Monday, March 31, 2008

oh my god, i am such a pig

i just spent the last couple hours talking to brian about the pros and cons of being a nutter. it's nice to have him in my life again — especially since we sort of get each other's mental issues. i don't feel like he thinks i'm completely insane when i tell him that even when my life is great and you look at me and i am happy and laughing — inside there is a part of me that feels like i've got 4 loaded guns in my face and a cold fist shoved through my chest cavity clenching my heart. not everyone gets that feeling — but it exists and you just deal with it. so anyway, we just chatted and it was nice.
then we got off the phone and instead of making a proper dinner for myself i stood at my kitchen counter and ate an entire row of oreo cookies. i'm a disgusting, vile pig... and i sort of don't care. i liked them.. and now i am going to go soak in the tub, rub my round little belly and then go to bed.

if you have a problem with that — you can go fuck yourself. xo.

the most liberating moment in my life was when i ceased to care.

the first weekend

i’ve been getting very little sleep, my mind — an organ always overflowing with conversations for at least 10 is now running at hyperspeed and the clatter is seizure inducing. the only way to describe what i’m feeling right now is “i don’t know how i am going to do all of this.” and it’s a phrase i have been murmuring nonstop for the last couple weeks. even the constant reminder ‘don’t worry, it will all work out’ isn’t soothing my rather abraded mental state right now. i KNOW it will work out and in a month i will be happy for probably the first time in years. i like my new sunny apartment, i like the new city near nice, intelligent friends and people i trust. several who in the last 72 hours have done more for me than any of the people i have known in sacramento combined over the last 5 years. but i am still faced with the cluster fuck of getting myself down there and situated. i'm shooting for the weekend of the 11th instead of the 18th. i really don't know how it will all come together — but basically it must.

i went down this past weekend to sign my lease and do a bit of cleaning. the apartment was surprisingly clean so i only had to give it a quick once over — it's never really your home until you clean the toilet sort of thing. the shower-head wasn't so simple. i hate it when people fuck up plumbing because they are too cheap to do something properly. i'm not really sure what to do with it. i don't have the upper body strength to wrangle it apart (though i spent a good portion of each day trying my damnedest).

the one thing that has stuck out the most about this move is that at every juncture where i find myself standing alone wondering if i have just made a horrible mistake, there has been someone to swoop in and reassure me that this is a GOOD move and it will all end well. friday night those people were dave and dre and i am most appreciative for it. i wasn't in town for a full 6 hours before they took me to dinner and basically had me laughing the entire time. and dre was such a great surprise. i am so accustomed to meeting women and having them hate me for no good reason other than i am a woman and apparently pose some threat by virtue of being another with boobies. it's what i despise about sacramento the most — the women here BLOW (with a few godsend exceptions). she was out-going, polite, funny, intelligent and NICE. her immediate openness was refreshing.

i spent my first night alone in my apartment – sans bed which really sucks. it made me realize how old my body is getting. i didn't sleep much, i had too many things going through my head and... it seems my toilet likes to flush itself periodically through out the night. now i am not a total wuss — but it was unnerving to be alone in a strange place and have things move around on their own. fortunately i was so exhausted i couldn't even bother to investigate, i just called out 'please put the seat down.' and fell back asleep.

the next morning didn't go quite so smoothly. lack of caffeine, hunger and a list of 300 things that needed to get done sent me into a bit of a tail spin. it wasn't so much the list as it was the need for a cup of coffee and food. a hungry heather is a scary heather. i ran around town and took care of some things — the vexing shower-head that still sits in pieces on my kitchen counter, a little cleaning, a little mental accounting of how much this was all really going to cost when all was said and done... and then i freaked out. that was when i headed to LA for a little reassurance from steve. i got that and lobster bisque. i also got several hours of ridiculously filthy/hilarious conversation while he finished doing a re-write and i sat and made lists and sketched ideas for my new home. being the consummate 'producer' he also solved about 90% of my major worries in about 20 minutes and then we went for an insanely heavy dinner of mac-n-cheese and steak at 10. the far-flung XXX vulgarities of the day/night were colossal and i still laugh audibly when they flit through my head — however, i think for now i will keep them to myself and leave it at this: i love having a friend who has known me forever. through glasses and braces to serial killer boyfriends and thai masseuses in need of green cards... and all the weird stops in between. i also love that we can make completely esoteric jokes about ben franklin's gout and totally get what the other one is talking about without missing a beat.

