Last night we finished watching the entire first season of Oz. It was quite good, captivating. The ending was a bit much (in my opinion) and perhaps moved too far in to a plot it might have trouble removing from. (All this assuming it plans on continuing). Then again, I don’t know much but I do know this, I don’t ever want to go to men’s jail. Gimme the bitches, I would like to save my ass.

Toby is going in for his big tests today. He prepared for it all day yesterday. He drank a fluid that “does things” to you. I won’t go into details, that’s not fair. I hate the thought of him “going under” as they call it. But I think that’s more of a selfish thing as I am TERRIFIED when I must. I hope he’s ok. I will be picking him up today after I steal some puppies from the dog park at Union Square. He likes puppies and they’re too pricey to buy, so I will take someone else’s puppy instead. I want him to be all better so I can take him to lakes tucked in-between mountains and we can make more wind chimes with our puppies and cats.

Today’s pictures. Not many, but still. A habit is a habit, forced or not I must comply.

My family never said therapy is for the weak. As a matter of fact I really don’t have any idea how my parents felt about it while I was growing up. I think, at times, when I had a rough day at school or someone made fun of my traced-hand-turkey drawing, I may have run home begging for help or brain drugs to ease the pain. And I think my mother was probably thinking, “Honey, this is life. Everyone deals with this kind of pain.” And she was right. And then I went to college and read books filled with philosophy and adopted that whole, I am strength, drink my purity crap poured out by Hank Rollins during some spoken word I (for some reason) sat through and loved.

But after speaking with Toby last night, I think it’s finally time. I’m looking for a name of a person who wants to try and help me clean out my head—remove it, put it on the coffee table next to the broadening fruit and dead paper weights. I want them to disect it, clean it out (a bit), and put it back in again.

And it’s no complaint you hear tonight and it’s not some pilgrim who’s seen the light—it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Having a “blog” has proven to be fun, therapeutic, and really friggin annoying. Do people actually judge their worth by whether or not they are linked on some website somewhere? Is it like friendship bracelets from middle school? I have half a mind to get rid of all of my links, not to sound shitty, but give me a break. I have like 13 up there. All of them are links I check at least 15 times a week. (Some like 500 times a day). If I am not amused I do not come back. If I’m slightly amused I bookmark the damn thing and I come back. If it becomes a habit, I put it on here for everyone to see and I love it like a real sweet peach. Links which stick, reflect me in some way and I like that. It’s simple. I don’t want to fall into blogigation—where I end up with 400 links and only about 3 of them do I actually look at. I come here to vent my fears, empty my head and laugh. I love the people who speak on here they make me snort with laughter, daily. It’s not a popularity contest to see who can get the most hits. If it were I would be in near last place, happier than a pig in shit, smelling some other huffing pig’s ass while they wiggle themselves sweaty (woop dee da doo doo). Think out of the a href=popularity. I love you. I love me. Let’s all eat pie. (Before you assume I am referring to you, I am not).

It’s funny how often I bring this show up. I have only seen it twice but I have another question. Last Sunday, during a rerun of Alias (where they recap everything and she was the hot art-show girl), there was a song played midway through the episiode that I really liked. I watched the credits and nothing. If any one knows what it is or how I might find it please let me know I will give you some Jello-O.

Toby has been ill lately. Becaues of his illness, I have been able to go back to my roots and eat like a good American, (i.e. badly).Yesterday, I stopped in the local C-town and left with one box of Kraft Mac and Cheese (the powdered cheese kind), two things of Kool-Aid, Jell-O (sans animal bones), one small thing of 2% milk, and an Entamann’s raspberry danish. Upon arriving home, I made the Kraft and added two Not-dogs. It was a truly amazing meal. I had fun. Here is proof. (I used to take Oreos apart and try and separate the few, remaining cheerios from copulating in that last bit of milk as well).

There are two pictures of today’s commute in there as well.

I have 12 bug bites. I have a problem with even numbers. I spent the better half of the morning looking for mosquitoes, begging them to bite me because 13 bug bites is much more relaxing than 12. I received all 12 while sleeping. Last night one of them planted their pointy ass on my bottom lip now it looks like I was smacked. I was smacked, by a bug no bigger than 8 pt type. Toby? He doesn’t have any bug bites. I want to know what it is about my blood, my skin, that they find so penetrable. Do I exude a certain smell? Is there something in my blood which makes them feel all funny inside? Am I their massive, fleshbag, drug dealer? Go away you damn little vicious bastards. I can only itch so many places at once. Seriously. Someone make it stop. I’m gross.

I’m sort of tired—having trouble keeping mind. This jumbled mess, whirlwind of messy thought and half bitten sentences come to the tip and then give up, drop to throat and sit there (lumpy). You might wonder if it’s worth it, if creating a habit is worth it, as most habits (come past) created you. And you might think that (on certain days) when you’re not reflecting quite as well as you should be, you might just throw in the towel (sewn to speak). And you might wonder about whatever it is you’re doing and whether it ever sit near words like “good” or “worthy” or “thought-provoking” in any lasting manner other than whatever lies beneath the rug after broom assumes position and deems habit’s left overs. And you might just run home and watch tv and wait for tomorrow to decide for you. I wonder if I play an active roll in all of this or if I’m just stuck rut, cut out to fuck up.

(Right? Well, who cares).

Every day, I lose more and more hope in my own kind. A friend of mine once told me a story about these mice which were taking over his apartment. He and his girlfriend tried everything humane and finally just gave in to the evil, sticky mouse traps. The went away for the weekend and left traps around the house. When they returned he found that one mouse had died and another had gotten stuck to the same trap and was eating the other mouse in order to stay alive. He said,

You have to wonder about something that eats its own kind

. You would think people would wonder about these photos taken (by a priest) of the boys wrestling club. (Thanks Toby for the link).

