Hot Chicks on Speed

or
Underground Fashion Victim-Sluts

hahaha, I just came across this thing i wrote about shady bitches awhile back.

I had this dude on ecstasy with leather pants following me around at the Shortstop bar on Sunset and Vine last weekend.
‘I feel like we’re like planets that have a gravitational pull. I can’t stop rotating around you. We have a connection, right? I thought we had a moment back there, right?”
It’s weird. Whenever I wear my pink booty skirt and throw back whiskey on the rocks until I’m raging drunk, dudes like this come out of nowhere. I think it’s like ecstasy-dude put it. I just have this magnetic energy.
Take last night for example. It was a total girl-power night, but the boys still couldn’t stay away. All us kickass chicks sat at a back table in the bar which clearly sent the message ‘leave us the hell alone. We’re bonding. Something you bumbling males can’t get. Feminity is natural and glamourous.’
That’s why I wore my purple pleather chaps with the rhinestone thong.
Purple is the color of royalty. And probably the gods, then, too. And we’re all goddess-mamas. Gotta represent the cosmotic karma aura. Cause we’re chill like that.
Some hipster-dorks were giving me bad vibes about my outfit. I feel sorry for them. It must suck to wear dirty Converse sneakers and have no fashion clue.
They probably just wanted me. Put your dicks back in your pants you testosterone freaks. Can’t you control yourselves at the sight of an ass? It’s just some jiggle and a crack. Well yeah, I guess mine is pretty hot. But you’re still pigs.
Speaking of crack, the shit I smoked later on that night got me wasted. When I woke up at Tom’s house – that’s what the bills on his bedroom floor said his name was anyway – his roommate was totally vibing me out. I wanted to call my best friend, but he’s like, a lawyer or some shit, and was having this long conversation on the phone about work. I’m never gonna do that capitalist 9-5 crap. I see right through it, and it’s stupid.
So I went home and called my roommate, but she started giving me some soccer-mom bullshit about dissing the girls and smoking crack and fucking strangers. I don’t need her sending that negative energy my way.
“You’re wack. Some people just don’t care about others the way I do, Carly, and you’re one of them. I say it as a friend, you should really look within yourself and explore what it is that’s causing you to project your insecurities onto me.”
You know what she told me? That she was sick of partying and was gonna take a marketing job.
Go suck a dick you mainstream slut. I always knew you were a sell-out.
It’s not like you ever had any original concepts. Like, did you create the word ‘cosmotic’ or think of chaps/thong ensembles before they’ve gotten hot? (they’re going to, and I said it first)’ I didn’t think so.
God it’s hard to find true friends around here, even when you’re totally artistic and living your life in balance and harmony. Maybe I’ll go to that trance party in the industrial section of town that ecstasy-dude told me about.
Maybe I’ll release my kundalini with him and we can exist together on the pure chakral plane. He gets it. It would be hot.
Most people just don’t get it, y’know man?

weird

rictus \RIK-tus\ noun 1 : the gape of a bird's mouth 2 a : the mouth orifice *b: a gaping grin or grimace

Life is all about second chances. I'm 25, and I've lived several times over already.
Two years ago I had a devastating injury that took away the innate joy that I'd otherwise taken for granted. I made a conscious decision to stay with someone who gave me about 25% of what I needed, because I knew he was as good as I could do. He was an athlete, he was loyal, he was hot, he knew what it meant to be injured. And I'd moved here for him. The ignorance, the jealousy, the judgment, the control, that was just my lot in life.
I had friends who loved me and cared for me as best they knew, but still fell below the bar that I had the consciousness to recognize floating above my current lifestyle. The recklessness, the rumors, the drugs, the hypocrisy, the ignorant arrogance, again, that was the best I could hope for.
The only appearance my athletic ability and love of dance made was as a rumor that I spread around when extra-unhappy or drunk.
The cult I was raised in had swallowed up and spit out a family whose last semblance of reliability was the guaranteed weekly appearance in the newspaper police blotter.
So I ran away and poured it into a story. No wonder the main character lives in the land of the dead.
And now, two years of pain and necessary compromise later, I live like a rock star again.
I feel like I've lived, died, and reawoken excited to try it all over again.

