Monday, October 31, 2005 

I Really Miss My Friend Cindy Lou

too bad she's dead.


Friday, October 28, 2005 


i forgot what love was,
but so did You.
And then there was
this giant game of pretending
but who was the fox?
and who was the rabbit?
We never could get our roles down,
Two dogs biting each other's asses.

They say to stop a dog punch it in the nose,
Or was that a shark?
i punched You, but You turned out to be a Man
in disguise,
with a heart
All truths and no lies.
i'd apologize, but i'm a rabbit with no ability to talk.

Only shiver and quake,
stand still for the children to say,
"Oh look! A Bunny mommy! A Bunny! Can I take her home?"
Can I sleep with her and cuddle her and love her forever?
and ever? and ever amen?

i'm the butterfly with the poison
the cow gone mad
i'd sneak up on you all subtle,
but you've got me pegged.

Just once
i wish you'd play the rabbit
let me shake you until dead.



The Post Where I Had A Point, But Didn't Want to Offend Anyone and So I Skirted Around It Until I Just Started To Babble

Just got back from the potluck and now I have a million fucking complaints.

And I want to complain about stuff that, really, I should just keep my mouth shut about. But I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to fucking rant and if I piss you off then FUCK YOU.




This was a GOD DAMN DIVERSITY POTLUCK!!! What was brought?

Store bought cookies.


Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Vendor trays of empanadas, lumpia, meatballs, and cornbread.

I'm not complaining about the lumpia though, in general all philipino vendor shit is the motherfuckin bomb! It's so fucking good it outta be illegal. But I took a bite of the empanada and almost threw it up over the table! That was SHIT. Dry fucking pasty ass dough and the inside looked like processed chicken paste, that was also DRY! Dude, the lady who bought it was sittin right next to me and I couldn't even force the garbage down my throat. I had to throw it away right in front of her.

Same with the cornbread. Who in the FUCK fuck's up cornbread? Stupid fucking vendor. I don't know about the meatballs, I didn't try them. In general I'm against vendor meatballs. The meat's never seasoned and I start getting suspicious about where the trays have been.

In fact, most of this stuff I wouldn't have eaten if you paid me to.

McDonalds? Fuck that shit. I will not eat there! I HAD to eat there about two months ago and I thought I was going to puke on the chicken sandwich I bought. I didn't even order fries and still I kept thinking, man, just cuz I haven't eaten in ten hours shouldn't have brought me to this point. Really. I could've lasted til dinner!

One of the most favorite deserts today was banana pudding with Nilla crackers. Remember that recipe on the back of the box?

Yeah, me too. I used to sucker my grandma into making it every chance I got.

But that's not culture. That's commercialism.

I grew up in a house where my mother cooked all the time. For the first ten years of my life we lived with my mom's boyfriend and so my mom cooked food that HE liked.

We ate beef and broccoli, sauerkraut with some kind of meat (I forget) seasoned with beer, tuna salad, home made lemon meringue pies, beef stroganoff (and nothing you get out of box, thank you very much), and mozzaball soup. MMM. Mozzaball soup. By the way, it's not the traditional version, my mom just made something up that LOOKED like mozzaball soup, and so that's what we call it.

Then we went to live with my Nana where I learned to shell gandude beans, peal platinoes, picked ripe tomatoes from the backyard, I learned I hated guava, bacalou, and a fistful of other things Puerto Rican... but sometimes I got the pink cookies I liked from the mercado.

I learned how to make cafe on the stove in a pan and every morning my mom made me Malt o Meal with cinnamon, butter and sugar, which was the best. The absolute best. In the grocery store I had to argue, beg and plead, and even THEN she refused to buy white bread for me.

I may not cook a lot, but I also don't eat this processed shit.

It's fucking disgusting, and Nilla pudding is not cultural. You want culture go to China town, head out to your downtown Super Mercado where they sell bread right along with jeans and prepaid telephone cards.

People become so used to this sugary crap that when they taste food, REAL food, it's bland to them.

But I taste this other shit and, it's JUST gross!

I remember my mom BLASTING the stereo and dancing around the house with tongs and pot holders, barefoot in the kitchen making home made lasagna while some guy sang from the radio about a chick with long white hair that drove him crazy.

I would be watching the hulk and run in to help her stir the salad, grab a beer for the sauerkraut, or run outside, crying and complaining as soon as I smelled the asparagus.

