Showing posts with label shit that pisses me off. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shit that pisses me off. Show all posts

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Orange County: Where people are like infomercials!

I need to move up to the Bay. I don't particularly enjoy Orange County (and hell knows how I feel about Los Angeles). I've always been so nomadic, and simultaneously ashamed and proud of that quality. It's not the place where I'll accomplish the things I want to. I haven't met the sort of people I need to meet. Or, rather, I've met a few, but very few and far between. There are a few people whom are really fantastic and I actually have spoken with this summer and have future plans with, but for the most part, I'm just not happy there. Maybe I'm just bummed right now. I think my new living situation will be really nice and I am really stoked for that, and having a car (cross your fingers for me, haha) will hopefully help a lot, as well...plus, Chapman is ridiculously expensive/ridiculously frustrating.

My love life is a mess; though, of course, it's always been "complicated." Now it's just in moderate shambles...although it seems to be almost rebuilding itself these days. I've got my index overlapping my "fuck off" finger, hoping for that one.

Q: What's the difference between New York and LA?
A: In NY, people stab you from the front.
I'm just as ridiculous as plenty of southern California types, of course. I'm neurotic and brash, obsessive and frustrating, aggressive and needy. But I am also extremely honest and unable to censor myself when speaking with friends--something I probably should learn to control, but at least I don't lie. I am so frequently the person who says what her companion is whispering behind hands; I can't help it. Which is probably why I come off as a giant cunt sometimes, but nevertheless, I feel better that the people I dislike most likely know and I don't have to make the :D face even though I find them to be entitled spoiled brats or trashy selfish assholes, yadda yadda. I should probably learn to STFU, though, because if I'm saying things aloud that other people choose not to say towards the target's face, then chances are, I am the one who will appear to be a bitch. Ah, honesty...it is so frustratingly consequential. So while I'm similar to many socal type folks (and, before you say "people are like that everywhere," I'm referring more to the sheer frequency that people suck in dishonest ways in socal), I don't belong there. I belong somewhere quieter.

Over a year ago, I wrote this entry. It had goals of things I thought I'd do in the next year (so, by now). I've bolded the ones that happened + added notes in red.
Goals for the next year or so:
  1. Stop being so co-dependent on other people. Did the opposite.
  2. Write as much as possible. Hopefully, work up confidence to submit things.
  3. Stop accommodating everyone around me regardless of how it makes me feel. Opposite!
  4. See WHY? live.
  5. Successfully move into Sad/Glad House
  6. Start dreads once my hair is about two inches longer than it is now.
  7. Lose approximately 10 to 15 pounds. No, but I have lost 7 so hopefully I'm on my way to finally doing this shit.
  8. Get a damn job or at least work on enough sets that I can pay for shit with the money from them. Although I don't exactly get much from those sets...
  9. Get a Filbert. If you don't know what that is, please see this article and this picture.
  10. Have a fairly large collection of 1/2" plugs (and etc. such stuff). I actually ended up getting a medium-large collection of 5/8" because I switched my goal size!
  11. Work on confidence issues, anxiety, etc.
  12. Start side pieces, hopefully be done with at least the outlines. Got both a scarification piece and a side piece with text...so, sort of accomplished?

I'm trying to calm down. Why am I so chronically needy? I miss being needed; I miss taking care of someone. Maybe I just need a bunny rabbit...

Friday, July 9, 2010

Cars + Order

So, I hopefully will be able to take out a small loan and finally get a car. I desperately need one in order to have everything be possible/easier: work, school, film sets, relying on myself, volunteering, camping, travel...all of it. Getting away. I hate having to rely on other people, even though they're always so sweet about it. I feel helpless and needy; I love my friends and I'd rather be able to offer them rides than have to get them to pick me up to hang out or come to me. It makes me feel so guilty.

Indeed, I will hopefully be acquiring a small, (preferably) gas-efficient car to name and love and put flowers on the dashboard in.

Things I will do as soon as I get a car:
  1. Start volunteering in Orange.
  2. Go on a date with myself at a lovely restaurant. Get any food I want and perhaps even buy myself flowers.
  3. Go to Silverado canyon with somebody and have a picnic.
  4. Apply for like 50 jobs in Orange County.
  5. Start going to the fucking beach finally.

