Friday, December 30, 2011

elementary story writing

i severely need to get my shit together, but i can't remember how. or why. or who, what, where, or when.

kinda like how the six o'clock news forgets those same [w]h's every night when i have to listen to a horribly reported story about a dog having to sleep outside overnight or some other bullshit nonsense that in no way impacts the world or anything in it except maybe that dog which might be a little peeved and somewhat-rightfully so except not really cause you're a fucking dog so get over it already, jeez.

that is what the world feels like every minute of every day of most weeks in all months starting with 'd' and maybe possibly 'j' too, but we'll have to wait a little while to find out about those ones. definitely 'd's though, that one you can put down for sure.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

an ode to opposites

99% percent of my friends would agree that my most prevailing personality trait is my unmatched laziness, and the opposing 1% would only disagree because i somehow managed to graduate college in time without having to do the 5th year victory lap (still not sure how i pulled that off). if i don't leave my house between the time i wake up to the time i go to sleep about ten hours later, it's been a good day. nay, a GREAT day. give me a tv, way too much delivery food, and a forty and you've just described my version of the heavenly kingdom. granted going through a good-for-nothing-couch-bum phase is pretty much required for graduation, but if laziness had been a major i would've graduated three semesters early.

to maximize laziness enjoyment, rewatch a classic movie you've already seen at least 50+ times

with the exception of frequently late papers, laziness in college was never that detrimental to my life. in hindsight, i can pretty much chalk that up to my best friend and roommate, taco, my energy opposite. she's the rittalin to my valium, the coke to my pot, the meth to my heroin, the adrenaline needle to my straight up OD. basically if it weren't for her i would still be asleep on the couch, and if it weren't for me she'd be chain smoking through her one remaining tooth in a basement yammering on and on about how she's the reincarnation of god. (remember, in this analogy taco is meth).

being a double almost triple major with two research assistant jobs, president of the religion club, treasurer of the anthropology club, member of the honor college, and at least five awards for teacher's pet, taco was the ying to my underachieving academic yang. in addition to guilt tripping me into not failing out of school, taco was responsible for my pretty killer social life via not indulging in my let's-just-stay-home-and-play-drunk-uno suggestions. i'm not sure exactly why, but getting me to go out most nights is eerily similiar to getting a toddler to bathe before bedtime. i just don't want to do it, even though i'm fully aware of how fun it can be with the right toys and an ample supply of bubble bath (in this scenario, the toys are male homo sapiens and the bubble bath is malt liquor, vodka from a plastic flask if i'm feeling chic). all i want is to keep watching the spongebob marathon undisturbed, but nay, mama taco is all too aware the importance of hygiene/socialization and knows that once i'm in the bath the real battle is getting me out. and bless her hyper little heart because otherwise i'd be filthy with no friends.

unfortunately, my ying jet set off to Thailand for a year prety much right out of the graduated starting gates, leaving me to yang around in a confused stupor ever since. but hark! doest my calendar deceive me? nay! my taco is indeed expected to make her stateside return in mere days, hopefully bringing my year of fog to a close as she kicks my ass via excitement back to life. after all I haven't taken a bath in MONTHS and this spongebob marathon is starting to repeat episodes.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

knock knock. who's there? a lot of crazy shit

i've been noticing something lately: the world has totally lost its fucking shit. seriously.  liiiiiike what is happening? when watching the news is more disturbing than the real housewives of new york city reunion, i start to get concerned.

these bitchz b TRIPPIN' over the debt ceiling debacle

the best aka worst part of the world suddenly coming off it's meds is the average person's complete inability to do anything but watch the schizo's battle it out for who gets to kill us all first. since i have nothing else to do, i've just been chillen on the sidelines watching the massive food fight that is the world, all cliques included, more or less burn down into a pile of leftover ashes. 2012? at this rate, i'm thinking more october 2011. fuck you mayans, wrong again.