THAT'S culture.

That's history.

Not some shit that nabisco made up for us.

Today I ate things that reminded my taste buds of unpronounceable chemicals, food that screamed FAT once the bland taste coated my mouth, and sugar sugar sugar. Ugg.

I did have some great lumpia though. mmm. Lumpia.


why is blogger's spell checker not working?!



Real Life In Monotone

10:54 am.

my day so far

  1. overslept
  2. hit snooze...
  3. overslept again
  4. yelled OH SHIT
  5. Started cooking the plantains
  6. burned myself
  7. burned myself again
  8. mom called me to remind me to bring something
  9. said OH FUCK... completely forgot about that shit.
  10. almost ran out of house with hair not combed
  11. ran back
  12. cat knocked over garbage
  13. killed cat
  14. drove down hill in five minutes instead of usual fifteen.
  15. dropped off stuff to mom.
  16. realized ice cream for potluck was melting
  17. FUCK
  18. threw it away
  19. am now sitting here, potluck begins in five minutes, trying to figure out how long it would take to run to store, buy more ice cream, without completely pissing off boss.
  20. FUCK.


Thursday, October 27, 2005 

HNT (or the photo I had for you last week)

All day I've been writing down the blogs I want to add to my link list... I hope I'm not forgetting anyone. SHIT THIS IS A LOT OF PEOPLE! hehe, ok. Maybe you're worth it... In the meantime: And don't forget to check out the king of HNT


Tuesday, October 25, 2005 

The Food Post (or, oh shit, this might just make you hungry)

I like doing the "or" thing in my titles. I also like to talk a lot... so it sorta kills two birds with one stone.

So food, we're having a diversity potluck at work and I'm expected to bring something, or (and get this) donate eight bucks.

EIGHT FUCKING DOLLARS! Goddamn extortionists. Why I outta.... buy them something nice and happy.

Dear IT people, I love you. Please never ever ever fire me.

Ok. So what to bring? I am like one mad awesome cook!

Who hates to cook.

I f'n HATE cooking! It totally takes forever. Plus. I'm not too much into eating. Why waste all that time when you could just grab a piece of bread out of the cupboard, get some water and soda and be totally set? Yeah. I don't cook.

So what superb awesome fabulous Puerto Rican food to bring?

Arroz Dulce Leche? This is different from it's Mexican sweet rice counterpart. First off, ours is like a sticky rice block, where the Mexican version is a soupy milk mixture. Second, Mexicans put cinnamon in theirs. We don't. Fuck Cinnamon. We're Island people. We use coconut milk and shavings to season ours. Yeah. I HATE coconut flavored anything. YUCK! So, no Puerto Rican sweet rice for anyone. Plus. It takes a really long time to make.

Arroz con Pollo? Also different from Mexican rice. First off, ours actually tastes good, instead of red flavorless rice. Yeah, that was pissy and I don't give a fuck! People need to learn how to saute rice and carmelize ingredients if they want me to eat their crap. Second, we put capers, green olives and gandude beans in ours. Don't ask me what gandude beans are. They LOOK like string beans... but they're not. Mmm. Arroz con Pollo. Yum.

Empanadas? Mmm. Empanadas. I make bomb empanadas. And then I fry the outside. I know, I know, it's sooo bad for you! But it tastes sooo good! There are two main empanadas I make (and by the way, these are ALL my mothers recipes so... I'm not that GOOD of a cook, just a glory hound) Empanada version one, ground beef filling with occasional variation of black olives. Second version (otherwise known as best version) filling is spinach, cream cheese and mushrooms. Yumm. I don't think this is Puerto Rican though... so NEXT

Pasteles. YUM! PR version of Tamales. YUMMY! Oh, you don't what pasteles are? K. Instead of corn masa with a meat filling it's a masa made out of platinos (starchy version of a banana, not sweet), and the filling is meat, corn, olives, yada yada yada. Also, no red sauce is added. When you open pasteles up there is just oil oil oil everywhere. And, yeah, the masa's kinda flavorless, so you have to cut it up and mix it with the filling. Bad cooks only put in a little filling. Skimpy motherfuckers. I hate them. But my aunts make them all meaty and good. mmm. pasteles.

Hmm. My mom is telling me, "No way. You better not bring pasteles. People hate those things!"

