Please excuse me while I VOMIT on your face.

I want to start off this rant with the phrase; "Remember when things were simple?" But things were never really simple. Or perhaps I should say I'm too young to have any memories of simpler times. I am, afterall, a member of a generation that puts articles infront of their coffee orders. THE GRANDE NON-FAT, CINNAMON, CARAMEL MACCHIATO WITH A SWEET AND LOW PLEASE! Yeah, I'll have a fuckin cup of coffee...ummm hold the pretentious prick please? (Though, I do love my caramel.)
See, I was bored just now...incase you couldn't tell, and I was reading headlines on MSN.COM and one of them read; "What are you going to tell your children about Britney Spears' sister?"
Well, after a long pause, a smoke, a red bull and very careful thought, what came to my mind was; "Britney Spears has a sister?" And what I thought was fucking hilarious was the fact that the only reason this is a headline is b/c at the age of 16, she is doing drugs and dating a 19 year old boy. Ok, I want to ask someone this...what 16 year old girl isn't doing drugs and dating 19 year old boys???? The only reason that this is such a big "to do" in high society is the fact that Britney's mother had apparently "written" a book on how to raise children in showbusiness! This book has since then been pulled from publication. I can't see why. I mean, according to today's standards, it seems to me that she has done a bang up job! She and Martha Stewart should sit down and exchange tips on how to avoid the law all while making an oragnic, holiday designed duvet. COME THE FUCK ON!!! What are you going to tell your children about Britney's sister? I know, "Dear, if you become a drug addicted whore...you could make billions!" Nice. I have a message for the youth of america, Have a baby, shave your head, abuse massive amounts of pharmaceuticals, and make inetrnational headlines. .. but don't forget your latte.
I love it.
"It's fucking disgusting, the things we do for money!From the monotonous, mundane mutiny of the office world,To the seductive, sleazy, STD filled, nudey pin-up girl."Good afternoon! This is Jennifer. How may I help you?Our special today is whatever YOU think is nice!Fuck me up the ass with a chainsaw, TWICE.And while you're down there, Go ahead and lick my bloody CUNT!I'm sorry, was I too blunt?I shouldn't let my real feelings show, huh?That was extremely UNprofessional." Fuckers. Oh, uh, Don't forget to say the company name.'Cause we're NOT all the same.Ya gotta know how to play the game.Or you'll end up with all the blame for our corporate downfall."

Thank you Ecafais!

On a much lighter note? I just remembered something phenomenal. Peaches and Cream oatmeal. God was that good. Memories from my childhood often pertain to that oatmeal. I'm not sure why. Probably for the same reason that old spice and motor oil together bring a smile to my face b/c it reminds me of my father. Good times stored away in the dusty corners of my brain, brought to light again by something as simple as a scent. I am in the middle of a long process. I have a soft spot for cheesy sci-fi and I am attempting to turn my own version of cheesy sci-fi into a book. Maybe a comic, I haven't decided yet. At any rate, it's all about ALBINO Communist Aliens from Mars! I don;t know why I ahve decided that they should be Albino...or communist. It just... it just feels right. God, no one understands!!! Ha haha. Ok, I can't fake the tortured artist bit.
I know those of you who are reading this...if any, can't hear the music I am listening to, but this is a fantastic song by the Dresden Dolls. Thought you should be included in my euphoria.


Delilah
there’s no end to the love you can givewhen you change your point of view underfootvery good: you may be flat but you’re breathingthere’s no doubt he’s at home in his roomprobably watching porn of you from the fallit’s last call and you’re the last one leavingand you thought you could change the worldby opening your legsit isn’t very hardtry kicking them insteadand you thought you could change his mindby changing your perfurme to the kind his mother woreo god delilah why?i never met a more impossible girl....in this same bar where you slammed down your handand said “Amanda, i’m in love”no you’re notyou’re just a sucker for the ones who use youand it doesn’t matter what i say or dothe stupid bastard’s gonna have his way with you...you’re an unrescuable schizoor else you’re on the ragand if you take him backi’m gonna lose my nervei never met a more impossible girl....at four oclock he got off andyou called up i’m down at denny’s on route oneyou won’t guess what he’s doneis that a fact delililahlarry tap let you in through the backand use his calling card againfor a quick hand of ginyou are impossible, delilah: the princess of denialand after 7 years in advertising you are none the wiseryou’re an unrescuable schizoor else you’re on the ragand if you take him backi’m gonna lose my nervehe’s gonna beat you like a pillowyou schizos never learnand if you take him homeyou’ll get what you deservei never met a more impossible girlso don’t cry delilahyou’re still alive delilahyou need a ride delilah? let’s see how fast this thing can go.....

It's My Blog, And I'll cry If I want to!

"You rock on to the moon and shit, yo."
This little boy came up to me this afternoon and asked me for a cigarette.
(Ruth, unfortunately you had left for the night. Wish you were here b/c I know that you would have appreciated this.)
He couldn't have been more than 13....14 years old, at best. I polite replied, "I'm sorry, I don't smoke." The poor little boy looked at me and rolled his eyes.
"I'm not as young as I look." This is cute, he is trying to negotiate.
"You look young enough to not be able to smoke, and old enough to know that I wasn't born yesterday." I replied.
"Why can't you just give me a cigarette?"
"Why can't you just be eighteen?" I retorted.
"C'mon, help a brother out."
"I don't give cigarettes to my brother either."
Silence takes hold of the conversation for a brief moment. I'm smiling at him, trying not to notice his acne ridden chin.
"Can I just...''
"No," I interjected "you can't JUST. Smoking is gross. It is bad for you. And there could only be two reasons you could possibly want a cigarette. 1- You are trying desperately hard to be in with the in crowd, in which case you are going to feel mightily stupid when you die of lung cancer at the age of fifty. OR 2- You are a junkie trying to ease the painful aftermath of a binge, which we recovering junkies like to call "fiending", in which case you are too fucked up to know that no matter how much you smoke it's not going to help with the come down, only make it worse and when you die of lung cancer at the age of fifty...boy won't you feel stupid."
The boy walked away. Now I know that I am not exactly the poster child for D.A.R.E., or the Lung Cancer Foundation (if there is one) but I have my moments of clarity and I share them when I have the opportunity to do so. Smoking is a very nasty habit, but it's better than....well shit, it's better than not smoking. God I love smoking, it tastes so good. Mmmmmm........




