> What book/s are you reading currently?
currently i am not really reading any books. everytime i take a bath i try and re-read this one book but i end up just lying there with the cat looking at me and i am thinking about the futility of bathing because the not smellyness lasts for only so long.
> Apples or bananas?
> DO you have brothers/sisters?
older brother, 1 of.
> Did you ever fry ants or burn holes in stuff with a magnifying glass when
> you were a kid?
no we didnt have a magnifying glass hanging around. only at my grandparents there was one but we were too excited to bother with it for more than 3 seconds, we were too busy running around the yard in circles throwing tennis balls at each other's faces.
> Do you speak fluent French?
i can read and comprehend it well enough and if i am around french speakers i pick it up quickly and so yeh i can speak it i guess
> Hows Blythe - Does she have many clothes?
blythe is wonderful and snobby and beautiful and she has lost total respect for me now that i have blond hair.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
fil wonders what in the hell aimee and raymi are planning for his retardedly important birthday. notice how he is trying to see through time. pfft.
raymi practises wearing winter clothing with her backpack on and also gets plenty of stretches in there because the forecast is calling for lazy drunken assholeness and she is like, fil get the fuck out of here we have to get busy, aimee and me.
so fil left
and put on the stupidest not-cool at all hat that he could find. go fil!
aimee and raymi met up to uh, discuss, uhh, fil?
and then raymi took some dancing lessons and totally discussed preparations for fil the entire time.
fil is extremely occupied but still obsessing over how nice and thoughtful aimee and raymi are and he considers a total random act of kindness for them like maybe a unicorn and a rainbow and a trip to disneyworld because he is spoiled with all this attention all the time
gee i wonder what they are doing, for reals.
casual labour and contract espionage, basically
el cid telepathically begs fil to come back before he shoots laserbeams out of his eyes at aimeeraymi
fil begins to have doubts about aimeeraymi giving a fuck at all about him and his birthday
doesn't anybody care? anyone, at all?
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
fil is turning three-hundred on friday and i am trying to convince patrick to have a big yuppie party that we all can show up at after the em haines thing. i figure a party will cheer everybody up. patrick and his young thing gone done broke up. i tole him we won't be able to show up 'til maybe 1 30 or two or so in the morning. i know that it is last minute and selfish to ask of a yuppie party but that's how things work these days when everyone is miserable and drinking a lot and it is cold out and we all hate ourselves and pretend that our lives aren't awful, i guess.
anyhow, right now we are waiting for markus to finish up in the tanning salon so we can meet him for a beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer or two. i know, markus + tanning salon = sounds faggy. markus is going to someplace hot for two weeks with his girlfriend so he is getting a jumpstart on the shit i guess. markus had his picture in the townie hoity-toity paper what comes out and brags about local businesses and other fancy yuppie shit and we like to look at it a lot and make fun of it a lot because it goes into great detail about his hair and how it was cut and then about his clothes which we know he only got to borrow and it's pretty classist the whole crap altogether but so what, i'd've done it if i had my own shoppe though the expression on my face would have been a lot cooler.
all i really wanted to do was post that picture i drew and then i started writing about fil's birthday which turned into making fun of markus and now i feel bad.
but not really.
holy shit! no wonder blondes are dumb. there is only time to think about your fucking hair when you are blonde, i swear! it's ridiculous. making it straight and keeping it not-big, as in, frizzy crackly dry is ruining my life and i have to think about it a lot and then when i see other blondes with their nice hair ends and then look at my hair ends i feel like a big lazy hippie and i want to hide in a library forever and make myself a pair of spectacles out of multi-coloured pipe cleaners and then i am looking at all the pictures of me with long black hair and it makes me hate myself, just a little bit. and i am still not use to walking around with this obnoxious hair, i want to hide it with hats and stupid ponytails and then when i go to all the trouble of making it nice and sleek and straight and i go out and take off my hat and NOBODY CARES OR SAYS ANYTHING AT ALL ABOUT IT I WANT TO KICK OUT A WINDOW AND SMASH THINGS BECAUSE HELLO MY HAIR IS A WHOLE OTHER COLOUR NOW AND IT WAS EXPENSIVE SO FUCKING ACKNOWLEDGE IT AND KISS IT YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
blonde hair = my new enemy = it's too late to turn back now = something new to complain about = awesome
the following is a tale sent to me from my nice ladyfriend in England where she says in her town everybody knows everybody so i am not allowed to say exactly where, not until she moves away from it i guess, if ever, that is when you are allowed to s-talk everybody.