Also, I was just made aware that Law & Order: Los Angeles is going to happen. Wut? Here is, essentially, what will happen:
A bunch of supposedly famous people (special guest stars = typically still only moderately successful) who frequently take off their sunglasses in disbelief who end up making shameful yet entertaining crimes. A witty detective (who wears brighter colors than the NY ones because the west coast is ~*just crazy!*~ like that) and his tough as nails yet beautiful female partner--who rarely has functional relationships with men--will have to solve these crimes while being held up every step of the way by absurdly attractive women and their graying, unattractive agents/fathers/husbands. There will be shitty yet energetic music. There will be boring plots with twists so bad that M. Night Shamylan wouldn't give a green light to. Lady Gaga will probably cameo.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Names and Words I Don't Like

For some reason, I really hate certain words. Some, I hate hearing from 99% of people because the words make me so sick to listen to or say. I also hate quite a few names, whether it's because there are far too many shitty people associated with them or just because they sound odd/unfortunate/icky to me.

Names
  • Ashley (oh my god, I cannot express to you how much I hate this name)
  • Christine
  • Sabina
  • Terri
  • Jesse
  • Luke
  • Angela
  • Derek
  • Rebecca
  • Devon
  • Aiden (seriously, hipsters and everyone else: stop naming your fucking kids Aiden; it's not that awesome)
  • Barbara
  • Elizabeth


Words
  • cookie
  • Thursday
  • food
  • other
  • meal
  • a word that rhymes with "art"
  • a word that rhymes with "shoop"
  • retard
  • chill
  • smell
  • unnecessary
  • slick
  • bush
  • bubbles


And, just to bright things up, names and words I love:
  • crisp
  • Liam
  • Chloe
  • lovely
  • kitten
  • ubiquitous
  • Wendy
  • cerulean
  • bears
  • things
  • darling
  • ginger
  • translucent
  • lush
  • spacious

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

No body; just a cage to hold your parts

I haven't written in a while, and with somewhat good reason. It's been such a busy past two weeks, and I sort of just want to calm down for a minute. But this weekend is the second part of "Canned Ecology" which means there won't really be calm as of yet. Maybe soon. I want to go camping in the next two weeks so fucking badly.

My birthday was last Thursday and it was really, really lovely. Heidi, Eric, and I drank a bit the night before, passed out, and when I woke up, I did some stuff for "Canned Ecology" while they prohibited me from getting out of bed as they were in the kitchen. When I came out, they had made a TON of fucking bacon and literally spelled out my name in bacon as well as made a bacon weave (!!!) and a blue omelet + toast. Shit was so bomb. Best breakfast ever.

After nomming the shit out of that bacon and essentially ingesting a heart attack, I re-blued my hair while they went to the store. After that, Heidi and I baked a ton of stuff and around some nice folks came over. It was super stellar. Ate lots of sushi, cheese, pumpkin pie, strawberry cupcakes (that Heidi decorated to look like my face, hahaha), and drank a hell of a lot of wine. Delicious. Post-dinner party, Heidi and I jetted to the radio room where we did BeezyTalk while the boys did stuff outside and Olivia hung with us. Then MoD happened, Dillon and Trevor DJ'd, shit was super fun, and we went to bed shortly after because I had set at goddamned 7 am.

All in all, very productive and lovely birthday.

The night before Halloween and Halloween both went something like: "Canned Ecology" set for 12 hours, short nap, dress up, go to costume parties. I went as a cracked out lumberjack hipster or something along those lines on the 30th-- that night, though, I was absolutely not in the mindset or mood for parties. I was pissed, miserable, and felt like shit from being awake all those hours. Halloween was better though, and we went to That 70s House for their party. It was really fun, we got pretty damn drunk, but I still managed to wake up for set the next day at fucking 7 AM.

