| Writer's Block: Home Alone |
[Apr. 13th, 2008|02:41 am] |
I called my grandparents and watched Free Willy. I was like, what? Seven? I wasn't allowed to stay home alone for a very long time after that.
I once had a friend who, when left home alone, left a toaster unattended to chase a bee, and almost set the house on fire. |
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| Kiss me, you fool! |
[Apr. 21st, 2005|10:16 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | Tooty Fruity | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Bubba Sparks- Back in the Mud | ] |
I figured that I'd better update the shit out of this thing but I don't really have anything to write about... What about you? I never had anything to write about in this journal, just bullshit stories to write about, i.e. men with TSS and asking people to lie on top of me. Nothing in my life is quite as exciting as either one of those candyland stories. What have YOU all been up to? I work at the Gap now. I made friends with alot of single mothers and high school drop outs. You could say that I am the coolest kid in boyztown. Ha ha. Just kidding. I have nothing. Help me out here! Send money, Sally Struthers doesn't work here, I will be glad to spend it for you. |
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| Very good, very lazy |
[Feb. 23rd, 2005|03:14 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | sinful and scintillating | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Caesars- Let's Go Parking, Baby | ] |
Should be doing some homework, but I don't even need to write that down. You know very well that if there's anything I should be doing when I'm writing here is that I should be working. Not that school matters anymore. School ended with high school, let me tell you what, and right now I'm hating the fact that I loved high school so much I would cut off massive parts of my body (mainly hair)just to go and learn on what mysterious part of my body my xiphoid process is located on... and hopefully remember what class I should be learning that in...
Changing subjects, I wish my calves looked great-ha ha... my pecs too, but my pecs are a lower priority, because I have no intention of getting a tattoo on either one of them, like I am planning to do just below the knee on my right leg. Anyway, if my calves looked good now then I wouldn't have to worry about them looking even BETTER after I got my tattoo because the stretch of muscle implanted there would not stretch the lettering out. Even after all that though I would have to worry about time ravaged sagging and the words "Meet me in Montauk" looking something like "Juicy in Montana." Word. Heh... I'm going to bed. |
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| "Look at these! They're Jigglin'!" |
[Jan. 9th, 2005|11:01 pm] |
I don't really know what to write about but we have to keep a regular routine to build a good home and to keep the fighting dogs away.
Little Lucky is asleep, practicing her doe eyed high class Twiggy camp stare so that she will be fully prepared tomorrow for her role in " Stewart and the Herbal Supplement: The Suppository Behind Martha and the Billion Dollar Kitchen."
My optomitrist told me that if I don't wear my glasses, my cross eyed-ness would get even worse!
I don't wear my glasses.
The best gifts are found under chairs.
Today I was looking at pictures on the internet and I found a picture of a girl I met in the 8th grade. It made a grand show of not one, but TWO of her nipples. |
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| "My Mom wants me to lose 20 pounds so that my body stops producing eggs" |
[Jan. 6th, 2005|04:55 pm] |
Spent a phantasmigorical day at The Pea.
After it was revealed that soda fountain there had been spiked with LSD I did my Molly Ringwald dance for about 45 minutes straight until one of the customers threw up all over my uniform and died. Oh yea, I skanked it on GOOD! After my hearty flash dance I drove a friend to the half way house where he was staying so that he could take his anti-abuse medicine and lie down and bite down on a wooden spoon and go into shock. I don't know why I went into the huge, hospital-esque building, all frozen and flowery and covered with pietas, when invited because I knew that I something terrible would happen, and WHY I ever said yes to being in charge of bowel control with a supermarket plastic bag, I don't know either, but while two hulking female nurses, both heavily endowed, held my friend down I held my bag out like I was trick or treating and got shot in the face like a nuerotic, narcotic flayed father at the birth of his first child. Can you imagine doing this every 12 hours? I sure as fuck can't... not that it matters. It was only when I was cleaning myself up in the bathroom that I found some incriminating mess among the wreckage and when I showed it to a nurse she went back to my friend and found that the anti-abuse medicine wasn't putting him into shock... he had TSS.