Last night I grunted at the TV when a teaser for Fox News came on. I do this often. I hate the news at Fox. It’s worse then tabloid trash, as it still (for unknown reasons) takes itself seriously. Toby and I began talking about it, laughing about it. We were then forced to explain what it is about that particular news station that is so very laughable to our new loft addition from England, Danny. We yammered about it, I moaned, Toby was more fair and it came down to the creation of fake Fox News at 10 headline teasers. I once used, “Who’s REALLY driving your bus! Fox News at 10!” But then a bus driver stabbed some local Brooklyn guy and well that was suddenly not fake any longer. Toby came up with, “When furniture FIGHTS BACK! Fox News at 10!” I want more. Gimme more.

Me:

Honey, are you ready to do this? Tonight is the night.

Toby:

Yeah. I think so. What do you want me to do again?

Me:

You just have to place it on there and I’ll do the rest.

Toby:

Ok. Make sure you’re ready when I do it, it won’t last long.

Me:

Do you think people will think it hurt? I would hate that—the wrong idea.

Toby:

No. Do you have the viewfinder on? Make sure you get it on film.

Me:

Ok. Yes. Go ahead. I’m ready.

And then there was this. And then this. Because of this.

It is taking every last bit of me to not fill this post with R rated language and NC-17 rated imagery, but I have decided to refrain from starting the morning off in this manner. Let’s just say, people should try hard to hold their bowels until they are (at the very least) outdoors. The bus driver at 8.15 a.m. needs to go back to driving school. And the woman who thought I was checking out the ass of the other girl in front of me should not shake her head in disgust and utter words like, “Fag” and “Sinner” under her breath. It’s not my fault your ass is lumpy, you’re unattractive, you smoke generic cigarettes, you drink Yoo-hoo to wash down your Entenmanns snack cakes and you’re a homophobic bitch whose only taste of sex are those steamy nights you put on your Frederick’s of Hollywood and your husband has a little foreplay with his Pay Per View and he jerks off beneath his one true love—the Direct TV satellite dish. I wish I could sit you down and have a talk with you, I would tell you how ignorant you are and that your daughter and your son are both gay and it’s all your fault. What are ten commandments? It’s been a long time. Isn’t one of them

Thou shall not judge?

I feel angry. I don’t want to be angry. I must settle down. I will drink my coffee and shut up.

I think the most I have learned between the ages of 20 and 28 is how to choose my battles. Too many times I have been driven to levels of frustration of a near blindness ruining my day or my night. What a waste of time some of that was. And now, if I get all riled up, instead of lashing out and spreading rumors or filling already polluted air with more of my own, I generally just ignore it and wait for stiller waters. I have many of my own inner battles to fight, and only half that in energy to spare. Sometimes, words or ideas fall on deaf ears. And you just gotta say fuck it. It’s like when a client chooses the shitty concept over the better version and then makes a hundred revisions only to say (in the end) they never really liked the idea to begin with. Then you gotta wonder, “was there anything I could have done to make this go any smoother?” Probably not. But, damnit, I so want to change the world. Even only so very slightly. I want to make people think twice before leaving the bathroom and not putting a new roll on the dispenser. (To the asshole who didn’t think of other assholes to come please fill her up first. Thanks).

NifkinHasaPosse: ummmmm

NifkinHasaPosse: what are bitch lips?

On Sunday night, ABC began to rerun all the Alias in order in which they were aired. And, of course, I watched the first episode. I am sorry I took mister alias guy’s time last week in explaining the show to me (very well, I might add), because the first episode gave me the rundown, (not that I knew it was going to be on). Anyhow, now that the practice is over for the season and whatever else I used to watch, I will tune in as Sundays are always relax and watch TV nights. The creators of this show are indeed very clever. They have made it super easy to dress this little hot, female action figure in as many different costumes as there are fetishes, locking hopeful viewers in each and every week.

First epsiode: Hot, artshow girl.

Our phones are down. I wanted to call Bob and ask him a question regarding where it is we used to stay on LBI, but I can’t get through. On the off chance he is out there, silently watching all of this crap today, will he please raise his hand and let me know?

Pictures from the park. Asian brides, canoe chaos, and green.

Today I wore pink. The air-conditioning is on full blast. I’m freezing. I arrived early today, before 8.30 am. The train, bus, train, streets and Dean and Deluca were all fairly empty. I’m rather bored these days. Inspiration comes in waves, I’m in the trough right now. Incidentally that is (sadly) one of the only vocabulary words I can remember from my Oceanography class in College. I nearly slept through it, really. But I do so love the topic. It’s a shame really. I wish I could go back and know then what I know now, I would take it so seriously. I would be one of those geek note takers, alert all the time, students would be both angry and jealous of me. Yeah. I came up with a mind-shattering idea on Saturday night. What if all highschool graduates were made to work in the service industry for four years. Upon dealing with, learning about, and experiencing humans at their ugliest, only then would one be ready to go to college. I think we would take it more seriously and approach it all with more ease and less pride. All in favor say aye.

Pictures from Saturday.

Enjoy.

We haven’t done much this weekend. Because Toby was so sick we pretty much stayed in and watched movies. I’m thankful the weather was rather shitty yesterday so neither one of us felt as if we were missing a wonderful day. Saturday, before he tried to eat, we made it out to the park on Manhattan Avenue. It’s about a 15 minute walk from our apartment. We sat there and watched the dogs. I ate a Subway sandwich and he sipped some water. I took pictures of the walk. We went to an old broken down pier in Williamsburg and watched some of the boats float by. It was a nice diversion from home.

