sometimes a bitch needs some instruction cause she's headed for self destruction

just kidding.

my roommate had a rollerblading accident this weekend and faceplanted into a brick wall.

file that under o for ouch.

here is a drinking game for all you kids out there. nothing says "i love my country" more than some debate night debauchery.

and if you're really into it, go for the red,white, and blue when you're at the store tonight. and i don't mean budweiser.

i'm talking the beer of champions: PBR



Democrats drink if Kerry:
Mentions Vietnam
Says "Bring it on"
Begins a sentence with "The truth is ...
"Brings up his Purple Hearts
Mentions WMDs
Says "stronger at home" and/or "more respected in the world"

Republicans drink if Bush:
Says "nuc-u-lar"
Refers to a "pre-9/11 mind-set"
Says "evildoer"
Squints
Uses "Saddam" and "al Qaeda" in the same sentence
Talks about "turning the corner"

Democrats drink twice if Kerry:
Rolls his eyes
Sighs
Invokes Bill Clinton

Republicans drink twice if Bush:
Makes up a word
Says Saddam "tried to kill my daddy"
Invokes Reagan

Everyone drinks if either candidate:
Uses the term "flip-flopped"
Says the other is bad for senior citizens
Mentions Bush's National Guard Service
Mentions the Swift Boat Veterans
Talks about "letting the terrorists win"

Everyone drains the bottle if:
Kerry sweats off his fake tan or uses the word "lock-box"
Bush calls John Edwards "the Breck girl" or mentions "weapons of massdestruction-related program activities"
Either brings up Ralph Nader

this shit is fucking doodoo.


that's right bitches.

d-o-o d-o-o

i fucking cant stand it when people who have obviously- morethanobviously- undoubtedly met you before fucking play it cool. like hey, i'm the guitarist and lead singer of this band, i don't even remember taking $150 worth of shots with you girls. i am in this lame ass band, i take so many shots with so many girls. who are you again?

you're not fooling anyone tonto.

you're band is fucking 2 man!

and your haircut??

heteroquestionable.

twenty something girls are fabulous.

apparently.

luckily i'm one of them.

yeah, luckily.

i've been having weird sleep patterns/dreams this week.

all involving boys that i think i should date/used to date/peeing in my pants. the dreams, that is. unfortunately the bizarre sleep patterns this week have not involved boys.

i have recently become obsessed with incontinence. every time i get a warm feeling on my leg or foot, i feel like i'm going to pee in my pants. and now i've started dreaming that i wet the bed.

take this morning. i opened half of an eye, following one such dream. whew! still dry. and when i take my laundry to the place that so kindly does it for me, i'm thinking "noooo rubber sheets here, mister."

what is this?

i swear i dream this like 3 times a week.

i have also recently become obsessed with the fact that i think everyone is trying to steal my identity. i have no reason to think this. i just do. myinnersleuth. ready to crack the case.

another thing i've been thinking about: how cunnilingus is such a process. not in a chore kind of way, but more of a it-takes-planning kind of way. fellatio can be pulled off flawlessly in even the most spontaneous of circumstances. i mean, come on now, this is totally unfair. it is a breeze to slide into the bathroom during halftime of monday night football and give some quick fellatio to the boy du jour. but how often do you shade off to the bathroom for some wham, bam, cunnilingus?

and this is not even taking into account the time differential.

i can't even remember the last time i saw someone eating at the Y in an alley or that dimly lit corner of the bar. any bar.

there are times when one mightwish for an external vagina. i personally don't think i would want Mrs.P to be just sort of out there. when i think of every man's crotch i've ever stared at- i think i would feel violated if i had that many eyes on an obtrusive vagina.

maybe that's part of her mystery, mrs. p. maybe that's why women are such a "mystery" or whatever. i can see your dick swelling in your pants guy, but can you tell that i am ready to ravage you, limb from limb?

i
don't
think
so

and that's why god gave us tits i guess. big, unmistakable tits. sex. sex. sex.

and nipples

some people's nipples give it away. like mine.