OK.. something sorta funny and or dark.. thats a toughie but after having
gone for a poo and read the backs of all the shampoo bottles nearby for
inspiration I can only offer this story which begins with the weirdos who
lived in the bungalow next to my house when I was a kid.
From the very start they werent right because they lived in a bungalow which
was set in the middle of a row of terraced houses so it was like a whole
bunch of terraces had been removed and an oddball bungalow stuck in the
middle. So they had a grumpy fat son and a grumpy fat daughter who never
spoke but she used to go out wearing a pair of bright pink stilletto heels
and a black jacket which I always thought was the height of fashion and I
wasnt allowed to have that kind of stuff so I just stayed in my room all the
time trying to dress like Madonna a la Material Girl stylee and Id peep thru
the gap in my bedroom curtains and watch the grumpy daughter walk down the
road every day wearing those shoes I wanted. The grumpy parents of the son
and daughter never spoke to my family not even if we were standing in our
front garden. The dad drove an ugly brown Citroen car which he parked in the
driveway and he always shut the gates behind it and the lock on the gates
made a little arc shaped groove in the cement on the driveway where it had
opened and closed so many times. They always shut the gates because they had
a dog which was a labrador - a black one. I dont know that dogs name to this
day but guess what - yep - it was grumpy but I loved dogs so in my
estimation it was the best of a bad lot... a rose between a bunch of
thorns.Out of the blue the grumpy mother waddled up to the fence between our
gardens one day as my mum was trying to find the front door key and she
asked if we would look after the dog while they went on holiday. My mum said
ok and when we got inside the house she launched into disbelief that the
rude bitch had the balls to never talk to us and then ask for a favour as
large as that and I remember a whole load of kiwi fruits fell out of a tear
in the bag of shopping mum was holding in the hallway and she said 'shit'.
The fat grumpy lot all went on holiday and left us with the door key and on
the first day I went round their house. Thru the first black wrought iron
gate and the second and to the back door where once I opened the door I was
confronted with a pissed off black Lab dog growling at me. I liked dogs and
I didnt like to see him upset so I filled his bowl up with food and then
looked around the kitchen to see what stuff they had. I remember the kitchen
was green and the floor had brown tiles. The dog didnt want its food so I
took it for a walk and when I brought it home it snarled at me when I took
the lead off its collar. Just as I was going to leave I gave the pissed off
dog a hug and that is when it snapped and tore a hole in my face near my
And that is when my mum came running over to see where I had been and she
saw blood down the front of my favourite white t-shirt with a whale on it.
So she grabbed the nearby garden pitchfork and jabbed it at the dog to get
it in the house and ushered me back to our house.
I looked in the mirror in the bathroom and saw the hole in my face and stuck
my tongue through it. A drip of blood landed on the corner of the small rug
which also had a whale on it. My family liked whales.
Several weeks after the incident I had the stitches removed and ended up
with a giant scab which I was itching to pick. My mum threatened me with
death if I picked it because it would scar my face. My finger nail scraped
nervously at the edge of the scab day and night, slowly flaking tiny pieces
of the edge of it away... making sure never to make it bleed.But I couldnt
I took my bike across to the pavement on the other side of the road because
it was smoother over there. One of the neighbourhood kids was in her front
garden and saw me riding up and down. She didnt like me on her side of the
street so I rode up and down more, making her angry. She kept telling me to
go on my side of the street but I taunted her. And thats when she went off
and came back with a really big branch from a tree and dangled it over the
fence to knock me off my bike.