I'm tired of making up boring stories. Not even I like them. I just have nothing to write about and I can't even write very well. We will just have to get back into practice... like when I was in 4th grade! I was at the peak of my writing "career" when I was in the fourth grade and planned my life out that if I'd have a hard time making the break into acting I would write novels on the side to support myself. The first novel that I was going to publish was called Lassie and Baxter II (a sequel to a 3 page short story I wrote in 3td grade) which was (not kidding) 50 pages of longhand about my friend's and my dog. In the story the the two main characters, and their dogs, take an elaborate hiking trail into the sky, which involved a good deal with witchcraft (!)(ha ha), where, once in the sky, the two characters would take up huge pieces of clouds and put them in their back packs and be able to fly. In retrospect it was a REALLY good book and I was gonna be FUCKIN'famous, actor or not! Anyway, ideally, I would, right now, go back to 4th grade and start writing those satanic novels again; go back to that, 50 pages of sloppy fourth grade handwriting... I miss that alot... I'd stopped writing the novel at the point that every character in the book had been kidnapped but the protagonist, including the dogs, and it was his job to solve each of the clues he came upon to finding them. The really sad thing about these adventures is one of the two dogs in the book, my dog Baxter, was put down and I never took the time to finish the book find him in the novel. :( Oh well, it's sad, but maybe I can make it up to him and write the rest of that book... I still have it! And then (lightening round) I'll be making something up to myself too! How exciting. Until then pray for Baxter, and you better start writing dumb books for fourth graders; you may be shaping the future minds of fleets of children who, like myself, will one day be ruining their lives thinking about how much they enjoyed reading and writing dumb books in the fourth grade. |
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| My Big Fat Aunt Liza |
[Jan. 5th, 2005|11:17 pm] |
Thanks to my pathological nut of a mother our computer is fixed! Who knows how she did it, but you can bet that it involved a lot of threatening, Jessica Simpson, Samantha Stevens, Posh Spice, and the all the rest of the women she made friends with while following home.
My obese great Aunt Liza Minelli fell out of bed on 27 Dec during my watch. I don't know why she enlisted her family to make sure that she doesn't get butt fucked while she's sleeping, but she did, and as soon as she fell out of the bed she woke up and started screaming about her hickory glazed asparagus, chewing on her bed spread, and ranting about how I was going to "get it hard." Because of our neurotic family's history, I was already armed with a stun gun and gave her some good shots to the face before she could start threatening me like she did her body guard when she forced him to have sex with her so that he could keep his job. Since Aunt Liza weighs well over 400 lbs all the stuns did was start her heart again, which occasionally stops, and now I'm in the waiting room at the hospital morse coding this journal entry into a pay phone--- lousy sons of bitches... you're going to get it HARD!
Anyway, things aren't that cool or special since I've last written, and I've been telling the same story for days about how I was invited into the bathroom on New Years for a thorough douching with men older than the current age of half of my high school teachers. (Yea, you'd better watch out Blake Galvin; they're coming for you NEXT!) I registered for my classes at Metro today, several days late, and got my grades for last semester with a great big, fat fart and SIGH! My grade point average is at a healthy 3.15, which is surprising considering my school was started by Ceres worshipping Pagans and aging women who invest all time and money in Richard Simmons' Nutty Buddy Animal Fecal and Gut Matter Processors, taking all waste and haphazardly constructing floor lamps and toaster streudel. I'm happy with my grades though and nothing could be more disillusioning than my life as it is. |
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| Oh my |
[Dec. 5th, 2004|04:49 pm] |
Didn't I sleep long...? I don't know what it was but I was so tired and that lady who lives in my attic lead me up the stairs to the secret passage where she forced me to prick my finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and, well, let's just say that the only person looking their prettiest when I woke up was the mail woman, but she wasn't looking so great because I woke up in the back of her car. (I like long sentences, so fuck off.) God, do I love that lady or what?! Since I did not get up until nearly 5:00 I'm not sure what else to do with my day but draw small animals in the carpet and summon the dead back through the wallpaper, which, I will add, is just about the hottest thing you can do, so if you want to join me, make sure you tie your hair back. I don't know what else to say; nothing largely eventful or meaningful in my life. I am tired and don't know what I'm doing; I shouldn't be writing this. |
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| Broken babies |
[Dec. 5th, 2004|02:42 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | black & white & red all over | ] |
I know that my collar bone is broken and that the stabbing pains down my sides should be expected, but I've begun to entertain the fantasy that maybe the only reason that there is an aid in my hands to my hips is because that I'm pregnant. Being pregnant would be v. good for many reasons, among them being the fact that I would be able to take maternity leave form the Black Eyed Pea, and that I would travel the world in the circus as some kind of miracle and would make a 15 minutes of fame profit. Oh how clever should I never have flsuhed those birth control! Those are some real adventures in babysitting! I am never taking madame babysitter's nembutol again... |
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| I was, like, stuck right in the middle of the mandala! |
[Dec. 4th, 2004|04:27 pm] |
You wanna know real zen? Well let me tell you what, 29 hours and a handfull of caffeine pills later, the coked up and strung out sensationg are totally worth it (but only if you don't bite through your tongue)! I can play a song to the tune of the twitch in my thigh! The three things that have scared me most today as a result of my adventure down Lewis Carrol's glass blown bong include: 1.)The bells in the elevator 2.) Aluminium siding, and 3.)when people sneeze. This whole day has been like a scene from The Valley of the Dolls only this time I was the one who got my hair caught in the tracks of the Merry-Go-Round... yea, that never happened... not even in the book.
