Tuesday, January 31, 2006

I love peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. Truly, madly, deeply...and nuttily? In other news, I gave myself a lopsided art school self-haircut and I am still quite weird. I think I am a frighteningly stalkerish TA. I ramble like a maniac and barely let them paint. I am surprised my students can get anything from my Anna Nicole Smith-esque garbling. I talk fast and try to be very glib like the Gilmore Girls, but alas, I am not emaciated nor do I have fabulous gay male screenwriters working for me. How are you so cool Lauralai? How? Karri Paul (future Italianina) is going to take me to a poetry par-tay on Thurs. It will be ever so much fun! They're calling it, "Iambic Penta-kegger." Like "Iambic Pentameter!" Get it!!!! Wow. I am losing it. I almost started a painting today about an androgynous spacewoman named "Aeon Fucks." Help.

Friday, January 27, 2006

I have deleted previous post. Apparently vicodin and cheap Shiraz do not a happy Ali make. What a weird post that was. So sorry if you missed it. I confessed every dirty secret I have been harboring since my arrival at UT....example: my body is covered in scales! Hence my lack of ass-getting ability. I would slice you in half with my razor-sharp gills if I ever made "the love" with you. And don't even get me started on my sexy exoskeletal calves.

I am currently watching the movie "Jack," starring the unnaturally hairy Robin Williams. How is he convincing as a prematurely aged 10 year-old child? He has fucking muttonchops for chrissakes. I mean, the man's follicles should be donated to science immediately. He needs to get in a fucking glass case in the natural history museum already. I mean c'mon, have you seen "Cadillac Man," it's freakish. Really.

Cosby is in it too. I know this is supposed to be a tear-jerker but I just keep thinking about Robin Williams humping everything because he has the body of a 30 year old virgin. Including his little "friends" tommy and timmy and tiny or whatever. He also has a crush on his teacher....Jennifer Lopez!!! This movie is a gem. I would recommend to anyone who ever thought pedophillia could tug at the heartstrings.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Guess what? I hate Texas again. Some prick-ass cop but a muthafuckin' boot on my car. Could I use more expletives? Perhaps not.
He/she (probably HE) did it for no reason. I was parked in my normal space. But HE claims that I stole a permit. Like I am the fucking "A" parking pass bandit or something. Because everyone knows parking passes are the 'bees' knees!' I hate UT. If it weren't for my glorious, glorious vicodin, I would go all Margaret Cho on their asses. Sassy Ali has returned. Bless me earth mother, for my temperment will hurt others...soon.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

I done gots my toof taken out! It hurt like a motherfucker. Seriously.
The dentist (much to my chagrin) made smart-ass remarks the whole time. He said things like, "Wow, I really need some gatorade!" Or, "That tooth is a real bear!" And the hygenist was a 33 year-old woman with braces and a voice like Fran Drescher. I thought she was funny in an annoyingly nasal sorta way. The dentist tried to bribe me to get his daughter into some art classes at UT. Apparently, they fill up right fast. I told him I would in exchange for a elephantine basket full of vicodin. He assented. Life is like a norah jones song.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

I like this lil' pro-choice speech from my favorite angry black bitch. Enjoy!