i left LA saturday night refreshed and once again feeling good about the move. it took me 30 minutes to get home going an easy 70 on the empty 705. the high light of the trip happened once i was in long beach, waiting at a red light i looked over and saw an older woman totally puking on herself in the gigantic suv sitting next to me. it looked like she had foam insulation coming out of her and her lack of emotion over the whole ordeal led me to believe that on top of an obviously very heavy dinner she had also ingested massive quantities of alcohol. it ruled. i was poised to take a photo until the very large man in the driver's seat looked at me like 'do you want that camera shoved up your ass?' it would have been brilliant though. talk about full body annihilation. she was all dressed up too. brilliant!

and then i had to park....

i have heard the horror stories but got the full blown experience personally saturday night. as i drove in circles, dead tired and sore i was almost in tears. all i wanted was bed. i kept thinking 'half hour drive home. over an hour spent looking for a parking spot... i am so fucked.'
i ended up 10 blocks from my apartment and had to walk in cold, spitting rain. it was a rough way to end the night and then i opened my screen door and found a hefty, age worn channel lock tied with a ribbon and a note. a 'welcome' gift from a visitor i missed while having my nervous breakdown in LA. i was bummed to have missed her, but the token was the perfect end to a rather long day.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

bitch ate my beef bra

we have these huge slabs of beef jerky in the office this week. i'm not sure where they came from — but they are here and despite not being a big beef eater... i can't walk by without grabbing a pelt and gnawing away like a little woodland animal.

we also have an office dog, named bella. she's a small chihuahua who loves me best and therefore spends most of the day either tucked into my shirt or walking around on my desks. today i had one of the aforementioned slabs o beef on my desk. i was cutting it into assorted shapes with one of my xacto knives to make beef jerky bra top. i got up to get something from the kitchen and came back to my desk to find bella gorging herself on my beef jerky pasties.

"thaaaaaaaaaaaat's Myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Beeeeeeeeeeeef Jerkkkkkkkkkky!"

at the top of my lungs, in the most undignified screech imaginable as i lunged towards the dog.

that dog isn't getting in my shirt for a good long while.

i believe this is what they call rock bottom.

if he could hear me now, his heart would sink.

while sorting through boxes of old journals, letters and assorted writing last night i came across a character outline a friend wrote nearly 2 decades ago in which one of the females was a direct transplant of me onto paper. nothing ever became of the play, but i always loved his elegant perception. i was much different then. the same in essentials i suppose — though not quite the wreck and not as inclined to secret myself away behind closed doors and a less lofty tongue.

"she spoke with a lilting gait — the likes of which one only comes across these days while reading hemingway. it was the sort of voice that told her listeners:
'i have never hurried for anyone.'
simply by virtue of annunciation."

i don't live in a world that appreciates a large vocabulary and east coast articulation. i save that for our private conversations when i am alone in my bathtub or cleaning the kitchen. i'm sure he hears and approves; but i know somewhere, with every utterance of 'cock-sucking mother fucker, i will crush your skull with my bare, bony hands.' there is a ghost shaking his head and wincing with every grotesque syllable.

i'm sorry.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

i'm finding it increasingly more difficult to concentrate

mostly when it comes to work. i have another 3 weeks to go and the thought of sitting at this desk for another second is killing me. especially when my house is torn to pieces and i would much rather be home packing or at my new place cleaning and painting and fantasizing about new sofas and how i am going to make that bathroom less scary.

i dreamed of sofas last night. well, sofas in between a smattering of nightmares where i couldn't find my way to a number of different job interviews. and when i did find my way i had a 5 year old in tow and no shoes. then we made it to the 'office' and instead of being an advertising agency.... it was a collection of rooms that reminded me of the hotel in the shining and the man in charge was my old copywriter who just got shipped back to england. he didn't have any design or art director work for me — but he needed 11 lady eowyns for his version of the lord of the rings. it was all very confusing. i mostly remember the rooms being littered with empty food containers and dirty socks and a resounding inner monologue of 'fuck no, get out of here quickly!'

i woke up jobless and i believe i lost my child somewhere along the way. i was doing such a good job of holding on to her too. all very distressing.

at any rate, i want the fuck out of here. i'm actually looking forward to getting into my new place and cleaning. and i plan on cleaning like joan crawford after being dropped from the lead. it's going to be crazy lady in a cocktail dress and toothbrush on the floor. i'm trying to decide what dress i want to take along for the occasion — i really think my virgin sweep should be done in style. of course i need to hook up a new shower-head too... that might require i lose the 50's taffeta cocktail dress and ladders and manolos never mix.

i just ate a rather large lunch and i feel like a pig. i'm not in the mood to write. i want to think about colors instead. i'm fancy-ing icy robin's egg blue, a deepish orange, chocolate brown and a nice thick white.

