Tuesday, March 21, 2006

My blogging has cum to a geyser-like end. Like an embittered Old Faithful, I have been spurting jizzumy nonsense in the face of the internet for too long. I need to spurt elsewhere...or...um....find other things to...um...spurt. Jesus, I wish there was a better verb there. Spew? Whoosh? So, after months of "spewing" it is time for me to button my britches and awkwardly grope the nightable for a hanky. Also, I reread a lot of my old entries and realized that I talk about the same 5 things all the time: cheese, bitchy profs, hangovers, my fictitious army of androgynous lovers and my chest. I guess we all know what's important to me: things I consume, people I would hypothetically have sex with, and mammory glands. Don't worry, I will resume in May but right now I really need to paint and the temptation to write about my life ad nauseum is overwhelming. Ok? In the meantime, feel free to email me about how much the information highway sucks without this angry lady: alfitz04@aol.com

Monday, March 20, 2006

I'm back from San Francisco . It was supah dupah fly. What did I do you might ask? Well, I walked a lot. I walked more than that whacked out bibleman in the desert who walked for 40 days. I mean sheeeet, he didn't have to hike up Lombard St. just to see the place from "Full House." *(Legend has it that the old mansion is still inhabited by Uncle Joey's decaying and ghastly acting career) Thank god I made up for all this...shudder...exercise by causing a metabolic catastrophe and eating everything in sight (or sound..I swear I heard a pesto pizza last night). EVERYTHING. Chowder and crepes and Pad Thai, oh my. I also ate lotsa sushi, mmmmm. That's something I miss here on the "third coast that's not really a coast at all but really a giant cow paddy." Anyways, enough about me! What about you? How was your Spring Break? Don't worry about it until you really know its infected. Who knew you would contract any diseases from Cancun's largest under 30 jacuzzi? Just wear mesh shorts.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

If you're going to San Francisco, you're gonna need some flowers in your hair,
If you're going to San Francisco, Ali's gonna be crunk and in drag with a green beer,

Bye. I'm going to San Francisco to see my tall athletic friends Alex and Flowerree. I hope they don't make me do the stairmaster, or walk up those damn windy streets (their legs are GIANT! Sidenote: When we were in Spain I used to ride Alex like I was a crazed matador, she's that tall. Also, she used to jokingly push me in front of vespas because she doesn't know her own strength. Freak.) I bet all their furniture is comically oversized. I guess I'll sleep in a mouthwash cap.

Actually, I think I'll just plant myself in Chinatown and buy ginseng hypodermic needles and questionable rotating meats. Also, I desperately want to spit off the Golden Gate, and gorge myself with Ghiradelli chocolates. But not rice. I don't want any of their fancypants Caleee-fornnn-eeeea rice. Uncle Ben would have my head.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

So I just took this E-quiz that gives you names for your breasts (too lazy to paste link dot com.) Anyway, apparently my glandular gals are "Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan." I guess this explains why my top half has always found the siren song of the ice rink irresistible. And my left one (the evil Ms. Harding) can really wield a femur-shattering stick between our collective cleavage. Actually, here is an honest anecdotal boob-naming story: my best friend Melly and I (all names have been changed to protect the innocent aeriolas in question) thought that if we massaged and named our breasts that they would grow and so would our popularity. Hers did. Mine suffered from some performance anxiety issues. One false move and I was Ali "Inverted Chest"-Gerald. Although I do remember their names : Patsy (L) and Edina (R) from "Absolutely Fabulous." I still refer to them thusly. I'm dead serious.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

I think I can definitively say that Le Jackelope is my favorite bar in Austin. Velvety silicone tit-pics, blaring cock-rock, mysterious fire-spewing wall sculpture: Ali likey. Also, I met Andy Dick last night at an ATM outside of Oilcan Harry's. I learned two things: Andy is indeed a Dick, and Any does indeed like the dick. He had like 5 burly lycra sporting men massaging his (relatively oily) head. It was supercool. No one else knew who he was, but I was excited enough for all of us. Gawd I love me some D-list comedians. Next week: Ali spots Kathy Griffin purchasing high-end laxatives at her local Walgreen's.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

