okay/gosh

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don’t stop ’til you get enough

May 4th, 2008 · 91 Comments · Uncategorized

I am a hungry, hungry, greedy, greedy hippo lady. I’m not going to lie. When I don’t have anything to do but papers and bullshit, I like to eat every two or three hours. So an hour after I had eaten some black bean soup, I announced to my friend that I would be walking to McDonald’s for some late night undeliciousness. And it was really the epitome of undelicious, because my stomach almost met its death last night.

Anyway, walking back from McDonald’s, far and straight ahead I saw a man spinning. Like, twirling. And he was really quite skillful with it, I must say. My comrade threatened to collapse with laughter, so we crosed the street so we didn’t have to walk right past him. We couldn’t help ourselves though, and we kept looking over. Again and again.

This man had mad dance moves, and he was skilled. Seriously. He was basically the new Michael Jackson, before he turned white and pedophilic. My friend thought he was the homeless man that chased her friend down the street a month or so ago, so we kept our distance, still. But his spins and twirls and pelvic thrusts — well, they were glorious.

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bananas in my smoothie

May 4th, 2008 · 101 Comments · Uncategorized

I really, really love when I have a strawberry banana smoothie and I can taste the chunks of delicious banana, and the chunks of delicious banana make their way up the straw and into my mouth and all of it is just a delicious, magical joyride.

This very experience is being had at Kiva Han, my very own coffee/cafe haunt, much closer to my living situation than 61C. I’ve found that, perhaps, I’m a little bit in love with Kiva Han, but maybe that’s because of all the heartbreak i experienced at 61C. I mean that homeless man never talked to anyone except himself. How very selfish of him. I couldn’t live like that.

Anyway, the only thing about Kiva Han is that nothing really goes down here. So the fact that it smells vaguely of Fritos and mac & cheese, well, that’ll probably be the most eventful thing here today. Besides the homeless black lady that comes in here at about 8 or 9 pm and promptly heads towards the men’s bathroom. It’s okay, I was also confused by the ‘Dude” and “Dudette” labels on the bathroom doors.

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bus tacos

May 3rd, 2008 · 95 Comments · Uncategorized

I have a fine sense of smell, and I challenge anyone to challenge that. This can be good, when I sense that a restaurant smells of steak and… good food. But as a rule, it’s always bad on a public bus.

In that vain, have you ever noticed the similarities between some foods and some body odors? Like, stinky feet sometimes smell buttery like popcorn. Good when it’s popcorn, bad when it’s feet. Likewise, the woman on the bus next to me who smelled like tacos… it would have been good if she were, say, a giant taco (that is not an allusion to her vagina). Unfortunately, she was not. Just a smelly woman, assaulting my nostrils.

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inebriation is a devil to your cause

April 20th, 2008 · 113 Comments · Uncategorized

i’m going to talk about watching people who want you.

the kind that stare at you kind of longingly while you’re drunk, because they just want to love on you and be with you. you know my response? get with me, damnit, stop faking.

you probably want me and you know, it’s the end of the semester and alcohol is abound so i want you too. it’s so hard when you act like you don’t know what you want, when in reality, you do. tap my ass, i encourage you to do so.

he stares at me longingly and offers me his drink. i take a sip of his deliciousness and wish he would physically give me more (i.e.: peen). my wish is not granted even though, after all, this is fucking spring.

oh this cryptic shit. oh bullshit.

I WAS DRUNK WHEN I WROTE THIS. GOD. I CAN’T EVEN STAND TO LOOK AT IT.

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Something you good people should know about

April 15th, 2008 · 149 Comments · Uncategorized

It’s barely fifty degrees outside, and for once, there is actual sun and although a blue sky seemed unnatural at first, I am much more disposed to it than I am the typical dreary-makes-me-want-to-kamikaze-myself gray. Or is it grey? Whatevs.

I’m walking. I see these two girls standing in the middle of my path, all willy nilly and I find myself thinking this: What the HELL is this girl doing wearing shorts? Does she not know that it’s barely fifty degrees? She must be PSYCHOTIC. And by psychotic I mean, just as psychotic as all the other dumb people who think that fifty degrees merits sunbathing in a skanksuit.