It’s Saturday morning. I have me some coffee, some lemon water, an english muffin and some pajamas. Toby still doesn’t feel very well, so we rented the entire third season to Sex and the City. We have one dvd left to watch. That’s 3 hours. Upon finishing that, I think I will take a miniature bike ride. It’s super clear out today. I can hear more than usual. Even the sound wants to travel further. (Today). There are sirens

wooo

and then more sirens

wooohooooowooo

and car horns

Bleeet

. We don’t have any neighbors and unless you have a telescope, you can’t see into our loft. I have often wondered if people do watch (sometimes) through aided eyes and if they do, I wonder if they can see me with a smile (right now), my cats standing on the sill, and my blue slipper covered feet. I am happy. It is Saturday. (Please note:

Happy

)

Where is alias guy. I want to understand the show 24 now.

I am eating grapes. And I just remembered a time from when I was young and crazy and I was dared to see how many grapes I could fit in my mouth at one time. I made it to 14 grapes and had to stop. Deep thoughts from an afternoon mihow.

Today I brought a canned lunch. It’s called P’sghetti Loops. It has fake meatballs, cheese and noodles. I am excited to try this little treat. I bet everyone is jealous of me. (Sorry my picture is ugly).

Pictures from the past few days. Much to my disappointment, I didn’t get many of the sad folks in the ER. Probably for the best. I only posted a few of the ones I took.

What is it with this thick guilt thing I have when I miss work? I rarely miss work. I am rarely sick to the point of bed. But right now I am pacing back and forth thinking I should have gone to work and that I’m doing something wrong etc. I wanted to stay here and wait for results—make sure Toby is ok. I am not outside enjoying this AMAZING day, I promise. Ugh. I hate this feeling. Is it my Catholic upbringing? Is it just normal? And I can assure you after 6, when everyone from work is able to go home, I won’t feel so bad. It’s just so odd. What to do, what to do. You just always wonder, if when you return to the office the following day, they’ll have given away your desk and your chair and your sandwich to another person.

While waiting to be called in to the ER, I was put in this room with some of the saddest most depressing human forms still (though barely) alive. I am sure there are stories to tell here. But my mind isn’t so sharp right now. I am tired and it’s hard to think. I took pictures of some of the characters. I hope that doesn’t make me evil. And I promise, on the way out of the house I didn’t think, “I MUST RUN BACK AND GET MY JUJYFRUITS!” The camera was in my bag. It is always in my bag.

I just woke up. It’s 11:30. We had a bit of a scare last night, We rushed Toby to the ER around Midnight. He’s ok. He’s sleeping. It was scary but I think he’s ok. I think it might be time to consider leaving New York. More on that after I find work and make sure they haven’t fired me. (work?)

The owner of the company just sent me a file called:

michele little man form.doc

Songs about New York. GO! Download it baby. Yum. And tell me more, help me with my master plan.

Cuz it’s the B, the R, the O, the OK. L Y N is the place that I stay.

Ok so maybe if I talk about it, it will come out and I can then kill it. I have something tucked between the cartlidge and the skin on the tip of my nose. There is nothing to see, no visible little monster. But I have a blinding, tear-jerking pain every time I touch my nose. It’s horrible. And I know there is something in the tip waiting to take over and eat my head. And I think it’s a zit of some sort. But I don’t know. It hurts me up all bad and shit. Aurgh! As marsha once said,

OW! MY NOSE!

I have an idea… I have wondered long enough…. what the hell is Alias about? I stupidly watched the season finale, and I had no idea what was going on. I do realize one must watch a show to really make sense of it, get to know the characters etc. However, this show just totally lost me. I had no friggin guess as to what was happening. I sort of want to know even if it is just a basic description. Loose is fine. I like loose. Brief me, kittens.

Pictures from today.

Here’s a few things to know about me, me. I am often sensitive. I don’t eat meat. I like salt better than I like sugar. I have lived in Pennsylvania, New York, Delaware, New Jersey, DC, North Carolina, Pennsylvania (again) and England. Before I die (assuming I have a while yet) I would like to live in Vermont, Oregon and somewhere Midwest and freaky. I have two brothers. I love love love cats. I am 28. I hate perfume. I have had so many jobs I lost count. At 13 I was way into metal and stood in line for hours to see some of the shittiest bands ever created. I smoked for over 10 years, quit last December and don’t miss it. I have never been pregnant. I don’t like to be called a bitch. My first (and only) car was a Volvo. I collect movie stubs. My favorite day is Saturday (especially morning). I would rather talk about you than me (believe it or not). That’s me in 5 minutes or less. (And I have nothing to say this morning because I’m boring on Wednesdays). So you can call this a cop-out post. :)

Songs about genitalia. GO!!

• Shaft
• Grease Lightning
• Diddle my Skittle

Here are some pictures from today.

I came around to the mouth of the stairs at Union Square. There was a police man standing there, talking to a commuter in Spanish. He blocked my route. He interrupted my thought. There were people everywhere. It was a madhouse and no one was allowed up the stairs to the downtown N/R line. The line I needed to be on 15 minutes ago. She was on the stair. Her body was contorted. It didn’t look right with the concrete and the metal and the gum. It just laid there without a choice. She was gasping for air as they placed her into an orange emergency chair. Her pupils were dilated. She looked scared. She looked embarrassed. And us? We just stood there at the mouth, behind the cop and his Spanish conversation about dinners and drinks, we waited and watched. When would this end? When would I be able to get to the train? I am not sure if there IS another entrance without exiting first. Wouldn’t that just take me longer? What if my boss is pissed? Why now? Woman?! Why now?