"What? Hell no mom! They're good! Plus I don't have to make them, just buy them off a vendor downtown."

"Nah, better stick with something else. More americanized."

"Fuck no. HAH! I should bring that fruit salad that Ana made!"

Fucking Ana.

Last family reunion we're standing in the food line, everyone's talking about how white and unfamiliar with Puerto Rican culture I am, they're saying, "We'll make a Bourica out of you yet!" Whatever. Why do all the fat chicks call themselves bourica? Total self delusion man, they are just plain gorda gorda gorda.

Man. I won't even give them gordita, since they're all grown up now it's time to face the facts. Fat is fat chica.

Anway, Ana says to me, "Girl. I make the best fruit salad ever! You have to try it! Carmen! Carmen! Have you tried my fruit salad? I was just telling Terra.."

And then she ran off to make sure everyone knew that that fruit salad was hers and we all better eat it and love it.

So I put some on my plate and sit down, grab a forkful, bring it to my mouth when... I smell the most FOUL FUCKING SMELL ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH!!

But vaguely familiar.

What the fuck is this shit? I put the fork down, stare at the salad suspiciously, and begin to wonder how I can dump this in the garbage without Ana's food radar going off. Seriously. How can someone fuck up fruit salad and WTF is that smell?


"What?" My aunt has spied me plotting to kill the salad.

"It's bacalou" (pronounced Baw-caw-l-ow).


She put motherfuckin SALTED CODFISH in a salad!?!? Jesus fuckin christ man. YUCK! Puerto Rican's eat a lot of bacalou, and I'm here to say it's disgusting.

Ha. I should totally bring that to the potluck. Teach those people to try and make me pay eight bucks.

But, I think I'll just go with plantains instead.

MMM. Plantains. I haven't had those in YEARS! Plantains are ripe platinoes, seasoned, grated, and fried up in oil into little pancakes. Kind of like hashbrown pancakes. MMMM. Plantains.

What was I sayin about not liking food?


Monday, October 24, 2005 

Today I Lost a Partner in Crime (or, the post that told a story, that contained a list, that made you go aaah)

I met Bonnie eight years ago, working at Sears, managing a little kiosk. I was all drunk on power back then.

Just kidding.

I was an eighteen year old kid, out on their own for the first time, working full time, going to school full time, and renting my own apartment while still technically way more innocent than any independent eighteen year old had a right to be.

Baby I was fresh.

And Bonnie was blonde and as loud as I had always wanted to be. This was back when I was still seeking permission to be me.

Tell you a secret, I was so shy people had to tell me to speak up. I woke up everyday with a stomach ache and a headache at the thought of facing the world.

So there she was, asking me to engrave a CAR PART. She asked if I knew what the car part was, and yes I did. I grew up with men sitting around cherry pickers and contemplating whether fishtail lights and power windows were authentic to this particular generation of Pontiac. Baby. I knew what that car part was.

And then she told me a story of street races, big blocks, girls that drove sticks, and crowds of people that did circle eights in the back of pick up trucks down abandoned business parking lots and deserted country roads. When she was done she invited me along, and even though it didn't cure my terminal shyness, it was probably the first step in me becoming who I am today.

Bonnie ruined me.


She also knew the me that no longer exists.

I guess I knew the Bonnie that no longer exists either. I wonder if she misses the old me the way I miss the old her? Have we really changed that much?

Don't answer that.

Today she's driving cross country, starting a new life in New York. She's got a truck full of stuff. Clothes she stole from me, photographs of our strange adventures, the mixed cd's I've made her over the years, and the gifts. The gifts the gifts the gifts. After eight years I've invested a lot of money into her.

She takes her daughter too.

Did I ever tell you that I promised myself a long time ago to marry a man with brothers and sisters? Cool sibs too. Because I want nieces and nephews, I want the illusion of the big immediate family that I never actually had growing up. Except my friends are all having babies now. Babies that scream my name when I walk in, and, much to my suprise, call me Auntie.

It's felt good.

But she's taking one of those babies with her. Fuck.

So, here's a list, not just to her but to all my friends. I hope they don't read this because I'm the type of person that likes to keep all sentimentallity top secret.

