| Main titled: 'Because you wanted to dance to LOVE SHACK!' subtitled: ladies who hit... |
[16 Jul 2007|05:31pm] |
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mood |
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pimpslappy |
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music |
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tony trishka, old atmosphere |
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Let me set the scene. Friday night, approaching eleven.. I'm at fuckin' Panini's with a bunch of co-workers, because I like them and unfortuantely they like Panini's. It's only eleven mind you when we ascend the slippery steps to the nearly deserted bar area, but it's still a veritable cascade of Natty Light in cups the size of small buckets, and we've got entertainment. There's a trio of dancing trashed women in short skirts and no discernable panties of any magnitude! One of them had a black eye and a full arm cast, but that didn't stop her from dangling her naked cooter for the world to see. And that's gonna characterize the whole adventure, honestly. It must have been '80s night or something because 'Pop Lock and Drop It' is not generally followed up by The Proclaimers '500 Miles', and 'I'm a Flirt' doesn't really mix well with 'Love Shack' but it worked when you got used to the jolting genre jump and nothing matters by 1 AM anyway.. But to the point of the story, I dressed like a Mormon girly for protection 'cause I am not a frigid drunk, but at the same time I am never sleazy, and as we're about to leave, savoring the last smoke before we zigzag and giggle back to our respective vehicles, this boy approaches. And he's trashed like only a committed collegiate can manage in the span of three hours.
Wasted-To-The-Max Boy - "Hi, my name's Mark. Can I have a hug?"
Drunk Susanne - "Hm? Mkay..."
(commence awkward old-relative type embrace)
(DS turns away, rearranges cardigan over her freezing chest)
(WB lurches forward, deliberately poking Drunk Susanne in the frozen nipple!)
And I chain-reaction popped him in the face like a black Mamma, all backhand, all pimp slap!
DS - "NO! WE DON'T DO THAT! I AM A LADY, I MIGHT BE DRUNK BUT I AM STILL A LADY!"
My co-workers laughed like shit, and the boy grew simply confused. I turned from a cuddly drunk into an authoritarian dog trainer in no time flat. (A guy I was hanging with at the bar says later, "Well I was gonna do something but you really seemed to have it handled by yourself..") And I told Wasted Boy to go home with the same "Imma go tell yo' Momma, an' she goin' whup you" tone, so he wandered off into the night. It's become a running work joke already. I almost feel sorry, but well... Honestly, you just don't do that... You know, to ladies..
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| Manic! |
[19 Jun 2007|10:59pm] |
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I've been off balance. ComFesting will realign me! Call me.
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| What To Do When A Woman 8 Mo. Pregnant Busts Out A Dead Baby Joke... |
[08 May 2007|04:44pm] |
... Tell her a stillborn baby joke.
Or go for Farm Smut.
UPDATES FOR THE NOT-AROUND
1. I'm production assisting a new sketch comedy thing going down monthly at The Space.
2. I have a new bright green bike and I live off granola.
3. Health factors invovled in 2 are negated by my pack-a-day fixation
4. I listen to rap more than a sprightly white girl has any right to.
5. Still work at Bobevans. Around the restaurant we call it "Bob's" in a mandatory nasal brooklyn inflection.
6. Good Times.
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| Mignonette |
[13 Feb 2007|08:15pm] |
From a silly man with a patchy beard and rolled corduroy trousers I got CDs full of banjo music, and it's haunting. Also, jaunty.
Also #2, I helped Joanie figure out wedding invitations and I see her twice a week. I would never have thought that the closest friends I'd have from high school would be two people I never spent any significant time with whilst in high school. But I so dearly love them now.
Also #3, mandolins. One of our high school kids has promised to teach me mandolins when he joins our group. He is very tall and he cut my finger open on a hammer, but I retaliated by smashing his chest with my equestrian slut-boot. So it worked out.
