Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Well, after 2 years at UT I am about as worthless as Janet’s sunburst nipple-armor, I don’t do (or cover) anything, I just look purty. I’m actually taking some liberty with the whole “pretty” characterization as hygiene is an archaic exercise in um…doing stuff. You know with the heaving and shoving of the soap, hair product and whatnot (whatnot=delicious, delicious water pressure). Today I went across the street to the library and I think the attendant thought I was a diabetes riddled mental patient. I was sweating profusely (on account of my out-of shape-itude as mentioned above) and on the verge of crying---of course that was because I had acrued $1171 in library fines. No that is not a joke. No, that is not an exaggeration. Apparently, my effort to renew my 12 books online did not go through. However, I escaped my cruel, unfair fate as she succombed to my natural charisma and eyeliner, encrusted overly mascara-ed glare. This bitch ain't payin' shit. Specially not for no fancy, la-dee-da wordbooks. Anyway, the point of my earlier rant was that I think I should be more active, you know SEXUALLY. No, that takes stamina, abdomen muscles and a very specccccial Yankee brand candle (desperation scented!) No, I should really take some kung-fu classes or something. Plus, then I could kill people too. First on my list: Ellen Pompeo of "Grey's Anatomy." You are one annoying lil' pussy Dr. Grey. P.S.---On Thurs. there is going to be some sort of rant-fest at the New Gallery. I shall be there with a very long scroll and a trumpet. Although trumpets really suck don't they? Orchestral rant!

Monday, February 27, 2006

I am really melancholy. I'm not sure why. My mother claims it is "the birthday blues," but I think it is more like "my life sucks-stock." It's like Woodstock, only with zoloft instead of reefer, and crying instead of crowd-surfing. And the music consists of a constant whiny droning that is less like Jimi Hendrix and more like the buzzing of impending insanity. Hmmmm, this analogy is getting awkward. But let's continue, shall we? I kind of feel like my brain is one giant, muddy intersection of gross, naked 1960's bodies. Like I am being suffocated by the flabby tattoed shank of an intoxicated lady named Rainy Racoon MoonBlossom. Whatever, I am going to move to Berlin and become a popular bar wench with colorful stories of the old country. And no one is going to judge me. Because, as we all know, the Germans are a very tolerant people. Everyday will be like "Cabaret." Perhaps if I summon the spirit of good ole' Liza Minnelli, it will catapult me into a better mood. What am I saying? She is a spooky, Jacko fellating-mess.

Friday, February 24, 2006

FEAR OF THE FEMALE ROBOT. Tis' the name of a party I am co-throwing with my birthday doppleganger Erin Curtis. Here is a copy of the party invite (because I am too boring and frazzled to generate any new thoughts): The Piscean extravaganzaz have begun.Join us as female robots once again roam the earth. Bring us your poorly crafted light-sabers, your deceptively deadly breast weapons, your tin-foil appendages, your mercurial lust for human blood.*If gender-bending mechanical maylay is not your 'thang' then you may also dress as a frightened Japanese male tourist (or caveman/housewife)FEAR OF THE FEMALE ROBOT (926 E. 53rd 1/2 st. between airport and 35) The invasion takes place after the dry, dry, (robot-less) opening at the CRL on Sat. the 25th.Love,Erin "I have Ginsu knives where my hands should be!" Curtis and Ali "I can crack a walnut with my battery-operated pelvis!" Fitzgerald............I have just finished my costume. My robot name is "BAD THUNDER SEX ROBOCOCK-BOT." Use your imagination, because I am far too lazy to post a picture of me. Plus, my robotic sensuality would certainly overpower the blogger mainframe. It would be terrrrrrible. Chaos would ensue as I am google-searched by millions of horny bot-fetishists. Nobody wants that. Not even Bad Thunder Sex Robocock-Bot.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Here is a game I used to play at my beloved crazypants Maine commune: Quirky likes and dislikes.....I like eating applesauce in front of the mirror (it is a natural outgrowth of the whole spoon-feeding yourself doctor game, which is only slightly less fun than the 'let's exlplore our blossoming crotches' doctor's game)... I like watching people's jaws grind as they chew gum (but not when they are chin-impaired and have stringy neck skin)...I like the way it feels when I push my eyebrows back and forth....I like Keaunu Reeves in "Dracula."...I dislike....M. Night Shamylan, styrofoam coolers and the cadence of Star Jones' (of the View) speech. I also dislike when people talk about their dreams, and the word 'placenta.'

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Went to a delightful Drag King show at Elysium, a lovely Nina/Steph opening, and a strange circus-themed party at a lil' commune in West campus. There was a kid dressed as a lion, who looked more like Boy George's understudy for "Tabboo" than an untamed king of the jungle. Perhaps he was the crowned prince of the jungle-patterned chiffon.
I think I finally gots me some semblance of a life! Hoorah! Netflix be damned, I am ALIVE. I decided to revert back to my teen years when all that mattered was skittle flavored Zima and a shared, sweaty-palmed burrito. I want Guinness, ciggies and everything else that is bad for me. Give me liberty or give me death! Maybe not death...I think a light flogging or some lukewarm lasagna would be appropriate.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Hmmmm....I realized that my last few posts have had a freakish "sociopath in training" feel to them. Yes, sometimes I hate UT, but sometimes it swaddles me with filthy paint rags and lulls me to sleep with mellifluous artspeak buzzwords like "didactic." Sometimes I am comforted (and aroused!) by the beautiful noxious paint fumes that envelop me. Yes, sometimes I grapple with my obligatory art-school angst, but at other times (vicodin induced times) everything is as pleasant and smooth as a Stevie Wonder Ballad. Sometimes I love UT like I love "America's Next Top Model." Ok, that's a dirty lie. I love no one like I love Janice Dickinson. She is my uber-bitchy, bullimic earth mother. I shall drink only her shriveled cocaine infused breastmilk. Sidenote: I was reading a blog about someone named "Fellatia." No joke. That is almost as bad as "Cunnilingita," which is what I plan to name my firstborn child.