the top of my head is sort of platinum now and the rest is 8 different shades of malibu and my eyebrows are still dark so now i feel like wig-city and i don’t care.

car washes calm me down.

speechless.

sometimes i get the urge to make a whole new blog just to fiddle with a new template and put some sort of something clever title on it and specific google images that don’t mean anything and i call it the new shit the new space the new place to be for a little while and then i give up on it entirely but mostly it is because i was in the shower thinking of some random made-up story i thought would be endearing and i could have it up there and look at it like it was something that a whole other person wrote who was not me altogether and everything would be brilliant just like i thought when i was in the shower and i would link it and people would email and buy it completely and because it was written over there it would be different and new-feeling.

and then i think well i could just stop blogging for a month and save all that fake brilliance in a word document and cafepress it and put a new photo on it then sell it but because of this compulsion what is blogging i can’t do that and so i think that i will just write whatever the nonsense here like a post but it wouldn’t make much sense because say if i was writing as if i were a boy character or as a 12 year old, new random stumble upon readers would be like ungh?

but then i think fuck it, make a new blog, delete it, write the crappy word document, delete that, create a new post, keep it and pretend like you never wrote this bizarro explanation like you’re the avon lady. loser.

dear raymi

remember when I said I was gonna buy a shirt?

Well I was only pretend gonna buy a shirt.

Sorry.

But then I changed my mind and bought one anyway.

Even though I already have one that I made myself. Not the one I gave

away, but another one just like it. I wonder where that other one is.

Hmm…maybe in an exotic european hamper somewhere next to fancy dirty

foreign underwears.

I can’t wait to get it.

You are the best artist.

this blogger girl has a post about meeting douglas coupland, which

means that you’ll probably hate her, but i thought you might want to

see it anyway:

http://zenforlunch.com/bloggy/2005/01/coupland-o-mania-part-one.html

I’m trying to decide what clothes to wear today. In winter you can go

for weeks without doing laundry because you hardly sweat at all and it

seems like everything is always as fresh as the day you washed it. But

then one morning you wake up and realize that everything you own smells

like ass. That day, is today.

My web site has disappeared.

Fuck.

It’s gone.

Where is it??

what!?!??!?!??!

all my clothes smell gross

i dont even want to clean them

i have not washed my hair in 4 days

so today i have to do that

ungh

that coupland reading version was well written enough

i would have had a better conversation with him though

and i would have written it up in my blog like:

went to the coupland reading today. he read his book. there was a baby

crying and i wanted to scream in its face. i was too hyper to wait to

get my book signed so i left.

clenching ass cheeks due to 1.coldness 2. fear of ass-rape

My version would’ve gone like this:

Douglas Coupland spoke at the Barnes and Noble two blocks away from

where I work, two days ago. I didn’t know about it until today.

I’m sad and angry and frustrated that my web site disappeared.

I wonder if it’ll ever come back.

My hits! My hits! My poor, poor, precious, beautiful hits…gone. All

gone. Whaaa waaa waaaa….*sniff* *sniff*

what the fuck happened to it do you know?

cant u call the internet authorities? hang on i think i have bill

gates’ extenstion laying around here someplace or other.

james made that to help advertise my shirts. and my guns too. some of you have emailed and said you purchased crap but i don’t believe you because cafepress is fucked up sort of and says that i have made zero dollars so whatever. not like i am da vinci or anything anyways.

i am having my roots done tomorrow. F-ing BLOND HAIR HIGH MAINTENANCE COARSE ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. though i will have more blond added to it so that my hair can look more like hay instead of strictly looking like a horse’s tail when it is curly dry weird messy.

and the first family hairdresser is going to be doing it. i haven’t seen her since i was ten i think. if she pulls my hair like she use to when i was a hyper-hypo shitkid i am going to go mental and she will go mental and then my mum will go mental and then i’ll have to wait in the car with foil on my head.

i stayed up ’til 3:30am talking to matthew good about jumprope clubs and being shut-ins and other nerdy shit and then some dingler telemarketer called and woke me up early for my grandmother who doesn’t live here and i just hung up on him when he started talking and so he calls back and i said excuuuuuuuuuuse me don’t you even care about my feelings? i was sleeping. no one lives here. i am house-sitting.

i read in the post about some old lady who had a heart attack on the phone because of a pushy telemarketer demanding her life savings and apparently this is/was happening quite often to old people so now when these fuckers call for my grandma i am extra suspicious about their intentions because i guess they know she is super-old and willing to fall for their “you won the lottery so empty your bank account to cover the taxes so you can collect it old lady you stupid bitch cunt CUNT cunt CUUUNT!”

and too bad for them all they get is a crabby fucked-up, shut-in everytime who gives nothing but contempt and rudeness.

there are at least 10 calls a day, sometimes 15, not kidding.

the first couple i am polite enough but by the 7th call i am pretty irritated because rocky and i are off being retarded together and the fone rings and he prances away like a grasshopper because noise is the boogey-man to him and it’s just some nasally dickhead on the line asking for my grandma.

perhaps if their voice was at least a little bit sexy, you know, things might remain mellow but no, even the telemarketer’s voice is impatient and annoyed like they have the right to do that. is that the new tactic? influence me with your impatience and i will spend ten minutes doing a survey with you? please, can i really?

and some of the time it sounds like the person just learned how to read. they talk all slow like it is going to make you hang off their every word and be so totally psyched like it’s 4 in the morning and they are as riveting as the tackiest infomercial ever, and by this i mean, at 4am, an informercial is your best and only friend therefore we adore the infomercial.

ok i don’t know where i was going with that analogy but what i do know is a telemarketer calling this house and the chance of me being not annoyed by it is like trying to convince the KKK to like black people.