i'm a stud magnet!!!

ok, so i returned to that bizarre time warp on tues morning only to see that sweet potato crack whore was nowhere to be found. i thought fo shizee that they asked him nyet to return. but, lolo and behold, at 10:15 (2 hrs 15 min late) he waltzed into the fauz court room w/ his satchel. sadly, they nyet let him stay. i was hopin for some more spittle. he did leave his pie behind in the fridge.... crack laced snax anyone?

the good news is that i got a ton of h/w done during the trial. the bad news is that the dude that eats trash from discarded carts in revere asked me out. he was relentless. when yer standing 5 ft tall, have a clinical disorder, and are about twice my age, you should probably get punched for just looking at me. but i'm a softy for the challenged, so i didn't draw any blood. he asked for my #, i declined, he asked for my email, i gave him my hotmail acct -which we all know i NEVER use. i reserve hotmail for the deep homo newsletter and such. i even made up a boyfriend, but nothing would scare him away. he created a business card on the spot, wait til i show you, to give to me. koo koo...koo koo. he overheard that i live in harvard square and thought it would be great if we met up. groovy, i'll wear my bike helmet. he also overheard that i work at the cock (or as my out of touch aunt/uncle thought--the crackerbarrel--that's what happens to you when you live in florida. sad...v sad). luckily i stated that it was the chestnut hill cock, not the hvd square cock. let him go drool on some other swf.

God did not make us all equal

so, as some of you know, i've signed myself up for all things that bear fruit in the form of the almighty dollar. My latest scheme being an out-of-court jury duty for which i took 2 days vacation from my real job. The case is totally legit and really fekkin compelling, to be honest, but...i'm not aloud to talk about it. Sorry. Haha. However, what is almost as interesting as being part of some surreal murder mystery dinner theatre are the ppl that participate in these bizzarro things. Not to be an egoist, which i am, but i was by far one of the most impressive creatures in the room regarding sanity, intelligence, success, attractiveness, cleanliness (we're talking drug use here ppl). It was quite sad to realize that my superiority complex could be validated so easily...

who would you like to hear about? Maybe the crack head who's constantly running the tops of his index and middle fingers across the bottom of his nostrils and sniffling violently? He slept throughout the entire afternoon. Musta run outta blow, yo. When they tried to feed me chicken sandwiches @ lunch (b/c that's what vegetarians eat in brighton?) he offered me his sweet potato pie. While that was v generous of him, the spittle that flew from his mouth onto the pie, and my arm, were a slight deterrent. He told me all about his low-income housing and his radio show. In between running to the car to “feed the meter”. Every 30 minutes? Wow, your meter must be on speed too.

Then there's the dude from everett who told me that he's a vegetarian too, yup... only eats meat when it's free. Like when he raids the trash for leftovers from the food trucks that service the big dig construction workers. Riiiiiight. He liked talkin to me too much, but was intimidated by my crack buddy so they played nicely off each other.

The cross-section of the population represented in the murder mystery today made me understand not only why i'm single, but why i love myself so fekkin much. God help them, one and all.

Urine-Nation 11/26/2005

here i sit w/ an inflamed throat and a delectably guilty conscience over all the $ i spent yesterday on me, me, me. Black fekkin friday indeed, @ least fer me mastercard. Well, tell that to my party dress and coordinating shrug. Tell that to my plaid skirt.

So two night's ago i dreamt that i was dating a (non-existent in reality) guy from my crew team and it was all just so good that i woke up believing this imaginary relationship was true. You can guess the shock when i realized i'd made him up inside my head... then this morning @ 6 fekkin a.m. I awoke to dreams of punching a less than dreamy guy- SWOMP went my fist into his face. Do i get free therapy w/ that? Geezuz girl, take a sedative.