She didnt succeed but with some quick thinking I dropped my bike and grabbed
my face yelling "OWWwwwweeee" and I ran like the clappers to my bedroom and
took great delight in ripping that big ass scab off my face.... and stood in
horror as the hole opened up again...
and then lied my ass off to my mum when she screamed at me!
"it was Sarahs fault!" I shrieked.
Sarah got the ass beating of her life and I rode up and down that side of
the road alllll week while she watched from the window of her room where she
give me a direction or theme
thats a tough one
i mean, i try to stay away from backstabbing et al
yeah, im just really busy here at work
and then at 4 we're going to the ************ for a secret santa homo fest
thats fucking gay
but i dont want to go because i have so much work to do.
how sad is that?
what did u buy for the secret douchebag?
its a lose/lose all around
i bottle a bottle of bourbon, stuck a pair of black runnber gloves on it, and afixed a pack of lube and a note saying "keep it loose"
i bottle a bottle. nice.
you are so clever
Runnber. what the fuck is wrong with me
usually i buy crap for them
working too much typos happen
i mean, someone has to lose at secret santa
if everyone got nice agreeable gifts there's be no fun
one year i bought a frozen turkey, bag of potatos, onions, box of stuffing.. you
know, everything for xmas dinner in a big 50pound garbage bag
recipient didnt dig it much
carrying it on the subway..
well what an unappreciative cunty fucker
thats what i told her in front of everyone..
did she know that it was from you? cos isn't it suppose to be a secret thing?
or you just couldnt contain yer pissed-offness
yeah, i just exploded and raged for an hour at the restaurant -- going along the lineup of coworkers, telling each and every one of them specifically what i hated about them
and then you got promoted, right?
no, i went from blacksheep to madcow disease sheep
remember u told me about the time u broke into some girl's place when she was away and completely rearranged all of her furniture and she didn't appreciate it at all?
though it wasnt as much a lack of appreciation, as it was fear.
how do u feel about that
i felt bad that i made her cry. but i think she found it worthwhile, in the interesting vein, in the end.
did u at least get laid out of it
why the fuck did she cry?
she should have been flattered
she's timid by nature. i had no idea. though im sure i wouldve done it all over again anyway
i snored last nite watching dodgeball and i swatted when i was told to go off to bed and i was almost left on the couch for a laugh.
we've now added a bass to the band and things are, cooler, i guess.
because of all the smoking and talking and late-nites what is my life, in the morning i sound like a craggy old man/going-thru-puberty boy and it lasts all fucking day long until maybe 7 or so and i'm worried i am going to sound like this forever.
like courtney love, basically.
i have to ham it up and talk like a mouse or three year old girl or some made-up cartoon character not invented yet so as to not strain my vocal-chords and everytime i pass a dog/cat/little kid on the street it's a huge sigh of relief/excuse to talk like this at/to them and the kid is all over it and the parents are like, harhuhuhuhuh, what is her problem?
shut up, it's genetic.
rocky the cat is getting his haircut today so he can look like a little monkey and hide in the christmas tree that's existed since christmas was invented.
when i wake up in the morning, because my hair is now that multi-coloured blondeness (fried/dried-out/fucked) - my hair is all farrah fawcetty, bird's nest, all over the place and when i go to the coffeeplace with my heroin-addict/movie star sunglasses the girls swoon and say how nice i look and i am like please please don't ask to try on the sunglasses again 'cos all these old ladies will have heart attacks when they see my alice cooper junky eye make-up and if they step closer they will notice tiny little birds are actually nesting in my hair making bird colonies and forming their own government and naming streets and then these nice ladies won't think i look so fucking nice and then i'll have to go to the other coffeeplace and be even more neurotic over there.
i am totally moving out of town so i don't have to feel guilty about being a scumbag and fake like i am not.
