Saturday, March 31, 2007

MFA Thesis Show tonight! Everybody bring their party hat and wave it around like you just don't care! Like you don't care about your outrageous collegiate debt! Or your fictitious degree that earned you nothing but an angsty scowl, a self-serving need for therapy, specified job skills that make you unfit for most anything (including life) and finally, crabs from those dirty (albeit tempting) undergrads. Wave that hat boy, wave that motherfucking hat.

*I do not have crabs.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

I decided that I sounded illiterate in that last post. Like a slang-dispensing Snoop after too many ounces of Mad Dog 20/20. So I erased it, and thereby erased my banana liquor tinged shame. I have so much to do, that the fact that I'm writing this really does speak to my dedication to the sifting and sorting of my mental refuse. Seriously though, the first draft of my thesis is due, I have to apply to all these residencies by the 31st, and the MFA show is on Sat. Whew, shroud me in your pity, blog-blanket. Swaddle me with nameless, faceless internet love. Cloak me in fake Craig's List ads asking for people with "equine interests....". Sidenote: a friend of mine does fake Craig's List ads, and often lets me read the responses. It's actually amazing to realize how many lonely people are out there.

Ringo, Paul, Keith and John, you were so right to ask the question, "where do all the lonely people come from?" Answer: the sewers. Yep, they use their leprous(?) claws to ascend and interrupt the lives of normal happy folk like you or I. And then they eat your Thai noodles and any other frozen items, for the lonely people love cold or readymade Pan-Asian cuisine. I feel sick for sympathizing with them in this regard. I like vermicelli. SIgh. I think it's just a coincidence though, as I'm certain that there are no lonelies in my distinguished and decidedly coupled lineage. Nope, it can't be. I wouldn't be nearly as good-looking as I am if I had even a drop of Hemmingway-like loneliness in my system. I would be craggier, more sea-faring, and more hirsute.

My, my, I took the sarcasm to a new level there didn't I? I think I've lost my sense of humor, because that little paragraph was definitely a 5 on the funny scale. Like a Paula Poundstone stand-up routine (5) or even Rita Rudner (4). Again, sigh.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Burning, Smoking, Fiery (um maybe more lukewarm and ashy) questions that I have about life in general:
-Why do people participate in the obligatory-hug-experience when they know it commits them to obligatory hugs for life? Why don't they just say no? Or do what I do, wear chain mail with arsenic-tipped skewers that impale the offending European/aunt/ex-boyfriend/token hippie transient who sells you leathergoods.
-Why do people wear "peasant shirts"? I like my Renaissance Fair to stay at my Renaissance Fair. It makes it more special.
-How does Snoop Dog still have street cred? I mean come the fuck on, the man was in a Ben Stiller movie.
-What in the hell is "Black Snake Moan" about? That movie looks like the festering collective fluid from the union of
"Deliverance," that Kathy Bates movie where she breaks the guy's arms, and "From Justin to Kelly: the American Idol Movie."
-Speaking of "American Idol," here is a question: why are people still voting for Sanjaya? And why is he a romantic obsession for pre-adolescent girls? I mean, I agree that you should shoot for the stars girls, but how should I say this? Sanjaya has a different sexual appetite...that's right, he's a molarphilliac. He likes teeth. A lot. Past entertainers with this affliction include Regis Philbin, Hilary Swank and the Osmonds. Side effects include chattering when aroused and an insatiable desire for auto-erotic asphyxiation via floss. If you think you might have a problem go to A.A. (Aquafresh Anonymous).

Monday, March 19, 2007

As a counterpoint to the other day's post about love, peace, and a gun-toting Glenn Close, here are the things I hate (I know this is a well-trodden path with me, but whatever, the list is updated ok? And it includes you, hairypalms417). Alright, I'm already sidetracked because now I'm thinking about Robert Frost and that moving point in 8th grade whee you realize that you want to take the prickly, urine-smelling path he writes about so lovingly. And then you realize that, no, comfort is where it's at. And then you unbutton your Sears brand khakis and drink a nice, lukewarm Coca-Cola while watching some lame comedy about an emotionally stunted bachelor on Fox. And you think, "this is so much better than that stupid hiking trail Frost told me to walk on. There were burrs and cacti, and I'm pretty sure that field across from it had a glory hole." And then you laugh and laugh and laugh, because really, all of Fox's family sitcoms are SO applicable to your life. It's like a crystal ball. A mediocre, trailor-sheathed ball. I hate those shows.

* I do not hate segways (the sexy vehicle), in fact I love them. I was simply referring to that moment in an article/sex clan meeting etc. where one is asked or coerced to make a leap in conversation topics (i.e. "pass the lube please," "Speaking of lube, there's this great lil' glory hole, on this private path, I think there's some pretty yellow leaves..." "Is that code for 'golden showers'?" "Speaking of 'golden showers'...")

New/forgotten conversation topic: Things I hate, line 1.
-The following barfy-lumbering-neanderathal-father shows:
--"The War at Home," "Two and a Half Men," "All-American Dad" (I'm sorry creator of Family Guy, this show sucks the dick I'm very aware of not having).
-Being on Speakerphone. Put me on speakerphone and I assure you that you will hear one wigged-out person on the other line.
-Guinness. It makes me feel like 900 lbs.
-People who say "yuman" instead of "human."
-People who adverstise their art all the time, so that their personality colludes with their business/work. To you fine people, I say: get a life, and stop peppering my world with your lame attempts at self-aggrandizing.