On another note, I've been feeling slightly more antisocial than usual. And if one more person responds to that statement with, "Oh yeah, everybody burns out after freshman year for a bit, I know I did!" I will fucking scream. I know what "burning out" feels like [insert Jack Black motions a la "High Fidelity"] and I know that this isn't it. Over the past few years, I've consistently cared less and less about everyone being my friend (that's not to say I won't be friends with anybody, because I will with very little exception) and don't feel like remaining friends with anybody who doesn't put in much effort into the relationship. It just doesn't seem purposeful anymore.
"But, don't you realize that networking is what you're supposed to do in college?!"
Yes, dear imaginary questioner, I know that. And network I do. I make friendly acquaintances and friendly friends, but I do not get very close to most people because it's rarely a solid idea. I'm fine with having a few people that I can speak honestly with and share the near-full truth with.

At some point, I needed to feel great about being friends with a lot of people and rarely having anonymity, but during July 2007, I went to Ogunquit, ME and walked around for hours and hours and hours one day. Nobody knew me. Everything was free, and so was I. I turned my phone off, picked up my pen, and filled almost half a notebook between sunrise and sunset. I think that that summer was the turning point. During my senior year, I purposely tried to stop friendships I knew were one-sided or ones that bored me or ones that were with people I didn't actually enjoy being around. Once I got to college, I was pretty fucking closed off, then opened, then closed again and I don't really plan on "opening" back up any time soon. And why bother? I'm happy with the way things are in that regard, and whenever I'm trying to do too much or be around too many people, I'm fucking miserable and angry. That party on Friday just made me sickened. All I wanted to do was vom on their carpet, go home, and fall asleep. All the drunk tools trying to flirt with all the drunk girls in their pathetically trashy excuses for costumes, perusing up the skirts in the back corners of the rooms like nobody can see. Fuck that. I felt sick, and I just wanted to watch some goddamned movies with 1 to 4 people whose company I enjoy and cuddle and sleep.

Anyways, a few from the last week:
Part of a balanced breakfast!

Don't stab yourself, mister, the bacon is delicious.

Heidi, some fellah friends, and I

Purdy cute for a picture that involves me, Eric, and a piece of burned pizza.

SamCakes

That pumpkin pie was fucking badass.

Jeanie Jean lighting the candles while Mister Schwartz looks on

Blowing out candles.

Too many DJs. Ohhh.

I fully support the existence of this picture.

Excessive makeup and excessive earsies.


Creepy, creepier, & HEIDI

Quailman!

Heidi and I aka Superman and Quailman (a la "Doug")

Pascal & I


Aaand "Canned Ecology" set:
Lurking behind Dobbs

The funeral scene

Walking around the doctor's office in funeral clothes and a certain fellah's shoes because my boots were goddamned uncomfortable. And we apparently have the same size feet (I have giant feet for a girl). And they were black shoes, so regardless of style, they inherently go with a black dress [/lie].

It was fucking grandiose.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Sick.

God bless you, Roman Polanski, for bringing out the true nature of your cinema peers. If I ever need to see who has an ounce of morality and conscience in their bodies in Hollywood, I need only look at their positions on this case. If they forgave you, I know they have completely lost any sense of value in human life.

Defenders of Polanski's acquittal for the rape of a 13-year-old girl

Ah, I get it:

  • Giving a "great contribution to the world of cinema" makes it alright to commit the rape of a child.
  • Simply being forced to avoid making movies in Hollywood means he's "atoned" for his actions.
  • Only commiting ONE rape means that it's alright because he's "functioned in the world without any further problems of that nature after that."

Wait...really?
Just because someone is a fascinating person with a larger-than-life resume who has avoided a failed legal system does not mean he can erase the past.

Seriously, a time comes when you have to comprehend that a person, regardless of his or her achievements, is still a person. Our culture adores watching pedophiles and rapists go away (just check out the ratings of Law & Order: SVU), yet only if they are the creepy fellow down the block or somebody not from our town. Heaven fucking forbid that it is a celebrity who has achieved powerful things through art. I love his films, I will not deny that. But I refuse to look past the fact that he drugged and orally, anally, and vaginally penetrated another human being (and a 13-year-old one, at that). And even fucking Whoopi damn Goldberg thinks that it's not "rape-rape" so it's a-okay! Ah, you made great movies, feel free to pillage as you please? Since when did art trump the importance of human life?