My first thought was, “Get out of the way officer! I am LATE!” And I think I should leave here soon. Perhaps I’m not cut out for it. :)

(To the woman who was removed from the stairs today on the N/R line, I do hope you’re ok. And I’m sorry we all look so empty).

Kindergarten ended years ago. One would assume that if something went wrong, (drastically) now that we’re working and we’re adults (I think), the people involved in said fuck up would say, “Yes, that was me.” But no. People point fingers at other people instead. Apparently this is easier. Lying. It’s much easier then just admitting you’re human and you err. Goofy motherfuckers. I just witnessed the most pathetic work mess-up I have seen to date. I am thankful I have nothing to do with it. I wish I knew who the guilty party is, I’d turn them in—no second thought what-so-ever. If we’re going to play like we’re in kindergarten, bring it on my bitches, I’ll play the roll of tattletale.

I just got Beth Orton tickets. She’s playing at the Bowery Ballroom on June 10 and 11th. I am quite pleased with this.

Seriously, has anyone ever bought a car solely for the purpose of driving it into the ground by taking it cross country? I really have this desire for a road trip. I wish this were an easier feat. Why ain’t shit easier? WHY?! I suppose driving a scooter is a bad idea. I knew someone who rode their bike. It was with a group of people. The problem with that is the limitation for riding time due to the weather and the amount of work time. Hell, I’m not sure what I’m talking about.

I am thinking. Splitting (maybe). Perhaps changing distribution. Shifting from one to another if I can support a new habit. So I’m at a lack for words today. They keep coming back into my head later and I’m not sure I want to be that close to myself (all the time). No one does. It’s damn near impossible. I want Iowa and flat landscapes for zero depth and I want the lack of places to hide to cure all fears. Take car (with motor), rust even (perhaps), barely able to stop and go but longs for a distance drive till it falls to the ground with a huff and a puff. Then lose myself in a cloud of dust. Shit, I’m bored (with me) and overly annoyed with thought. (Sharpen more, undo. Blah).

I wore your coat. You were away and it was so damn cold. And it was near holiday making it colder. My mind was filled with cinnamon, chubby turkeys and piles of cookies. I pictured carpet patterns beneath shoeless feet, and that lazy boys met ottomans (in a low-rider ease). Our breath held small bits of ice as we walked, it may have hurt to get too close. But I wouldn’t have cared. She borrowed the other coat. We only had to go a few blocks. And it made it easier. (I knew you wouldn’t mind). She turned to me and said, “This is the warmest coat I have ever put on. You must remember to thank him.” It was just a coat. And I felt warmer. I couldn’t wait to hand it back to you. It’s spring. I have no coat. I don’t reckon I’ll need one for a while. There are two chubby turkeys but they’ll never see the inside of an oven. And maple seems to be the taste of choice these days (sometimes lemon). I don’t use your coat (now), but I see it top shelf nearly every morning (waiting). And every time I see it I remember that I forgot to tell you what she said. And that it wasn’t just a coat.

Donuts for me…. donuts for you. I share, see?

I don’t want to bore myself with the details of the past and I will try not to sound completely biased and bash the “place”, but yesterday someone wrote me from an old job and, in doing so, he reminded me of a thing called “The Forum.” Toby and I were discussing The Forum on the way home last night and incidentally he has heard of it as well. I have mentioned it to folks and people have said things like, “Oh yes, The Forum, I lost a great friend to The Forum” or “They are evil evil bastards who brainwash people and take all their money as well.” People who have been tend to live by it (spooky), people who haven’t aren’t accepted into the reindeer games but instead seen as weak and corrupted. I could really rant about this place using words like “cult” and “assholes” and “pathetic” but I won’t because that’s just lame. But it did force me to quit my job (long story—later date). Anyway, if there are stories, I would love to hear them. If there aren’t any. Ignore me. :) HERE IS THE LINK Reading that shit just made me cringe.

I love Beth Orton. I do. And I have wondered when this damn woman is going to release another cd. Does ANYONE know? Please, if you know anything, tell me. I have a huge donut from Dean and Deluca. I will share.

Speaking of crazy bitches and their horny mates Holy shit, This is funny. (Thanks NIfkin for el linkage)

I met toby at Union Square Wednesday night. We like to watch the crazy bitches run around the dog park. (So cute). But the other day this happened. and it was odd. We did not come for these types of crazy bitches. There was no music and there they were dancing. I wish I had a better video of it. Oh well.

Pictures para me y para tu.

It’s really annoying when I suddenly remember the bottoms of my feet. Especially when they’re crammed into shoes and they’re sweaty and they start asking to come out again. And I could slightly move them this morning within my shoe, a foot’s captivator. But not enough and so I freed them for a second just to let them know that it’s not forever. I relaxed by telling myself that when I get home or to work or wherever it may be I can sit for a while, I will let them rest on top of their captivator and make it their bitch. It’s my foot’s fetish to be freed. They are free right now. shhhhhhh

Songs about food. GO!

Cheesburger in paradise

Beef Jerky”

“Know your chicken”....

I am not a fan of flies. In fact, one day (last December) they decided to take over our loft out of nowhere and I spent the entire day killing them merciless with a book called, “The God of Small Things” and I found the whole spectacle rather funny in the end. But this is just wacky. (I would like to thank a TobyJoe for the linkage).

