Thursday, December 28, 2006

So now I'm at my grams' home in Aiken, South Carolina. Home to lots of gold-leafed equine art!!!! Black Beauty looking majestic underneath the glimmering confederate flag? Perfect.
And I'm off to D.C. for New Year's. Look out for me this weekend, I'll be the one wearing the humorously oversized diaper with a special champagne pouch. EMOTICON!

P.S. Alaina; Seriously gurrrrl, how many free drinks can you get in a night? It's a good thing nobody was spectin' nothin from you. Someone is hot shit.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

I am in Charlotte, North Carolina, home of the Panthers and Tammy Faye Bakker's "Heritage USA." It is also home to good barbeque. Much better than Texas-style. Vinegar makes the world go round. C'mon, what did you think the ferris wheel of life was oiled with?

Last night I:

Played beer pong with an opera singer, a Stephen King enthusiast, a reformed coke addict and my sister. No one really won.

Went to a sushi place overrun with frat boys and blonde asian women. The fratties really seemed to enjoy each others' artificial crab sticks.
"Dipping my tempura-fried eel log in your bowl rules man!"
"Tell me about it!"
(enthusiastic ponzu sauced high-five)

Got my b-day present from Alaina, which was a "Sextrology" book. We proceeded to read the book aloud in the sushi restaurant. Now, a lot more people know my Piscean love-making recipes. They involve lots of crying. Lots and lots of crying.

Made the opera singer do a wickedly on-point Aaron Neville impression all night. Like the "Family Guy" episode with the Neville megaphone. Damn that episode rules.

Smoked 817,001 cigarettes.

Was offered Vicodin by my sister's friend. I took it but cannot bring myself to actually "take" it. Mystery medicine makes me queasy for some reason. MYSTERY MEDICINE~!!!!

Accidentally became a part of some private Banker party. A lot of TPS reports in that room. Yup. Everyone looked the same. Kind of like "Taj" from Van Wilder. There was a lot of posturing, vodka tonics, and myspace discussions.

Lied about attending Austin City Limits.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Okay, okay, I'll start blogging again.
It's just difficult to navigate the hard ego-tripping waterfalls of this acerbic little diary. Imagine an animated Pocahantas singing about the "colors of the wind" or whatever, and then snagging her ass on some crags (*the crags symbolize my own psychotic attempts to sabotage the utopian musical that could be my life). That's how I feel. Like Vanessa Williams; washed up and slightly black. Is she still on ER? I am consistently amazed by her eyebrows. They are like 15 feet from her nose and seem alive in a way that the rest of her cadaverous person is not. She looks like a mannequin/zombie. Zombiquin!!!! Someone should make a movie about, not you Mel Gibson....fucking crazyass...should've stopped at "Braveheart"...can't fucking believe I liked you in "Mad Max" fucking seriously deranged Christian cracker...go live in a fucking farm with your 80, i thought Australian men were fucking ruined it.

So, I am reading this awesome book called "Pledged: the Secret Life of Sororities." It is so good. This reporter went undercover as a sorority girl and shone a light on all their dirty little rituals. It sounds like their Tiffany's EtaGam necklaces were corroded not only by demure tears, but also by chunky barf and catty hairballs. Seriously though, as a social/psychological study, it is really striking to read how much "groupthink" can influence some of these sisters.
One sorority chapter went and got their hoo-hoo's pierced just because an executive board member suggested it. Of course, they were following the old Mayan ritual of the "Sacrificial Cha-Cha," wherein a native priest makes a vaginal offering to "Clitorian" the ancient god of hedonist pleasure and pillowfights.
*This ritual has been immortalized by Missy Elliot whose Mayan roots prompted her to write the song "Work It."

She also cites an instance where 2 girls drowned in the ocean in Cali from a hazing ritual that forced them to face the waves blindfolded. Gross.

Mini-confession; I was in an "eating house" in college. which resembles a sorority in some ways. I didn't really participate after my freshman year, but still some of these stories remind me of that time. For instance, I had a "big sister." Her last name was "Hyman." Seriously.

In other news: I am done with school, done with teaching my class and am now working on a piece for ArtHouse in Jan. I am spending a lot of time in coffee shops. I wish I was one of those people who knew the names of the people who work at their favorite coffee-houses. I don't understand how that happens, but eventually I would like to be able to say "I'll take my regular, Frank!" And then Frank will wink at me knowingly, slide me a soy latte and give me an extra apple turnover. And I'll say, "Frankie, you da bomb." And then Frankie will slide his hand up my skirt as l shirk awkwardly in my seat. And then I'll never return because I just don't want to go there with Frankie. And every time someone suggests that coffee place, I'll be like, "I just don't like the waitstaff there." And then everyone will look at my weirdly, because everyone likes Frank. That's what I want.