Roe v. Wade is 33 years old today…only a month to the day older than this AngryBlackBitch. A bitch has always lived in an America where reproductive freedom was a constitutionally protected right. And a bitch has always lived in an America where those same rights have been under attack.33 years of choice.33 years of debate.33 years empowered with an education about my body, my rights, my options and my responsibilities.33 years of Roe.Within my lifetime a bitch has been grateful for the protection of choice…that broad protective quilt that encompasses far more than what anti-choice activists would like us to believe.Oh yes…this bitch has been blessed by choice.When a bitch rolled over and felt a lump in my abdomen a few years back…this bitch had choices.When a bitch desperately ran out to the local Planned Parenthood office to seek medical advice within hours of feeling that lump…a bitch had choices.When my ass received efficient medical advice and care…when they told me that it was most likely fibroids…when a bitch was given so many options that my head was spinning…oh yeah, this bitch felt the power of choice.And when a bitch sat down for my first consultation with my surgeon…when she asked me…fucking asked me…whether my ass planned to have children…what my fucking intentions for my motherfucking body where…this bitch experienced choice in action.A bitch was able to make medical decisions regarding my reproductive future with my doctor. Wow! And the heavens didn’t fall. The oceans didn’t part and frogs didn’t rain out over the land like water.This bitch knows that what was so simple for me would have been revolutionary before.And when a bitch counted down from 100 in that operating room and slipped into dreamland it was with the knowledge that my doctor was making decisions with my medical health in mind…not the government, not the President and not some sanctified asshole pontificating from a pulpit. My body, my doctor…my motherfucking choice.There is a war underway. A war that is being fought in our schools, pharmacies and doctor’s offices. Women are being denied reproductive health education, prescriptions are not being filled and doctors are being told what to do or not do…and we need to ask why and who benefits from this. Not me and not you…so who? Who benefits from young women with four children before they reach the age of 21? Who benefits from young men and women not knowing how babies are conceived, how disease gets spread and how they can be empowered through planned parenthood as an applied action? Who benefits from the rise in STD’s among women of color? Who benefits from women not knowing that they can prevent a pregnancy after rape, not being told that they have choices after they have been assaulted?Some motherfucker is pleased by this bullshit and it sure as hell isn’t me.Do you understand that your right to make decisions is under attack…that choice encompasses abortion rights…and…so…much…more…?Are you with me? Or are you so blessed by freedom that you can’t work up the fucking passion to defend it?The revolution has come. The war is already underway and it is beyond time for Generation pro-choice to stand up and defend this shit!Ready?Set.Go!

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

I loathe UT. I know that's not clever, but I don't care. I hope a mad-longhorn outbreak happens on campus and causes severe indigestion followed by DEATH for the whole student body/faculty. Ok, that is a wee bit extreme. Just indigestion then.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Confessionssssss (a signature Fitzgerald sonnata as sung by Lithium addled Tom Jones groupies)
1.---Once in a while I feel like the lady pictured below. She is so certain that she is rocking that femullet. She loves two things, and two things only: Mechanical bull-riding in the buff and adorning her aviators with Cherokee sun beads. And she loooooves the camera. Come to think of it, aren't we all just a little femulleted sometimes? (cue sappy muzak played by my Grams and her Mah Jong circle)

2----Sometimes when I go to art openings (or any other enforced social scenario), I feel like Eliza Doolittle from "My Fair Lady." It's as if people ask me intelligent questions, and I respond with a thick cockney accent as I offer them a peek at my 'ladyparts' through my authentic street-urchin stockings. Whew. So I disgust you huh?
Let me ask you this: couldn't the art world use a little more VD?

3.---I don't care about that guy's memoir "A Million Pieces." I just don't give a fuck, or a piece os a fuck, or an Oprah endorsed fuck. Also, don't we all fabricate a little? I mean who hasn't claimed to be Helene, a charmingly chaste schoolteacher from Kilkenny, Ireland in order to score some tail? If Ethan is reading this, then yes I am the "Irish Spring Heiress," and no I haven't forgotten our moment of soapy bliss.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

So yesterday I decided that I was going to quit writing this blog. It's not you, it's me. I bore myself. I'm not dating a college mascot with some sort of exciting double-life (AKA---Boozie the autoerotic asphyxiating Aardvark). I don't go to glamourous parties with glamourous D-list celebrities and glamorous gold-plated toilet paper sqaures. Fancy-assed mofos can't spare a square. Nor do I engage in XTREME anything (base-jumping, hang-gliding, non-missionary position sex....for shame!). I don't have cool hair like Stefani or her feux-hawked hubbie. I'm not as mysterious as turkey-necked Alito. And to top it off, I'm beginning to run out of glib pseudo pop culture references! Wherefore art thou Paris Hilton? And why hast thou forsaken me by abstaining from sex videos and other debasing endeavors? Mount someone for chrissakes!

While I was pondering my "to blog or not to blog" dilemma, I ate 12 fruit roll ups (not an exaggeration people), and I realized that this blog was like my favorite saccharine treat: it makes me sick once in a while, but sometimes you just have to brush off the vomit and keep on eatin'. So I unbuttoned by pantsuit, unrolled a paper thin strawberry and promptly vomited. but after that I went straight to the blog! (NOTE: lick computer keys tomorrow for fruity remnants)..... (Also, get stomach stapling prochedure)