Instead of the sad facts of how many people i know who've cheated, mistreated, and broken their partners, i'd much rather share tales of Nannypants. My grandmother is a blessed creature. She used to be somewhat proper, well how proper can you really be when yer from the Bronx? Anyhoo...alzheimer's has given her the ability to behave like the silliest lil whiskey sipper i ever laid eyes on. She doesn't really drink, just seems like she does. She cracks jokes of great hilarity, hits on male waitstaff, plays the drums w/ her straws @ the dinner table in restaurants, lets me race her in her wheel chair, sings along w/ any stuffed animal that has a beat box in him (e.g. The singing love-a-lot care bear), her social filter is gone, and she eats like a horse. Save the fact that she can't always hold her pee in (really, that happens to all of us on occasion), she's a rockin babe. She even sports a turquoise velvet J-Lo tracksuit. Nanny rules!!!

so, on to pee. Think about all the places you've peed when you can't hold it in. maybe i should wear depends too... i've peed in the woods, side of a bridge, backyards, golf courses, the esplanade, snapple bottles (once in a car- this was tricky, and once in my dorm room when one of my friends was ripe to kick my ass cuz i threw a stolen pumpkin pie on him from 4 stories up and i was hidin like a scared bitch in my room). Hell, i even peed in my pants the first week of kindergarten. Maybe that's why frank gesualdi never asked me out. He was like the fonzie of kindergarten. Gosh, i liked him. Maybe it was cuz we had the same jeans- i always sported my older brother's hand me downs, and w/ pride mind you. Hey, frank- don't you like me? We got the same pants? Rarely does this act as a stimulant for a guy i now realize. Lesson learned.

Whatever, i'm starving and now you have to pee. Be on the lookout for me in my overpriced holiday apparel. And don't forget to tell me how stunning i look, lest i whiskey up and punch you too!!!

New London Calling 11/24/2005

We all come equipped with our own ideas, preferences, and prejudices- which make it really hard to be able to communicate and relate to other people, especially in intimate, life-evolving commitments and experiences. As if this weren’t enough, we- after a certain age/stage/whatever the hell you wanna call it, come with the baggage of a first love/failed relationship/broken heart. Something, some experience where someone lives vividly in our minds, if not in our lives, and it’s hard to let go of it/them even though that’s what is healthiest. Reality and mental health do not play roles in our connection to the past person/experiences. They are pretty fekkin real, ever haunting our decisions about new people, new relations, new opportunities. I used to think it was just me, that I was somehow more fucked up than others and couldn’t let go. But I’ve come to realize that it isn’t yall are pretty fucked up too. I look around and see others who can’t let go, whether it’s of the actual person, or the idea of the person. I see people beating dead relations like a dead horse (gross analogy, sorry), I see temporarily terminated relations that are far from over- the twinkle in the eye of your nyet-mate from across the table. Each scenario has a different solution in my book: some of you need to get back together, some of you need to move on, some of you need therapy. It makes me cry…really, I’m teary eyed on Amtrak seaside in Connecticut. Which leads me to the fact that my calling might just be in seaside Ct- where seaman lifestyle meets country club christmas ball. Can I have both? Can I be a beer swilling, dart throwing fisherman’s wife but still go to black tie events and waltz w/ other ppl’s grandfathers? Fuck me. As if I wasn’t confused enough by where I fit in, what I should aim for and what I’m doing…I stumble upon seaside Ct- which gets me every time. So beautiful, even in winter. Well, who said I can’t have a road soda @ 11 in the morning? Off to the café car, fuckers.