Pigs-in-a-blanket. Where spanikopita and pineapple, where taboule and boursin and real food of any kind has been spurned, you were readily inhaled, leaving droplets of spilt mustard in your wake.
I'm teaching in March. I'm slightly frightened, but I know I know I can do it.
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[12 Jan 2007|02:23pm] |
I have a new job.
Also, a harmonica.
I'm going to eat fried ice cream. Isn't it crazy how I have nothing to say on the internet anymore? There's not a damn thing I need to express to the unidentified somebody, and that's ego-building. You can forget how much you've grown out of yourself until you meet old trailmarkers. I don't even like the same things as I did 6 mo. ago. Then my list read 'train tracks and raining, cloves and white chocolate and dark eyeliner and Kafe Kerouac and Anne Sexton' and these days I completed a new list ('cause it's fun and it's always good to know what cheers you up so you have an option when you're depressed), My new list looks like 'plants and my bike and national geographic and turqoise makeup and clocks and David Sedaris and vodka'. It's a natural evolution you forget when you aren't letting things be as fluid as they happily are.
Also I visited Graham and that was a big trailmarker. Through reactions of people and the connectivity of our conversation I see how different things are now. It's awesome to take a point of reference and compare anew.
So that I guess was something I found to say, but thankfully it wasn't out of desperation and it was pretty honest.. Also, honestly, I smell of grilled fish.
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| Knock knock. Who's there? Mormons. |
[29 Nov 2006|01:22pm] |
"No.. You couldn't!"
Glinting heavy in place of my opponent's fallen sword, a motherfucking gin bottle.
I've had worse habits, though. Here's to the afternoon build up of unhealthy triglycerides in my liver!
Knock knock.
Who's there?
'Hovahs.
See everybody later. I'm gonna go paint a huge checkerboard on my sewing room wall. Anyone wanna come with?
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[20 Nov 2006|02:34pm] |
Mozart realigns my brain chemicals. Better than the shitty tequila in my fridge.
Also, my job fucked me. Sans Lube. They gave me no warning. They are closing next week, no warning to the employees. I have no cash and a couple of bills.
And something broke down. Right off a sadistic shift and a weeping friend and no sense in my head, fresh off too much afternoon wine and muscles like splintered wood, I step off a football bus (thank God my coat is red), to my street transformed into raucous springtime. 'Desolation Row' is pouring from an upstairs window, louder than an accident and damn it if there aren't young people running around like at school, throwing footballs and beer and good God was it sunny. And I played my little tin whistle on my own balcony and wore a skirt out of a monstrous bright tablecloth, and that's why I am not being cynical or dark. I've been fixed out of situations before, I believe in something much more solid than these stuicky situations.
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| Aerosol Herpes Cure! The New Age Has Dawned! |
[30 Sep 2006|08:32pm] |
Math Mike and I just read about an aerosol herpes cure, made out of bits of pure silver suspended in a sticky, alcohol-rich agent.
Herpes, apparently much like a werewolf, cannot withstand silver.
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| Starting a campus literary group with a guy I know. He has an english lit degree. |
[26 Sep 2006|12:26am] |
Tuesday nights on campus, literary discussions group thing. It'll be very loose and chill. Primarily about authors with big specific axes to grind and power in their words. Should be fun as hell.
We had a revealing talk tonight, Luke and I, and I was called out very gently and indirectly to a new avenue. It tears like a new stretch, but the wild loose feeling tastes good.
I hurt in a happy way, and also like I just want to sleep. And part of this is a lack of said sleep, and a stagnation that was conceived out of a freedom, one I've been asking for that arrived too soon. And a hazy confusion I am fighting like plague.
I have never been more fully and entirely loved than I am now, and my good sense is amazingly settled in the notion that it only gets better. I've been at healthy living a whole year and I can't find a single second where I would regret it, hard decisions and all. I decided to do it, do it all from the first, and it's been magic.