it's strange how everything seems to be unravelling at the seams, and yet we, especially americans, are sitting and watching like it's merely a trailer for the blockbuster sequel to Independence Day (with Tony Award nominee, Bill Pullman, returning as President Whitmore).  it's strange how we don't even try. strange, but completely understandable. it's extremely difficult to feel passion for something, for example a political issue, only to be shut out and fucked over by the persons whose job description specifically includes taking you seriously, for example 99.9% of our publicly elected officials. this latest debt ceiling crisis is only the cherry on top of the sinking ship sundae that is the american government and economy as we know it. smell ya later, first world, it's been real. 

in conclusion, since congress seems to think this is all an amazingly awful and catty drama-driven reality show, i propose that we start to play it the same way by calling in to a toll-free phone line to vote off a shitty congressman every week. and the best part is we just keep going until all of them are kicked out of D.C. and preferably the country 'cause then that way none of them are the winner, we are! the prize is a cover of The Wallstreet Journal and a $100,000 contract with the National Treasury. and Heidi Klum is the host, just to really drive the point home. 

"in the world of governments, one day you are in and the next you are out. i'm sorry i'm not sorry, john boehner, but you are out. auf wiedersehen"

Thursday, July 21, 2011

reasons i should peruse a career as a late night show host

1. I'm a redhead and thus awesome and slightly off

2. I don't know what a filter is

3. There aren't any female late night hosts, besides Chelsea Lately but that doesn't really count cause it's just celebrity gossip with one guest interview that just happens to come on late at night

4. I'm good at making fun of people without them realizing

5. My only real skill is my personality and foul mouth

6. I'm good at tricking people into thinking I'm cool, and then when they're hooked I'm all "bahahaha gotcha bitch!" and show them my shell collection, describing with great detail their size, shape, and where I found it until they realize I'm a fucking weirdo but at that point there's no escape. I've got you for the rest of your natural born life
unlike principal vernon, people find it endearing when I threaten their lives

7. I look ten and blink a lot, and so people tend to let me do whatever I want
"wud up ya ugly fuck?" "awwwww she said wud up! Let's buy her something"

8. I'm really good at talking to interesting people about random shit and even better at talking to boring people

9. I'd probably be able to read a prompter

10. Just 'cause


11. My dance moves are something to be marveled

I forgot that one, which is strange. It probably should be #1

Thursday, June 30, 2011

why i wish animals had opposible thumbs

i fucking love animals. like.... a lot. too much, some might say. if it's an animal and has a face, there's about a 99.99% chance i will squeel, clench my jaw, and shake my fists uncontrollably while overcome with glee and giddyness. i have a somewhat socially unacceptable habit of going up to random dogs being walked on the street and start petting them and cooing into their face how they're the cutest thing on the face of the earth without once acknowledging their owner or even asking if they're ok with my physical invasion of their very personal space. if i were this way with people's children, i'd be thrown in jail in about .2 seconds. but i can't help it, i'm like a boozehound at an open bar. it's gotten to the point where i am sent pictures of random animals from friends on a pretty much daily basis. dogs, cats, racoons, skunks, dogs on skateboards, baby wombats, elephants, cats stuck in things, baby lions/giraffes/hyennas/black bears/camels, hedgehogs, etc etc etc. usually it's in a form of mockery, but jokes on you suckas cause iiiiiiiii love 'em.

surprise! baby wombats are the cutest! who knew?! (hint: me)

basically i love animals more than people, which sucks for me because people are a whole lot easier to keep in contact with. sadly, no pets that i know have cellphones or a facebook (that they opperate and use) so my missing of certain animals that i've become particularly good friends with usually goes without any form of closure. for this reason, i gave gathered a list of the top five animals for whom i would gladly go over my texting limit if the good lord had given them the gift of thumbs and speech (and immortality for the ones who are no longer with us). without further adieu and in order from least favorite to most favorite, i present to you my top five pets i miss the most (a five part series):