Pictures from today and yesterday. Last night we bought a Playstation 2 and I dreamt about games I want. I don’t even know if they make them. If there are any suggestiions of what we should buy, fill us up with ideas.

She wears a rock on her finger greater than her age. There isn’t a pore visible on her face. She wears designer clothing and if you look under her sink at home there are hundreds of bags from Madison Avenue and she might use them again at Christmas time just for show and a subtle hint. He golfs on Sundays (and sometimes Saturdays if he’s not too hungover and there is no game). He frequents Vegas and plays black jack beneath a 50 dollar minimum. Sometimes he gets pissed and visits the hotel spa for a massage and a quick handjob. He tips the woman a twenty. Her only worry is having work done on her nails and whether or not she’s fertile. He drinks Lite beer and whiskey (but only on weekends and Holidays). I don’t envy her but she thinks I do. She is reminded of her left ring finger daily and moves it around with her thumb. He isn’t around much. She goes to Yoga because she saw Christy Turlington on the cover of a Time magazine in a pose she wanted to try. He wonders if he’ll ever forget about that time he and the boy next door kissed. There is no award ceremony at the end of life. When I see her on the subway I sometimes wonder where the day takes them both even if it does so separately.

Very nearly every day I wonder if I might just be losing my mind. I guess that’s what they call it. (Who knows). It’s more like a constant battle between enjoying myself completely and getting on the floor in the fetal position and hoping that if I close my eyes all real tight and shit the monsters won’t see me and (in time) they’ll get bored and move on to next person. Since I began taking pictures of my commute, I have (accidentally) trained my eyes into noticing nearly EVERYTHING around me. I didn’t mean for this to happen, it just did. And I’m not sure how I feel about it really. But today it got to me a bit. I was on the N/R this morning and I was looking about the place noticing people’s faces and their eyes and (what often appear to be) blank stares and I began to wonder if all of these people are scared shitless as well? What it is that makes us feel true joy (assuming that the latest hot pair of Puma’s or a trip to the spa isn’t it). Maybe that guy who reeks of booze at 9:00 a.m. does so to avoid it all and that crazy motherfucker down the way? He let the monsters get to close and they are actually talking to him now. Is everyone just walking about, bouncing from one diversion to another, ignoring what we long for and pretending we’re tougher than we really are? I’m tired of tough. Give me a god damn hug you ungraceful, grumpy bunch of strangers. :)

Because I like cows.

When I was younger, there were some days I would arrive at school wearing some outfit my mother told me not to buy but by then it was too late. And I wore it in spite of her warnings (which may have been more effective if she had just put the mom-roll aside and said, “Michele, one day YOU WILL regret looking like a moron. Let’s just hope no one has a camera today.”) but she didn’t. She was sweet. And so I went to school dressed like a damn near freak-moron-loon and people stared and laughed and that was ok (at the time). And now that i’m older, I sometimes cringe at the thought of some of the things I did and wore. I sort of feel that way now, after posting that last link. Like someone should have told me to change my cloths before leaving the house. So I deleted that last post. (Now if I could only get Toby to build an editor for my memory).   

delete post

burn poloroid

poof

memory erased

This chick keeps e-mailing me. I think she wants me. Her name is “Erika.” Her e-mails are always titled “HEY CUTIE!” I wonder if she’s hot. She spells “come” wrong, however. But shit, who needs a brain and an intelligent conversation when they’re sexxxy?

Hey Sweetie :-) ! Hey Hunnies my name is Er*ic*a and im here with my sexxxy friends Stephanie and Michelle! I hope you Cum and join our HOT parties from dinner to breakfast! All new cummers are welcum to join the Fiesta of Fun. Each of us has a webcam that we publish ourselves on, either 1on1 or if the party is steamy everyone gets involved!!!

Sick days suck. In the days that follow said sick day one must remember to prepare oneself for some real ass-whoopin—sans lube, sans warning.

Here are some photos from last night. I saw nothing too exciting this morning so I kept my camera in my pocket.

Wednesday aka Whacking day. Today we will watch the possible demise of my brother and his relationship with this thing called “a job.” What will come from Whacking day? Who will be “let go” and added to the ranks of the unemployed and (at times) the ones envied by those of us who are still just barely hanging on? It is now 7:48 a.m. I am feeling better. My wee little brother (who ain’t so small, really) had word of Whackingday weeks ago and has worried that he will be one of those Whacked. So this morning’s post (assuming that said Whackage happens in the a.m. leaving plenty of time for booze) is dedicated to the Whacked. And if you can’t laugh about it, there ain’t nothing. Let the games begin. Here’s to you, Ryan.

My sick day has come to an end. I will now attempt to ride the orange bike (with no wheels) up to where Manhattan Avenue meets Greenpoint to meet a one Tobyjoe. And you might call this said point “The Pollack Triangle” as it is a special place where if you hang out too long you might never be seen again. I once had a guy who worked for the local car service say,

You’re at THAT corner? I don’t normally pick people up from that corner. But since you’re a girl and it’s late, I will.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against my very own heritage, however these polish puppies stand around drinking the harshest of liquor (mad dog, 20/20 style). They tell jail tales, stories about shitting, they whoop, they holler, they hoot, they tell you you have the finest two asses that side of the east river. They say so through their slobbery lips and their bloated drunk eyes. And they say other things I can’t decipher. It’s not really dangerous, just sort of run down and chaotic. They do not play by the rules. I’m not even sure they know them anymore.

I do not know the answer to my brother’s question. Then I figured, why not post the e-mail and see if anyone out there knows the answer to this question.