A decision to acquit would be a message through a megaphone to all monetarily and fame-wise successful celebrities of the world: IF YOU CHOOSE TO DO SOMETHING TERRIBLE, YOU ARE FORGIVEN PROVIDED YOU HAVE DONE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL. This, as we all know, is injustice. I don't care if somebody finds fucking Eden on Earth; it wouldn't make me believe they are worthy of forgiveness if they raped somebody in the process. So fuck you, Hollywood. You are more cruel and disgusting than ever before.

Well, fuck. Rapists and pedophiles of the world, get your cameras ready, make a movie, and all will be forgiven!

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Reposting out of responsibility.

As should you.


"The following is an account from and anonymous Pitt student who attended the protest on Schenley Plaza last night Friday September 25th. The gathering, a peaceful crowd of a few hundred students, media, and community members was held in response to the violence perpetrated against Pitt student activists and Pitt students the preceding Thursday by the police. For more information, pictures, and video about the events of Thursday September 24th, visit the Pittsburgh Independent Media website.

Violence perpetrated against student organizers and uninvolved students is not a singular event or a symptom of increased police presence due to an event like the G20. Police violence occurs in many communities across the country and throughout the world every day. It is a sign of the privilege of the educated class that the media and community pay attention and express their outrage about our being abused when low income communities, people of color, and other marginalized groups with less privilege are attacked or harassed everyday. The police state is not just this week, it is all the time, and students need to start looking around and raising your voices everyday to protest the violence of the state.

Students at other universities: Please, forward this to your friends, campus organizations, campus newspapers, administrators, and everyone you know because if we don’t stand together in solidarity, your school could be next. Demand that administrators at your school accept responsibility for the actions of police on your campus. Demand that police on your city and campus be held accountable for all the violence the perpetrate. Demand that you and your classmates not be relegated to the conditions of a product for sale in the Industrial Education Complex. Make demands, because your campus is your home, your community, and your responsibility.

In solidarity,
Sheila Hubbard
Go Pitt

“WHAT HAPPENED ON FRIDAY NIGHT?
A Firsthand Account by a Pitt student

By 10:00, a group of a few hundred people had formed and the perimeter stretched to 3 sides and started getting thicker. Helicopters were overhead, and someone said they’d heard snipers were on the Hillman Library. Riot police outnumbered protesters at least 5 to 1 at this point, and they looked like they didn’t know what to do. Groups of people sat playing Duck Duck Goose and laughing or, like us, stood around tensely waiting for something to happen.

Eventually, the riot police surrounded the plaza. Local filmmakers roved around interviewing people. Some protesters shouted into megaphones, trying to engage the cops in a dialogue and when that didn’t work, mocking them. The police started closing in on us, forcing us into a corner and out of the plaza - we ended up with them in a perimeter facing an empty lawn. They formed a blockade between us and Bigelow Boulevard - at this point we were on Forbes Avenue in front of the Cathedral lawn. We were also blocked at Bellefield, and were essentially trapped on the street. People started panicking and running at this point. As the police moved in, we backed up onto the Cathedral lawn. There were about 40 of us backed into a corner.

We headed up towards Fifth Avenue on the opposite side of the Cathedral, but the police there told us to go back the way we came, grabbing us by our shoulders and pushing us back. When we expressed confusion, they threw a canister of tear gas at us so we backed up quickly. They started closing in on us on the lawn, beating their shields with their batons in unison. Even though we asked over and over which way they wanted us to go, because we wanted to leave peacefully, they refused to answer.

Eventually they ordered all 40 of us to lay face down on the ground. They told us we would all be taken into custody, and the officers came around using zip ties to handcuff everyone. We were separated and marched to a series of police cars and vans along Fifth Avenue. Their system there was incredibly disorganized and the officers were crude. “You know, I’m kind of disappointed,” one remarked. “I was hoping I would get to beat you guys down, but you guys were pretty peaceful.” Eventually, they searched and confiscated our belongings and took down all our information - most of us were being charged with failure to disperse - and tossed us all in some vans to wait. After a while, they pushed us up against the side of a bigger bus, patted us down, and loaded us onto the buses.

