the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
1.29.2004
Postconceptionalism.
This post is going to be scrambled and very random. To try to sort the random disorder, I'm putting everything in randomized lists.
I just found out that the show Family Guy has a character named "Trisha," which I've decided is probably my preferred nickname. Anyway, here's what she looks like, in buddy icon form:
Interesting... (Note: The image is linked from Readmag without their permission. -- I hope they understand.)
Places I've found my roommate's hair:
On my socks.
On my clothes.
On my panties.
Between pages in my textbooks.
Between my toes.
On my bath towels.
On my toothbrush.
But it's okay, she's still awesome.
Things I got for my birthday (in no particular order):
Modest Mouse tickets!
Orthrelm/Dillinger Escape Plan tickets!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY spelled out in buffalo wings!
A fake ID.
Various cards and online birthday happinesses.
Delicious, greasy thai food.
CD-R's, as mentioned before.
Money.
Drunk.
My parents gave me some money for my birthday this year, which is really unusual for them. I think my mom felt guilty for not getting me a present, and nervously splurted out at me, "Here's money. You like money, right? Everyone likes money. Money's better than getting presents. Money is the best present," while eating birthday cake. Oh, mom.
Cute flash games with which to waste countless hours of your life.
Conversation topics that came up during dinner with Ed:
Jesus jokes.
Dane Cook.
Punching bees in the face.
Lewis Black.
IHOP pancakes.
Bukakke.
Naked geese wearing crocheted hats and sweaters.
How I saw some little boy holding hands and walking briskly down the street with an old man, indignantly shouting, "WHERE ARE WE GOING, POPPY?? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME NOW?! POPPY, WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TAKING ME?!?!" and how it was the funniest thing ever.
How he once saw a man crossing the street; with every few steps, he took some coffee into his mouth, spit it on the ground, and yelled "SUCK MY ASS!" and how it was the funniest thing ever.
Smearing poop on your face and chest.
Also, go to Steve Burn's concert on February 4th in Brooklyn.
cer'e·bra'tion: (noun) 1. To use the power of reason; think. 2. Pronunciation of "celebration" by my Korean parents.
I guess this weekend is a step up from last year's terribly anticlimactic experience, but don't get me wrong, it still sucked.
Last night, I was in the car with my mom (I was driving sans glasses at night... risking our lives!!), and we had a mother-daughter bonding conversation that truly brought us close together:
Mom: I can't believe you got so fat. You've only been gone for 10 days! Me: Can you please not say that right now? I'm driving here!! Mom: It is the truth. Look at you! So fat!! Me: Aw c'mon, Mom!!!! That hurts, really. Mom: ..... Me: ..... (driving in silence) Mom: So when did you get so fat?!?
So, on the verge of turning 19, I still feel totally like child for getting upset at this kind of stuff. But I mean, my mom was basically taking the role of that mean kid on the playground calling me "Fatty Fatty Fat Fat" or "Fatty McFatster" or "Hey Fatty Patty, WHY DON'T YOU GO EAT SOME MORE SANDWICHES, FATTY PATTY STUFF YOUR FACE YOU FAT WHORE" -- which brings back memories of my childhood, now that I think of it.
I suppose this weekend could be worse. But my mom also decided that a wonderful, appropriate present to give me was telling me... ... the story of how I was conceived and born. ... IN GROSS DETAIL.
Happy birthday to me.
Update: My brother got me... A SPINDLE OF BLANK CD-R's! THANKS MAN.
This is after I'd stepped in poop on the sidewalks of Italy a few weeks ago. I had to tie a towel around my face because the smell of dog shit was so bad, I was probably going to cry or throw up.
The dogs in Italy are so terrible. The owners apparently feel like they have no responsibility at all. A huge labrador jumped all over me on the street, pawing at my shirt and sticking his drippy nose in my crotch. The owner, some horrible Italian man, just laughed and then pawed at my shirt and stuck his drippy nose in my crotch, too. I guess it's true that pets and their owners start acting the same after a while.
Ha ha ha. I know, I know... not funny... Yeah shut up.
Just thought I'd share this happy little poopy experience with you.