Melissa and I bought two etchings from an Irish artist named Stephen Lawlor. It was our big purchase on the honeymoon, well those and the crystal wine decanter we bought. Anyway, the one etching is number 250 of 500 or something like that but the other one says A/P. Does that stand for artist’s proof and does that mean it is one of a kind or is it just the original etching?

Help a brutha out and I’ll give you some of my tea. Here is the link to the gallery in case you’re intersted.

I am lifting weights. I made fake chicken. I designed two install screens for work. I looked out the window for a while. I mopped the floor. I shaved my legs and plucked my eyebrows. I cleaned the rug in the bathroom. I scrubbed it with laundry detergent. I did the dishes. I cleaned the sink. I watered the cats and fed the plants. I think one might safely assume I am feeling better.

What’s that? What’s that you say? You say today is Saturday? Goodbye, I’m going out to play.”

(I wish).

Today I don’t plan on leaving the house so my daily pictures are a repeat from yesterday. (Unless you want some images of the toilet). I did learn (via tobyjoe) that the editor (he so wonderfully built for me) expects pictures every day that I make posts (or there will be trouble). This will help me stick to my plan. So that is good. It is. A plan is good.

I feel a little better. I don’t feel perfect, but better. My teeth feel weird and my lips are dry. I have post barf-face right now. (I’m pretty). It’s time to try some water and I’m starving but food is probably not a good idea (yet). It’s such an odd feeling—to be hungry after you spend hours seeking out and getting rid of all the food in your body. But I am hungry. Work called, I’ll be laying out the 250 page book from home. Good times.

For the past 2 hours I have done nothing but get up from bed, run to the bathroom, puke, and then waddle back to bed again. I hope this is not the flu. Please tell me it will pass. (And before you people get all freaky, this is not morning sickness). I should go back to bed for an hour and see what happens when I wake up again. I just can’t even imagine getting on a stinky, crowded subway right now. And I’m sure my fellow commuters would thank me for it. (ugh) I must lay down again. Work will have to wait.

I am sickly attractive to running my fingertips over new mosquito bites. It’s like something new on my skin I haven’t met yet. I like to pinch it and make criss-crosses with my fingernails and watch them change color when I move them a bit. What is it? Do I really want to know? Or can I just assume it’s something unknown to man and, more importantly, my skin. I’m an experiement to this little bug and he’s probably off with his bugbuddies somewhere bragging about pricking me without my knowing—taken by a wee little fucker. And he left a mark and it itches. I have something kin to a sexually transmitted disease via a mosquito’s prick and if I see him again, I’ll kill the bastard. I’ll squash the pathetic fucker with one finger and then tell all my girlfiends how small and uneventful he was, how all the while he was pricking me I didn’t even know he was there. I am ready to chew my left arm off below the elbow.

This is a poem (in 10 minutes or less) of my search strings in the exact order they appear before me.

Back with during the prohibition on idioms and liquor There was a photo with a dog with a horse butt Parker Posey saw the sighting and took the picture while dr. zizmore took pictures of girls inserting tampons. You might wonder if you give a bum a dollar will the difference be an angel sent from god above and if so will sexy girls secrete mihow? I saw spiderman movie clips of kirsten dunst at the rain she used to work at giving handjobs in her car at lunch but now? she does bachelor party invites and tells brothers and sisters it’s bad to give each other handjobs. While taking buck johnson to the prom and singing dougie fresh songs dr zizmore forgot he doesn’t get his period during a fight club communication and girls inserting tampons is not as exciting as people apparently think now girl using toilet to change tampon that’s a real handjob treat. And you loser like people driving kia’s and acting like buck johnson? I am frightened for the mihow. Hell, If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em right?

Closed-door meetings need to be edited and changed. The only door which should be closed is the front door after the people involved in the important meeting (held at a whisper) exit and go out to hold the important meeting. Especially if and when they take place behind my head and I can hear every word within door shut. (And, I am nearly deaf).

Some guy here was just singing, “It’s the FINAL COUNTDOWN!” and he yells, “Hey Howley! You Remember that one?!” And I’m like, “Hell YES! It’s EUROPE!” And we laughed and then I was sort of wondering why I fill my brain with useless matter such as the lyrics to “The Final Countdown” by Europe. And so I was trying to come up with the other bands named after states and countries and cities and stuff. And I came up with a few. Asia. Europe. Boston. Chicago…. That’s off the top of the bean. There are more. I am sure. There are more.

It’s a day by day thing it is. And we’ll see how this goes. It’s 11 am and I am still eating Ginger Snaps. I am drinking shitty coffee and I am creating bitmap images for work. (Yes, work) The new frat boy joined us today. He seems ok. The PC never came. Perhaps I was wrong about Fridays.

We went to the Toys ‘R Us at Times Square. It was quite a treat. We met ET and something weird looking. And there were screaming kids and parents who were probably trying to lose them. And there was a mihow and a tobyjoe taking it all in and then having a drink.

today should be a real treat. It’s Monday. It’s raining. I have no uMMMbrella and mass-transit (and all its inhabitants) is moviing in slow motion

Are you there god? It’s me, mihow. I ate almost an entire box of ginger snaps. Ginger snaps are perhaps the greatest cookie on earth. As of Sunday night at 11:15 p.m. (EST) Gingers snaps take the lead in the great cookie race. Amen.

Thi s is truly some sick shit. I read the entire thing as well. People actually put that much faith into a “doctor” no matter who they really are? Creepy. This guy is so very messed up. At times, I was laughing. I must make it even remotely funny (sometimes), what fun is it to sink to new levels of horror without a little laughter? Rest assured, it’s all laughter via shock. (I took the link from Nifkin).