Apparently there were too many of us to process properly at the jail, so we ended up driving to SCI Pittsburgh. We sat outside the penitentiary for maybe half an hour or an hour. Outside, we could see dozens of National Guard and riot police officers swarming around. Someone noticed that somebody else’s hands were turning blue from the zip ties, so after a few attempts we got hold of the officer in front, who told him to “wiggle them around” and that there wasn’t anything else to do for now. Several people requested to use the bathroom, which was ignored. Eventually, they started letting us out one at a time.

The one who took me into custody put real handcuffs on me, cut off my zip tie cuffs, and patted me down. When she brought me inside, there were temporary partitions set up everywhere. I had my picture taken and was fingerprinted, then taken to wait to give my medical information, “in case you go to prison.” Afterward we were put in chairs and told to sit quietly, with National Guard guys watching us. One of them seemed slightly sympathetic; he made sure we all got water and food. “Please don’t talk,” he told us, “when you talk one of us has to come over here, and that means that it slows down the process.” When we asked where we were going, he told us, “I don’t know where you’re going, or whether you’ll be charged. For now, you’re just waiting till they decide what they’re going to do with you.” So we waited. And waited. Aaaand waited.

More people kept coming in, and we discreetly asked them what had happened. One guy was shirtless with welts all over his back; after seeing the protest on the news, he’d ridden his bike into Oakland. When he got there, police told him to turn around. He did, and they shot what he assumed was paintball guns full of pepper at his back. He was covered in huge welts and shell-shocked. He refused medical attention from the police and sat staring blankly at the wall. The guy sitting next to me had been walking home, and they’d snatched him off the street.

Eventually they started calling names. They brought us out into the courtyard, where we sat and could talk quietly. We overheard the officers saying that we’d all be released. Each of us had a police officer on our arm, and we went in batches of 4 or 5. They walked us over to a van, still cuffed, and we waited to reclaim our stuff. The cops walking us out harassed us about protesting, to which we responded less than enthusiastically. When we got our stuff, we were told not to go through it until we were off the premises, and escorted to the sidewalk in front of the police station. We were uncuffed and told to leave, and to “stay in groups, this isn‘t a nice part of town.” We were all miles away from home and the place we were arrested.

Welcome to surreality.

Questions? Comments? Email pittprotest@gmail.com
If you have police harassment or repression to report, call the ACLU G20 hotline : (412) 562-5015”

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Goddamnit.

There are so many musicians out there whose shows I would enjoy far more if their fans didn't suck. I mean, there aren't many musicians I just have to see live; I love just listening to tracks and albums over & over, through & through. But there are definitely some musicians who seem to have the most fucking annoying fans, and regardless of whether or not you agree with me (or, perhaps you fall into these categories and that's why you're upset), we all know that going to a show where there's a shitty crowd can make things significantly less awesome. These obviously don't fit all these artists' fans, but wtf, I enjoy ranting late at night.

However, I actually dislike almost all of the music on this list so I especially don't feel guilty bashing.