Monday, March 24, 2008

like any smart single girl moving to a new city

i bought a shiny new shower massager today.

must learn to not stress

it'll never happen, but it's a nice thought anyway.
i've decided to drop kick the silly notion of moving my possessions south this coming weekend. it all stemmed from a futile attempt to not make an extra trip but i'm so over it i don't even care. this weekend i will go down, sign my lease — maybe move a jeep cherokee's worth of books and not worry leave it at that. maybe do a little cleaning & get the place ready for when i actually move.

then i'll come back to sac, finish my remaining 3 weeks at my job, get the rest of my crap packed and on the 18th when i am finally done working i can make the big move. i still need to figure out how to get a 15' moving van and my car both down to long beach. dave suggested i line up a sucker to fly north and make the drive. hahaha. i need to find myself a sucker. (anyone? anyone? thrills are sure to abound....)

at any rate, i'm excessively relieved to have a little breathing room. the thought of having to pack my entire house by thursday night, load it, drive it to long beach, unload it and then fly home was more than my little stress ball of a brain could handle. in fact, i'm so relieved it has actually put me in a bit of a giddy mood which in turn just makes me want to have sex which isn't going to happen.. but at least i can entertain myself with torrid impure thoughts while packing boxes this evening.

it takes so little these days.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

let us forget for one second that i am a 36 year old woman

because 36 year old women don't spend 40 minutes of every night sitting in the dark, in their bathtub with a posse of light up peeps. nor do they render what was intended to be a relaxing soak into a stressful, seizure inducing frenzy as they try to make all the peeps light up and blink at once. and i'm most certain that your average 36 year old woman hasn't discovered that bashing their little peep heads against the side of the tub 3 times is the best way to get them to work.

poor little peeps. mummy was a little rough on them tonight. porkchop, ever the perfect peep, sat tubside thankful he didn't have a small led light shoved up his bum — thus sparing him from this latest episode of mommy dearest.

i'm drowning in a sea of my own crap

(to all the fecophiliacs who came across this page accidentally via a pervo google search — you can just move right along because i'm not talking about that kind of crap.)

by crap i mean 36 years worth of
'can't throw this box of broken glass away i might use it in a sculpture or painting someday, every empty pack of lucky strikes i smoked between 1994-1997, scraps of paper scribbled with bits-o-brilliance-a-la-heather by the 1000's, if you don't want those baby teeth your dog keeps spitting out, i'll take them'
kind of crap. so far all i have accomplished is a living room full of boxes. aside from a few empty bookshelves and bits of tape and cardboard everywhere there is no indication that i've been packing — i still have that much crap left to go. i feel a bit defeated. i'm also incredibly bored with packing and feel like i pulled a muscle in my ass and damaged my spine permanently. art books and magazines have the same atomic weight as ununoctium and the men i hire to move my belongings up to my second floor apartment are going to despise me.

i need more boxes but nobody has any so i have to keep buying them. call me a cheap ass but shelling out $50 for BOXES sort of pisses me off. that is money that could be spent buying more books.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

one of my favorite brian/new york moments:

we were walking back to my apartment on 6th street between A & B and i showed him an old triumph that had been chained up for months on the street. i was all excited, i think it was a '58, 650 and i wanted to buy it. he took a half glance at it and looked at me like 'yeah whatever, heather.' and we continued down the street to my haunted house. i persisted, rattling off the multitude of benefits to having a motorcycle in the city (as if i needed to explain these things to him of all people). he kept shaking his head 'no' as if i was asking my dad for a pack of puppies. we stepped into my kitchen from the cold and he said "you've got no place to work on it, what are you going to do, work on it in here, in the kitchen?"

h: "maybe, why not?" (a little indignantly)
b: "you don't have any metric tools — triumphs are all metric"
h: "well, maybe it won't need a lot of work. it looks okay. i could at least call the guy. i sort of want to just steal it though, it's been there forever."

b: (completely rolling his eyes) "heather, it doesn't have an engine."

h: "ooooooh? (sheepishly) i didn't notice that." (total mortification) "..... ummm.... i could get one?" (half-hearted attempt to redeem myself... that failed miserably)

i'm not a thief, but i've always looked back on that & wished that i had stolen it. not bought it, stolen it. i think the owner was dead and i would have given it a good home. i might have even gotten it a motor some day.

the bookshelves of a schizophrenic

i spent last night and today packing. or rather, i've wandered around my house carrying arm loads of books, chattering away to myself packing a box here and there and then drifting off to take care of some utterly unimportant task that couldn't wait another second. last night around 10 i cleaned the bathroom, today around 5 i decided i couldn't possibly go another second without an m&m blizzard from dairy queen — not a fake one from any of the 14 fast food joints a block from my house... i needed one from an honest to god dairy queen. the closest one is 8 miles away. i haven't had one in a long time, i took 4 bites and realized i don't really like them. they taste like chemicals.