i'm moving because i drank the town dry.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
taking turns getting pissed off at things
annoyed by things
in and out of the room
trying not to sigh out loud
saying that you understand all the time
but how does that help
how does that fix anything at all
sometimes there are no more funny things to say and being appropriate is too much effort and compassion shouldn't be free all the time you think
and then someone says well what about christmas spirit and then you want to rip out all of your hair and disappear until april maybe
or perhaps you'll wait it out
the same as always
because you can't escape calendars
and people who depend on you
because sometimes you depend on them
and then when it is your turn for help you feel like an asshole asking for it and they have every right to flip you off
we don't have the patience for feeling like an asshole
we don't even have time for feelings
buying stuff for others because it's what you really want
not being an activist
not trying anymore
saying this is my life
there is the supermarket
garbage day is thursday
some people knit
some people dance
and some drink
some have babies
there really isn't a point to any of this
there are so many things to be mad about and so many things to brag about
why aren't you wearing any clothes in your photographs
why do you expose yourself
how do you feel about that
don't you have any self-respect
do you even care
where are you going with this
you're an embarassment
why not share your world with others why not share things why not capture moments in time and say looksee here i am there we are big deal i don't care i'm bored you're bored
analyzing is what we do when there is nothing else to do when we know the subject enough because we hear about it enough and after all that nonsense all that is left is scandal and gossip and obsession
we want to care and we don't want to
we want to see and forget
we want to forget forever but we can't because we know it's there
see you at AA.
Monday, December 13, 2004
i ran out of crazy pills today so i have to do something about that tomorrow.
ward just stopped by and he is now bragging about how he figured out a way to increase his caffeine intake by way of putting the coffee grinds to the top of the filter and then only brewing half a cup of coffee - he says it tastes like shit crap but man, what a rush.
ward is now obnoxiously chewing gum into my ear as loud as he possibly can and taking pictures with my camera and talking about how fast he can type emails after all that coffee - but he makes crazy mistakes, so many spelling mistakes.
he said some guy got fired today because he is in asshole and everytime someone asks for help he just makes fun of them.
and now ward is explaining in detail exactly how this guy is an asshole.
ward bought his mum a new vacuum cleaner for christmas and his sister a food processor.
ward just asked me why i even cared because he is just making idle conversation and i said of course i care, i care about a lot of things.
and now i have no idea what he is talking about.
so this obnoxious fool was attacking everything what was everything what was me saturday afternoon and i was beyond annoyed with his gall to be such a fucker what with the occasion 'n all
he was making fun of my nose and my flat chest and my smoking and saying oh i bet you don't even have a boyfriend and he was making all these not-funny pervy jokes and being completely innapropriate and making fun of the catholic religion because he's jewish and i was sitting there drinking a specialty coffee and yes i was mouthing back like your bitchy aunt all over the livingroom because i knew i could get away with it
dude couldn't hit me or anything 'cos it was a family-gathering and even his dotter was there and his wife
and he was bragging about all these things he buys off ebay and how he lavishes his wife with gifts and i said well that's because you hate yourself and you feel inadequate and insecure about your fat face and bald head and fat stomache and it makes you feel better about yourself to cut up other people by way of pointing out their big noses and making fun of their uncle
and i also said i was completely fine with my big nose and had come to accept it and my flat chest and that many men/women appreciated my body, liked it very much in fact and then i told him to go fuck his fat bastard self and that's when my nana came over to me and said now be a lady and she was trying to smooth out my forehead because when i get angry my forehead turns into a mass of rageful expression
and then fat focker says he knows someone who does botox
and on and on and on it went 'til about 4 or 5pm and it got to a point wherein you start making all these violent scenarios in your head and thinking about how everyone in the room would react to you flying across the coffeetable and strangling the guy whilst china cups and plates of food are smashing all around and you're screaming and screaming
and for the sake of your fantasy reactions being in your favor
everybody is cheering you on
someone passes you a cigarette afterwards and the dude apologizes for being such a douchebag and it is not at all awkward after your ridiculous flip-out
not in the least
because i am not a violent person by nature and i know full well that there are bound to be not good repurcussions to a scenario involving strangulation
i sat there listening to holiday music
at the end of the couch
listening to this pervert brag about giving it to his wife the nite before and was happy as crap when she came down the stairs and told her side
her being tired, being half asleep and letting him take advantage of her
and seeing his ego put on their winter ebay boots to go make fun of the pigmeat on the diningroom table for maybe 2 minutes before he came back over to talk really loud and stupid for a couple more hours.
thanks duder-dude for the new banner and for saying on it that there is a party in my head i think that this particular banner lends much credibility to the raymi blog, don't you agree?
