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Saturday, January 11, 2003
Caffeine headache! Half my face is going to fall off. I'm drinking diet mountain dew, and it ISN'T WORKING. Send your troops, send all your hot young unattached nonpsychotic Scottish men in uniform, but more importantly, send me your Coca-Cola.
I am posting without a shirt on. No one is home, and it is hot in here, because I turned the heat up, because it was cold in here, because I wasn't wearing pants, so while sitting at my desk posting I thought "This shirt is a hindrance," and now my breasts are avid spectators to the blogger post & publish box. The fold-up chair is cold on my bare back. You do not want to witness this, so don't get excited about it. I only mention it because Fran might appreciate Bare Boobs Posting from me.
Last night I had a dream that I switched bodies with my cousin, and she couldn't stop touching my boobs -- now hers -- and claiming they were the perfect size. My subconcious has obviously taken a sarcastic turn (biting the hand that feeds it all those lovely Fantasy Boyfriend Legolas sexcapades).
I'll go sing in the shower now. If Nicole were here, she would leer at me and ask if I'm washing my parts in a lewd middle-working-class accent.
Last night I finished making a mixed tape for Dakota, appropriately titled Sad Bastard Volume 2, and I do not think I have ever spent so much time trying to order the songs: twenty-two heartbreakers intended to fuck him up and make him ask for more. Happy Birthday!
A mixed tape requires hours of concentration, a glass of iced tea, a calculator, your favorite pen, a legal pad, a quiet house, lots of floor space. All of my self-worth pours into the tape I am making, all of my value as a human being rides on it. If it is not well received, I am destroyed.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
I'm burning candles, which goes nicely with the sounds of women moaning on the tv in the other room. Someone on the tv is watching porn on their tv.
I just finished a fantastic primer-of-sorts on feminist theory which everyone should read: Feminism Is For Everybody, by bell hooks. In the past two days and in just 118 pages, I have learned more than I thought possible. I honestly believe that if you took the true ideals of revolutionary feminism and called it something else, took the same exact goals but gave it a name that was not burdened with all the instant misconceptions the word feminism brings (the man-hating, sex-hating, bra-burning lesbian) -- so many more people would be advocates of feminist politics.
The semester is off to a beautiful start. I am getting sleep, I am rising early, I am enjoying my classes, I am reading, I am excited.
I hate my website, though.
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
I have the greatest ideas. I am patent gold, just being wasted. Here's my weight-loss program: once buffalo are no longer in danger of imminent extinction because people are fucktards, we get ourselves a nice patch of land, put the buffalo on it, and make people hunt for their food. All that running around on the savannah, burning those calories, and then you once you bring down the beast, you have to utilize all of it. You have to fashion something out of the hide and wear it home, then uncloak yourself in front of your family to reveal your new, trim figure, gained by working your ass off just to subsist. Throw in some gathering and scavenging, and we've got the perfect plan to a slimmer you for the new year.
Sunday, January 05, 2003
PMS is fun for everyone! I bought books today, and assorted goods yesterday, because spending money is a great way to feel better about myself. Don't try to tell me any different. Pleasure is all about material possessions, you fools, with your true loves and your rewarding jobs and your beautiful babies! Pfft. Please.
I've got a book all about gay pulp fiction, wonderfully called Queer Pulp, which is maybe the most amazing book about paperbacks I have ever laid eyes on. The titles of these books are precious. Hot Pants Homo is my favorite so far.