I had my first class of my second semester today at 9:30am. I mean, waking up at the asscrack of 8:20 is, like, SOOO last year. Way to be behind the times, school.
I also found out earlier today that the Modest Mouse concert I wanted to go to is totally SOLD OUT. This obviously means that my heart is broken and my life is over.
Speaking of my life being over, it also dawned on me last night that this coming Monday, January 26, is going to be my 19th birthday. 19. I can't believe it -- I'm getting so old! I'm already feeling a mid-life crisis coming on. The next thing you know, I'm going to be wearing leather pants, riding on a Harley with ratty hair blowing behind me. Fuck.
Well, if you see me sitting in a rocking chair, crocheting a blanket to keep on my lap, living in a house full of smelly cats, and shaking a cane at the pesky neighborhood children, by all means -- do us all a favor and knock over my rocking chair, steal my Rascal motorized scooter, and bludgeon me with my cane to kingdom come.
In other news, though, here's a perplexing, slightly creepy email I got the other day from a guy named Jose.
----- Original Message ----- From: Jose A To: spinkies55@hotmail.com Sent: Friday, January 16, 2004 11:59 AM Subject: I`ll try to read this
My face is amazing with your web,My english is very poor but my curiosity is big. I try to learn your language only to understand what´s happening with you. Thanks for be my inspiration..
Gee, Jose, that's awfully sweet.
But what's with the stretched out, big-eyed face? Is he an anime character? What? I can't tell if he's trying to be funny or freak me out. "My face is amazing with your web" -- I don't know if I'd use the word "amazing"... but sure.
Well, good luck, Jose!!
Now, time to get back to getting old.
Update: Oh! Splendid! I also just found out that The Shins show is also SOLD OUT. SPLENDID.
"Welcome back to Moleman in the Morning, good Moleman to you. And now, back to part seven on the agonizing pain in which I live everydaaaaaay."
I don't know why girls make such a hullaballoo when people (well, men, usually) complain about how terrible women drivers are. If my experiences are at all indicative of the entire female gender's driving capabilities (which is a generalization I'm willing to make), then the complaint is completely legit.
Yesterday, I had to run a number of errands, and set off on Route 9. After driving for about a half hour, I realized that I was going in the completely opposite direction of my destination. -- With my parking brake on.
I guess that happens sometimes to the best of us, right?
Well, while trying to remediate these wrongs, I cut across two highway lanes in an attempt to get off at an exit to make a U-turn. However, apparently I didn't completely make the U-turn, but instead made what my mom named a "C-turn." Being the completely oblivious person that I am, devoid of any sense of direction, I didn't notice that I was still going in the wrong direction, and continued driving.
Another half hour later and two towns away, I finally realized that something was very wrong. I had never heard of this "Grillicious" Restaurant before. Where did this "Heavenly Ham" place come from? Where the hell was I??
So in an act of desperation, I ran a red light, did a figure-eight in a church parking lot, and cut across two lanes again to make another U-turn, and after hitting a pothole and almost running over a dead possum, I made it to my destination.
After I finished some business at the bank, I got into my car and heard something go --pop-- when I sat down in the seat. Reaching under my (ridiculously large) ass, I realized in horror that I had sat on my glasses and popped one of the lenses out. I tried to pop it back in, but my efforts were completely futile.
There was nothing I could do but drive with only one lens. Okay. -- Let's think about this: When I have my glasses on, I admit that I am a rather bad driver. But when I'm working with only one good eye with a pair of busted glasses on, I think I definitely classify as a road hazard destined to kill a few people or at least some small animals.
But I kept on driving, winking my one lens-less eye as much as I could, bobbing and weaving between honking SUV's and squealing tires, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. Somehow, I did manage to pull into a Walmart where I had to exchange my broken turtle aquarium, which also conveniently has a little section in the store for glasses.
I am convinced that Walmart is the breeding ground for ugly, annoying children and for fat women in ill-fitting stretch pants. There are so many shady characters just lurking around at Walmart. The second I got out of my car, a van slowly rolled up next to me, and two leering men asked me if I wanted a set of speakers and some gratuitous sex. When I politely declined, they sped away quite angrily. Jeez, what did they expect?? An open acceptance of a smashed box of busted-ass speakers stolen from Walmart and for me to happily hop into the back of their van for some "if the van's a rockin', don't come a-knockin'" action? Stupids.