i just look at a man, any man at all and these sluts perk right up. i mean come on gals, howabout a little discretion

i'm proud to say i never stuffed my bra. now, push-ups are another story.

i hope you've never stuffed your draws. and push ups for that sucker? well sweet christ i hope not. or would that fall under cock rings?

speaking of cock rings... my boss definitely shared entirely too much information with me yesterday. this story was comprised of many-a-sextoy: dildos/vibrators/crotchless panties/ and cockrings. alarming. extremely alarming.

it made me very nervous.

so nervous, in fact, that i almost peed in my pants.

or did i

it sucks to live in new york when it rains.

no no no, it sucks to not have a driver in new york when it rains.

i went out this weekend with a guy who had a driver.

we B&T'd it to dinner in brooklyn with a bunch of people in his sick S55 AMG drinking veuve cliquot the whole way. it was basically my sweetest fantasy come true.

except for the part about brooklyn.

and the fact that it was his driver, not mine.


oh, and the fact that he's gay.



foiled again.

ok, so basically my sweetest fantasy has been reduced to a rad car with a driver, full of booze, mo's and whatnot (heavy on the hwhatnot).

hmmm.

regardless. tonight, when i was leaving my place of business (which is where i take part in my "career" and earn my "slave wages"), i wished i had a driver. it didn't even have to be my own personal driver of my sleek benz. i would've taken my own personal driver of an el camino. or a gremlin. i just needed a mode of transportation that i could call my own. and not so much a moped.

the rain was ruthless.

driving rain. coming at me with the force of an afterschoolspecial.

my skirt was plastered to my legs and my feet were squishing in my trainers within blocks of the "office."

then came the lightning.

son of a bitch.

as i'm clutching my lightning rod with a complete death grip.

and by the way, i didn't even realize they made non-metal umbrellas. where was i when they gave that seminar in inclement weather safety and procedures?

atleast i know that next time i am driving down a highway and see a tornado, i should climb under an overpass.

luckily.

yeah, next time i'm "driving" down the highway.

on what?

my schwinn 10 speed?

so i walked a little over halfway home, when i found a cab.

i should've known better. this guy looked like he had just had a lobotomy. i don't even think i could imitate how blank his face looked. as i'm standing there in the pouring rain. umbrella down, because hey, i think i've got a cab. maybe. 30 seconds of deluge later, he nods and i get into the cab. atleast he repeated my cross streets back to me.

and then promptly turned in the opposite direction.

awesome.

ummm, sir? it took us about 20 minutes to make up for the lost block. so i was fully cranky at said point in the journey.

28 minutes and 1 mile later, i was home. there really is nothing like traveling at an average speed of a little over 2 miles an hour.

lesson: don't ever take your personal driver for granted.

or your trust fund.

ok everyone. let's place our hands over our hearts and sing the starspangled banner. unless you're the president. then you can just stand there and look like an idiot with indigestion.

come for the sun. stay for the heat.


fuck/ass.

i'm addicted to the crappiest television. the bachelor. what the shit is this?

i don't know, but i love it.

these girls are fucking terrrible. but every season i have a favorite.

what? the claws are going to come out this episode? the most dramatic rose ceremony ever? someone's going to be sent home broken hearted?

well, balls! this is so fucking novel, i can't miss this one. these producers kill me. every year something totally different.

and north shore?

somehow i didn't get enough of the cheesey, quasi-elitist drama watching melrose place and Bev-niner growing up.

this show is awful and fantastic.

maybe i'm secretly reliving my 90210 years, with the return of shannen doherty. back on the scene as alexandra hudson after a long run of even more terrible television on charmed. i mean, come on shannen. it's about time you returned to good quality trash television. and let's see what's behind door number 2!

she's a castrating bitch in this series!

seriously, you guys are killing me.

