my number if you know what I mean. That Z was all, "hey what's up baby... slide in. My seats are nice and soft and I would love the feel of you ridin me hard". I looked around, was that car talking to me?

"Yeah. You."

Honey, you were just standing in the way, all your dialogue, "Girl you're fucking beautiful and I KNOW you don't have a boyfriend cuz no man would let a girl like you walk ALONE to her car" was all fucking background noise. It was your car I was staring at.... and you know it.

You would've let me drive it right then and there, shit you were practically handing over your keys, but your boys were all, "Hey we gotta go", and then they saw me, "shit that girls beautiful". Your face went still when your boy tried to jock, but he was walking so you thought you were safe. You weren't. PSST: he was better looking than you, but I had already committed myself to the car and so I couldn't back track. Aw fuck.

Today... car or no car, I fucking hate anyone blowing up my cell. So piss off.

Hey X, I have a date with you on tuesday... and I already know what I'm wearing. I want your heart to go pitter patter. I don't need to practice being slippery cuz I'm like that naturally... just when you think you have me I change directions. Hey, I know that's why you like me... I know that's why almost every guy likes me. My fear of commitment piques your interest... so prepare to go home just as confused as I always am.

PS

I was close enough in the club to see the lead singer of Better Than Ezra sweat, they rocked, and all of our drinks were free.

If you tell me one about you......


nah. I can't take it. I'm gonna spill.

If you knew me you would know this secret anyways... when we hang out I'll watch your every move, listen to your voice inflections, mentally record your favorites phrases, the way your arms move, how you tilt your head and what your funniest reaction/faces are. Yo, I'll imitate you like a motherfucker.

I get up in the middle of the crowd and all our friends will laugh their asses off as I become you. You will laugh too cuz I don't do it to be mean, I do it to be funny, and cuz I think you're fucking funny and nice as hell. Otherwise I would never bother to pay that much attention to you. You see?

It's a compliment.

So today I have your words buzzing in my head and I find myself thinking with the words "yo", "rat bastard", "muskrat love" and "heh" stuck in my head.

You and YOU and U and [fuckuTycuzYoudon'townthewordUYouknow] yeah... you, are soooo stuck in my head and I want to play with words until you don't know which way is up and which way is down.

I am a collector of words and complex sentence structures and you can throw grammatical rules at me all day long but fuck off.

I know what sounds good and I know what doesn't.

My head is buzzing and my thoughts are fuzzy and this is all like some strange dream/trip where blues clues are leading me to sexual bondage, I'm being held up at a store on my first day after I've tried to ride/tame the wax machine and am thrown through the wall to the yard where I keep my bunnies hidden... but I'm getting lost.

Are you lost with me yet?

Did you see pieces of you in there? So did I.... I'm trying to keep my head straight and my boss keeps walking past my cubicle while I keep an eye on the clock, a hand on my to do list and I try to organize all of this into something you can understand.

But I'm enjoying this too much, so I'll share later.

ps

if I had a shoutbox would u shout my name on it?

These are some cool sites that I just recently noticed:

Duckie

New York Bouncer

and

Post Secret

PS

If you comment on Duckie's sight he might just email you back. Or send you money.

So it's kind of like the lotto!

I live in Silicon Valley.

What does that mean? No. It doesn’t mean that I have silicone implants. Although, that would be nice. Feel like throwing any cash my way? No? Fuck you then.

What it means is that at one point I worked in the silicon industry making wafers. Wafers look like CD’s and when we’re done with them we sell them to big companies who then cut them up into little squares and put them into your cell phone, printer, dishwasher and/or car.

I wore a bunny suit and worked in a clean room.

No. I did not have a fluffy tail and serve cocktails while trying to see over my big silicone chest. But if you would like to imagine that feel free.

Done? Ok.. Wait… I’m not done yet.

Ok. Heh. I looked cute in that bunny outfit huh? ANYWAY

I worked there for three years… long enough to get my friends employed there as well. So we could, you know, wreak havoc.