Top 5 Bands with the Most Irritating Fans
  • Animal Collective - Animal Collective fans fall under the general stereotypical "hipster." They're obsessed with talking about how much they know about certain bands, constantly remind you which shows they've seen ("No, seriously, you HAD to be there to understand what I'm saying!"), and frequently base their weekly styles on what's in stock at Urban Outfitters. In fact, they could easily be mistaken for an Urban Outfitters + American Apparel mannequin. They smoke pot but are elitist over those they consider "potheads," they have more vinyl records than you do (not saying all vinyl collectors fall under this, of course), and are really, really into lomography. At shows, they make sure everyone else at the show knows that they know the lyrics by mouthing them excessively, and frequently says after shows, "It was good, I guess, but they only played their new stuff..." They mention this on their daytime college radio shows that that nobody listens to without them begging on Facebook first.
  • Dave Matthews Band - I fucking hate Dave Matthews Band. Seriously. And their fans are fucking irritating, terrible people 90% of the time. For some reason, DMB fans are under the impression that they are somehow "close" to this artist and feel the need to refer to DMB simply as "Dave," as though the entire band is (1)one singular person (2)their fucking IRL friend. DMB fans typically like other horrible every-song-sounds-the-fucking-same music along the lines of Grateful Dead and John Mayer (see below).
  • Devendra Banhart/Joanna Newsom - Similar to Animal Collective fans, except these people tend to be a bit more subtle about how obnoxiously pretentious they really are. They'll frequently throw tidbits such as, "Yeah, my friend played a show with Devendra...I'm going to NYC/LA/etc. and we're probably gonna hang out" and other statements that show their triumph over the common, unknown-to-the-artist fan. They occasionally have average quality, semi-ironic tattoos and drink quite a bit (often feeling the need to boast this). They also apparently enjoy kittens dying because Joanna Newsom sounds like one, but that's a whole other story.
  • Of Montreal - See "Animal Collective" except add in a large dose of 14-year-old girls who think this whole ~*indie*~ thing is rad and unique compared to their *conformist* classmates!
  • John Mayer - Now, at some point, I lived with a John Mayer fan and it made me want to shoot myself in the face whenever it came on. John Mayer is that one guy at the party that you want to punch because he brought his fucking acoustic guitar and INSISTS on "playing you a song." Depending on his sexuality, if you're female, he'll probably make eye contact with you at least once and if you're male, he'll insist you play a song with him or let him play with your band. The kind of person who ENJOYS this sort of douchebag is the kind of person that thinks Lady Gaga's a quality rolemodel. Just because he talks how sparkly some girl's eyes are and how her body is some sort of themepark doesn't mean he enjoys her (and someday, some guy will feel that way about you, too!); it means you or he or both of you are fucking boring and he can't think of anything besides four chords and 6th grade compliments.
:) On a more positive note, shows I've witnessed where the fans have been fucking ace and did not interefere what so ever with (and even added to) the enjoyment level:
  • Letters To Cleo - Despite my being the only underaged person there (if not the only one under 28), I thought the crowd was really fun and clearly had gone through maturity in the 90s. Everyone was really light hearted, there was clearly no emphasis on fashion, and people were really generous with space and dancing room.
  • Ratatat - Since the band never really spoke (which I love; I hate too much small talk at shows), there wasn't really an opportunity for people to do that irritating "WOOO YEAH, YOU SHOUTED OUT TO MY STATE/AREA CODE HOLY SHIT!" scream-y thing. It was really chill.
  • Infected Mushroom - Oh, I have good stories. Racy stories, but good ones. In short, it was extremely fucking fun, tons of dancing with people, and nobody seemed to take shit too seriously from what I witnessed.
  • Scudworth - Fucking obviously.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Steel Navel

So on the 6th, I put in plugs that are the next gauge larger (00g/9mm) and they slid in incredibly easily. I'm so confused as to why people think stretching is supposed to hurt. The word is "stretching," not "shoving things into my earz to make them larger" or "jamming in large jewelry." And then there are the people who call them "gauges" or "spacers" (lololol) or wtfever their minds come up with. Jewelry = plugs, tunnels, etc. (not "gauges"), gauge = the size of the jewelry, stretching = the act of making your piercing larger over time (not "gauging"). It takes time, it takes patience, and it takes knowledge of what you're doing to your body rather than just buying some acrylic shitty talons (or worse, tapers with o-rings) at Hot Topic and shoving them through your ears until they're larger. Sigh, anyways...my ears are at a 00g. They're already loose, which is odd but kind of awesome because I'm realizing how quickly my ears self-stretch just by the weight of the plugs and the weird ear-pulling habits I have, haha.

00g/9mm:


A nude of my ear:




Aaand I just ordered these:


Obviously, these aren't my ears (or the sizes I got). They're just examples of the colors I bought. I got 00g (10mm) in Sky Blue (usually $28, got them for $7) and 7/16ths in Cobalt Blue (the darker one) (usually $28, got them for $7). And I got the Cobalt Blue bulletholes (usually $28, I got them for $14) that are in the second row in 1/2" which is my goal size, kind of. I mean, I'm debating going to 5/8" but...who knows how I'll feel? Ah well, I'm stoked to get my order soon! :D


I also got (from gaugetrade):
Trans purple Kaos eyelets in 7/16" (again, these aren't my ears, they're just examples of the products). These are usually $12-$21 and I got them fo' FREE! :D


These wooden plugs with a red heart inlay in 7/16"! :D They're usually $24 or so and I got them for $4. Amazing. I'm so excited for these. They look like this but with a red heart:

They're the ones on the far right:


Alltogether, I spent $32 (+$1 shipping, haha). I saved $88-97 on products that should've been $120 at the very least. WTF AWESOME!

