Monday, September 28, 2003

It's Folsom Street Fair day, and I plan on wearing my leather Kenneth Cole boots in honor.

Also, I'm only eating raw foods from now on: fish, spinach, whatever. If it goes in my mouth, it's got to be raw and meaty. And I've been vacuuming salmon tartar all weekend, so my bowel movements could be neither cleaner nor better, thank you.

Yeah, the last few entries have been, at best, lackluster. But do I care? Nope.

Personal note to Jol: Send him over. Now. Also, If you have a chance, my love, check out The OC on Fox. It's like heroin, only better.


Saturday, September 27, 2003

Let's go over a few points of interest I noticed while doing this morning's Walk of Shame, shall we:

  • Dave Matthews Band poster with Dave Matthews's eyes crossed out and "Banana Sauraus Rex" graffitied in with an arrow pointing to Mr. Matthews. Hee.

  • Chocolate crawlers are best at 7 a.m. when they're warm and fresh. Mmm.

  • A new 14 Mission bus -- now painted dark gray -- is a great ride. Yay.

  • It's leather week, and the leather gays refused to return my smiles. Wha.

  • Maybe I wasn't mugged by a group gang thugs. Maybe it was the work of some other motherfuckers. Hmm.

  • It's best to wet your hair before doing The Walk, because it looks like you're going to work, instead of coming home from just getting worked over. Heh.


Monday, September 22, 2003

I'm not worried about fame, but I'm sure as fuck worried about fortune. Fame can be achieved easily through any number of acts; you'd have to be retarded not to be famous. Fortune, however -- fuuuu-u-u-u-ck. Am I going to be poor and renting my entire life? Am I, like love, too plebian? When I hit 30 is it still okay to go to a check-into-cash advance establishment sans heroin habit or family of nine? Not that I do, but I'm just saying. Ok, I do. Sometimes. But not really.

[blink, blink]

It's so warm and hot in San Francisco I feel like syrupy, like a jar of Mrs. Butterworth. And it had better be a cold, sharp winter this coming season. I've got a thin scarf to walk alone in that I think the world of -- and, in the end, that's all that matters to me.


Sunday, September 21, 2003

Instead of an entry, why not sing the song line that's been stuck in my head for several painful goddamn days:

"Me I Uh and I Uh and I Uh-uh-uh,
But I do it with a switch..."


Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Few words could do justice describing this site, Perverted-justice.com, so just visit it. I love it -- such a good read, so punk rock. Pow! Blap!

And I can already hear the ol' alma-mater imploding because of it. (Meaning that I can see how the site might be mistaken as "neocon" [a retarded word, by the way], or people just failing to see the bigger picture. But whatareyougonnado.)


Monday, September 15, 2003

Sometimes I forget why Tod is a genius, and then I talk to him and go, "Oh yeah...now I remember why." See, he helped me find clarity today -- of exactly what I won't say just yet -- and now I'm feeling easy, breezy and, well, beautiful. Tod, he's intellectually gifted and hung like a stallion. Sadly, and so often with men, the two rarely overlap.


Sunday, September 14, 2003

I recently made fun of Bette Midler in an article, which was misconstrued. I don't (generally) hate her film and music career, per se; it's that she lives near my hometown and was rumored to be a complete bitch to the locals. It's said that she also tipped poorly, if at all, at Laguna Beach restaurants. And I have all this Orange County pride now that due recognition has shone its light on it. I got all the pride of the place, with a quarter of its annual income.

Yeah, I don't know what those last few sentences meant either. It's all falling apart, folks.

San Francisco just escaped an awful heat wave. People kept saying it was an it's-beautiful-outside-we-should-go-to-the-beach kinda spell, but it wasn't. Not at all -- not for the fair-skinned, anyway. I was listless and cranky throughout, but also couldn't sleep at night, resulting in a total of eight hours of sleep this weekend. Barf.

But on a positive note, Samy's carries Häagen-Dazs's Vanilla with Peanut Butter Swirl & Fudge Chunks again. And that's what I like about Häagen-Dazs compared to Ben & Jerry's: No shtick. No silly-titled ice creams. They're like, "Hey, this is what's in our pints. You'll either like it, or you won't like it. But you won't take it lightly!"

I gained a little weight because of my old meds. Even the shrink told me that I was "putting on weight." So, naturally, I want to shove my head in the oven. He did write me up for some new new pills (wee!) that won't affect my appetite. Fortunately, though, I've been going to the gym, so maybe the fat globules have turned into muscle mass. Still, I yearn to be stick-thin.

But I do plan on making gorgonzola linguine with roasted pine nuts for lunch. Mmm.

Speaking of prescription-drug effects, my libido is nowhere to be found. Don't fret, though -- the loss of it has uncovered a new found fondness and craving for intimacy. Aw. [blush]

Shut up.


Monday, September 12, 2003

I need a Bioré strip real bad-like. The feeling of tearing off one of those strips and seeing its forest of blackheads and hardened puss is next to peeling off the thin plastic coating on a new watch or remote control, which is similar to double-penetration multiple orgasms. (Or so I assume. That's never happened to me -- for obvious biological reasons -- but I've seen it in porn. Susie Bright would always call it "D.P." in class, which is the same in-the-know way of saying Dana Point, my home town, so I always thought it was funny and would laugh.) Anyway, I need a Bioré strip or, at least, a cheap apricot exfoliant.

Also, I think I'm getting a tumor-like gut. I say "think" because people love to come back with "shut up, you're so thin" when I say so, so I have to second guess myself, yielding to other people's sense of self and own body dysmorphia. I mean, I know I'm thin by normal standards, but I have approaching-thirty chin and stomach fat, which is unattractive if you're not already big and/or stocky. Also, when I say "I'm getting fat," people tend to think I'm judging them as the Other, as a point of reference to me. And I'm not. And how self-centered. And how rude.

If you have a moment to spare, go to tweaker.org. It's like an "ana" site (aka, anorexia site), but with better web design.


Monday, September 11, 2003

What a day! Shout-outs: A happy 38th anniversary Mom and Dad! And a happy birthday to my niece, Andrea: Feliz cumpleanos, niña!


Monday, September 8, 2003

Welcome back to the new fall season, kids! I missed you. Sort of.

I didn't mean to leave BeanTails for so long to Big Brother 4, which has proven to be a wonderful watch. In actuality, the G3 crashed and now lies in a serious coma, so I was unable to post. Sad. So, there you have it.

Someone died riding Big Thunder Mountain at Disneyland today, when the car derailed, sending ten others to the hospital with serious boo-boos. Oops. I hope this doesn't tarnish Disneyland's name; it's a great place. Once, when I was younger, someone had died while riding The Matterhorn, and words failed me. I was scarred. But as it turned out, she had stood up during the ride's peak, so she kinda deserved it.

Speaking of which, did you know that there's a basketball court on top of The Matterhorn's peak? True.

I read in the Chron that banks will waive fees for surviving Jews of the holocaust, which made me giggle because it's so fitting. And after reading this, I was all up in arms because I don't believe in reparations (unless said reparations are, of course, for me.) And Holocausts and genocides happen all the time, but nobody's making Academy Award-winning films about those lesser-known atrocities; they all get shown on Showtime. Sad. Then I thought that, yes, holocaust survivors should get some cash flown their way. As I see it I would probably have a cute, demonstrative, large-dicked Jew boyfriend by now, if Hitler hadn't decreased the Jew population. Anyway, maybe they'll no longer have to pay the $1.50 for using another bank's ATM. That sucks.