Ok, onto the "News Section."
-I had my orals, they were lovely and tea-party like. Not really, but, all things considered, they were v. helpful.
-I am graduating in May. Please give me a job. Ignore self-promotion complaint above.

The following job titles indicate what I would be interested in doing for work and pay:
-Dirty Improv Balloon Theatre Director
-Web-Surfing Endurance Contest Judge
-Orgy Coordinator
-Professional Eater of Savory Things
-Overseer of the Equitable Division of the Estates of Strippers and Ho's
-Professional Lip Reader employed by the Association of Old Lady Gossips on Porches
-Gross Stuff Inspector (only with stick)
-Makeup Artist and Court Jester to Drag King/Queen
-Reality TV critic slash reality television star (reality show about reality tv critic).
-Fluffer (I mean fluffing little bunnies' fur, whatchu think I meant?)
-Kissing Booth Occupier
-Art Dismisser
-Comic Book Afficionado
-Artspeak Translator (for those sad Art people who kin't talk to the normal folk without using the phrases "didactic" "Freudian" or "the gaze.")
-Horse Killer
-Buzz Killer
-Co-Sextrologist with Annie Sprinkle
-Ear wax Removal Technician
-Nonchalant and Snootily Dismissive Paid Art Opening Attendee
-Sugar Daddy Recipient
-Cynicism Retrieval Expert, for those who mistakenly believe that life is like the film "Amelie."
-Beer Funneler, or Chimay Fetcher
-Personal Art Shopper
-Water Bong Warmer
-Wooden Marionette Namer
-Disgruntled Mascot in Overheated Beaver Suit
-Horchata Latte Daily Tester (to test the appropriate levels of both Horchata and Latte).
-Chicken Fight Organizer at Town Lake
-Professional Tuber and Tester of levels of Frat Pee in River
-Teacher of Pretend Castration on Ronald McDonald Effigy

Now, stop harassing me about a long blog.
This is my long entry for the week.

Friday, March 16, 2007

I Think I'm Insane.

Things I love:
"Fatal Attraction" starring the stunningly Schizophrenic Glenn Close. Seriously ladies, if you're going to be all stalky n' shit, I think you should really do it up right, Glenn-style. Self-induced bleeding so that a married Michael Douglas will stay the night? Yes, that's the perfect way to showcase your career-woman-of-the-80's status. Yay, women's lib! Yay 9 to 5! Yay Lily Tomlin! Yay Dolly Parton! Yay Dollywood.
Sidenote: someone once convinced me that there was a rollercoaster at Dollywood that had cars modeled after Dolly's breasts. Again, I was convinced that there were boob-shaped cars. Maybe with a weighted nipple for faster headwinds...or something. Ok, I don't know what headwinds are.

Unfortunately, I came face to face with flat-chested southern disillusionment. Can we say "wasted trip to Nashville?" Can we say "crying all night in a Tennessee motel that smells like hog and waffles? Can we say losing your virginity to an aspiring slam poet at the "Tennessee Hog-Swilling/Spelling Bee?" Can we say 'patronizing blog tone'?" Can we say "broad, disgusting generalizations about a state"?"
Other things I love:
Cleaning my ears out with a q-tip. Yessssssssssss'm, that feels good. I look like a little martian walking around the house with my two beloved cotton friends peeking out from my ears. I love cottonlovers. Maybe I should put out a personals ad to that effect. "I love cleaning out the excess goo of life, does someone want to burrow down the slick (and sometimes waxy) canal of love with me? I'll pour Hydrogen Peroxide on you."
Lastly, I love chocolate. Boring maybe, but oh so true.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Too busy to blog extenstively, have spent the last 65 hours of my life sweeping cricket legs into a dustpan in my studio. Seriously, there were many, many cricket legs. And there was the thorax of a bug that I'm convinced lives off of cerulean blue and spilled Lonestar. I'm calling it "Alineedstogetsomeselfdisciplineius." Other things of note that I've found in my studio:
-a plastic rhinoceros
-a fork
-a drawing of two professors making out (infantile!)
-hair thingys that are matted to the floor with watercolor
-a sailor dress
-a pair of unidentified mens' shoes (a tryst with an accountant that I forgot?)
-a sticker that says "I love my mom" (why would someone give me this?)
-An old ABBA 8-track (why would someone let go of this?!!!)
-duct tape, duct tape, everywhere
-a Joni Mitchell CD that was broken in half
-undies that I used as a paint rag. Don't you judge me!
-cardboard remnants of my robot costume dildo (I was "Bad Thunder Sex Robot" in case you forgot).
There were other goodies too. But I think they would disturb you, dear readers. And I'm very concerned with your fragile cyber-psyche a la Dr. Phil,
I have my orals tomorrow. Wish me luck! Fuck that, wish me a silver tongue so that I can lash "the man" with it. And perhaps wish me a Long Island Iced Tea afterwards. And by "wish" I mean "buy."