if you look through my bookshelves they are far more expressive of who i am than i will ever tell you myself. art, history, science and literature make up the bulk; but my tastes break off into a 1000 different tangents from there. i don't keep my books in any order so as i was packing i would look at the spines in a stuffed box and there would be couture fashion next to farming techniques, nazi uniform manuals next to 60 year old copies of ladies home journal and forensics mixed up with quantum physics and 1960's embroidery patterns for the fashionable stay at home mother. it's also very telling to look at the books given to me by other people. individually i never thought about it — but when they were all stacked in a pile before me it was a little alarming. i counted 5 books on adults with A.D.D., TWO copies of the DSM-IV (really people, come on — TWO!!???), and a smattering of books on death and dying.

god forbid anyone give me something light hearted like a little samuel beckett or sylvia plath for fucks sake.

is this what people really think of me? death obsessed nutter ready to blow at any second? granted, most of those books were given to me years ago.. when, technically speaking, i was a totally nutter, consumed with death and destruction and every day that i managed to not go totally a.w.o.l. was a collective 'wipe the sweat from the brow of humanity' kind of day. but still, as my grandfather would say "jesus h tap dancing christ!'... how the bloody hell do you expect a totally spazoid girl who can't sit still for 5 minutes to read not one, but five books on adults with A.D.D.? (which reminds me of a conversation i had just last weekend concerning the same topic while looking though someone else's shelves... little did i realize i out numbered his collection considerably)

at any rate, i should get back to packing. i have such a hard time keeping myself focused and if i don't get this done i am going to be SCREWED. considering i only have about half my books packed, i still have the rest of the house to go and i just spent 20 minutes playing with a 'beaker' finger muppet — i think screwed might be my new married name.

25 down, 35 left to go... and then i can move to another room

Friday, March 21, 2008

i eat cake for a living

the 'designer' schtick is just a fancy title.

essentially my day involves reading blogs (completely fucking up the page counts on church of choppers and chopperdaves — sorry boys), making smart-assed comments to everyone that walks by, drawing on the walls, listening to music and playing with the agency dogs — followed by the consumption of insane quantities of cake, cookies, pie and assorted sweets. the guy i share a work area with is a coconspirator in my 'food hobby' and our section of the studio has been dubbed the deli. any time you want something all you have to do is come over, we'll rummage around under our desks and procure something at least similar to what you've got a hankering for. the best was when bryan produced a gallon of milk out from under his desk.

today while i teetered dangerously on the back two wheels of my chair and spun ridiculous homoerotic tales for the boys while watching them play darts i proclaimed with a great deal of drama that i needed cake.

bryan disappeared and came back 5 minutes later with this:

4 pounds of kid frosting piled high on a rather obscenely large hunk of cake. they don't believe i can eat it all without getting sick.

silly, silly boys.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

and then there were two

farewell, sweet bird of paradise.
i will miss my little miette.

i found her today when i got home.
now it's just monty and me.
i've been in need of a good girl wimper/cry/melt down for a few weeks now.
tonight will be the night.

celebratory pie

today i found out that i got the apartment in long beach.... prison bathroom and all!!
i'm pretty excited. i need this move — desperately.

now i just need to figure out how to get 60 boxes of books, an assortment of furniture, one cat, possibly one bird and all my other crap crammed into a 15' moving truck and then also get my jeep in long beach as well. i sense a LOT of driving in my future.

it will be worth it though. i am soooo over this place.


Tuesday, March 18, 2008

as i was brushing my teeth this morning

it occurred to me — i'm tired of being alone. in all the essentials i am by nature a loner but there comes a time when existing in complete solitude gets old and you begin to realize there are certain aspects of life that are better when not done for one. making dinner, lounging in bed on a saturday, having babies, making babies, rummaging through junk looking for that perfect scrap of metal/tool/stuffed critter/random artifact from a long gone era to compliment the rest of your scraps of metal/tools/stuffed critters/random artifacts from a long gone era scattered through out the house.
but simply wanting a boyfriend isn't enough to make it happen. this is a fact i am all to familiar with and to be honest, it's fucking annoying. if i had to count the number of times i have been passed over to make room for some young, silly, fresh faced/empty headed little thing i would have so many fingers on both hands the only date i could hope to get would be with the traveling freak show. and wolfmen who can put a nail through their penis while breathing fire are really not my 'thing'.
don't get me wrong, if all i wanted was to get laid, i could probably keep the calendar full. my life seems to be full of men who are more than willing to undergo a night of sweat, they just aren't interested in those hours during the day when people who have a genuine interest in each other can coexist with their clothes on. i find that a little offensive to be honest. i may be a little crazy — but i'm a thoughtful, decent person who is smart, funny (once i'm at ease and not a nervous freak) and talented at what i do. i'm not here for the sexual convenience of men who prefer to spend their quality time with pretty insipids. i don't think that is an outlandish standard to have and yet i seem to be the only one who doesn't scoff at the idea that i deserve slightly more than what one would expect from a date you pay for.
that said — i am fully cognizant that i am a plethora of less than stellar 'can't get enough of you' qualities. last time i checked paranoid nutters plagued with self-doubt, trust issues and numerous insecurities who have a penchant for boyish activities, fire and an aversion to 'i'm-so-cool-look-at-me' tactics weren't exactly topping the list of desirable women. hahaha, god i suck. that rules.