My Friends Have

  1. Talked a police officer out of arresting me.
  2. Driven four hours on a ten minute notice to come and get me.
  3. Answered the door and let me sleep in their bed at four am when I had a bad night. Even though we were in our twenties and way too old for sleepovers.
  4. They have told their GF's or BF's that if given an ultimatum they would choose me.
  5. They took shifts on one of the worst weeks of my life and hugged me to sleep when I was [yeah. big internet edit].
  6. They let me yell and they forgave me.
  7. They left me alone and didn't ask questions when I asked them too.
  8. They laughed at my jokes when they weren't funny. When in fact they were sad.
  9. They held my hand at funerals.
  10. They offered couches and guns when I needed them.
  11. They told me I was right when I was obviously wrong.
  12. They told me I was wrong when I needed to get my head out of my ass.
  13. They called me up, four years after an argument, to say they still missed me.
  14. They bought a car, they didn't want or need, so that my pride could accept the money they were offering. It took me two years to realize that one.
  15. They yelled at eachother if one of them made me cry.
  16. They made me cry but said they were sorry.
  17. They drank margaritas in bars that took them two hours to get to, just to tell me how sorry they were.
  18. They wrote letters they forgot to send.
  19. They keep all my letters, in a box, in a closet, and read them when they want to laugh out loud and remember how young we were.
  20. They've given me their last dollar and told me they had more.
  21. They've made memory books and personalized photo frames of us, of our memories, or of poems that simply reminded them of me.
  22. They tell their children to call me auntie.
  23. They tell me I'm like a sister.
  24. They leave the door open and don't answer when I come over, because I'm just expected to walk in.
  25. They say I'm the fixer, the one they call when no one else can help.

and it makes me feel, like maybe, just maybe, I deserve all the good luck I've had.


Thursday, October 20, 2005 

Once Upon A Time Terra Was A Slut

And she slept with a guy she shouldn't have slept with for no other reason than to get back at an ex.



But all sweet rewards of vengeance have their price, as our heroine, Terra, was soon to learn.

You see, he was bad in bed.

Really really tellyourfriendsamillionyearslater handsdownworstlayever bad in bed.

Poor Terra, she kept thinking "this can't be right! No one is this bad! No one!" But finally she had to admit, that yes, he was.

And so the next morning she thought to herself, well. Now that's one thing I never want to do again.

But the boy kept asking to sleep with her again and she kept saying, "No". He would look at her strangely, "Why?"

"Because I said no."

One night they even started to get into a fight over something stupid. The boy was sexually frustrated, and Terra, well Terra's just a bit mean. Their friend Jack ran over, "Now, now, let's stop it before someone's feelings get hurt!"

The boy threw his beer mug down (party foul) and cried, "Who? Her? She has NO feelings!"

and then he wandered away while Terra jumped up on the chair and screamed to his departing back, "YES I DO! I GO HOME AT NIGHT AND I FEEL... FEELINGS AND STUFF!"

Then, while Jack was laughing, Terra wondered who else she could sleep with for revenge, because boy oh boy is revenge sweet and addictive like oktoberfest beer.

Speaking of beer.

Our heroines sitting at a table... with a beer... at another bar... between the boy and Jack. The boy asks her to sleep with him again, because apparently he hasn't heard no enough, Jack says, "Give it up. She's told you no a million times. I don't think she's going to sleep with you".

"Yeah... but I asked a million times before, and ONE time, ONE TIME, she said yes." Then he looks at Terra while Terra takes a long slow sip of her beer and stares in the opposite direction.

Hmm. Our heroine is thinking. What is she thinking of? Warning, she's slightly drunk and a lot purterbed. Oh, wait, she's saying something:

"You know, I would fuck every guy in this bar before I slept with you again."

Jack says, "Whoa. And the bar goes quiet."

Terra takes a long slow sip of beer because her comedic timing is excellent and although, dimly, she realizes that what she just said was horrifically mean, it was also quite funny. So she's acting non chalant. Letting her full funniness sink in and drinking some sweet sweet alcohol when the boy looks at his beer and then back at her, "I'm going to smash this beer right in your face."


Terra just spit beer across the room and she's choking from trying not to laugh. Now who's funny?

"Seriously, why won't you sleep with me?"

"I don't want to get into this with you."

"Just tell me."

"No. It's mean. And you're annoying me. When I'm annoyed I get extra mean."

"Tell me. I can take it."

Jack leans forward eagerly, "Yeah! Tell me too! Please!!!!"