Monday, June 8, 2009

Been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding.

Small rant:
Now, I'm all for the "your body is your body" policy. I think people should do whatever the hell they want with their bodies provided they're not hurting other people around them. After all, what's the point of having a brain that dictates your actions if you cannot make your own decisions regarding them?

However, as shallow as this comes across, I feel like ranting. I am getting more and more irritated with the amount of horribly executed and horribly thought-out tattoos that I've seen. Poorly done tribal flash, pseudo-Sailor Jerry stuff (on people who have no idea who Sailor Jerry was), ugly snakes and butterflies and flowers and fucking sparrows, quotes from shitty bands and "Twilight" and all that...Sorry, kids, but do you really believe that in 10 years, you're still going to love that same kid you're only elated to be with because he didn't dump you after you got preggers? Doubtful. Do you really think that Underoath song lyric is going to ~*describe yo lyfe*~ past sophomore year of college (although you should be shot if you still like Underoath and you're over 15, y/y?) I'm guessing that's a no. And fucking seriously, is that hideous flower or that semi-solid, 25-cent-temp-tattoo tribal worth any amount of money to put on your lower back? Probably not.

Now, I wholeheartedly believe that people should also think about the present just as much as the future. People have told me that I'll hate my earlobes stretched when I'm older but I view it as a permanent modification and, though I strongly doubt I'll change my mind due to the vast amount of beautiful jewelry that comes along with this, if I ever do want to go back to my regular-sized lobes, I have options. Piercings are great provided they're done well and you research them beforehand. Tattoos, though, are far (FAR) more difficult to get rid of if you realize you don't want them any longer. More painful and more frustrating and extremely preventable. Dear folks: there is almost no situation where a Twilight tattoo is personal or interesting unless you happened to write the fucking book. Just sayin'.

Also, I recently read an article by somebody on bmezine about copying tattoos. Essentially, the person used the excuse that imitation = flattering and that it's not "copying;" it's being "inspired by" someone else's art. I would never copy somebody else's tattoo on purpose. I mean, if I had the same idea as somebody else before I saw theirs, I wouldn't feel guilty about getting it, but I think straight up copying is fairly wrong and inexcusable. But I guess that's just my opinion, yadda yadda, I'm a moral tool.



On another note, I'm going to Jersey to visit my paternal side of the family, particularly my grandparents. My grandfather's getting pretty senile and, as my father so often reminds me, we don't know how much longer he has left. It worries me because I know my grandmother will be so, so sad when it happens. Or vice versa. Gah, I don't even want to think about it.



On a slightly happier note, my ears are now happily at 9mm.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Citrus shoulder.

Fuck optimism. All it makes me do is knock on wood every few minutes (which is really just a clear sign of pessimism). This is unrelated to the little story I'll tell you next, which is something I didn't have much hope for.

Tonight, Ryan drove me to Westcott to get the money a certain ex-boyfriend owes me. Granted, he owes me far more than he gave me (I paid his rent one month and he think thinks that's all he owes me for - not, y'know, the Broken Social Scene concert ticket, any of the food or the massive amounts of coffee, etc...). I didn't even recognize him when I saw him. I don't think I've seen him in almost a year. He's still a 16-year-old boy in a 22-year-old boy's body. People say he'll grow up but...meh, I strongly doubt it. His family's really chill, very mature...he just got the genes that decided to remain a little too egocentric and youthful. I really didn't want to chat, but he asked me how California was and all I said was: "Warm." And I felt like I should say "How are you?" so I did, to which he began yadda-yaddaing about how he's playing some set (which nobody asked for, I'm sure; he just volunteered and then they reluctantly said "Okay..." as I've been told happens often) after the band that was playing. Read: I do not care about this person anymore. He is of no consequence to me. This was what I needed and I'd rather never talk to him again. I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to ruin his life, I don't want to cause him harm. I just want him out of my life. This is hopefully the last time I see the kid that I emotionally/financially cared for as he leeched off me for the small 5-month span of us seeing each other. I've never seen tantrums like the ones he threw when I broke up with him; screaming on his porch, grabbing my feet on the floor, crying hysterically, calling every minute, talking tons of shit to anyone and everyone, chasing me down the stairs, physically not letting me leave...I'm done. What's really funny is that neither of us really cared about one another (clearly); I was lonely and he desperately needed somebody to rely on.