Clean rooms have to be clean. Turns out that they get cleaned by, gasp, cleaning them! FUCK. I hate cleaning shit.

So I’m cleaning shit, so is Olivia, my best friend. I think I’m in a bad mood. You know, cuz it’s work. Fuckin work. BLAH. Oh yeah, also cuz our shift starts at six a m in the GOD DAMN MORNING. It’s a twelve hour shift. We’re allowed to be pissy.

Wiping down the counter with isopropyl (rubbing alcohol) I turn to Olivia suddenly.

“You’re a midget.” She’s five foot one… maybe. Also 95 pounds so there’s no way in hell she can harm me.

“Shut up Terra”

“No. Seriously. You should join the circus. I would pay to see like a hundred of you climb into that little clown car.” Now obviously I don’t feel like cleaning.

“Terra. Fuck you.” She picks up her isopropyl bottle and sprays me.

“Umm. I’m sorry, I don’t let midgets get away with shit like that!” I wrestle the bottle out of her hand and now we are running through the clean room spraying each other. Ok…. So midgets have a pretty good grip! She might have gotten the bottle back a time or two. Or ten.

This by the way is clearly against regulation. We work with dangerous chemicals. Chemicals that melt your bones. Seriously. Chemicals that easily explode and chemicals that will eat right through your fucking clothes on contact.

But hey, we’ve worked here for years. We’ve gone to the stupid safety classes like a MILLION fucking times. We’re good.

Plus, we’re like, 21. Totally responsible. OK? So chill.

Suddenly while circling a microscope I stop.

“Hey wait a minute” I’m itching. What the fuck?

“What?” Olivia is clearly looking for her opening.

“What the fuck is in this bottle?” She sprays me before I get my hands on it. “Shit Olivia this IS NOT FUCKING ISOPROPYL!!!!!!!!”

I’m running for the exit with her close on my tail.

“Olivia, you’re supposed to clean with isopropyl!!!!!!!!!!”

“I WAS!”

“No you weren’t! You were using HYDROGEN PEROXIDE!” Olivia has the shittiest fucking eyesight ever I swear to god.

“Oh shit!”

“Don’t worry, just get your suit off as fast as possible and we’ll use the emergency cleaners.”

Ok the hydrogen peroxide you buy at the stores is a wimpy fucking momma’s boy version compared to the kind we were soaked in. By the time I get my suit off I am itching everywhere and as I tear my clothes off I can see huge patches of skin turning white.

FUCK!

My supervisor walks by.

“What’s going on?” Me and Olivia stand straight up.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Ok.” She eyes us suspiciously and then hands us a to do list. The whole time I am STUGGLING NOT TO SCRATCH EVERY SQUARE INCH OF MY BODY.

As soon as she leaves we run to the restroom.

We are in the public restroom and I am practically down to my underwear throwing emergency cleaner on me and trying to stick my body in the sink to wash off this Hydrogen, which is literally evaporating all of the moisture out of my skin.

Twenty minutes later we’re cool.

Olivia pulls her jeans back on.

So do I.

She goes to walk out.

I don’t.

FUCK. I’M ITCHING AGAIN. Fucking Olivia SOAKED my clothes with hydrogen! I can’t wear them! What the fuck am I going to tell my manager?

“Hey boss, I have to go home and change because I was playing with chemicals. Oh, and by the way, I started it.”

Fuck. I could go back to work naked. No, they would see my underwear through the bunny suit. I’d probably get fired for being a pervert. Fuck.

So we brainstorm in the bathroom with me in my chonies. Double fuck. I can’t stand in the bathroom naked all day. Finally we come up with a brilliant idea.

I borrow clothes from a fifty year old hippie four inches shorter than me and fifty pounds heavier.

Jesus fucking christ, I never felt smarter in my whole damn life.

(here's what a bunny suit looks like)

I actually got hit on while wearing one believe it or not.

Ha. I'm cool like that.