Stay tuned for my deep-throat thoughts on the sorrowful abyss of failed relations and broken families. The bitter End: when love is stained w/ betrayal...

tis pity she's a whore

no, i'm not talking about your mom so don't get offended. i'm talking bout me. but more specifically i'm talking about whoring in a non-sexual sense. more like, what would you do for a klondike bar? what wouldn't i do for $ these days? sad, but true, poverty has riddled my life of leisure and i'm reduced to saying words like "no", "i can't" and "i don't need that". what's worse is that the check out lady @ the deep homo (home depot- i stole this from a good lad, and i love it so) spewed the dreaded, "your card has been declined" to me the other day. good fekkin thing i've got 5 more, lady. take that mastercard. hi-ya!

so what will i do for $?
well, i learned i can sell blood for $. that's hott.
and i can role play (not like that, ya sheep banger) in some mock trial focus group thingy.
i can sell my clothes.
i can sell my eggs.

all this, i have done, save the eggs, mind you. is that creepy?

well, not really...the creep-o-meter doesn't really get broken out til there's sex involved for $. at least in my book. not that i'm sittin on the throne @ judgement day so don't worry about my moral set.

btw-this does NOT stop me from buying the amazing must haves on my list.
next up: a fancy, dreamy cocktail dress, so invite me to yer black-tie holiday party, bitch! i promise not to pee in the coat closet.

he's just not that into you

in a time where it seems i am surrounded by amazing people who are being confronted w/ some of the evils that love, lust, and like have to dish out... i like to turn to the dark side to make everyone feel better.

so, really we've all talked about the why, the how could s/he, and the what next? instead of playing both sides of every heat ache, heart break, shitty date, half-truth, ...i'll give you some tales of revenge that'll make you cringe.

when i was a wee lassie, my older brother and i had some serious battles. the rivalry was endless. i had "a mouth on me" as mom would say, and dear brother, well, he had the brawn. since i couldn't retaliate physically, i fought back in the lowest of ways i could dream up in my youthful imagination. i once peed in his aftershave (sorry, i love you, i'll never do it again), i stuck his toothbrush in the toilet (though i'm sure he did this to me too, ewww...), i wiped our infant brother's shite-encrusted arse on his pillow and flipped it over so he wouldn't know til he came home, crawled into bed, and slipped his hand under his pillow all snuggly and ewwwwwwwww...craptime. i once let (let= didn't dissuade by any means) said lil brother pee on said big brother's bed. i was a bad, bad, dirty, rotten sister. in my defense, you shoulda seen the bruises i had from old hockey pants. he used to kick my ass!!!! which he'll likely do again @ christmas after reading this. awwww shit, i'm in for it...

so, i like to think one is only capable of performing acts such as these in sibling rivalry, but not so much. my 2nd year of college a boy i was not really dating but we slept in the same bed every night even though i wouldn't hook up w/ him (i wasn't v good at letting the people touch me)... well he started dating someone else. and in my mind, he was an ASS. so i cleaned the hall toilet w/ the Ahiru no pekkle (for those of you who don't follow the sanrio-hello kitty friends product line -ahiru is a duck, v cute really) toothbrush. isn't that gross? ewwwww. so when he came back, like they always do, i watched him brush his lil traitor teeth w/ the germs of the public loo. ewwww... yeah, he didn't get any tongue from me that night either. hah.

i promise i haven't done anything like this in a decade. i swear i'm reformed. you don't have to hide your toothbrushes from me.

so, the moral of the story is: don't get sad, get creepy.

blah blah blog

i've been cursed for my endless heroic acts of drinking, w/ an enormously sore throat. cruel fate. take away my snifter. so, little friends, what shall i tell you today? shall i tell you how i woke up on saturday covered in bruises that i didn't recall getting? should i tell you i had my last laser hair removal appointment? (shhh, don't tell mom these things, k?)

ahh, i'll tell you a tale of mcclellan. a mighty whiskey w/ a firm grasp on my sense n sensibilities if you know what i mean. apparently i took a dive off a bar stool in cahootz w/ my dear drinkin' partner in crime. he's got a pain in his heart (i think i'm the pain in his ass) and i look like i fell UP a flight of stairs.

the good news is that my behaviour was rivaled on saturday night by another bloke who blew chunks and tried to turn the window into an egress. good thing it was the first floor!

