FAT BOTTOM GIRLS (...like i'm talking beach balls with legs.)
the past two days has been like running the gauntlet. either mercury is in retrograde, or god feels like harassing me for shits and giggles.
but i will say this: if a 400 lb woman who's just spent a half hour using the industrial steam iron is feeling a little sweaty, it shouldn't be my responsibility to tend to her personal comfort simply because i sit marginally closer to a window than she does. yes, this happened to me yesterday. this one woman at work is a miserable wretch, and for some unknown reason, acts entitled to everything all the time. like she's the greatest thing since fucking cool whip pudding pies.
the sassy black woman in my head felt like saying to her, "honey, if you don't wanna be so hot all the time, then get yo big ol' butt of the couch and take the cheeseburger outta yo mouth and lose some fucking weight! or open the window yo DAYMN self, instead of sendin other people to do it for you." i actually said nothing, hoping that she was the boogeyman and would go away if i scrunched my eyes closed for long enough. but seriously, 400 lbs + industrial irons= hot hot heat. and possibly hot hot tuna. but i won't go there.
yeah, there's a sassy black woman that lives in my head. as well as a hormonal teenaged girl, a wise old moon goddess who wears too much patchouli, and a guy named louie (who speaks like a stereotypical new york "fuggedaboutit" you'd see in the movies.) they get loud sometimes.
TRAIN RANDOMOTICA
sometimes when i have to run to catch a train, and realize that i'm running through a train station along with a pack of stuffed suits, like some wild animals loping across the plains, i start laughing uncontrollably. and then i laugh even harder at the thought that i must look SO crazy, running for the train and laughing at nothing in particular.
there's a woman i keep seeing on the train who likes to stand right next to me and stick both index fingers in both ears and dig for gold. or change. or something. either way, it's fucking gross! i think of her waxy little fingers wrapping around a door knob, or a subway handle, along with all the other gross disgusting people in manhattan, and i can't bear to touch a doorknob for the rest of the day.
i absolutely love trains. there's something so comforting about the sound of a train. i know, corny, right? but for the most part, trains put me in a zen-like state. especially at like, 3 pm, when it's still too early for the commuter shuffle, and it's just empty and quiet and the sun is at it's brightest, right in your eyes, and you're all warm and sleepy, being rocked back and forth, got some music on the ipod (like that radiohead song off "kid a" that goes, "ooooahohahoh, everything all of the tiiiiiiiiime") or maybe some tones on tail or current 93...i bet that's what heaven feels like. or possibly an everlasting orgasm. but if there's no orgasms in heaven, i'll take the 3 o'clock train.
NAKED LUNCH
gonzo and i watched naked lunch last night. and i had a moment of clarity: for about 10 years, i've really tried to like the Beats. i read on the road, and howl, and poetry by the likes of lawrence ferlenghetti (sp?). and all that other stuff. and i think it was mostly just to impress a boy, b/c after seeing naked lunch last night, i realized that the Beats we're just a bunch of horny junkies with a good grasp on the english language and too much free time. and that i'm really not into them as much as i've tried. i'm sure a number of you will be horrified, appalled, and furious by this blanket statement (which like any blanket statement, should be taken with a grain of salt.) but it's true, admit it. go read some ginsberg and count how many times he refers to "jack" or "cock" or "smack" and tell me it's not true.
although if kurt vonnegut is technically a Beat, then i take it all back. because he's a fucking genius and i could read "welcome to the monkey house" every day for the rest of my life and not get tired of it.
IN CONCLUSION!
sorry mobius. i can't say i like the beats very much.
i haven't showered since sunday.
i voted for american idol just now.
the lack of photoshop is driving me insane. i have THOUSANDS of pictures on here i want to share, but they all seem to be over 100 kibs.
ippagoggy's set is being shot friday. i get to see her buubs. i know yr all sorts of jealous.
my significant life pumpkin (aka the good doctor) made me dinner, cleaned the apartment, did the laundry, and listened to my woes. whos' better then he is? nobody!
fuggedaboutit!
the past two days has been like running the gauntlet. either mercury is in retrograde, or god feels like harassing me for shits and giggles.
