MY SMOOTHEST TRANSITION IS YOUR HAND UP MY SKIRT
Sometimes I project myself onto others just to feel a bit less heartless. A few days ago, I explained to my friend Nicole, "Wearing these shoes makes me feel...wrong. I mean, I really love Nike, but with each step, I'm reminded of the little Taiwanese children creating my shoe."
With that, Nicole said, "Fuck that. Their little hands reinforce the stitching; allowing for a much more durable product."
Somehow, it all makes sense.
This past weekend, my girlfriend and her best friend (a different Nicole) went to South Beach in search of the great American nothing. Her friend found it while venturing off with some boy. She was having her period, and asked the boy to stop so she could take out her tampon. He exclaimed, "Don't worry!" and pushed it farther up Nicole, before continuing his tongue exercises. They never had sex, but Nicole retreated back to the hotel room in a drunken stupor asking my girlfriend to dig the tampon out of her. Ten minutes, a throbbing vag, and messy hands later, the tampon was pulled from behind her bellybutton. Funny how sex will often question our intelligence from time to time.
I can remember the last time I peed the bed, because it was quite significant.
6th grade---spent the night at my bestfriend's house in his bed, which was quite common for that age. He woke me up in the morning questioning the large ring of wetness stretching from my torso down to my knees. Flushed with fear I replied, "Ummm...I sweat alot." Ten minutes later, we were sitting downstairs eating eggs and toast, before his mother screamed from the top of the stairs, "Ugghh! Gross! Who pissed the bed?" My best friend yelled back, "Geoff sweats alot, Mom!" She marched down the stairs eyeing me closely. "Well, Geoff can clean his own goddamn sweat then, because I'm not touching that." That was the day I learned how to do laundry.
Sometimes you get something in your mind and must fulfill the idea before letting go.
Last night, my girlfriend got stoned, I got drunk, and we decided to go to the police station at 2 a.m. Last week, she'd received a ticket for a missing headlight (some Chrysler defect or something), so we had to prove her innocence by showing the cops her car's remedated malady. For being two kids fucked out of our minds, we started a great conversation with the officer about pulling people over and whether they think it's fun. The cop said he and his cronies really got off on scaring people when they pull them over. He said anxiety is the most visible emotion on anyone's face, and the suckers that got all worked up always received the tickets. I told him I had been drinking and he said, "I know. You smell like a brewery." I said, "Thank you for your time." He said with a chuckle, "Young lady, watch this boy. He's trouble." I wanted desperately to scream out, "Her eyes look like a fucking roadmap! She won't be watching anything for a while." but refrained.
When I was in High School (I went to a Catholic school), I got thrown out of my Theology course. I told the teach Amnesty International was not a non-profit organization because the big wigs make easy cash through publicity stunts. He called me one of "Satan's sons," and I called him a fascist. For the remainder of the year, I was stuck in the library during that class period...lonely, dejected. I was only allowed to read the bible. Need I say more?
This is how gross I am everytime I write these stupid updates.
Sometimes I project myself onto others just to feel a bit less heartless. A few days ago, I explained to my friend Nicole, "Wearing these shoes makes me feel...wrong. I mean, I really love Nike, but with each step, I'm reminded of the little Taiwanese children creating my shoe."
With that, Nicole said, "Fuck that. Their little hands reinforce the stitching; allowing for a much more durable product."
Somehow, it all makes sense.
This past weekend, my girlfriend and her best friend (a different Nicole) went to South Beach in search of the great American nothing. Her friend found it while venturing off with some boy. She was having her period, and asked the boy to stop so she could take out her tampon. He exclaimed, "Don't worry!" and pushed it farther up Nicole, before continuing his tongue exercises. They never had sex, but Nicole retreated back to the hotel room in a drunken stupor asking my girlfriend to dig the tampon out of her. Ten minutes, a throbbing vag, and messy hands later, the tampon was pulled from behind her bellybutton. Funny how sex will often question our intelligence from time to time.
I can remember the last time I peed the bed, because it was quite significant.
6th grade---spent the night at my bestfriend's house in his bed, which was quite common for that age. He woke me up in the morning questioning the large ring of wetness stretching from my torso down to my knees. Flushed with fear I replied, "Ummm...I sweat alot." Ten minutes later, we were sitting downstairs eating eggs and toast, before his mother screamed from the top of the stairs, "Ugghh! Gross! Who pissed the bed?" My best friend yelled back, "Geoff sweats alot, Mom!" She marched down the stairs eyeing me closely. "Well, Geoff can clean his own goddamn sweat then, because I'm not touching that." That was the day I learned how to do laundry.
Sometimes you get something in your mind and must fulfill the idea before letting go.
Last night, my girlfriend got stoned, I got drunk, and we decided to go to the police station at 2 a.m. Last week, she'd received a ticket for a missing headlight (some Chrysler defect or something), so we had to prove her innocence by showing the cops her car's remedated malady. For being two kids fucked out of our minds, we started a great conversation with the officer about pulling people over and whether they think it's fun. The cop said he and his cronies really got off on scaring people when they pull them over. He said anxiety is the most visible emotion on anyone's face, and the suckers that got all worked up always received the tickets. I told him I had been drinking and he said, "I know. You smell like a brewery." I said, "Thank you for your time." He said with a chuckle, "Young lady, watch this boy. He's trouble." I wanted desperately to scream out, "Her eyes look like a fucking roadmap! She won't be watching anything for a while." but refrained.
When I was in High School (I went to a Catholic school), I got thrown out of my Theology course. I told the teach Amnesty International was not a non-profit organization because the big wigs make easy cash through publicity stunts. He called me one of "Satan's sons," and I called him a fascist. For the remainder of the year, I was stuck in the library during that class period...lonely, dejected. I was only allowed to read the bible. Need I say more?
This is how gross I am everytime I write these stupid updates.
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And, Yeah. Maybe my problem is I never had a plan. Graduate, that was one plan, get married by the time I'm 30, thats another plan, have kids by 35, thats another plan...but they aren't really ambitious plans. Graduate in what? I didn't care. Graduate when? I didn't care. And still don't...I'm going back to school, and don't really know what to study the second time around, teaching or nursing, or maybe there is something else I would really like to do... blah.