I am seriously addicted to the computer. I have googled everything. I have myspaced everyone. There is nothing left but death. And in my coffin I will be clutching my fucked up lil' laptop. I will arrive at the pearly gates and really freak St. who-the-fuck-ever out because I will have already discovered his secret double life (angelic S&M). Life is boring without surprises, maybe I should stop this thang. Naw, check me out on myspace!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Jesus, I need a life.
P.S.---Arturo has a really interesting show up at the Dougherty Art Center. It is all work by African American women, there's some good stuff. PPS---my students said that my class with Troy is one of the best and closest classes they have ever taken. I really almost cried. It was that cute.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

So, I'm doing a show in April with the herculean curatorial superheroine Ms. Risa Puleo at her new gallery, which shall be called "The Donkey Show." Cruz Ortiz will also be in it (whose work I really like.) We agreed that I should do something with this idea of the Donkey Show, seeing as how it incorporates some of my interests painting-wise. I am currently researching donkey shows and am getting very disturbed by the first person accounts of attending said bestiality sessions (surprising? Yes, I can still be disturbed). For those not in the "know," a Donkey Show consists of several women (often prostitutes) who perform sexual acts on/with donkeys. Apparently, it is still happening in Nuevo Laredo among other places...I am actually quite sickened by this and am tempted to steal these poor women and molesting (molested?) mules away from all that dumb shitty exploitation. Perhaps I will fly down in a magical margarita-shaped weather balloon and scoop them up with my powerfully massive glutes. Then we will fly away to a tequila waterfall and watch the movie "Cocktail" and laugh. Sigh.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

I have been trying to clean my apartment all day, and I swear to god that it is only getting messier. The dustballs are copulating en force. It is the Studio 54 of dirt. It is like my dirt-pile consists of a couple of Chai-O whores tonguing each other on a pool table. The crowd just keeps getting bigger and bigger no matter how wrong and awkward it is. And the Chai-O dirt pile just shrieks "Woo" as it downs another apple-peach-pineapple-guava fusion martini.....
Hmmm....All my metaphors are the same aren't they? I need to work on being edgy without utilizing strange yet obvious sexual euphemisms. I mean really, this blog could be a lot more family friendly. So, that said, I am going to rewrite my previous analogy (concerning my messiness) using a pack of rascally kids we all know and love: the Peanuts gang!

I feel as though I am preordained to be that little kid on Peanuts who always has a shitcloud following him. Shit...I said shit. Well, on second thought, I'm much more "Lucy" anyway. We are both sassy and love to kick pianos. Although neuroses-wise I think I am Charlie Brown. Remind me to shave my head and get a Cosby-esque zig-zag patterned sweater vest. I would also like to sleep on top of a doghouse a la Snoopy (did Snoops ever have a chiropractor? He slept on top of shingles for Chrissakes). Or I could be the token black kid who was bused in during the topsy-turvy seventies. What was his name? Oh yeah, no one gave a shit because he was so poorly developed as a character. Curse you Shulz. And what was with the faceless, nameless piece of meat, "the little red-headed girl." I bet Charlie was a klanmember. And I think he probably was a bobble-headed doll fetishist. Ew Chuck.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Well, I went out to the bar on thurs. night and paid dearly for it. I had to sit through hours of orals trauma and then I waddled home and fell asleep at 4 in the afternoon. I am one crocheted pair of Depends away from being an alligator-esque Bea Arthur. Incontinence aside, it was a good sleep and I so needed it. However I had planned to go to Jackelope last night, so it was too bad that I had to stay home and polish the walker with my reptillian spit. Tonight, I think I'm going to some fancypants party. As usual, I will feel out of sync with the rest of the world. I dunno though, a variety of hearty cheeses sounds kinda awesome right now.