i was never one for those salt-of-the earth (poor/hapless/ugly people) dramas. you know, party of five, my-so-called-life. they were a little too honest. i preferred to lie to myself and pretend that everyone drove bmw convertibles and got nose jobs and that every boy was willing to "wait" like sweet david silver. melrose place was a little fringy for me. i couldn't relate to the fact that they weren't all trust-fund babies. but i did secretly want to ride grant show's motorcycle.

yeah, his motorcycle.


uh-oh. the rose ceremony. who will hot professional fisherman byron choose?

byron says this is the toughest decision of his life. must be because they're sluts.

yep, sluts, all of them.

on the walk to work, my roommate informed me that as of 12:30pm today, it is officially fall.

so enjoy your last 2 and a half hours of summer, kids. go outside and run amuck in a sprinkler or something. wear flip flops and drink beer that is so cold it is almost milky.

and begin.

if you don't already have an opinion, here is some bipartisan information for you.




i was just thinking about how all i ever hear about these days is bush. no, not my bush, but president bush and wannabe president kerry.

then, suddenly, from nowhere, this website comes into my life.

this website should give us all a reason to have an opinion. nothing shouts "take me to the polls" better than some good old fashioned tits and ass.

like a poem i meant to write.

have you ever accidentally burped into someone's voicemail?

yeah, well me either, but i just did.

awesome.

have you ever eaten a meal that was awesome and then you get to the last bite and it tastes like shit?

yeah, well, i just did that too. i ate a yummy, overly commercial, i'm embarassed to admit, salad from guy&gallard. it was so good, i almost made love to it. and then that last little mandarin orange/walnutty bite tasted like shit.

pisser.

maybe this is not my day.

one top story tonight: "those allen iverson shoes you bought your kids may not be the answer. they could put your kids in danger." the answer to what?
news anchors and their sense of urgency.

for the love of god parents, stop feeding your toddlers shoe labels.

wow.

in my haste to speak on the subject of female pubic hair or lackthereof, i completely left out our male counterparts.

at this time i feel that it is only fair that we broach the subject of male crotch hygiene. i have had an encounter or 4 with some fabulous pubic regions, however, they are not always a walk in the park. the snake you may be seeking could be hiding in some very scary and poorly maintained roughage. sometimes, one must proceed with caution for fear of what could, purely hypothetically, be lurking down below.


hirsute pursuit
just as a general rule, i think a strong majority would agree that hirsute practices leave much to be desired. it is less than pleasurable to spend more time picking grizzly pubes out of your teeth than engaging in the actual deed. assess your hair to dick ratio. even a trim would be beneficial. speaking strictly from personal experience, aspirating pubes is a frightening and gross experience.

shaving is sometimes a little funny. not so much funny, haha.
i am always mildly alarmed when i find myself eye to bald eye with the boys. or the twins? no, i guess i have the twins, you have the boys. regardless. the time and attention given to this detail is appreciated and does not go unrewarded. it makes it easier to give the boys the tender loving care they deserve if they are not hidden beneath a brisly facade. but let's be honest, a little hair in moderation never hurt anyone.

i had a boyfriend once who was insistent on shaving his body once a month or so. i actually shaved his legs once. i thought this was funny. haha. i got a huge kick out of this- it did not,however, make me want to ride his now smoothly shaved body all night long. in fact, it was more than mildly creepy to feel the brillo like chest rub against my back during the night. i'm fairly sure that i got some kind of burn from this on more than one occasion.

balls are funny.
not funny, haha.
or funny, queer.

testicles are just a fun old-fashioned good time. and they are all so different. i wouldn't say i'm so much a connoisseur of nuts, well maybe. no, no no. i am just interested. i can't satiate my curiosity- especially when it involves things that are hidden from the general public. that's pretty much a blanket statement.
some balls are very robust and a little mean looking. then there are the squishy ones.

i had a had a friend that had elephantitis of the left nut. it looked like a banana. now if that's not comedy, i don't know what is.

i think the subject of balls warrants a good hearty discussion. i would honestly like to have some statistics on how many women/girls (if you're a totally sick fuck- just kidding) ignore the sack altogether. just tell her honestly, simply, kindly, but firmly that the balls are feeling bastardized. and if that doesn't work, there's always the angry dragon or the dog in a bathtub.

oh and another important point: if you have a scorching case of herpes (or the clap or the hivvies or anything else), for the love of all that is sacred, don't go spreading your seed about town. it is just not something you do.