I am Listening to this song....the one that I typed out right here, lower. Look lower. There you go.

REGINA SPEKTOR LYRICS"That Time"Hey remember the time when I found a human tooth down on Delancey Hey remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth Hey remember that time when my favorite colors were pink and green Hey remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines So cheap and juicy, tangerines Hey remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare Hey remember that other time when I would only read the backs of cereal boxes Hey remember that time I tried to save a pigeon with a broken wing A street cat got him by morning and I had to bury pieces of his body in my building's playground I thought I was going to be sick, I thought I was going to be sick Hey remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments Hey remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros Hey remember that time when I would only smoke Camels Hey remember that time when I was broke I didn't care I just bummed from my friends Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum... Hey remember that time when you od'ed Hey remember that other time when you od'ed for the second time Well in the waiting room while waiting for news of you I hallucinated I could read your mind And I was on a lot of shit too but what I saw, man, I tell you it was freaky, freaky

You can run, But you can't hide from THE BLOG

...And when all is said and done here, hopefully I can look back on it all and say that I actually learned something. Being put on a pedestal is scary enough thanks...I'm not afraid of your expectations, it the short drop and sudden stop that I am worried about. Truth be told, I don't understand what the hell your rules mean. No means yes. Yes means "I can but I don't really want to...". Percy Sledge said "Tell it like it is". Love that song. Your rules, our rules...their rules? THE rules state, and this is a direct citation; "Rule number one: Never say what you truly mean, unless what you truly mean has a hidden meaning all together, in which case the actual meaning is hidden behind what you really mean to say in the first place. And if you can't say what you actually mean in polite company, take a step back and really ponder the meaning behind the phrase 'polite company'. If by some chance your meaning of polite comapny differs from someone else's meaning, then the two of you should collaborate on discovering the true meaning of the phrase." That was actually only part of rule number one.
You can't push buttons, no one is willing to say anything to my face. No one really wants to tell me that I am crazy, or that i am a pathologically lying whore. But I can't imagine it being easier to lie to someone. Unless, of course, you are a pathological liar...which I am not. I was lying about that one. So what, is it a family legacy? Keeping secrets? Making sure that we don't share too much b/c what we could share can't actually be said in polite company. So we keep our mouth shut so the world doesn't have to know that their neighborhood is filled with pedophiles, or that Ted Bundy is the guest speaker at next weeks PTO meeting, where all the stay at home mom's discuss the new HOA tips (rules) on how to keep your lawn green (chemically induced green). So as long as your lawn in neatly kept, and your home looks acceptable on the outside, we'll kindly ignore the meth lab cooking on the indside subtely taking the place of delicious oatmeal cookies....the kinds of oatmeal cookies that June Cleaver won't bake anymore b/c they're not part of the South Beach Diet Plan. Ward and the Beave are blowing eachother in the garage, while Wally is taking scantily clad pictures of little girls in the basement. But at least their lawn is trimmed. Sooner or later, all the skeletons will come out of the closet. Thats all I'm sayin. And maybe we wouldn't have so fucking many skeletons in our closets if we just threw rule number one out of the window? (Personally, I don't think the rule makes any sense.) Seriously, I don;t need your helping hand. if your compassion were in the form of ham sandwhich, I would tell you to choke on it. I don't understand your euphemisms. I don't understand your ablity to overcomplicate things. My world isn't black and white, but I can distinguish between the two. I know you can too, you are just choosing not to. You are here for the same reason I am. WORL DOMINATION BWA HA HA HA HA HA! You know who you are, you know why I hate you. I wish you could get a fucking clue and look me in the eye. That is all i ask.
On a lighter note, I am currently listening to Lateralus by Tool. It is a very good song, and I think you should all listen to it. If yo don't want to, fine, just be warned that I might have to remove one or both of your thumbs for insubordination.

Black then white are all I see in my infancy.red and yellow then came to be, reaching out to me.lets me see.As below, so above and beyond, I imaginedrawn beyond the lines of reason.Push the envelope. Watch it bend.Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind.Withering my intuition, missing opportunities and I mustFeed my will to feel my moment drawing way outside the lines.Black then white are all I see in my infancy.red and yellow then came to be, reaching out to me.lets me see there is so much moreand beckons me to look through to these infinite possibilities.As below, so above and beyond, I imaginedrawn outside the lines of reason.Push the envelope. Watch it bend.Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind.Withering my intuition leaving all these opportunities behind.Feed my will to feel this moment urging me to cross the line.Reaching out to embrace the random.Reaching out to embrace whatever may come.I embrace my desire tofeel the rhythm, to feel connectedenough to step aside and weep like a widowto feel inspired, to fathom the power,to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain,to swing on the spiralof our divinity and still be a human.With my feet upon the ground I lose myselfbetween the sounds and open wide to suck it in.I feel it move across my skin.I'm reaching up and reaching out.I'm reaching for the random or what ever will bewilder me.And following our will and wind we may just go where no one's been.We'll ride the spiral to the end and may just go where no one's been.Spiral out. Keep going...