Anyway, once I got inside, I begged an enormous fat man at the optical store to pop my lens back in. After a lot of laborious breathing and twiddling with the smallest screwdriver in the world wedged into his pink, sausagey fingers, Fat Glasses Repairman finally returned them to me, good as new.
Success! My job was done.
Then, I ran a few more stoplights, made a lot of abrupt stops at other red lights, weaved in and out of lanes like a professional underwater basket weaver, carefully avoided a mashed squirrel in the road, made a few highly distracting calls on my cell phone, fiddled with my glove compartment, changed the radio station, swerved into the left lane a few times, and bumped the curb a little as I made my way up the driveway. Home!
I honestly can't believe that I am still alive.
"A poem. By Hans Moleman. I think that I shall never see. My cataracts are blinding me."
Lots of art galleries, gardens, sculptures, and churches. And lots of dog poop on the sidewalks.
Italians seem to dress up for all occasions -- The men in particular love their leather high heeled shoes.
The food was okay, but to be completely honest, pizza in the U.S. is so much better. They fouled up a lot of their pizza over there by piling on pieces of anchovies, which is the worst thing ever. Just because the Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles liked anchovies, doesn't mean it tastes good. Ugh.
What soured the trip though, was all of the annoying NYU people I traveled with. Honestly, I wanted to knock the fuck out of this one girl and wrassle with her in a Ralphie-esque style, i.e. from A Christmas Story and make her cry Uncle.
And girly guys. Not that I'm surprised that there's a lot of faggy guys going to NYU, but it got so irritating after a while, especially when you have to spend all day walking through museums with them. Apparently, all the girls still got a kick out of them. "O.M.G. (no, not "oh my god," but pronounced "O.M.G."), LOOK AT JIM, HE'S SKIPPING!!! AWWWWW!!!!!" Ugh.
The worst thing about Florence, however, is the horrible pollution there. I spent most of the year in Manhattan, with cars farting in my face all day, and it was still worse in Italy. Jesus.
I went to a pet store in Florence, and amongst the baby vultures and tortoises, they were selling cages and cages of SKUNKS. It was the worst smell imaginable -- except when I opened the exit door and took a breath of fresh air from outside, and got a lung full of foul, smoky, garbagey air.
The best part, sadly, I think was spent at our 4-star hotel that apparently cost about 350 euros (about $440 in U.S. dollars) a night. The bathrooms were completely decked out in marble, had two separate shower heads, and a bidet -- which my roommate thought was used to wash her feet.
And indirectly tricking our Dean into ordering a pay-per-view porn movie was awesome, though the movie itself was tortuous to watch. It was the worst ever!!! RON JEREMY WAS IN IT.
Then, of course, there's all of the cheap wine. They sell walls and walls of wine in every supermarket and corner store for about 2 bucks a bottle. Wandering around the streets of Italy, piss drunk with my piss drunk friends completely beat out going to boring museums and eating terrible fast food pizza. Even playing a three hour Scrabble game on the plane during the nine hour flight was better than most of the trip, come to think of it.
All in all, again, Italy was aiight.
Except when I stepped in dog poop. That was definitely, DEFINITELY not aiight.
This Italian keyboard is crazy.. I still cannot find the apostrophe key, which is why I am straying away from possessive forms of nouns and contractions.
Anyway, it is pretty cool here.
Also, since patreesha.rocks.it is a webaddress with an Italian thingy (not .com), Italy is technically the home of this site!
I am not sure if I am being charged for this internet time, so I have to make this short.
So, apparently, I'm leaving for a weeklong trip to Italy in about 11 hours.
Hopefully will return with all of my belongings intact and NOT stolen by gypsies (which my mom is convinced is an inevitability), Kitty (to be reunited with Teddy), and an assload of fake Gucci bags that everyone keeps fucking pestering me about bringing back for them. ... and also a large, swarthy, excessively hairy-chest/back/ear/arm'ed, gold-chain-wearing young Italian man with greasy hair and shiny shoes.
[Peek-a-Foo]