I'm not sure where this blog is going.
I think my writing class may be making my writing worse.
I feel happier than I ever have, yet when I look back at my old entries there's a lot more passion.
Hmmm.

Maybe I'll just start posting wantonly personal details on here.

Like the five orgasms I had last night!!!! hmm, alright, OK, YEAH, YES!
whoo hoo, hell yeah, right on, hip hip hooray, do it again!

That's one direction to take it in...

i knew it!

I just found out that i have have some african-american genetics floating around in here!
my great-grandmother passed away at the ripe old age of 104 last week, and it instigated some digging in the roots of the family tree.
apparently, there were several marriages with black folk in south carolina in the last century on my dad's side of the family, all of whom hail from the deep south.

sweet-ass! i'm gonna turn this into a research project and really find out what's up for sure.

Fabulous

My boss's latest insight: (taken purely out of context of course)

"Marriage is about fooling men. It’s about convincing them that they absolutely have to stick around in an environment where they get shit. "

Suckers

The human cuteness detector is set at such a low bar, researchers say, that it sweeps in and deems cute practically anything remotely resembling a human baby or a part thereof, and so ends up including the young of virtually every mammalian species, fuzzy-headed birds like Japanese cranes, woolly bear caterpillars, a bobbing balloon, a big round rock stacked on a smaller rock, a colon, a hyphen and a close parenthesis typed in succession.

I cried, I laughed, I was proud

For once. Of my country.
Coretta Scott King's funeral was amazing.

Robert Kennedy's speech reminded me of a time when religion represented community, myth, ritual, solidarity...all the things that make being around other humans actually enjoyable. He quoted the Beatitudes in reference to Coretta's life, and it actually sounded like poetry.
Poet Maya Angelou sang her comments in a soul style of the Southern black church it was held in.
"We owe something from this minute on, so that this gathering is not just another footnote on the pages of history," she said, wagging her very formidable black-mama finger right at Bush sitting behind her.
The 'Rev' as Bill Clinton who free-styled his own hilariously cool speech, referred to him, boomed to a standing ovation, 'well, there sure weren't any weapons of mass destruction.'
Again, Bush was standing in the background and was forced to smile as 3 former presidents and thousands of black folk cheered for a straight minute. HA!
Atlanta Mayor Shirley Franklin - whom I would walk barefoot all the way to Washington to see as our next president - injected politics into her remarks, describing how Coretta Scott King spoke out against "the senselessness of war" with a voice that was heard "from the tintop roofs of Soweto to the bomb shelters of Baghdad."
Jimmy Carter was the toughest of all. He brought up the government response to Katrina, saying, "We only have to recall the color of the faces of those in Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi" to know that inequality exists." He also noted that the Kings once were "victims of secret government wiretapping" - echoing Bush's domestic spying program. And he gave credit for his presidency to Coretta, saying it was her and Martin Luther King's shaking his hand publicly across the southern states that got him elected.

I have hope for a brighter future again. So our current president looks like a 9 year old with ADD that has to pee whenever he's forced to show up for something meaningful.
This too, shall piss. I mean, pass.
Things are gonna get better. There's too much of a legacy of conviction and powerful partnerships like Coretta and Martin's behind this country for ignorance to completely take over.

Yes

by Catherine Doty

It's about the blood
banging in the body,
and the brain
lolling in its bed
like a happy baby.
At your touch, the nerve,
that volatile spook tree,
vibrates. The lungs
take up their work
with a giddy vigor.
Tremors in the joints
and tympani,
dust storms
in the canister of sugar.
The coil of ribs
heats up, begins
to glow. Come
here.