Toby put together a bike for me to replace the one which was cut up. It’s purty. It’s orange.

Update:

COMMENTS ARE NOW WORKING. I think.

cross fingers

I just walked down to drop off my laundry (yes, I am lazy and I pay someone to do it for me) and the guy who weighs the clothing was all sweet and quiet and stuff. He wrote me out a slip of paper telling me my total and when I should pick it up and smiled again. And then he said, “Hold on.” And walked into the other room and came back with this and said, “Happy Mother’s day.”

(Thanks! So sweet of you and oh yeah, ASS YOU!)

(kids?)

And it’s all still here just as I left it last night. We’re going to rent some movies and get bagels and coffee. And talk to the Goth Girls at the Garden (which is the name of my second full-length album by my punk rock band, Beef Molecule). Today is mother’s day. Happy mother’s day, Mom. (I am not a mother). Happy mother’s day nice people out there with kids. Last year I spent hours downloading songs from Napster (r.i.p.) on a dial-up. I made cd for my mother of the family’s greatest hits from whenever I could remember, up until now. There were the Mama’s and the Papas, George Burns, and Hank Williams Jr. There was some Elvis, some “Ain’t no one gunna breaka my stride”, some “Baby Face” and some R.E.M. It was quite fun. This year, I had no creativity. (Happy Mother’s day, Mom).

There are so many things I don’t understand. If you see anything, if there is anything goofy, if you actually read this crap, please feel free to leave me a comment and/or write me an email and I will see to it that I end world suffering and get the damn website working. I have that power you see.

Ok, not really, but I did knit a scarf once.

So this might take a bit. Said woman, take it slow, it’ll work itself out fine. All we need is just a little patience. Said come on smash a clear phone, it’ll work itself alright, you and I we need a new bandana.

Comments from the past might not work. Links as well.

If you really really want and need to get back to the old shit, here’s the link.

Today we are making changes to my website. Toby built me some sort of editor thingy-majig—to make life easier. It’s taking some patience and beer. I’m still not sure what’s going on. And I keep hitting command “S” instead of hitting my “submit” button. It’s Saturday, though. Good day, Saturday. Cops is on. We just returned from the Toys ‘R Us store in Times Square. What a damn treat that place is. Kids were smiling, screaming, crying. There was candy, and dinosaurs and spider man, ET and a giant Barbie house. We took many pictures. I would post them but that part of the editor is not quite done yet.

sip beer command s Damn! sip beer command z Damn! submit

I think I could enjoy this more if someone would just say, “Hey, you know what? It’s all going to be alright. Stop worrying so much.” And if they did I probably wouldn’t believe them anyway. I want to take everyone I like and put them in my pocket and take them to the park. We can sit down on the grass, (where there is no such thing as the other side) and make pets out of clouds. We could sit there and blow big bubbles where the only hint of negativity is the distant sound of an airplane.

I want to know that next year people will be nicer and that bills will be paid off and that we’ll live somewhere closer to relaxation and fresh vegetables and stability. Where my only relative annoyance is having to mow the lawn or rake the leaves. And my laughter isn’t one huge insane burp but a more evenly-paced, loyal friend. I think I need some sleep. I think I need a Saturday morning. I love Saturday morning.

Lunchtime pictures of scary-man and screaming bag ladies.

Today I get my very own PC to work on. It will sit next to my Mac. I like it to having a demon sitting on one shoulder and an angel on the other. Which one is which, you might ask? Who gives a shit. I have deduced that it means I’m not getting laid off on this fine Friday in May. I’m going to buy lunch now.

The Kia commercial Update: E-mail 1: The blonde woman in the very beginning yells, “Betty!” and the other woman says, “Actually, it’s JANE.” And the guy with the mullet at the end yells “Betty” as well. I am 98 percent sure of this now.

Comment added: I thought he yelled “PARTY!” The first time I saw the commercial, I thought she (the blond) said “Oh yeah, well I just f—-ed Johnson at the prom!”

Now that would have been one hell of an ad. I’m still not sure. But I have had referrals with the search string: kia buck johnson and: buck johnson prom

A photo for Friday, May 10. Not much going on here today.

I arrived one hour late. It’s pay day and I have paid all my bills this month so I think I’ll blow it all in Atlantic City-Land of the Freaks, Home of the Grave. Who’s down? Maybe I’ll learn how to ride a skinny bike. Maybe we’ll ride it down to Coney Island. Maybe I’ll win something shiny. What does the weekend have in store? It’s all so exciting-not knowing. I need some creative ideas.

I suppose I must hand today something kind, something of worth, because it was so sweet. (Perhaps a trip outside to free the chalk from erasers?) At one point, I laid my head down on my desk, forehead south, resting it on the back of my wrist. My desk is the color of school-desk wood. And I remembered having to do that as a kid. I’m not sure if it was done during a heated game of 7-up, a sign of trouble, or the prelude to surprise, but I remembered it all at once. And then today became even sweeter and I smiled (in that lips concealing teeth kind of way). No one will ever tell me I have to put my head down again. And even though I don’t remember why it was done, I sort of miss it. (Today) Let’s play a game—put your head down and close your eyes, raise your right thumb…

“Guess who?”

I just had this conversation with a young lady in my office. Girl:

(whispering) Hey, do you have a tampon?

Me:

Yes, it’s sans applicator.

Girl:

You go there?! I so can’t go there. I can’t even begin to go there!