But what’s worse is I hear this: “It’s so cold outside!”

“You have shorts on.” The non-shorts-wearing girl is probably my favorite of the two. Obviously.

“I know I have shorts on, but I’m cold!”

I hope to god that this shorts wearing lunatic relates her lack of clothing to the fact that she’s freezing. I’m just saying.

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YO SHIT STINK. BET.

April 14th, 2008 · 139 Comments · Uncategorized

I rode the bus three times or so today. On the first bus, I sat next to one of those people who listen to their iPods with the headphones that wrap around the back of their ears while they lean up against the window and sleep, and i sit there wondering how they will ever know when to get off the bus when they have their eyes closed and are only semiconscious and then i think about the fact that the window probably has loads of bacteria crawling about and that person is going to need a big case of Proactiv soon. And it wasn’t him, but someone on that bus smelled like a ham & weed sandwich, and it was not unpleasant, meaning it was very appeasing to my sense of smell, although it was obviously very awkward, because that can only mean that someone on that bus had had a ham and weed sandwich on rye or something.

The third time I rode the bus today, I smelled nothing when I got on, but that could have been because the fickle weather’s super coldness temporarily suspended my sense of smell. I wish that the sense could have been suspended longer, because I sat by this huge man who was probably as wide as he was tall, and he was tall, and I sat and i smelled stale piss and lung cancer. By lung cancer, I mean Black & Milds. And then when he got up, OH MY GOD, it was like the smell of piss washing over me, it was like stale old Port-a-Potty piss being dumped over my head except I didn’t get wet and I’m hoping to that Savior man that I don’t smell like it, either. It also vaguely smelled like diarrhea and I didn’t like it one bit.

Then I came to my personal sanctuary, only to see a man who asked me about switching bodies, and I said yes. Remember that? Well he doesn’t. IT’S OKAY. I WAS ONLY IN LOVE WITH YOUR NAME ANYWAY, J. PAUL PIERRE. Well that, and the fact that I noticed you’ve got a nice back, your shoulder blades are fine with me. I approve. And also, my fellow blog bitch here IMed me while gesturing wildly “Look at him squat. He kneels nice.” BUT OTHER THAN THAT I’M OVER YOU. ALRIGHT? ALRIGHT?

Alright.

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in this town, you get what you give

April 13th, 2008 · 105 Comments · Uncategorized

There are days when I think, man, my life sucks. Then I go to a bar called Fanatics, filled with local yocals drunk off their hind-quarters, and watch a man with a thick neck, thinning curly hair, and attempting-to-be-hip glasses hit on three girls, only one of which (coincidentally, the only horrid-looking one in the bunch) responds to his advances.

These are the nights when I think, man, my life is awesome. Then I watch a man (yes, the same aforementioned man) stumble over his bar stool and approach a young shaved-head guy (read: a beef head with brawn) (that sounds like a tasty meal?) and try to hypnotize/play a magic trick on him/do some tai chi move in front of him all before putting up two fists and being told to fuck off.

Those are the nights when I know my life is awesome.

P.S. [AKA a demographic summary of the bar in the form of a narrated playlist] — The songs playing includedbutwerenotlimitedto Hall & Oates’ Rich Girl (which I’ve accidentally bought not once but twice on iTunes… embarrassing…) and New Radicals’ Mother We Just Can’t Get Enough, which, I mean… brave choice, jukebox jockey! Tricky, not picking the one hit of a one hit wonder. I applaud your prairie oysters. They have dropped.in this town, you get what you give (img!)

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get reals on the bus go round and round

April 10th, 2008 · 116 Comments · Uncategorized

Chilly morning. Tragic. I wait for the bus and a blonde girl with an undeterminable accent asks me what busses go by there.

Do they all go to Pitt?

Yes, why yes, they do, all but the 64A, that is!