The group get into the truck, they start to ride home, the boy grabs her knee, grabs her thigh, she smacks him in the face, "NO".


"Because you are fucking awful in bed!"

Boy is visibly shocked. "What?"

"Fucking awful... shit! Just stop asking!"

"NO! You better tell me this shit now!"


"Fine you were fucking awful in bed! I made my grocery list during it. I walked funny the next day and NOT IN A GOOD WAY! I have fucking nightmares about it! I don't know WHO EVER SAID you gave them an orgasm, but BOY were they good liars!"

"HEY! I don't remember you doing any thing special in bed either! There were no special olympic tricks or anything!"

"I was TRYING to play DEAD!"


"Well... it works with bears! I thought it would work with you too! BUT IT DIDN'T!"

At which point they almost crash into a sound wall because, Jack, who is driving, is doubled over laughing.

There were some apologetic phone calls the next day,

"eh... look... I had too much to drink... really sorry yada yada yada"

"look, give me another go round, swear I'm not so bad..."

"sorry. No go"

"alrighty... but look, call these girls. I swear... they'll vouch for me."

"sure... sure... will do. Perhaps they liked, that thing, whatever that thing was... that you do."

"yeah... yeah they did"

So Terra got her revenge, and a lot of strange awkwardness at the end. Which really goes to show, if you're going to get even with an ex, sleep with someone that isn't a mutual friend.

Well. No one ever said our heroine was the sharpest knife in the drawer.

The end





There is no HNT today, sorry O, sorry HNT fans, sorry Andy (and ps call me cuz I lost your number due to the fact I’m a moron). But I just moved so no internet access at home, and I’m definitely not uploading that shit from work. Hell no.

So, more ‘OH MY GOD NATURE’ stories.

Last night was the first night I got home after dark, and going home after dark sucks in the new place. It’s pitch black. So I pull up the private driveway, go up the curvy road and park in the back facing my front door. I leave the headlights on and get out of the car planning to unlock the front door, turn on the porch light, and then head back to grab my purse etc. So after exiting the vehicle this brown animal comes HURTLING around my car, low to the ground and RIGHT AT ME!


We have turkeys, we have wild pigs, oh fuck it’s probably some rabied out fucking crazy raccoon hopped up on meth!


So I did the first thing any self-reliant smart city girl would do!

I screamed and fell over backwards.

Which was really embarrassing once I realized that it was the neighbor’s puppy.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005 


I'm having a ho hum, fuck I wish it were tom0rrow, day. Not that I'm pissy, just overstressed and tired.

Hey look!

I'm not required to be funny and bright and happy with murderous tendencies every fucking goddamn day of my life people!


I'm only human too.

And today this human wishes it could crawl back in bed, take a nap with my kitties and watch some movie that makes me cry and think deep thoughts.

This morning I dreamt that I called in sick to work, but here I am anyway. Which is good. I'm glad I came in today... I need my paycheck! haha

Oh? What has me stressed? Well, so nice of you to ask.

My cats have fleas. Fucking flea bags... and now I'm itching from imaginary fleas all the time and I'm in such a desperate attempt to de-flea them that I'm starting to worry that I'll accidentally kill them in my overzealous purchase of all flea killing products.

My new place is fucking AWESOME! Swear to god. It's so fucking HUGE. Like a thousand square feet. Suh weet! And a view from my window of the whole bay area. Gorgeous at night. No nearby neighbors. Big old sky light too. Yeah. It's nice... but... but. I have BUGS!!!! Black beetles and brown beetles that made me think they were ROACHES!!! Huge unkillable fast moving roaches!!! Until I was informed that when you live in the country you sometimes encounter something known as "nature"... translation: not roaches. Who the fuck knew? Fucking bugs. DIE DIE DIE.


And fleas. OMG

(writer shudders and shakes)

Plus I found out a lot of information about people that I would rather not know. Such as they suck. Worse than I ever thought they could. And I'm not talking about, always fifteen minutes late and/or embellishes stories to make them funnier kind of sucky... but really shitty kind of stuff. I guess I could be mad, but what's the point? It's not going to make them sorry, or fess up to their wrongdoings, or even take responsibility for their own actions. So instead I'm going to clean up the mess they made and go on my merry way. I just wish I didn't have to lose faith in them... if that makes any sense.