[You get to answer any five of these and then add your own occupations]
If I could be a scientist
If I could be a farmer
If I could be a musician
If I could be a doctor
If I could be a painter
If I could be a gardener
If I could be a missionary
If I could be a chef
If I could be an architect
If I could be a linguist
If I could be a librarian
If I could be an athlete
If I could be a lawyer
If I could be an innkeeper
If I could be a professor
If I could be a writer
If I could be a llama-rider(by Ogre)
If I could be a bonnie pirate(By Teach)
If I could be a servicemember(By Jeremy)
If I could be a business owner(By Blue 944)
If I could be an actor(By Blue 944)
If I could be an agent(By KelBel)
If I could be video game designer(By KelBel)
If I could be a comic book artist(By Stoli)
If I could be a hooker(By Pollo Loco)
If I could be a crack addict(by Elizabeth)
If I could be a porn star(by Elizabeth)
If I could be a mime(by Garrison)
If I could be a domestic engineer(by Rick)
If I could be a chimney sweep(by laine)
If I could be a masseuse(by laine)
If I could be a taxi driver(by Brian)
If I could be a priest(by Brian)
If I could be the Sherrif Of Nottingham(Karen)
If I could be a dancer(Karen)
If I could be Santa Claus(Karen)
If I could be on a reality TV show(Dawn)
If I could be a magician(Dawn)
If I could be a rich man
If I could be perfect
If I could be a comedian
If I could be invisible
If I could be a Korean(by Ty)
If I could be a blogger(by Ty)
If I could be a pervert(by Ty)
If I could be a digital camera(by Ty)
If I could be the guy who gets to be alone with you(by Ty)
If I could be a man for a day (grace)
If I could be a superhero (grace)
If I could be YOUR MOMMA (grace)
If I could be the one you never forget (Terra)
If I could be a rock star (Terra)
If I could be a paid killer(Terra)
If I could be a police officer (Terra)

If I could be a man for a day I'd use everything I know to make some woman think I was a God.

If I could be a lawyer I'd sue the shit out of my ex-roomie. Fucker.

If I could be a police officer I'd beat the shit out of minorities w/my billy club.

If I could be a dancer I'd make tons of money down at the Pink Poodle ;)

If I could be a scientist I'd sew two heads onto one body and display it at the fair... come get me now Superhero Grace.

Some guy told me I had the cutest freckles he had ever seen.

So I asked him what the fuck he was doing close enough to my face to notice random shit like that?

Seriously. Fuck. Step off.

Here's the thing, and you gotta love psych class for informing me of random useful statistics that I can now annoy everyone with, I've got something called personal space.

So do you.

So does everyone.

US citizens have a personal space of three feet, some countries have five, some have two, but in either case step into someones bubble and you're pretty much guaranteed to piss them the fuck off.

These are things that I use to annoy people. Also, if you happen to step into my bubble and I have to back up more than twice, do not be suprised if I suddenly interrupt the conversation with the following sentences, "Hey. Buddy. This is my space (arms extend to illustrate the boundaries). That is yours. Now... go back to yours." Right. Fucking. Now. Retard. Before I throw my drink in your face you fucking commie bastard.

Do you think I'm lying?

I'm not.

I've done this.

But I can't.

I've been moving all weekends. Props to Cindy Lou. I said I internet hated her and she still offered her services. Unfortunately the moving was complicated... people were moving in as I was moving out and I had to keep explaing what was mine and what was most, fucking definately, not. Hello? Do I look like I still play with dinosaurs?

I am so into comic books.

Plus I had three piles, the donation pile, the storage pile, and the going with me pile.

Understadably no one was very keen on helping me, and plus, everytime I imagined someone helping me I thought of all the explaining I would have to and the unnecessary gunfire. Shit. I'll just do it myself.

So little miss do it herself has now been up for thirty six hours. No nap. No drugs. I want to blog. I want to read up on your lives, your rants, your attempts at humor (which always make ME laugh my ass off) and. Eh. You get the point.

UP FOR THIRTY SIX HOURS... what the fuck was I writing about?

Tomorrow you can bet I'm gonna be stalking your asses. Fully rested. You have been warned.

**fuck I'm leaving the typos in this post to attest to my brain slur.