E! Online's Scandal of the week:

-->Heidi, Heidi, Heidi Ho: Seems Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss is now too legit to quit. People tells us she plans to open a 136-room brothel in Nevada, 90 miles from Vegas, designed as a replica of the White House. That sounds like a political platform America will get behind.

heidi, this sounds right up my alley.

wow.

so ive only just discovered that i am a link for an erotica search engine.

fantastic.

i feel like i should start writing erotic things.

something that is not erotic, even a little bit: getting ready for work.

ican'tstandit.

5 w643d 4c25ng 36ve 5t 5f 0y g6dda0n b36g wasn't f4c2ed 4*. 5 a0 ab64t t6 36se 0e 4c25ng 05nd.

abcdefgh51230n6*qrst4vwxyz
abcdefgh51230n6*qrst4vwxyz

holy shit. i just cracked the mystery. i have just spent the last 30 minutes of my life trying to figure out what the fucking shit ass bitch was wrong with my computer.

i'm too pissed off to type.

i have no game.

just fy everyone's i.

i just want to make this abundantly clear.

I had seven facesThought I new which one to wearBut I'm sick of spending these lonely nightsTraining myself not to careThe subway is a pornoThe pavements they are a messI know you've supported me for a long timeSomehow I'm not impressedBut New York cares

this morning, on my walk to work, i passed my favorite sleeping homeless man, in front of his usual vent, wearing a new t-shirt that read "ROBBIN' DA HOOD"

you said it, buddy.

jankety


jank

what it is, is what they see, is what they buy into.


it's funny how men comment on your pubic area (not to be confused with your public area).

especially the ones you've only fucked once. or maybe never. and even if you did, you certainly don't want to go back for sloppy seconds.

funnier still are the ones who comment on this to a third party. chances are, if this party is mutual, you will be privy to every critique/comment/"she has no pubic hair."

making this even more tragic, almighty protagonist, is that this girl ever even showed you her muff, or lackthereof. silly girl.

really, our hero in this situation is the lucky bush, trimmed back so far as to never have had to see the big clumsy fingers coming at it like mortar to pestle. or the scratchy cat tongue flailing around at it like a fish out of water (my apologies for the fish reference). and perhaps the luckiest our hero-bush will be in this story, is in the avoidance of having to see or feel or hear the very boring but persistent fallacy approaching.

yawn

and by hear, i mean the gross, deliberate, undulating moans and forced "ohhh________'s."

i'd say this bush was damn lucky it was well maintained and manicured. i, like the bush, wish that i had been MIA for this gross encounter in the trenches- much like another bush, who happens to be president. lucky little bushes, we're dealing with.

sometimes it is what it is.

this time, it wasn't what it was.

self-glorification is for suckers.

but forgiveness is divine, so let's sweep it under the proverbial rug/carpet/muff/bush and move on.


....................................................

i was told recently


by an old friend


that i remind them of this person


from this band


i am perplexed

tah-dow, bitches.

did i find you or you find me?

nothing's sacred anymore.

Napoleon: Stay home and eat all the freakin' chips Kip.
Kip: Napoleon, don't be jealous that I've been chatting online with babes all day. Besides, we both know that I'm training to be a cage fighter.

it is annoying when someone dials 4 times in a row. you didn't pick up the first time.
orsecond
orthird
and not the fourth either.

i have just walked in the door and am expecting company. i am not picking up the telephone. stop calling. i will call you back, i promise.

i am not an asshole.

i return calls.