it rules and it sucks. it can get terribly boring being my only entertainment. what do i have to do to make myself more palatable? get a lobotomy? what if i drool? nobody loves a drooler.

Monday, March 17, 2008

it's mercy killin time 'round the ranch i fear

god forbid i go two months without some living creature under my care falling into a state of abject deterioration.

first there was mister fish, now miette seems to be on her last legs — this time i feel imminent death is the only outcome to this saga and i get the feeling she is wishing it would hurry along. which brings me to my hardest problem: do i help her along or just wait and see what happens? every time i sit down next to her cage to check on her she just sits and stares at me sadly with her cute little black eyes and a look of 'what are you waiting for this sucks, let's just do this' but then i think 'well i get that look when i'm hungry sometimes, maybe she just needs a snack?' so i fill her overflowing bowl and watch pensively. she always eats (so she at least still has an appetite) and she drinks like w.c. fields. it's the drinking that worries me. she's obviously dehydrated, her feathers are looking a bit rumpled and her breathing is uneasy.

am i a horrible person because i don't take her to the vet? i don't even know where to go, my vet doesn't do birds. and even if i did... this is a $6 five year old quail i bought at a flea market. she was intended to be served as an entrĂ©e — probably with a nice apricot glaze and some roasted shallots. if we even step foot in a vet's office it's going to be a minimum of $100 to just look at her. then they will either tell me there is nothing they can do, charge me $150 to put her to sleep or make me spend $50 on antibiotics that will do nothing at which point i can then spend the $150 to put her to sleep. i really don't have $300 to spend on a $6 bird who has not only lived a lavish life years beyond what she ever expected i am sure but can't possibly live much longer regardless of what her current health issues might be.

i wish i could just do it myself. i think it's what we would both prefer but i just don't have the killing gene in me. i tried to O.D. my tumor gold fish and i couldn't even go through with that. i let him swim around in a juice glass filled with mega-codiene water for 10 minutes and then, over-come with guilt fished him out & put him in a fresh bowl of water, apologizing profusely as he zigzagged drunkenly around his bowl. i don't even know how i would be able to get enough drugs in her to kill her unless i cooked it & shot her up... and that is just a road i do not want to venture down.

so once again i am stuck in this horrible limbo.. or rather, poor miette is.
i'm such a horrible mother/person/quail rancher.

and to top things off — this is what happens when you try to put a bunch of mixed greens down the garbage disposal too fast.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

'walking petunias', LA, longbeach, dice, goose, big BIG vans, an apartment and dave's chocolate pie

i just got back from LA/long beach a couple hours ago. walking through my back door was so hard. i'm happy i won't have to do it much longer.

friday i hung out with steve, had dinner and a few drinks and then looked for bad reviews for his movies online. basically we giggled all night & made fun of everyone (especially each other). "more rapes" and "these are my walking petunias" will forever-more be a part of my every day vocabulary. i think we need to start recording our conversations.

on saturday i found THE apartment i want — entirely on behalf of dave who i can't thank enough for not only finding what i hope will be my future home but entertaining me all afternoon saturday and sending me off with a arm load of presents AND a belly full of chocolate pie. i could poke around that shop looking at things for hours — i would even consider doing it in bare feet. i am officially your personal design-slave. you can even start bitching for me to hurry up when i lag.
it is sunday and i STILL haven't showered and because i am a compulsive bather it's totally killing me but the upside is — my hands still smell a bit like 'shop' and the transfer ring of oil i got from playing with your broken brake is still planted firmly on my hand. the entire ride home i just kept smelling my grimy hands: grease and metal is the most heavenly scent on the planet. (my dirty hair on the other hand... not so much. and i must remember in the future that once one puts on a 'chopperdave' hat, one is committed to wearing it for the duration. i stopped in buttonwillow to get gas and took it off because i was hot & filthy and then almost died when i saw my reflection.)

