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We got the afternoon
One mile to every inch of
Cause if you want love
Your body is a wonderland
Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face
you want love?
Your body is a wonderland
Damn baby
Your body is a wonderland
-John Mayer, "Your Body is a Wonderland"
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Tuesday, September 10, 2002 07:21 p.m. "His name is not Victor. It is Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere." Maybe the funniest line from the Worst Paper Ever, by far the coolest item to be found on filepile.org in some time. Don't take that as a light statement, because it isn't. Every day I find at least one something there that stuns, amazes or shocks the shit out of me. I laugh out loud as often too. Droll one-line comments from users are responsible for most those chuckles. And the music they got there isn't crappy either. So, for all of you who did not go through the intricate series of blow jobs required to acquire a coveted filepile account (also for those who could give a fuck), I present the recent winner of my new, entirely improvised contest, Best Pile in a While: kitten breath i wanna know there should be another 's' Suspiscion. Isn't that better? When I am queen, the word will be spelled s-u-s-p-i-s-c-i-o-n and peanut butter will only come in crunchy. "war on terrorism" Accidental? Probably not. Professional? Absolutely no. Cool as shit? Hell yes. [all this brought to you by MetaFilter, and its fine investigative community.] not that there is anything wrong with that
Woman One: "How long ago was that?" That is talent. bigger means better than you Land of the free, home of the people who think an enormous flag means they are contributing something. The Onion makes me laugh. Hard. ALTOONA, PA—Moviegoers at Clearview Cinema's 9:30 p.m. showing of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" expressed delight Saturday, when the romantic comedy worked out exactly as they had hoped. "It was heartwarming enough to see the two young lovers get married after all they'd been through," said Janet Garlin, exiting the multiplex. "But to see the bride reconcile her feelings toward her crazy family? That was like a special bonus." Garlin said she hadn't been this satisfied by a movie's ending since the last movie she saw. In case you quit going, The Onion is still good. Who told you that was a good idea? It's sort of like home. However, I'm going through withdrawls. Tonight I positioned myself in such a way that I could watch some show on ESPN, soundless, through the window of my neighbor's apartment. Only half of it, actually, since the top portion of the set was obscured by blinds. Oh, and I don't like sports. One bit. Rather than call to see if you could order premuim cable after midnight, I put in Episode 2 (okay, one and two) of Twin Peaks and settled in. I've watched nearly 30 hours of Twin Peaks since moving in my new place one month ago (season one, the pilot and the film) which, admit it, is sort of twisted. I put it on before bed to lull me to sleep, or sit down with pen in hand to note obscure details I haven't yet noticed. Like, how in episode one does Coop get that cherry pie at the Double R when he just ordered it from Shelly? Norma didn't bring it, did she? A continuity error, or does it mean the one-armed man found the Log Lady in the White Lodge? I'll never fully understand why I love that show so fucking much, but I love that I love it. It's sick, and I know it. I've determined in this time that episode two is my favorite (excluding, of course, the pilot, which is a seperate and nearly perfect entity which cannot be compared. It just can't.). It's directed by Lynch and features such goodies as:
-Ben and Jerry's bit with the baguettes It's ultra-lame, but in my head, when people ask me where I'm from, I have to bite my tongue. If they'd only asked about the coat hangers... okay, so i lied
-Is your sweetened tea sweet?
Me: House or Caesar salad? a story relayed
Him: I see you are wearing a blue bandana. * * * Edgeling's Equally Fine Quotes of the Evening: "The fact that there are asshole guys at rock concerts--it's like gravity, it's just there." "I think she's become a whore for an apartment full of Mexicans." "Somehow, I identify with Meatwad." Favorite tracks from MetaFilter Mix CD swap: hot water bottles and ice cubes and candles, oh my She's driving. We're both off to get wasted. gossamer walls [Addendum: Now, on the street below my window, someone's car alarm is sounding, ad nauseum, undoubtedly attatched to a '76 El Camino.] while i was gone Well, I saw naked, nubile limbs mostly. Long, impeccably tanned, 18-year-old legs covered by a swatch of khaki and bare arms stuck through filmy tank tops, clingy due to the swimming heat of August. I saw sweaty brows and girls lugging guitars, and a boy and his easel. I saw an intricate game of chicken between an Explorer and a Volvo for a coveted front door parking spot. I saw a white guy fro in a Whalers t-shirt and a little girl lost, sitting defeated before a map. The buildings all stood the same, mockingly almost, and it all seemed so long, long ago. I feel old at 24. Google knows best. I need a new job and quick. -"I asked if you'd like another margarita. Any number of responses would have been acceptable, but pointing at the table and repeating the word "food" isn't one of them. You jerk." -"Happy Birthday, but you must be on drugs if you think I'm singing." -"Hey! How 'bout you go fuck yourself!" -"Your enormous fake tits look ridiculous in that undersized Aerosmith tank top." -"Look, don't make him order for himself. He's two. He's too involved in smearing ketchup on the walls to say 'chicken'." -"Keep that two dollars and buy yourself a toothbrush." -"You shouldn't be allowed outdoors." -"Your boyfriend has been checking out the ass of every woman who's been by this table and when you left to go to the bathroom he winked at me twice." -"You have Tangy Tomato dressing on your chin and cheek."