i have just started reading my grandfather's memoirs. it has generated a lot of feelings. on one hand i am proud of him- he is one of the most accomplished and celebrated in the field of medicine. he is incredibly charming and brilliant. on the other hand, i was genuinely concerned that he might injure his elbow patting himself on the back so feverishly. blah blah blah 'head of my class at this top school'... blahblahblah 'head of this board and that board'... blahblahdeblahdeblah 'my published journals'... blahbluuuublah 'funny that-- it turned out i was HIS boss'... blagblagblag, insert dropped name here... the first 9845794574 chapters of the book are interminable it seems. all riddled with self praise. the second to last chapter, about "family" is about 3 and a half pages long:
a page about my late grandmother who was so extraordinarily beautiful/ "depressed"
a half page about how "active" he is in his children/grandchildren's lives
a page about his 2nd and third wives
and finally, a big fat accolade to his 4th wife- world champion swimmer, player at wimbledon, palm beach socialite, and bullshit artist extraordinaire

it is hard for me to comprehend being so driven by my career that i leave out all of the important parts.

to me.

maybe i am secretly jealous that there is not a chapter devoted to his fabulous granddaughter- devoted family member, accomplished tennis player, singer (with an undiscovered wealth of talent), 9to5'er, part time alcoholic, fan of mind altering drugs, traveling, shittalking, and spending money.

it painted a very nice picture though. i'm sure colleagues and aspiring medical professionals will find it inspiring.

i wish i did.

i would love to be celebrated in my field. world famous lingerie designer wins nobel peace prize


company is coming over

i refuse to spaz about this

namaste.

gmail can eat a dick.

have you ever noticed how all the good words start with D? D and L.

you know. drugs. delight. decadence.

"debauchery," you say, catching the tune now.

dexedrine.

"delectable. deranged. debilitated."

delinquent

"delirium."

when i was younger i thought all of the hot boys names started with J.
i have only dated one person whosenamestartswithJ.

i am pretty sure that now i think that all of the hot boys' names start with abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz.

phew, that just tested my homerowkeys knowledge.

tonight i am dancing around my room to galway girl by steve earle. on repeat. i wish i was a galway girl. with hair of black and eyes of blue.

we are throwing a bright lights, big city party this weekend. it may not be in century city, but it will be a penthouse. you can count on this. i hope to wear an english beat t-shirt and a white miniskirt. i will probably decline from shaving half of my head though.

but who knows, when the bolivians come-a-marching.

ahh the 80s...

moral decadence

over indulgence

these words roll right up the nose so easily.
and i was just a baby.

i find it mildly creepy when i get home and it is more than a little obvious that someone has slept in my bed and on my couch.

my roommate tells me that she slept in my bed all weekend.

this is right after she tells me that she rendezvous'd with the quasi boyfriend all weekend.
don't ask questions,
just
change
the
sheets.




quick





but how to de-funk the couch?

i read some camus this weekend. it has been a long time since i have spoken or read fluent french. 2 years to be exact.


fluent. i would like to be fluent in music. i don't mean reading it because i can already do that. it bores me. but i want to know everything about it.
or is that what makes it boring? and what is the definition of fluent?


extraordinary is a yummy word. unless it is extraORDINARY. i wish to be the former.

also today i started looking seriously at grad schools.

ditching the fashion industry altogether and studying science. it seems so much more real.

give me a fucking break. i spend my day making sure my colors flow and my trims are perfect and that this thong is not going to wedge too far up some sluttyrichtrophywife's crack. come to think of it, i think i would make a fantastic sluttyrichtrophywife.
i am not above that.
but i don't think i am passive enough.

then i will get old and have hair of blue and eyes of black. and my fat bastard of a husband will leave me for trimspa anna nicole smith.
vile

science sounds good.

better living through chemistry: words to live by.