i'll leave you w/ a story that hasn't a t(h)ing to do w/ boozin (believe it mates). so this past summer i was bikin' along the charles river- cambridge side when my bike started moving very slooowly til it came to a complete stop ...w/ me balanced on on it (freeze frame). i look down and it seems my shoelace has gotten stuck in my gears and has caused the pedals to seize. w/in 1 swift second of realizing this, my bike (w/ me tied to it, mind you) slowly leans to the right til BAM i'm on the ground, yup, w/ old Fitzy (my bike) caught between my legs. the arborists along the river had a feck of a chuckle. i wound up w/ greasy shoe laces and bruised thighs. sigh. bruises seemsto be my common theme of the day.

yours in a week of detox.
booyashaka

ass-fixiation

so, apparently i like drinking more than i recall. but how much do you actually recall when you're drinking anyway?

twas worth it given my sing along @ tir na nog last night. god, i love that place. sometimes i think i should date the singer/guitarist of ronan quinn (the man, the band, the booz, panama...ok, so it isn't a palindrome. what?!?!) . he's a big, burly, irish hippie. not my type @ all, save the irish bit. i don't generally like hippies, or musicians (bad taste in mouth from coke-head ex who played guitar--assface that he was). but this guy's got a certain sumpin sumpin. well, if i don't meet nick boynton soon, maybe i'll ask this guy out. got approached @ the bar last nt, mind you by a guy who didn't move me, but still...it was a start. i've been so consumed by my faux-relationship that i forgot i should be out there crushing men. it really is what i do best.

so, enough emotional bs (feelings, feelings feelings, spoken in an indian accent, mocking the poor victim from last summer)...

more about ass!!!

so that whole fart thing got me thinkin bout ASS. when i was a wee tot, my older brother went through this unfortunate phase where he was v v paranoid about the smell of crap on his hands. please, allow me to splain, lucy. i have memories, can i say they're fond memories? well, that'd be creepy. but anyway...memories of my brother using the loo and being completely obsessed w/ his hands ans washing them a million times and constantly sniffing them and yelling @ my mother b/c HIS hands 'smelled'. v fuckin bizzaro. no? he'd pop me in the head if he knew i was writing this. but then again, he told everyone @ my 10th bday party that i peed in the kitty litter box. i did it b/c i was afraid to go upstairs alone (we moved from an 800 sf apartment in the city to a house w/ a basement, attic, etc in the burbs. i was scared dammit!). that was mortifying. but now i'm quite proud.

more on getting old ( i don't want to look like any of the women i see over 45), how there aren't any good single ppl left, whiskey, and of course, ASS, later

a cry for help

upon telling my fabulous cohort about my binge drinking session and how i get myself into sticky conversations where i fail to recall the important details regarding the topics i set in motion, she thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, my confession to her and my boss, was indeed a cry for help. at this thought, she had herself a good laugh. good to know my safety won't hinder amusement.

well, it was the use of my coworkers as my journal for the deviant and bizarre that lands me here, blogging like some vespa-riding, clove smokin nerd.

sadly, i need an outlet for all the creepy things i say and do, so here i stand. and if any of this shit comes full circle and bites me in the fat ass, i'm taking my cohort down with me (you know who you are!).

since i'm new @ this, and have already sent my most angry righteous thoughts out in an email earlier, i'll leave you w/ this...

yesterday i was biking to school and realized i had a fart in the making. i agreeably stood on my pedals to let rover take over. well, bam, somethin funky in my skippies i doth felt. i spent the short ride so f'n paranoid that i'd dropped a dookie in my drawers. mostly b/c i was sportin a thong, so the terd wouldn't have been controlled. while a dookie in my jeans would've made for a great story, i was relieved to learn that it was the sole power of the gas i hath passed pushin' the thong out the way, lodging it betwixt me cheeks. phew, that was a close call.

more on shit, men, and food soon.

yours in foul language and bar fights...