Me:

(laughing) Yes. Um, you should try it. It won’t bite you.

Girl:

No way. I’ll ask someone else.

........................................ Update: She just walked back over and we had more words. Girl:

I just went your route!

(my route?) Me:

Cool! You’re a new woman! How did it feel?

Girl:

It was an interesting experience, to say the least. I’m saving the environment, one step at a time…

I have wondered long enough…. I get coffee every morning at Dean and Deluca. And well… what the hell?! kind of donut is this? It’s sort of green? Someone? Anyone? Homer?

May 9th. It’s raining, it’s pouring.

what is it with women applying make up while on a packed subway? Does that seem odd to anyone? I have always thought makeup is best used as an enhancement, something which brings out a part of your face you’re particularly pleased with or (maybe) to cover up a small blemish you’re not particularly pleased with. Whatever. A lot of make up is just odd (unless it’s used to make a drastic difference like all those goth kids in highschool—I’m all for making a statement). It seems just way too fake and shallow. No one actually believes you have lips which look like you just finished a fudgsicle or eyeballs outlined in black. No one has purple eyelids, powder does not naturally secrete from anyone’s pores. Why not try and take better care of yourself (mentally and physically) instead? There is no stage. You’re not fooling the girls and you’ll scare the beans from the men in the morning. And I find this so odd. But then there are the gals who take something like applying makeup (an already strange, personal act), and couple it with a subway packed with people? What the hell? And if we had slammed

A brief view of Broadway at lunch. I fell victim to a petty sandwich thief (who took someone’s pudding as well), I was forced to leave my quarters and find lunch on my own. I learned that may have some competition.

I once saw this movie called Talk Radio It was made in 1988. I remember it being a great movie. Though, admittedly, it’s been years. And I remember hearing that It was based on a true story about an opinionated, loudmouth radio DJ who begins to sort of “lose it” as he realizes the world consists of freaks, losers, lonely people, hateful people and so on. When I’m looking at my stats and I read through my search strings,

I sort of feel this way.

brother sister handjobs turd women clips pictures of girls inserting tampons

What is it with people? Get out of the house, go see Spirit, masturbate, read a book, make something, hell if i know.

But do this: Go away.

I wonder if this is a round about way of seeking forgiveness for yesterday’s sandwich theft. Is this the person I should demand a replacement sandwich from or if she is merely watching her back?

Email: Whoever is the proud owner of the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (that was on top of the kitchen cabinets) please let me know. I “borrowed” the last serving to give to Maddie with her breakfast and would like to replace it. Thanks in advance. “name”

And (for the record) “Maddie” is the company dog. If my lunch was stolen and then fed to a dog, there will be hell to pay and a lot of undesirable dog shit about the place.

I moved my bike’s carcass upstairs last night. I guess I’d rather throw it out rather then have some stupid fucker steal the rest of it. I want to put some super fine bike out there and see if some mean person comes by to steal it, then I’ll peg him/her with rocks. If you know of any such stories, I would love to hear them. I want to know that not everyone can get away with being a total prick.

Last night and this morning. We went in together today. We saw dogs, a Gerry, got coffee, and saw other half-eaten bikes along the way.

Last night Toby told me to start seeing other people because there were three or four hoochie mamas he wanted to get his paws on as well. So I went grocery shopping. But took the wrong bus and ended up lost. Yeah. Ok. I was (at first) completely and totally pissed off, which quickly morphed into a morbid depression, but then quickly shifted to being happier then a priest at a t-ball game after realizing it was all just a dream. All this in about 1 minute (maybe less). That many exposed emotions before 7:30 in the morning is just not fair. And I think I have PMS.

I’m going to be spihow till tomorrow. My head hurts. And I don’t feel like changing the image because spider-man looks cool. Much cooler then I do (unless I’m wearing my incredible hulk pajamas). Still no sign of my sandwich. And I wish I could open my coworkers up like they did in Jaws (part uno) and check the contents of their bellies to see if my sandwich turns up. But I’m sure that would make me gag, detective-work backfire, discovery gone bad. (That sounds like a Fox “News” title one might hear during a 8:45 commercial break). Let’s all do something nice today and NOT steal something from someone. Is that so much to ask? IS IT?! I will shut my face for now. But do take ease as you walk down streets as I am right behind you-lurking-wrists filled, waiting to shoot web all over your head.

Toby started it. Last night Toby was listing off the sexual innuendoes applied to Spider-man. He came up with many (which I think I should let him write about as I don’t want to steal his brilliant knack for disclosing hidden acts of perversion and frivolous, long-distance spun-shots) but I would love to hear if there are others. And what is more fun than talking about sex? Especially when it involves Kirsten Dunst. Tell me stories please.

Tuesday, May 7 Where have all the crazy people gone? Perhaps I should change my route, I’m starting to get annoyed again. :) Things will be better after I get my costume

Please note: To the person who is coming here by way of the following search string: horse dog butt photo you (and your little dog or your pony) is in for a world of pain. Please move along now, spihow is afraid of you.

when I was a kid and I saw movies or shows about superheroes for days following the experience I would become obsessed with knowing that now it had been proven possible (and recorded) to become a superhero. “I must be at the right place at the RIGHT time!” I would think and that’s right, really. Last night I was thinking about how a career move might be better for me right now. Preferably one where I can move from one wall to another—at a 90 degree angle to the street I walk on during the day. Yes. That is what I need. A change of scenery and the ability to fly. How will I do this? I am not of knowing yet. But this morning I have a bite on my left knee and beside its being huge and itching to lancing levels, we have a spider living in our bathroom. And I think my time has finally come.