#5- kitty

me and kitty had a love/hate relationship of sorts. rescued from the pound or something, kitty had some mental and emotional problems to say the least. basically, she was a bitch, though an underrated and misunderstood bitch. apparently she was raised in some shitty apartment with like 2o little kids who basically made her life hell which caused her to hate pretty much all and any humans. there was also rumor that she was found living in an abandoned crack house in brooklyn before being taken to the pound, but who knows. kitty was my roommate anna's cat that she got the year before i moved in with her. kitty got a pretty bad rap from the get-go, mostly because she didn't really like being pet and what use is a cat if you can't squeeze it halfway to death against it's will. mostly she just sat at a distance and glared at you while looking disgusted by your presence, which would always peeve me off 'cause i'm paying rent you asshole, what have you done around here lately?

upon moving in with anna and kitty, i decided i would be the one to train her into at least being tolerable. you see, the problem came from the fact that anna, god bless her little russian heart, had never been a pet owner and thus did not realize that encouraging biting as "just teething" or scratching as "adorable love marks" leads to a furry little asshole who thinks they run shit. and thus began nelson's boot camp for cats. anna didn't quite approve of my water-bottle-squirt-to-the-face training methods and i do admit that at times i would get a little squirt-happy and spray kitty for no other reason than just sitting there looking bitchy. however, after a month or two of boot camp, kitty was a whole new kitty. she definitely still glared, but now it was from a much closer distance. i would find her sleeping in my bed (what?!), hanging out with us in the living room (huh?), and even purring while rubbing up against my shins every now and then (braaaw?? ). pretty soon she was jumping up and sitting in my lap on her own accord and allowing people (mostly me) to pick her up and hold her for extended periods of time. in one short summer, we had gone from forced and hated roommates to good old fashion pet and (kind of) owner.

sadly, kitty soon developed a bad case of cat leukemia which quickly turned into the worst and most tense month of 415 cali drive history. strangely/not so strangely, it was her last month of life that kitty showed the most love to all of us. it was a sad and smelly month of watching our cat become weaker and bonier until eventually she had to be put down. however, she went out with lots of love and support from even her most mortal enemies, a sign of a truly reformed cat sinner. RIP kitty, may you be glaring and swatting to your hearts desire up there in feline heaven

reason i would want to text her: due to kitty's natural bitchy disposition, i know that she would've sent some of the most hysterically judgemental texts, probably about how ugly that girl's outfit is or how the most heinous piece of guido garbage just tried to pick her up. texts talking shit about strangers are the best kind, and kitty would've been queen of them.

Monday, August 9, 2010

if only i was paid for books and cigarettes, part I

Franny and Zooey is one of the more genius books I've had the pleasure of reading. It's like an old friend that just gets every twirling bit occuring between your ears, lecturing with just the right amount of audacity to ensure you that you aren't crazy and your thoughts are justified, but wallowing like a moron is the worst idea you've had yet. It's genius in the same way that your middle aged mother is beautiful, that is to say not obviously yet still honestly. It's old, the pages are yellowed, the binding is broken and dull, but because of that you know exactly it's value. The lingo is out dated, the narration can be preachy, but, my god, she speaks a truth that can't be argued. As cliché as mothers and Salinger can be, they're clichés for a reason, an aspect that goes unremembered until you're back home again and trying to remember why you spent so long away in the first place.

No one will argue against the legitmacy of the Glass family, and those who do probably belong to the group of people so detested by the two youngest Glass members. It's a family that trancends the bounds of fiction, formulated so truthfully that one often forgets that poor Seymour never really did shoot his brains out-- I half expect to find their family history on the same shelves of the Kennedy's. The short stories of the Glass's are interwoven by the same minor details that lead to the tangling confusion of real life, that to picture a person pulling these connections from nowhere but imagination seems more fictional than the story itself.

Monday, August 2, 2010

someone who loves me spent $100,000 and all i got was a useless piece of paper

Four years of body building my brain and I can't even get hired as a dog walker. Isn't a diploma suppose to take the form of a golden ticket? False advertising like whoa. On the plus side, my parents are gone for a week and so I get to pretend that I'm not 22 and living at home. Also, it's nice to have no one to judge me for sitting on the couch all day while wallowing in self pity fueled by rejection and inadequacy, being told via silence that you don't even require the skills to walk an animal. Everyone loves a useless college grad! Time to find solace at the bottom of a wine bottle on a Monday afternoon 'cause no one is depending on my sobriety. Silver lining?

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