Sunday, December 12, 2004
the guy was standing there, too aware of his outfit, poseuing by his table of friends and the one with the played-out fohawk who did a few backflips on the spot to the shitty cover band and the girl with the black shoulder-showing shirt and blond little hair grabbed the mic and screamed one of those rock songs you throw yourself around to in seedy bars and i asked aimee if she hated her as much as i did and aimee's eyes bugged out in agreement.
i always feel bad when i am in that place, bad for people, the women they are sitting there waiting to be approached in their xmas dressyness and they are talking to each other and all the men are wearing the same lame leather jacket with cellphones clipped to their belts and they are looking at the 20 year olds who are brazen enough to drunkscreamtalk and then i look back at the clusters of women with pride and self-respect, trying to appear that way anyhow and then some drunk doofus-fuck is barking at me about his wife/ex-wife, soon-to-be and i feel like telling him look moron, look over there at those pretty ladies who might just put up with your bullshit a little while, i don't understand why YOU just won't/don't understand that you are wasting your friday nites in the same spot every week, hoping ms.perfect will come along and be everything your mother is/not
so stop talking to me because i am not going to fuck you, i'm not even going to hold your hand, or remember you three minutes from now, but that woman over there at the table, she is staring at you right now so why don't you accept the fact now that you are balding and your white collar job will only impress a 23 yr. old for maybe 8 months or so if you're lucky and then you have to try it all over again and by then you are nearing 50 and thinking about spreading your seeds around but no woman is wanting to pop out bastard children for a man who will be in his grave by the time they're in university.
Not real sure why I'm writing this, other than lacking someone else to talk
>to, I guess. Funny how the Internet and anonymous (to me) words can strike
>Your blog disturbs me (we're going to come back to this). Not for the
>reasons some other fuck-holes are likely to complain about - and in a way,
>for exactly those same reasons. Your blog is messy. Your life seems messy
>and complicated. Why do you write all that stuff that you do? Aren't you
>afraid people will read it, and will see you (I mean the real you, not just
>a photo of you, I mean like your soul)? Doesn't that scare the piss out of
>Hear me out. there's actually a compliment here if you get all the way
>through to see it.
>I'm almost crying as I write this. You see, I have a messy life. I'm an
>underachiever, even though I've been very successful. On the outside, I
>look like a composed, intelligent, somewhat sensitive guy that has a lot,
>has done a lot, is admired - and on the inside, I feel like I'm dying every
>minute I breathe. People at work hate me, even though I only work so I can
>do good for them. My family feels more like a bunch of people you run into
>in a grocery store - "Hi Mary - how are the kids?" - than anything intimate.
>Nothing feels good/right. Less feels worthwhile. I rarely see a light at
>the end of the tunnel, and when I have, a fair number of the lights turned
>out to be trains.
>And then again, simple things sometimes turn into a few minutes of joy here
>and there. God, I live for those moments. I just feel powerless to create
>So. your blog disturbs me. Because its real. Because you're probably being
>honest when you write it. Because you don't give a flying fuck who reads
>it, or why. Living in the cage of my mind, its incomprehensible that
>someone could just write like they mean it, and be working on themselves as
>they go along. Stop writing it - it shows me my own flaws, my own
>shortcomings, like a funhouse mirror. Please don't stop - even fucked up,
>its good to see a little glimpse of myself in someone else. Feels a little
>less lonely that way.
>That's all. The compliment here is that in today's world - in my world -
>there's so little honesty, so little true friendship, so little compassion
>for another that it makes me sick. So I come to your blog to feel those
>things. Sick, and therapeutic at the same time. Thanks for having a brass
>set of balls, and not minding having them polished by a bunch of people like
>me that lost theirs a long time ago.
>Anonymous - sort of.