I don’t link your site because I work for not one but two federal agencies that block me out of my own blog just for having you URL on it. If you cared, and I know you don’t.
If it’s any consolation, you probably made some ATC and FCC guys very happy while they were spying on my internet usage.
I had a dream about you last night, at least, I think it was you. I was waiting in a long line to see to Hotel Rwanda which I still haven’t seen yet, and a girl was selling candy like an old-time Camel Cigarette girl. When I bought a box of chocolates, the girl turned into a queen with a crown and everything, and she looked just like you on one of your latest posts.
The chocolate wrapper said, bittersweet, but when I opened it, it was white. And in the shape of a heart.
So I think of you as more sweet than bitter, and with a soft white heart.
we saw constantine and it was actually very good despite worrying that keanu would be 100 million per cent annoying. i asked this short dude with a leather jacket and a pink tie if he could SHUT UP and then he/they did and i felt like a mean bitch but also victorious and a few people snickered when i said it so i was like the belle of the ball of the movie theatre. then we went to a bar and played megatouch and this one loser fuckmunch said libarian instead of librarian.
i explained the entire plot of die another day to scott because he had not seen it and so it was basically my blog post from yesterday but more ridiculous and i think this couple was listening in on what i was saying and judging me. i would. hearing other people talk no matter what they are talking about makes you think you are better than they are and you think of stupid justifications of how and why you are better. and the fact that i am explaining a shitty movie as loud as i possibly can or so it seemed because the place was dead empty and the bartender was watching the apprentice with some old whiskery barfly and then the couple left and it felt like we were a major inconvenience what with my crappy account of die another day… “and then, uhh, and then, ok they’re in a helicopter…bla bla…” and scott’s phone rings and he talks ten times louder than a megaphone so the old guy and bartender and bartender’s friend are shooting fuck you looks at scott and i am trying to shush him and then he says faggot real loud into the phone.
then we are elsewhere and dude comes by and brings us all the drinks in the world and says he fucked holly mcnarland. twice. he was her roadie. i was too wasted to bother considering whether or not this was true and the more i think about it the funnier it is.
he said he was meaning to be our friends for a very long time ‘cos i once said i was socially inept and this was months and months and months ago and it was just some bullshit small talk but i guess it’s an effective line.
i made the mistake of saying i was socially awkward when i lived in nyc to this one fat guy who was in the social circle of our peeps and so at every roof party and bbq he would beeline towards me and go “so how is that socially awkwardness working for ya?” every fucking party. and even when i was talking to people, someone i had just met, this guy would appear out of nowhere and say the line to me and then walk away.
who are you martin from the simpsons?
he also had a t-shirt that said “second place” on it.
my brother brought over a shwarma and i had a bite of it and then i went mentally insane until he would let me have another bite. there’s something in that tzatziki that turns me into the exorcist. i would eat a cactus, needles and all, if it had tzatziki on it. one time we left some tzatziki out on the table over nite and i was planning on dipping left over pita in it but fil threw out the “gone bad” tzatziki and i seriously felt like crying i was that upset over it. i was probably on my period.
just caught the tail-end of die another day and it was right at the part where he goes “looks like you will live to die another day.” and he uses his powerful ultrasonic ring that can break glass and then has a big rock climbing rope that zips him up and through the roof while he is being shot at and then he runs down the side of the dome roof to the ground and then he surfs using the door of the super duper fast car using a parachute as a guide in freezing cold iceberg water that turns into a tsunami from the laser beam from outerspace exploding everything and lands unscathed back on the frozen ice and gets into his invisible car and drives it into the ice palace.
imagine writing that and trying to get someone to buy your script and some smart ass reading it back to you with their eyebrows raised and their tone is way sarcastic.
i’d love to be the assistant of the asshole reading the script to the writer and then when the writer leaves my boss steady shit-talks the writer for twenty minutes and i am like ya uhhuhuhhuhuh like butthead.
this guy opened the door for us on our way out for a smoke and said yep yep i take tips too and i said here’s a tip, put on a coat and there was a bit of an awkward silence then he laughed a bit and so did his friend about him not wearing a coat in the arctic hell sub zero temperature weather and then i had to ask dude for a light because the ten million i usually have in my pocket were all gone.
then some retard girls were talking about tinkling in the bathroom and some meathead put his head in and went YAAAAAAAAAAH PARRRRRRRRRRRRRRTY!
there were a lot of drunken rejects there. i am bad at tuning out other people’s conversations especially when they sound like OH MY GOD NO WAY TOTALLY AND WE WERE WEARING THE SAME THING it makes me want to walk over and flick the person in the forehead.
i forgot to tell you that we got new outfits and so we are walking around going hey man look at me and my new outfit and then everyone kills themselves because they don’t have new outfits like we do and we are the only ones left on earth and so now there is no one left to show our outfits to except old people who don’t care anyway because they are wearing sweaters from 1948 and they’re like fuck you i’m eating fish and chips.