Once you bring the radio outside, there's no telling when the fun will end.

the pills that you take to stay happy

i am just off being drunk. and i am awake

very awake

and jesse is sleeping beside me and it makes me want to push him off the bed. why so angry?

because i am AWAKE.

and typing. and i don't know where the bathroom is and that also makes me angry.
the only pain reliever he has is bayer which i'm pretty sure, has caffeine in it.

i have not seen my grandparents yet since i got here, which i am feeling terrible about.

i sooo have to pee, this sucks. where is the fucking bathroom.

i am so pissed off.

i wish i were home without all the goingoutparts. as soon as i got in town last night, i went out with some old friends. it was very disappointing and not as fun as i remember, or as fun as fun can be.

my day was nice. the beach is as beautiful as i remember. no one works here.

tonight i went to a bar on the beach, near my house, figuring it would be as ridiculous and fun as i remember.

there is a lot for the locals to learn about "fun"

orelseinmybook.

indicator:
the bars close at 2, which is early enough, and i am home at 1:15.

i am not above what they do here, i just don't think it is fun. well, maybe i am above it.

i am a little drunk.

not drunk enough to be talking about being drunk.

my dog is licking my leg and it is making me a little uncomfortable. i don't really like anyBODY licking my leg, much less my dog.

the situation is just a little twilightzoneish all around.

tomorrow i head to where i used to live, to party with my college roommates who i am sure will engage in the same shan-hanigans that i have come to love. my favorite bar has already ruled that my entire entourage gets to drink on the house all night. now that, my friends, is a bold statement.

every time the intercom at the airport comes on, the guy signs off with "have a nice flight." i always think he says "have a nice life." no, you have a nice life, guy.

i am on my way home. actually i am not on my way anywhere. i am sitting on my ass in the airport because i was wholly warned of the perils of midtown traffic TODAY OF ALL DAYS. exactly. today of all days i did not need to haul ass to leave work in "plenty of time." i made it to the airport in 20 minutes flat and am currently ready to drive screws under my fingernails.

"this must be the place" by the talking heads is on my mental radio though, so i am maintaining. i'm rehearsing for the music video that will play out when i arrive.

did i find you or you find me?

people watching in the airport is even more entertaining than usual. everyone on cell phones/ipods/blackberries. everyone is so fucking technologically in tune. including me, i guess, as i hammer away on my laptop. but #1: laptops are so 5 years ago and #2: i am an intruder. i only pretend to have something better to do than sit here and pick my nose and stare at people. it's sort of like reading on the train. i hate reading on the train. i only do it because staring at the crazy homeless man and wondering what that woman with the coiffed hair and shifty eyes got up to last night is socially frowned upon. i've heard that you can get your ass handed to you for that kind of thing. but believeyoume, i would prefer to stare in wonderment at that guy with tourets.

there is a woman, 2 down from me, who looks like she got into a major row with a bottle of self tanner. the self tanner definitely won. her boobs are big and fake and weird.

i particularly enjoy the people that get off the plane in this super incognito traveling getup. we don't care who you are.

i always feel like they are feeling sorry for me when they exit the plane and see me sitting here waiting

waiting
waiting

waiting for my flight. oh yeah, well where i'm going is 10 times cooler than where you've been.

i think i am secretly a fan of feeling sorry for them for looking so walleyed as they arrive.

my pocket knife was "seized" today. sad. it was a leatherman that could technically rewire an engine, carve a canoe, and make fabulous eggs benedict in one fell swoop. well..now the wigger that stole it from me can have it to make pot pie for his fat crunchy blonde girlfriend.

are boys blond and girls blonde?

there is a lot of hairgel in this airport, LGA, on males and females alike.


they flash the standby list on the screen like we are at the off track betting center.

gambling.

it is a gamble.

i am trying to decide if the people around me are reading over my shoulder. i would be. i am terribly guilty of doing that to people. one day i got really lucky. the girl next to me was editing erotica. i wanted to ask her what class it was for.

it's good to be on the road back home again.

civil disobedience in the city? every day.

i was so productive at work today, it was almost painful.

i am tired. but i cannot sleep. i am nervousandexcitedandanxiousandmaybealittlecrazy.

cuckoo.

i have a soundtrack to my life that plays in my head constantly. i stage my own music videos.
today as i was walking home 'straight to hell' by the clash was on repeat. everything was in perfect synchronicity. i swear i saw a police officer mouth straight to hell into his radio.