Showing posts from September, 2011

I Can't Feel My Face

I now present to you my trip to the dentist, as told through a series of text messages and Facebook statuses.

Me: Fuuuuuuck. They’re running behind. No fix for me today. Yay. Why can’t they just handle this in one fell swoop? I hate sitting in this place with these people. 10:59am. (I was in the dental office at the Health Department… because I’m poor and they charge less.)

Me: I’m starting to feel poorer, pregnant, and less smart…. I’m a terrible person. 11:08am.

Me: These kids across from me are borderline creepy… and I think the woman with them is slow. Most of these kids are just emitting some kind of annoying pheromone. There should be an adults only day. 11:13am.

Me: This one kid seriously looks like an old man. I’d take a picture if I could. 11:15am.

Quasi-Mexican: Gross. I take it you’re off today? 11:17am.

Me: Yes. What a way to spend it. I think one of these crotchlings has shit… Something smells… My ovary just shriveled up and died. 11:18am

Me: Nope. Pretty sure it’s the mother th…

Lazy Bitch

I’m lazy, okay?

This whole “getting famous” thing is taking a lot fucking longer than I had initially anticipated. I’ve dreamed of fame and fortune since that long ago day when I picked up my first guitar with the plastic strings, popped the collar of my red jacket, and began to strum and swivel my hips while watching myself in the mirror.

I was five.

Okay, I have to admit that that wasn’t my initial dream.  I gave up on being a fireman after a bad pull from a wishbone and I set my sights on marrying Elvis.

Then I found out he died before I was born.

And THEN I decided that I’d just BE Elvis. I feel like this is pretty fertile grounds for some kind of analysis about stalkers and psychosis and maybe people that wear other people’s skin.

Five minutes ago I had absolutely no intention of writing any of that.

The point, somewhere, is that I know that I need to be irritating the shit out of you with new blog posts, perhaps even two a days until I whip my slack ass into shape, but you know…