OK. Group hug, count to ten, high five and a big, "FUCK THOSE GUYS".

(which is what we say whenever we feel down, even when those guys aren't so bad. Try it, yell real loud "FUCK THOSE GUYS!" Feels good huh?)


Monday, October 17, 2005 

Today's The Day The Drafts Reappear (Or I'm too busy and lazy to write something new)

Tell me that we’re okay. Even if we’re not. Maybe we can pretend it away, wake up and smile until our faces hurt and teeth become sticky with the dryness of the air. I want to close my eyes and pretend you’re not here, but still be able to touch you. Does that make sense? I want to be mad but I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry without taking it back. “I’m sorry… sorry you’re such an asshole.” Yeah. Okay. That was me. And that was you. Fuck. I want to say fuck and still be a woman you’ll take home to mom. I want to kick walls as long as we’re on the same page of knowing that I would never kick you. I want to scream and I want for that to be okay. For once. Just for once. I want to look at you and not see the pulsing arteries underneath your skin. I am so tired of protecting you from me while masquerading as the good person I’m not.


Friday, October 14, 2005 

I'm Moving This Weekend (or, pray a box of books doesn't fall on me and kill me in an avalanche of knowledge)

Did I ever tell you about the time I was stalking the Apple guy? I was totally stalking the Apple guy. He was so cute.

Curly brown hair and black rimmed glasses. He was such a hot computer geek! Yum. I like hot computer geeks. I don’t know why, especially since I’ve never actually gotten to go out with one, but they seem so funny! And laid back! And smart! And hot!

I want a computer geek boy. I want to corrupt him. Hehe.

Anyway, so I was stalking the Apple boy. I went into the white on white Apple store and I was shopping for little gadgets and gizmos to add on to my handy dandy iPod (OK… I might have geek computer tendencies myself) when I walked up to the register and distractedly said, "You know, I’ve read a lot of online chatroom comments about this device and most people say that this company A produces a better product than company B. What have you found?" Which is when I looked up and was like, Whoa. Hottie.

So then he gave me a run down of all of the various products and his opinion.



So then I brought my product and left because I suck at flirting with hot computer geek boys. I get all red and I’m afraid to say anything in case they start mentally calculating my IQ. Damnit.


So I figured that was that, but then I ran into him in a restaurant. He didn’t seem to recognize me and I figured starting up a convo with, "Hi hot Apple boy" probably wasn’t gonna fly. DAMN.

Whatever. Stupid hot boy. I didn’t like him anyway. Then Duckie (blogger friend I met online) says, "Hey! Let’s go over there! I’ll introduce you!"

Umm. No. I’d rather take pics with my camera phone and be barred from the store by security. Much more my style. Hehe.

Except Cindy Lou can’t let sleeping stalkers lie. No she has to mess with it cuz it amuses her! So long after I have forgotten Apple boy she suddenly reminds me about him.

When I’m at the mall.

With my camera phone.

Yeah. So I went. What?!

I’m easily influenced alright?! Sheesh.

So what happens you ask?

Well first off he cut his hair and he’s really not that cute anymore. Just as I decide that I no longer have a crush, and can cease and desist all stalking practices, he say’s "Hello".



I didn’t write this into the scenario.

Shit shit shit! What do I do?!

"Um.. Hi!"

And then I just stand there because I am too stupid to figure out that he’s the MOTHERFUCKING GREETER!

He’s not saying hi to me because he WANT’S TO! HE HAS TO!

So then I ask him about a product and he says he doesn’t carry it.

"Really? You used to."

"Nope, never did."

"But I saw it here."

"Was it at the Palo Alto store?"

"No. It was here."

"No, I’m sure it was at the Palo Alto store."

"No. I’ve never been there."

"Well… where else have you been?"

"Just here."

OH MY FUCKING GOD KILL ME NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This, for the record, is why I am NOT a man and why I will NEVER EVER EVER attempt to flirt or ask someone out… while sober. I swear to GAWD they would think that I was fucking RETARDED.




I Think My Vitamins Are Really Horse Pills

and the smell of them makes me want to yack.


Plus I'm supposed to take two of them a day... but I think I accidentally took three.

And now I'm all worried trying to remember how many I took... like I could overdose on them or something.