This really isn't me trying to be mean. This is how I see it and, sure, other people may have different opinions. But other people didn't deal with somebody freaking out and crying every time you got a call from another male or got woken up on fucking Christmas for a pretty damn unspeakable reason, and then told they could do nothing.

Speaking of which, fuck Christmas time. I used to love it but for the past three years, something terrible or depressing (or both) always happens right around then. Oh, holiday cheer. I'm going to go watch porn, write some of the screenplay I've been working on, make a box for my plugs and other jewelry, and then fall asleep around dawntime.


Also, I'm realizing I watch entirely too much late night TV now that I'm home. I just recognized the same woman from infomercials I've seen before on both a ChipMaster (something like that) infomercial and the Trojan Vibrating Touch testimonial infomercial. Fishy.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Sunset is an all day process.

Decisions: I make odd ones. That is unrelated, but not irrelevant.

I'm home now. It's 4:49 AM and jet lag is annoying (it feels like 1:49, which is still late, I s'pose, but not really for me). My dad picked me up at the airport, we picked up Panda, and she and I hung out all night. It was really nice and I'm fucking stoked on this summer. Om nom nom, there will be BAKED GOODS. And tits. Everywhere.

I went to the airport yesterday to come home; Delta fucked up and I couldn't until today. So instead, I watched horror movies with David all day Sunday (and some of Saturday). Some bad, some good. Three...Extremes, Washingtonians (MoH), Tooth & Nail (8 FTDF), The Damned Thing (MoH), The Blair Witch Project (kehkeh, still gave me a nightmare, oddly enough), The Screwfly Solution (MoH), Dream Cruise (MoH)...probably more but I can't remember now. Screwfly Solution had good ideas but a nonlinear, irritatingly bad storyline. Three...Extremes is really fantastic; I've seen it before but never watched "Box" (the Takashi Miike one - I think I love every movie I've seen of his) and I fucking adored it. It's beautiful and subtle, high context and so harsh. I really love it.

You're rich but I'm free.

Dream Cruise, The Washingtonians, The Damned Thing...all terrible. Some Masters of Horror films are awesome (Imprint, Jenifer, and Cigarette Burns). Some are pretty decent (The Fair-Haired Child, Sick Girl, Family, Pro-Life, Incident On & Off A Mountain Road). And some are fucking horrendous (these previously stated ones along with Chocolate, Deer Woman...probably others). Meh, ah well. The ones that are incredible are genuinely fantastic and worth seeing. Cigarette Burns is one of my favorite movies, period. I think it's pretty ingeniously done and it genuinely scared the shit out of me the first time I saw it. Highly recommended if you actually like horror and the idea of horror films affecting people strongly.

Saturday night, I went to Leslie's and said bye to some people who graduated as well as some people I just won't see the rest of the summer. I got a bit drunk. Understatement. Before I got that drunk, I ran into a door. My nose still hurts but it's kind of funny (now). It was a good time, though. Went to Sad House after. I can't wait to move in. I love preparing for shit and I've already decided how I'm sewing my curtains, pillowcases, etc. and that I'll have a queen size mattress, a record player, and a nice little wood desk. Anyways, precious moment that night:

Trevor, me, and Nathan. Precious.

I'm hopefully getting scarification this summer. The backs of my legs are begging for it. The cuttings (or, perhaps, I might just do red ink so it's permanently red) will look like these pictures (I haven't decided on a definite one, yet):
(Obviously, there will be less detail if it's a cutting.) I'm stoked. I'm definitely getting some text with them; either cursive, red text underneath in Spanish or another short Times New Roman literary quote nearby.