but i will say this: if a 400 lb woman who's just spent a half hour using the industrial steam iron is feeling a little sweaty, it shouldn't be my responsibility to tend to her personal comfort simply because i sit marginally closer to a window than she does. yes, this happened to me yesterday. this one woman at work is a miserable wretch, and for some unknown reason, acts entitled to everything all the time. like she's the greatest thing since fucking cool whip pudding pies.
the sassy black woman in my head felt like saying to her, "honey, if you don't wanna be so hot all the time, then get yo big ol' butt of the couch and take the cheeseburger outta yo mouth and lose some fucking weight! or open the window yo DAYMN self, instead of sendin other people to do it for you." i actually said nothing, hoping that she was the boogeyman and would go away if i scrunched my eyes closed for long enough. but seriously, 400 lbs + industrial irons= hot hot heat. and possibly hot hot tuna. but i won't go there.
yeah, there's a sassy black woman that lives in my head. as well as a hormonal teenaged girl, a wise old moon goddess who wears too much patchouli, and a guy named louie (who speaks like a stereotypical new york "fuggedaboutit" you'd see in the movies.) they get loud sometimes.
TRAIN RANDOMOTICA
sometimes when i have to run to catch a train, and realize that i'm running through a train station along with a pack of stuffed suits, like some wild animals loping across the plains, i start laughing uncontrollably. and then i laugh even harder at the thought that i must look SO crazy, running for the train and laughing at nothing in particular.
there's a woman i keep seeing on the train who likes to stand right next to me and stick both index fingers in both ears and dig for gold. or change. or something. either way, it's fucking gross! i think of her waxy little fingers wrapping around a door knob, or a subway handle, along with all the other gross disgusting people in manhattan, and i can't bear to touch a doorknob for the rest of the day.
i absolutely love trains. there's something so comforting about the sound of a train. i know, corny, right? but for the most part, trains put me in a zen-like state. especially at like, 3 pm, when it's still too early for the commuter shuffle, and it's just empty and quiet and the sun is at it's brightest, right in your eyes, and you're all warm and sleepy, being rocked back and forth, got some music on the ipod (like that radiohead song off "kid a" that goes, "ooooahohahoh, everything all of the tiiiiiiiiime") or maybe some tones on tail or current 93...i bet that's what heaven feels like. or possibly an everlasting orgasm. but if there's no orgasms in heaven, i'll take the 3 o'clock train.
NAKED LUNCH
gonzo and i watched naked lunch last night. and i had a moment of clarity: for about 10 years, i've really tried to like the Beats. i read on the road, and howl, and poetry by the likes of lawrence ferlenghetti (sp?). and all that other stuff. and i think it was mostly just to impress a boy, b/c after seeing naked lunch last night, i realized that the Beats we're just a bunch of horny junkies with a good grasp on the english language and too much free time. and that i'm really not into them as much as i've tried. i'm sure a number of you will be horrified, appalled, and furious by this blanket statement (which like any blanket statement, should be taken with a grain of salt.) but it's true, admit it. go read some ginsberg and count how many times he refers to "jack" or "cock" or "smack" and tell me it's not true.
although if kurt vonnegut is technically a Beat, then i take it all back. because he's a fucking genius and i could read "welcome to the monkey house" every day for the rest of my life and not get tired of it.
IN CONCLUSION!
sorry mobius. i can't say i like the beats very much.
i haven't showered since sunday.
i voted for american idol just now.
the lack of photoshop is driving me insane. i have THOUSANDS of pictures on here i want to share, but they all seem to be over 100 kibs.
ippagoggy's set is being shot friday. i get to see her buubs. i know yr all sorts of jealous.
my significant life pumpkin (aka the good doctor) made me dinner, cleaned the apartment, did the laundry, and listened to my woes. whos' better then he is? nobody!
fuggedaboutit!
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
I spend all kinds of time with you but you REALLY shine when you're writing in here. It's not like a totally different you or a better you it's like you ULTRA....
wait no,,, as our lovely shop boy would say it's like TURBO YOU!
reading your journal is better than watching a movie.