We wait in silence. The bus comes. Old people try to get off but girl with le accent hops up onto the bus, obstructing their pathway to justice. [read: to the street] I wait nicely, smoothie and granola in hand. The bus-driver smiles at me as I get on. I think, “She likes me because I waited for the people to get off!”

Then she sneers and says, “You better not leave those on my bus.”

WHAT! Step back, everyone, step back. Why would I have just paid $6.10 for my breakfast to leave it on your bus? I was just very nice to some wrinkles! Stupid driver.

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the Ascension and Israel

April 9th, 2008 · 82 Comments · Uncategorized

I’m reading a book for German class and I diligently translate nearly every word because I have a girl-crush on my German teacher. It’s a kids book. In this kid’s book, the kids have a day off of school for Christi Himmelfahrt which literally translates to “Christ’s sky trip” which is AWESOME but more awesome ’cause I figured out ALL BY MYSELF that it was the Ascension! Thank you, Catholic school.

That all has nothing to do with anything, but I’m going to relate it to these people who mixed church and coffee at my Lieblingskaffeegeschäft, 61C!

It was a dark cold night that I thought would be warm when five seemingly normal, possibly pretentious girls sat down next to me and my fellow okay/gosh-er. It was fine until I started to think, “Oh my god, does my vag smell? …no… What is that? It’s…vaggie… .” And then Fellow IM-ed me and said, “I’m worried my vag smells… I smell something… .” We put two and two together and it equaled that 1/5 of the group next to us smelled like vagina. Possibly also bowling-alley-armpits, but more likely vag. It made me distraught.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, THOUGH: They were crazy. Here is a sample of the conversation that kept me from talking concentratedly to Fellow:

“Tell me about Israel! I’m so excited!”

“Well, we danced and it was so much fun.”

“But tell me about the spiritual stuff. That’s what I’m really excited about.”

“Oh, it was amazing. We stayed up all night worshipping. God woke me up in the middle of the night, and I took a walk with my Bible and just talked to him all night long. It was…amazing.”

“Oh, I cannot wait for that. I just can’t wait to become closer to Jesus. Do you think we could make Jesus babies?”

[previous line fabricated]

Also they were religion-ambiguous. They talked about going to Church and going to Israel and they mentioned Evangelicals. Catholic? Jewish? Evangelicals?

Final answer: Jews for Jesus. Wearing vagfume.

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creepy staring from behind at international airports

April 8th, 2008 · 91 Comments · Uncategorized

What will follow is something I scribbled in fury and fear two weeks ago. I cannot be responsible for anything you don’t like about it because, well, I said so.

When I first sat down at the gate with my McDonalds bag and my suitcase, she was sitting in the row behind mine. And I was eating my french fries as dantily as I could — which, admittedly, isn’t damn dainty at all — and I was chewing, chewing chewing. I tun my head slightly and I see this random ass pasty ass woman who vaguely reminded me of my cohort in all things okay and all things gosh, and so I, of course, assumed she was Polish and the whole point was that she was STARING AT ME. And I looked in her face to challenge her, to scare her away from not looking at me any more but she was STILL STARING.

Does she not know the American way? If you are staring at someone and they look back at you, you’re supposed to turn your head away, all quick and suspiciously, even though you surely think you are being as inconspicuous as possible, and you’re supposed to act like you were studying your hands, which are, at that moment so very unfamiliar, even though you have lived with them for, say, twenty years.

She was still staring and so I started being a bit obnoxious with the way I was stuffing those fries in my mouth. And I kept looking at her from the corner of my eye, and yes, you guessed it, Creepy McCreepster was still looking. Then she got up and I lost track of her, and I didn’t know if I should be relieved or worried because who wants to be raped with a dildo? Because that’s what I assumed would happen, naturally.

Then she reappeared in front of me. I figured that either A. She’s never seen a black person, which is quite likely because this is America and Barack Obama is simply a fabricated name in the land of others like it, like Barbie. Or, B. She was trying to give me the SEX EYE because I’m a hot piece.

And she sat in front of me on the plane. And I’m not saying that’s her fault because seats are assigned but, well, you know.

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