Yesterday I went to lunch with my friend Bonnie and on the way back I told her "Turn left" and she's all "why?" and I say, "because it's a short cut" and she looks at me sideways, "what?"

"It's a short cut"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes... for the love of God Bonnie just turn left"


"Because... because I'm taking you to a dark alley so I can rob you! Fuck."


Yo it's Friday and I'm ridiculously happy about the fact that I get to wear jeans to work. I donated ten bucks to the United Way for the pleasure of wearing jeans for a month of Fridays and so, even though I'm aware this makes me a complete dork, I am SOOOOOOOOOOO happy! YES!

I'm gonna make them regret casual day.


Thursday, October 13, 2005 


Or guess why Ty's gonna hate this picture.

Posted by Picasa


Tuesday, October 11, 2005 

God This Post Sucks Kitten (or The Point is that I Submitted a Story for Publication Today... Try to Remember That K?)

So last New Year's I made a resolution that I would get at least ten rejection letters by the end of the year.

I want to be rejected.

Yes... there is a reason that I am single.

SO,I made this resolution cuz I'm a chicken shit, and because I have this theory about my generation.

Yes I have a fucking theory okay! I do have a brain... fuckers.

Actually I have lot of theories backed up by statistics aka shit I like to make up. In general I try to keep that shit to myself though cuz most people who have theories are either quacks or complete snooze fests. In fact I try NOT to tell people that I love greek mythology, statistics, ancient philosophy, psychology, history (history is cool!), cars and some other shit I don't remember right now.

Not that I'm saying I'm smart, I mean I failed biology. Oh wait, I got a D. A FUCKING D. Fucking shitfest biology GOD I HATED THAT GUY!!!! damn him to fucking hell.

But here's the thing, lets say a boring guy walks by and starts going off about some stupid crap and basically talking down to me, usually I stay quiet hoping he will soon leave, if for some reason this doesn't work he'll usually begin talking out of his ass at which point I get to correct him, embaress him and make him leave. Pompous ass.

Here's a clue: I love people who spout statistics while holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, while laughing and combining fuck with as many new words as possible. Contradictions are my joy.

Anyway, back to my theory. My theory is that my generation is a bunch of pussies. It's not that we're afraid of failure it's that we're afraid of success and so we never try for anything choosing instead to play life on the sidelines where it's safe and sound.

See, what if I tried and succeeded? What if people actually EXPECTED something of me? Yeah. Freaky.


Saturday, October 08, 2005 

Nobody Posts On A Saturday

because everyone has a life and doesn't bother looking at blogs on the weekend which means that this post will have no comments resulting in my diminishing self esteem eventually leading to the corrosion of my already questionable hygeine until one day someone refuses to sit next to me on the bus, causing me to miss work and drown my sorrows in alcohol while taking a bath fully clothed in an overflowing hotel hot tub while holding a rusty razor blade.



My side hurts.


all randomness aside.

My friend Andy told me that my blog suprised him because he was under the impression that I was a ding bat prostitute.


The prostitute part was just him wishful thinking. He was looking at me and mentally calculating how much money he had saved up for his kid's college and whether or not I was worth it.

I am but that's besides the point.

The point is: Dingbat? What the fuck? Ok. He didn't say dingbat. But he alluded to it.

he also said that he had gotten the impression that I was nice... as in, not evil. BOY WAS HIS FIRST IMPRESSION OFF!!! hehe.

Then he called me at work and I was all, "Hello. Terra speaking how may I help you?"

Which threw him off even more.

Ok, first impression, dingbat... and possible alcoholic. Second impression from blog, evil cunning killer. Watch your mother fucking back, YO. Third, totally professional chick perhaps wearing librarian glasses. Fourth... I don't know. He didn't say. I think he keeps hanging out with me hoping to see the prostitute side come out.

Except that'll never happen... other than every third tuesday of a month divisible by three.

That's right. Go run to your calendar.


Wednesday, October 05, 2005 

Self Destructive Tendencies Run Amok


I worked the word amok into my blog, not only JUST into my blog, but into a TITLE.

That's right. I'm super bad. Supah bad, just in case there was any doubt left.


And back to my original post/random thought of the day.

Is anyone else tempted to click on the flag button?

On their own site?

Just to see what would happen?

I keep staring at it. I am SO DAMN FUCKING CURIOUS!


Saturday, October 01, 2005 

this is an audio post - click to play