[I promise, no more bitching about work for a while.] Hooping is kind of like hugging. Be sure to watch her hoopin' it up in her house. I went red--sort of. "Darwin was a pussy." Management changed hands and the staff sort of dismantled and the restaurant was left with only 4 male bartenders. They needed one or two more and made the sensible decision to choose females. Suddenly, finally, I'm in. Whatever. It isn't me. I don't enjoy jawing away about mindless bullshit to utter stangers. I'm not good at it. While I do possess the ability to blather on and on at times to those I feel comfortable around, the last thing you'd ever see me doing is asking my aislemate at the grocery what she thinks of that particular eyebrow wax or chatting up the video clerk--and I both wax my brows and rent movies a lot. It takes a talent, an ease with yourself that I can't seem to muster. But I'm doing better. I'm acquiring regulars now, which makes things easier, but I still feel like I am putting on a show. I work behind a three-sided bar--the only area with which I can turn my back and not be seen directly is about 6 feet wide and holds a cooler with glass doors that projects my reflection to everyone behind me. When I was waiting tables I would run into the kitchen to make fun of how the hillbilly said "filet" or to cuss and cry or joke around with my co-workers. But behind the bar it is me vs. them with no corner to retreat to for a big man to wipe up my brow and squirt water from a sports bottle straight into my mouth. When I retire from a bartending shift I'm beat. Thoroughly tired, weary of mind and body. But last night I had four bar guests take over the duties of entertaining. Three drunk men were discussing not the latest sports scores or Anna Kournikova's ass, but reincarnation, creationism v. evolution and the Middle East. They happened to know next to nothing about what they were discussing, and while I tuned them out, happily washing dishes, the man to their left could not. So ensued a two-hour debate over God, the Bible, all the Hindus and the Muslims and the "mud people," and angels. I believe the direct quote was, "Do you believe in angels, motherfucker? Do you? Because I do!" Other guests began making comments, some funny like "You can all go to hell!" and I was asked repeatedly to summarize today's lesson.
I am giving the gold star to the Jack Daniel's drinking redneck in the center for his best comment of the night: Well, awwwright! Sounds straight from the Holy Scripture to me. Would you look at that, time for work. Perhaps tonight I'll be back with the solution to the AIDS crisis in Africa. rejection: a meme It's about what you want. yay or nay? or, who gives a shit? | 12 comments at my most fearless Rayanne Heath was bigger and broader than me, with a full-grown set of girly parts and half a dozen gold necklaces and just as many gold rings. She traveled with a pack of similar girls--I remember them being called "hoods"--all fully developed and pissed the fuck off about it, apparently. Rayanne made it a habit to make fun of me or threaten to “beat my chipmunk face into the locker.” She spread a rumor to my classmates that I had lice, which I did not, a lie that did little for my scant friendship prospects nonetheless. She’d glare at me in the lunchroom and accidentally fall into me whenever we lined up for whatever it was we lined up for. I always made sure to take the route that she and her mean cronies less likely traveled, but I couldn’t avoid her on the bus. She’d sit behind where I stood, laughing at my hand-me-down jeans and trying to pull my sneakers off by stepping down hard and repeatedly on the back of the soles. I always stood still as I could, trying hard not to even move from breathing. And took it. One evening I was lying in bed considering the day that awaited me. I was unhappy at school and at home and decided that I was going to begin to make changes in my life. I clearly remember deciding to take more initiative with housework in order to gain approval from my family. I remember mapping out varied hair styles for each day of the week in order to be considered more attractive to my peers. And I remember making the choice to not be intimidated by Rayanne Heath. I climbed aboard the bus the next day scared shitless. I knew she’d laugh to her seatmate about my supposed lice infestation. Or she’d tell the guys how some boy I barely knew told her I was a bad kisser. (Little did she know I wasn’t a kisser at all.) And I knew I had to say something to her about it, I just hadn’t planned on what to say. I started up the stairs and onto the bus and made a move toward her that was pure gut and impulse. I walked directly down the aisle to her seat, or one seat behind her, wrapped my hand around her moussed-up, crunchy ponytail and yanked it back with surprising force. I may never forget her face--at first a smirk, then a pained, distorted look of genuine fear magnified by the bulging of her eyes as I pulled back and down on her scalp. “Today, and from now on, I suggest you not bother me,” I said in a low growl, turned on my heels and stood, heart thumping wildly about, in the aisle of the school bus. Then I started to cry quietly, but managed to scurry out the sliding doors before she noticed. Before long, everyone forgot all about the lice. |
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