after dave's i was off to the goose factory for a little lego-land star wars video playing with lil'man, the unveiling of the goose's new behemoth van (& an interior light show that seemed to work itself out), a quick dinner and then off to the dice party. driving through LA in a van that can drive over most cars is a pretty funny feeling. parking it and then dismounting out of it is even funnier. (as was watching us try to get in it i'm sure — monster vans were not designed for old people in tight jeans.) i loved looking down at the terrified faces of people as we passed them. if it had a .50 cal machine gun mounted on the dash it would be perfect. i wish i had taken a picture of goose and the total little boy excitement in his eyes every time he let out a squeal of "it's like we're in a plane!" (ok, it was almost a squeal. it was very manly) between the manic delight and his new crazy man beard and top hat it was both scary and adorable. i sort of felt like i was riding with a much cuter version of the child catcher from 'chitty chitty bang bang'. and the fact that he took me to the party despite the fact that 14 of his girlfriends would also be attending endeared me to him all the more. of course, the fact that i was the one who got tucked into the bunk bed that night certainly didn't hurt either.

the dice party was fun even though i only knew a few people and always feel a little lost at things like that. the best part was that i looked like total shit — which always makes meeting people loads of fun. you know something is terribly wrong when the big burly guys covered in tattoos you saw only a few hours ago show up all showered, clean and 'dressed' while you are struggling to run your fingers through your tangled mass of hair that hasn't been brushed for 18 hours. and nothing rules more than having a man tell you that you smell because you haven't showered in 8 hours (to his credit, he was kidding & those weren't his exact words) but it came immediately after commenting on how pretty the blonde in goose's harem was — so that was pretty rad.... 'she's really pretty, you on the other hand stink!' thank you mister dustin. nothing quite like commentary on my lack of primping to make a girl in unfamiliar territory feel good about herself! and i would like to clarify for anyone wondering why i came looking as though i had just crawled out from under a rock... i brought 6 different pairs of shoes (3 with heels) and even had a dress with me. how did i know i wouldn't get to shower before the party? quite honestly men should have been showering me with compliments that i managed to change my clothes and put on some fresh deodorant. on the upside... i somehow got suckered into a low key 'drinking contest through little straws' with gabe — which i confess, i failed miserably. however, considering i was sick for a week after the oakland shindig AND looked like an over cooked ham in every HORRIBLE photo.... i think it's probably best that i proved feeble when it comes to consuming vodka quickly through stir sticks. i totally appreciated his enthusiasm though. apparently he isn't quite as particular about the preening habits of the women around him. YAY gabe!

i seriously need to shower now. i'm going crawl out of my skin in a second.
thanks boys for a lovely weekend away.
'the crazy girl from the north'

Friday, March 14, 2008

how did they know?


so my apartment got rented to some intruder. i'm a little bummed about that. okay.. A LOT bummed about that, but there's still two other's that i won't have to cry myself to sleep each night if i find myself going to bed in them.

leaving for LALA in 4 more hours. have about 9 hours worth of work i need to finish before then. wohoo!

ok, must get to it.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

how do i hate thee?

oh shittiest of apartments, let me count the ways.

1. your walls are dirty and full of holes
2. your carpets are dingy and stained
3. your bathroom looks like the set of a horror flick that takes place in a crack house.
4. your furnace sucks
5. you're dark and depressing
6. you have no storage
7. your plumbing is worse than new york city's archaic water system.
8. your electricity is original knob and tube wiring that scares me and sparks.
9. the grass doesn't grow, the leaves sit and rot and homeless men piss and sleep in the alley
10. you're grimy and you stink like death.
11. the ceilings leak, the drains are slow and the faucets and fixtures are crap.

i hate my apartment. it's like living in a slum to the tune of $1600 a month.

tonight while running around trying to take care of 85 different things that need to get done before i leave tomorrow i discovered a torrent of water gushing from my kitchen wall... an electrical outlet to be exact. it has leaked before, though not quite like this — and i always mention it to the landlord who looks at me quizzically and says he can't find anything wrong.... well MAYBE mother fucker you can't find anything wrong because you're not a plumber. and just MAYBE i wouldn't be able to get a glass of water out of the plug i use to grind coffee if you didn't do the plumbing around here.

i am so pissed right now i could scream. it's 10:30 and i have spent the last hour or so mopping up water. i haven't even come close to taking the bath i so desperately want and need. now tomorrow on top of all the other calls i have to make, i need to call him. i can't wait to tell him i am leaving. fucking piece of shit.

when i turn to walk away from this place once and for all — i'm setting it on fire.

i've seen double-wides go up faster

for the last 3 hours i have watched two of the guys from my office struggle to hang a dart board on one of the back walls in the studio.
it has been a truly painful experience. there is nothing sadder than men who don't know how to use tools. i asked them if they were putting in a dartboard that also included radiant heat and copper plumbing.

they just gave me a shitty look and from the racket they are making — i think it is quite possible they are using a jackhammer.

