Anniversary

I've had this blog for a year. Cool. Thanks Matthew, for introducing me to the world of public self-absorbtion.

It's fun to share our hopes and fears in one giant web of neuroses.

Drunk on Friday

Wearing a lavender wife-beater and white tight-but-loose pants makes me feel like a girl. When I look in the mirror at the hot body that just grows naturally, no matter what I feel inside, I feel a combination of admiration and horror. I feel angry and overwhelmed by the beauty that is mine, that I cannot control. It stands out, asks to be touched and grabbed. It is independent. It is something separate and fleeting and sad.
It is not me.
And yet, for a moment, it was. When I knew love and passion again with a physically beautiful person who owned their own attractiveness as little as I own mine. And now they’re gone, and I’m a girl dressed in lavender pastel, alone again.
Why bother? Why be amiable and attractive, lean and lithe? It has gotten me nowhere other than a computer-full of stories. It is empty and shallow, just like the city I’ve made my life in.
I love it and hate it. loathe it and fear it. need it and feed off it.
Life is but an ongoing addiction of one fix after another, all in a pursuit of an ultimate high that can only be resolved, in one fleeting moment, at death. When one realizes that it was all pointless, and it would have been more fulfilling to believe in a heaven and hell anyway. That’s where religion originated. Out of a need to learn the definition to an unknown word.
There is nothing to live for but the moment, and an ever-elusive future that promises a better something.
I will get there someday. In my dreams, if nowhere else.

This was my nickname when i was little

and according to slang dictionaries, its new meaning is:
pixie - v. to practice sabotage as an expression of environmental politics.

[The article cited in the Oct. 2004 citation says, "The Earth
Liberation Front initial ELF led to the use of the term 'elf' and
then to 'pixie-ing.'"] Pixieing can range from mischievous to
criminal acts, including occupying a site, crippling machinery, or
removing survey markers.

Categories: English. United Kingdom. Environment. Slang.

Do Loose Chicks Sink Dicks?

We're looking at the loss of manhood in its purest form. Guys who can't get woodies for any old girl on the block are a poignant representation of the crumbling power of the erect phallus, which is, after all, as Stepp writes, "in the minds of many males, the sign of authority and dominance, perhaps the last such symbol in a society slogging its way toward gender equality."

I Quit

my latest bad-boy addiction. it's like i've been under an evil spell, and it took a near kiss of death to wake me up.

i'm walking away, while i still can.

i needed to post this here to make it official enough that i actually adhere.

i've also made promises to my sister and best friends.

i won't see him. no matter what. and i'll hang up if he calls.

period.

Random Factoid of the Day

If you attach a long piece of masking tape along the spine of a short-haired cat, from the base of his tail to the crown of his head, he will slink along close to the floor, believing he is crawling under something.

thanks, jean. if we'd all tortured our pets as youngsters, we'd know these things too. although she attests that it actually made the kitty love her more.

sounds like that cat and me would have the same taste in fuck-buddies.

IN YOUR FACE MOTHERFUCKER!

Even here in far-left Los Angeles, my roommates, Jean and Kelly, and myself sat with our hands over our mouths in a combination of terror and glee as we watched Colbert make fun of Bush to his face. I realized how far the facist-leanings of this dictatorship have swung when I found myself repeatedly picturing a bullet flying in one side and out the other of Colbert's head. I still wonder if they'll knock him off somehow after the straight-up truths he had the balls to holler from the podium.

"The real sign of Stephen Colbert's success at the White House Correspondents' Association dinner wasn't his jokes -- which, from beginning to end, were spot-on, from Bush's handling of the war ("I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq") and his low-30s approval rating ("I ask you this, does that not also logically mean that 68 percent approve of the job he's not doing?") to sidelong whacks at John McCain, Fox News and Donald Rumsfeld, among others. And no, it wasn't the grim-looking handshake he received from the president or the icy glare he received from Laura Bush that let us know that Colbert hit his targets. The proof of his accuracy lies in how badly the Tracy Flicks of the Washington press corps reacted. After all, this wasn't the baby-soft slapstick they usually get at the correspondents' dinner. (Anyone else remember when Darrell Hammond got all gushy from meeting Bush in person in 2001? Yeesh.) Sure, C-SPAN's cameras captured a few journalists tittering at each other like naughty schoolgirls, but for the most part journalists sat on their hands –- while just moments before, they were laughing uproariously at President Bush's incredibly lame skit with a Bush impressionist. That was Colbert's real feat: Showing us the real Washington media world, where everyone worries so much about offending someone, anyone, that the least bit of frank talk turns them into obedient little church mice. (Below is his opening monologue. To see his skit -- and icy exchange with the Bushes -- go to the post below.)"