Because I am not allowed to drive anymore, and I have only one working arm, I know that tonight's dinner plans will include scouring the streets for a shoulder tap and a box of red wine; another night chained to that shopping cart that dirty old woman with the parrot is always pushing around; waking up in a phone booth with at least one of my old high school principals (considering there are at least eight of them); and the filming of a TWO hour long special of Murder She Wrote.
This is how Sex and the City came about, you know. Just wait until I wake up under a woman named "Bazoombo," then we'll see who's laughing, and I can guarantee you it won't be you because I'll be dead... HA! |
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| Metropolitan School of Denver |
[Dec. 4th, 2004|09:15 am] |
I'm hopped up on caffeine pills, stuck on campus on a Saturday (!!!!!), and I had nowhere else to go. Turn me away and I'm liable to blow the $20 I took from my savings on blow and end up making some underground film I won't have any recollection of making, i.e. Amelia Bedilia and The Harlem Globetrotters Go to the Moon: Saving the World from Outerspace.
I was awake all night last night, distracted out of my mind by the many wonders of the moonlight, trying to write two full length essays, one being my final paper, before class this morning. No, I didn't finish my final paper and while I planned to skip class and write my paper in one of the computer labs at school, lo and behold, I forget the one and ONLY book I need at home. So much for totalling my car, I can't go back and get the epic Magical Urbanism. Now I'm waiting for the library to open at noon (!), which, by the way, is after class lets out, so that I can check out the book, write 1500 words, and turn in the essay to my english teacher's mail box before his next class lets out. THAT, my darlings, is what Vivarian will do to you. Yes, it's my fault, but here I know I'm safe, I can vent, reassure myself that I'm not going to die and that all that could happen is that I will get an F on my transcript... and to tell you the truth, I'd rather have an F on my transcript than miss an episode of Desperate Housewives, and considering I DON'T WATCH Desperate Housewives, things aren't really all that bad.
Now that we have doled out the usual lecture on drugs, I can write abouts something else... considering I don't have anything else to write about, it looks like for the next two and a half hours I am going to be reading transcripts of episodes of Bewitched because there is no other t.v. title I can properly spell on the internet. Thanks alot to the makers of Vivarian, my diarhea has never been smoother. |
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| 2001's Charlie's Angels and the subsequent critical interpretation of The Diary of Anne Frank |
[Dec. 4th, 2004|04:37 am] |
My subject is stupid but I have always wanted to convince someone of the correlation between Anne Frank and Charlie's Angels, not that there is any relation. Unless you English techs with a sense of humor want to harp on the fact that you feel the wry influence of Petronella Van Daam/Auguste Van Pels in scenes concerning blowfish, laundry, children's underwear, broken mirrors, and Soul Train, you hace succeeded in making me laugh, but have lost the big rat race. Sorry. |
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| I get by with a little help from my friends... |
[Dec. 4th, 2004|04:24 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Clark Gable- The Postal Service | ] |
I was lonely
and friends aren't something you just come by. I can't just waltz back into friends' lives, I can't send them suicide notes just so they'll call, I can't pretend that nothing happened and that I didn't just kind of wander away... so I'm keeping a journal. Hopefully I'll get to come back to my friends, but if they don't want me I'll always have a neat avatar and enough vicodin to fly away on with The Flying Nun(come back to me Sally Field!); not that that's any kind of substitute. My days are kind of sad and droll and bed ridden anyway, so what the hell? Please, my loves, come back to me, and I'll tell you a dirty story about David Kirberg that will knock your dirty socks off and make you so sterile that you won't ever have to worry about birth control! I love you all! ANNE FRANK RULZ! |
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