only a few more days until i can begin the final countdown.
sweet baby jeebus. sweet baby jeebus.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

i'm moving

closed out an account today to finance it. i'm looking at a few apartments this weekend while i am in LA/long beach and monday i am giving my notice.

i'm really excited and want nothing more than to move and get away from this place. sacramento has been one bad event after another and i am more than ready to leave it all behind me... but i'm a little apprehensive. i'm worried about finding a job i like, making sure i surround myself with decent worthy people — unlike my experience here in sacramento — and most importantly NOT falling back into my old bad habits... that generally surface when i find myself in a new place, surrounded by shitty people who make me feel worthless & inadequate.

i think that might be more why i am leaning towards long beach than LA. LA scares me. right now it represents 'trouble' and 'not feeling comfortable in my own skin' (more so than usual). the thought of surrounding myself with people who are too fucking cool for their own good gives me slight heart palpitations. i am city girl through and through— new york was the only place i have ever felt at home — i'm just not excited about being submerged in a world where i will be demonized by 22 year old scenester idiots who hate me because i am wearing $300 jeans from a season ago. i'm feeling a little barfy just thinking about it. i don't think i want to be surrounded by that constant barrage of 'asshole' right now.

so we'll see. i'm really hoping this weekend is fruitful instead of futile... as so much of my endeavors end up being. i want to find a home. i want to have a couple hours of fun and i want to drive back to sacramento with the feeling that it will be one of the last times i ever have to make the trip. it doesn't seem like too much to ask — but somebody out there really, really doesn't like me.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

apparently i'm a little too quick to condemn

my pets to death.
i got home from work today expecting to find a dead quail.
however, she seems to be doing ok. i gave her a little bath, filled her cage with new pine and aside from doing her usual poorly executed attempt to fly (which ends in a nose dive onto the kitchen floor) she's totally back to normal. i guess birds do barf — because i think that's what i cleaned off her this morning... odd.

but i am ecstatic that she is alive.

isn't she just the cutest little pouf?
she totally gets that from me.

miette mort

i was met with a rather unhappy discovery this morning when i went to feed miette — my plump little puff ball quail.
i found her in the corner of her cage, quivering a bit, her plummage in full puff mode and a brownish slime around her beak.
it was not the sight of a healthy bird.

i took her out, cleaned her up a bit and surmised that by this afternoon when i return home i will most likely be returned to the world of people who don't keep quail in their kitchen.

i don't know what i will do without my quail farm.

Monday, March 10, 2008

how ironic

that i have spent two thirds of my life in pointe shoes — western civilization's answer to foot binding — and today, while wearing a pair of ballet flats 'to be comfortable' i am not only hobbling around because my bony toes are raw and bleeding but i have shin splints as well.

these were certainly a brilliant purchase.

please just shoot me now

my friend steve just called. he wanted to inform me that apparently i accidentally dialed him on my phone & left a 10 minute message.... of me driving to work. i don't have any clue what i was jabbering about — all i do recall is that while listening to turbonegro i was yapping away in my best norwegian accent... not singing mind you, i don't sing — but god only knows what totally random, stream of conscious babblelogue i left him during my 10 minute tirade.

why can't i be mute?

do i smell like bacon?

apparently so. today i had to run to petsmart and i wasn't in the door 5 seconds before 11 different little puff ball, ankle biter dogs accosted me demanding a good butt rub. it's like i'm snow white minus the sing-songy demeanor or something. squirrels fall out of the sky and land in my hand, feral cats follow me for blocks trying to play and lick my ankles, packs of dogs just out of obedience school completely disregard their iams rewards for a chance to prance in circles around me. a wiener dog crawled into my purse... this isn't normal.

makes me wonder if i smell like some tasty pork product to the 4-legged world. and if so, is there a 2-legged variety i can bathe in?

i haven't given a good butt rub to something without fur in ages.

Saturday, March 08, 2008

i found my dearest gearbox

i can't believe it.
i am elated.
he is living in the boonies of new york.

so happy!!

Friday, March 07, 2008

peep pocket

you can always find me in a crowd.
i'm the disappointment in the corner with the funny lump in her jeans.

wow, that is a very unflattering photo — i look like a doughy lard ass. naturally, porkchop looks svelte as always.

hubba hubba

it's like a tire iron to the head

it's amazing how a few words or a 4 second glimpse of something you never expected to see can change your mindset on something or someone forever.
today is not going to be a good day. and probably not tomorrow or the next either.

