Tuesday, June 26, 2007

something about the way you taste makes me want to clear my throat

A couple years ago there was a brief period where the house fell into a state of debauchery and the secret password for entry was 'relapse'. I wasn't a permanent resident at the time, but I was on the board of directors and put in many a 48 hour work day. The patrons of our little country club were made up of your usual pack of losers who didn't have much use for each other unless it took place over a virgin mary mirror & gagger mounds of coke... & a gaggle of hang-arounds who had bought season tickets in the cheap seats & seemed content to sit back & watch the carnage. This never sat well with me. I prefer to perfect my downward spiral in private- not as the star of some b-quality reality show in jackal's bedroom. secondly, drug addicts are the most boring lot of deadbeats on the planet (next to drunks and born again christians anyway) & anybody who's got nothing better to do than watch me hoover 'mount mao' is a bigger loser than i am. and i am one big fucking loser.

there was this one guy who used to used to spin 'tough guy' tales that would put paul bunyan to shame. i would tune him out the second a simple trip to the grocery store turned from 'highly improbable' to 'i recognize that scene from 'Die Hard'... but at the end of the night, day or weekend i was always left with the same question 'what is the deal with this guy? does he ever stop pretending to be something? do people like that get home, close the door & just crumble to the floor in a fit of tiredness because they have been ON their entire lives?'

It wasn't that he was an overt asshole. quite the contrary- he was all too eager to please. the consummate 'yes man'.... so sickeningly cool that comparatively speaking he made the fonz look like peter sellers in 'being there'. Every move, every utterance, every poignant marlon brando crook of the eye left you with the feeling it had been studied, practiced & perfected only hours before in front of a dirty bathroom mirror.

so where was i going with this? i know there was some thing when i sat down all agitated & disgruntled.


oh yeah, so the other day at work i was bored out of my skull & decided to visit a message board i hadn't looked at in awhile. it's the 2-wheeled little brother (sister?) of a car site i used to check out because it was always good for a laugh. it's amazing how quickly a discussion on taking apart bsa clutch plates can digress into name calling & pillow fights that parallel jr high sleep overs one week before cheerleader tryouts.

but again.. i digress.

i was scanning through the topics & nothing caught my eye until i saw chachi's screen name & it struck me as an odd place for him of all people to be posting his thoughts. for starters, to the best of my knowledge, i've been riding motorcycles longer than he has: and i'm a preppy, 35 year old woman who likes doing laundry & embroidering my sheets with cute little animals (ok, with rats- but still...) & hasn't so much as SAT on a bike in over 4 years. what the fuck is this guy doing on here? i looked at his profile & winced with embarrassment.
my, my, my how the chameleon turns such pretty colors. he had obviously taken the advanced course in easy rider lingo - i could practically hear the all-knowing, long-winded diatribes about life on the road 'with his bros' that could have been lifted straight out of 'born to ride' staring john stamos.

i went back to the board & looked at the thread he had felt compelled to post on & knew i was in for one of the more inane online reads i had experienced in awhile. it was some testosterone fueled drivel about beating the crap out of guys who fuck with your bike- complete with video. i must confess, i couldn't bring myself read 95% of it or watch the video. i can only assume it showed some poor schmuck getting pulverized after knocking over what was probably some after market atrocity & not worth a few cross words much less a crushed skull.
i detest fighting. i think it is one of man's most repugnant, common, animal traits- even worse than animal in that it rarely has anything to do with survival-so much as it has to do with being stupid. but what i loathe more than fighting is the sub-level mentality that feels the need to boast & brag about it afterwards.

in true hollywood style the man of the hour proclaimed sudden & complete death to anyone stupid enough to fuck with his bike. aside from the fact that such a statement is utterly ridiculous (moderation people... it's so much more believable!) i found it somewhat ironic coming from a guy who only a couple years back dropped another man's gas tank on the ground.... & then started to cry.

it was during one of his late night lurk fests out back in the shop. the boys were working on some guy's tank and wonder boy wouldn't stay out of the way until finally he ended up knocking it on the ground & denting the hell out of it.
(i still chuckle out loud at what a total DOOFUS move that was.. & this is coming from a girl who once shook out a shop rag over clear coat i had sprayed seconds earlier)

i haven't thumbed through sonny barger's book of biker etiquette in awhile... but i'm pretty sure crying under any & all circumstances is frowned upon. prostrating yourself on the ground, begging for forgiveness & promising to commit immediate suicide after rectifying the situation at hand is still not going to get you any girl scout badges- but it's infinitely more appropriate than breaking down into an oprah winfrey moment.

the fact that he has the audacity to write such complete & total bullshit really irritated me. my fingers itched to log on & ruin him..... & then i realized that was futile & petty. obviously he has some desperate psychological need to belong to something... don't we all? even if what we're most desperate to belong to is nothing. so i recoiled my fingers & let it go.

or tried to anyway. it's been murmuring in my ear for days & it won't go away.

i hate artifice. artifice decadently slathered on for the sole purpose of portraying yourself as a degenerate asshole: that just defies reason. i don't get it. what is it that bores into peoples skulls & makes them so desperate to be something they most certainly are not? i have a hard enough time dealing with just being me & aside from a few quirks here & there... i'm not all that complicated. i can't imagine adding a few more superfluous layers - just for show. what a fucking nightmare - i'm lucky if i make it out the front door with matching vans on in the morning... i can't imagine trying to keep multiple personalities straight.

whatever, it's lame & this entire entry qualifies as the second most inane thing i have read online in awhile. but the ticking has stopped behind my right ear- so that's good.. i'm just over stupid people & needed to vomit him out of my system.

'gotta roll.... somebody violated my kitchen aid mixer last night... and i need to round up the gang for a back alley rumble & hors douvres to settle things like real men.'

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Thursday, June 14, 2007

notes to self

while riffling through a pile of notes & random scribblings on my desk i came across these gems...

'i'll have the lasagna of man essences.'

"black magic colon/human bidet"

and my favorite...

"i'm one wooden leg away from being totally fuckable living room furniture"

what i find most interesting is that they were all written on grocery lists & the only common item on each was shallots. who knew i ate so many shallots?