Thursday, March 06, 2008


i'm really tired. there was something on my mind earlier but i haven't any idea what it was now. i think i need to sleep.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

for some of us life is never about coming out ahead. it’s about making it out at all.

most of the time life makes no sense to me because the standard issue version that the gov’t passes out at birth holds no value or meaning. i must muddle my way through my own pieced together variation — making it up as i go — more often than not finding myself looking back and thinking ‘oh shit, that could have been done differently.’

oh well.

it’s a never ending series of fuck-ups — dotted here and there with a triumph or two — which never live up to what i had hoped for, never shine quite as brightly as i need or would like and therefore those brief moments of happiness tend to get lost in quagmire of shittiness.

it’s the way things work. to deny it is foolish and naive, to give up hope that things will someday be better is even more so.

And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven... and then someone's phone rang.

i have been here for over 5 years now and i still find myself gazing in utter bewilderment at this strange world around me i have chosen to call home. my neighborhood is a really popular hangout for this homeless crew. there are about 10 who i see on a daily basis and as i used to walk to work every day and pass them we have a certain rapport. to be honest, i used to talk to them more than anyone else i knew in town. at any rate, now that i am a fancy driver we don't have as much one on one contact but still acknowledge each other with a wave & the occasional shout out (on their part, i'm not much of a screamer).
so this morning, i'm on my way to work and i pass the fellas all huddled together out in front of the big ugly blue dentists office. i gave them my best 'howdy partner' john wayne-style wave and god damn it if each and everyone of them didn't turn to wave back... with the hand that wasn't holding a cell phone to their ear.

the end is near, i have no doubts of this. i live in a world where mothers take their 14 year olds for boob jobs, stupidity and a 'fuck me giggle' will get you far in life and everyone... and i do mean EVERYONE, has an electronic appendage fused to their hand.

Monday, March 03, 2008

my cat is an asshole

just a helpful little hint for anyone out there with a cat... don't feed them ham with your fingers if they are slightly blind — even if they only have a couple teeth. those teeth are sure to find their way into your middle finger and when there is ham at stake, he isn't going to let go... for anything. little shit head anyway, he bit me hard. he goes a little nutty over piglet — which normally i can totally relate too... who doesn't? but when you start impairing the most important finger in my daily communications with the outside world — well, we are going to have problems.
i am finding it difficult to find an apartment that takes cats. if he keeps it up he may find himself sharing shelf space with sandwich head.

blah blah blah

even as i was pulling into the parking lot this morning i was having a hard time believing it was already monday. this weekend went entirely too fast and i more or less didn't get a single thing done other than laundry and groceries. still feeling a bit woozy, so i spent a good majority of the time nestled in bed with my piles of down pulled up to my chin and my pillows stacked around me in protective little wall. except for the mane of shiny chocolate brown hair piled high on my head i was a huge, cotton sateen, virginal white pile of fluff.
porkchop has made himself indispensable during these bouts of feverish confinement to my bed. his ability to remain cool provides a great deal of comfort across my flushed cheeks and forehead — where he spends a majority of the time. we've become quite close and he knows of all my imperfections and warns me of on-coming wrinkles and hormonally induced breakouts. i do so love my "medicinal porkchop".

all was not a complete loss though... i did wash my socks and skivvies, i finally made it to the post office after weeks of never quite making it in time and i bought groceries for a family of 10 during my only sojourn into the outside. the grocery stint was a little vexing. for starters i'm a bit obsessive about food... so grocery shopping for me involves multiple lists, strategic planning and a tactical decent on the markets of sacramento that would make teddy roosevelt and his rough riders beam with pride.

one of my weekly stops involves the always annoying, always packed to the gills, trader joes. it's right near my house in mid-town sac: a haven for wealthy, socially conscious baby boomers. now, it's not that i really take issue with the fact that they are wealthy or socially conscious — to be honest we should all hope to be so afflicted. what really gets to me is their fucking all terrain clogs and their insistence on trying to park in the 16 spot trader joe's lot despite the fact that right next door is a huge, always empty expanse of parking lot. it's ridiculous. never before have i seen a grocery store that ALWAYS has a line of 20 cars snaking out of the lot & into traffic as they vie for one of the coveted spots. as i walk through the aisles dodging one pair of running tights, fleece pullovers and sensible shoes after another (not to mention their god damn kids who whine endlessly for tofu hot dogs and carob ice cream) i can't help but wonder at the fact that everyone looks like they just came in from a hike and yet nobody could be bothered to walk an extra 20 feet from the parking lot next door.

but they always have good veggies — so i deal.

blahhhh. i've lost interest in writing this drivel. i want to look for apartments instead. i'm heading south in two weeks to find a new home and i want to have a little list of possible areas that might work so it's not a complete waste of time. of course it will end up being one anyway — but it's a weekend NOT here so i'm counting the hours until my departure anyway. toodles for now.

Saturday, March 01, 2008


there was never a good blade made with bad steel.
— benjamin franklin