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| New Information |
[29 Jul 2006|06:05pm] |
Cell phone Number - (614)354-7949
New Address - 60 King Avenue
Come visit me. Plus, there oughta be party nights at my household.
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| The Twelfth |
[12 Jul 2006|11:44pm] |
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mood |
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trepidation |
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music |
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postal service or death cab, who knows? |
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I am liking that one close friend goes mad on me, but it's okay. 'Cause I'm pretty autonomous and also a million people from the past I have found. Ones I love a lot. I'm scared it won't work out though, cause I love a lot of people and not all of them will actually stick around. Wish they would, could. That stuff. That over-emotional stuff.
I need your numbers. I lost numbers. I need them all again.
My new one is 354-7949 for the time being. It may change back, or change again. I have no frickin' clue.
I bought awesome things from stores for people. And made crayon drawings.
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| I Got A Haircut, and Then Got Hit By A Car |
[11 Jul 2006|10:05pm] |
I was riding my fabulous new bike, and a car, or rather this woman tucked deep inside the safety of steel framework, goes "Psh, stop sign! My reaction goes something like this, real fuckin' fast...
"Shit, car! So can we stop?"
"NO!"
"I am on the hood. Yes, it is smooth and slippy.."
And then I wasn't, for I had landed on my bike. And I start laughing. The crowd is gathering, and the woman is screaming and weeping, and I am bursting with laughter like I'm watching the 'Scott Tenorman' episode of South Park. I even remember thinking as I fell off the hood "this is a little like a roller coaster, kinda.." So I laugh and reassure the crowd and hug the woman, (it was just time to sever this weird relationship we had), and I get up and go, am fine for two blocks, and then the shakes come.
'Cause that is Susanne in a crisis, dude, I am calm as fuckin' hell, I ask the exact relevant questions to the situation, suit action to answers in direct linear fashion, and then when it's over, I fall the fuck apart and am inconsolable for days. I am still freaking out about fast-moving stuff, I'm supervulnerable. I hate it.
I Got A Haircut. It is very short comparatively, and very long non-comparatively. Very layered. I let Kate do it, no one else.
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| see earth attacked by flying saucers! |
[24 Jun 2006|06:17pm] |
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mood |
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fistfight |
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music |
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Bob Dylan |
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Watching Damon Zex on the internet with MathMike. Why? Because it comes in second to being at ComFest.
If natural affinities meant anything, I wouldn't want to pick fistfights so frequently, fistfights that are meant for a type, a bad pattern of decievers, many men. I'm not sure how much I would regret bruising them, it feels fair. And somewhere that is not right, but I think that if I discovered where an dhad to calm down, I might not have anything to feel very valid about, and where else would it come from? I'm having difficulty in being expendable. Out of sight, out of mind. It doesn't help the fighting urge, or the one that says I would not object to fucking the hell out of half of columbus.
Funny thing, I'm getting mad support from someone I would never have expected. When's the other shoe gonna drop? Am I another fucking eve-savior ophelia-woman, I wanna fucking know. 'Cause I'm not doing it either way. No.
'Cause no matter how kind you are, you're too much for your brothers who want a shallow playtime and softness, and men want you dry and brittle before they go like gorged ticks, gloating and dripping.
And I am not constant enough for this. And I know somewhere I am very wrong, so I don't know what I lose to proceed, or what I could fucking gain.
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| "she's built like a steakhouse, but she handles like a bistro" |
[06 Jun 2006|12:31am] |
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mood |
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punchy |
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music |
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screaming sisters |
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You ought to be proud of me. I was at this party, chock-full of thirty-five year-olds, and I made very successful, graceful, engaging small talk about property values in Victorian Village, the state of musical education in the state of Ohio, and also how hard it is to go back to school once you've switched majors twice. We started talking about bartending and the dives here as opposed to Chicago (to which I have never been!), and he learned I was nineteen and flipped out. Flipped, apologizing for the caliber of discussion and all. I'm like "Hm, I did well enough that you thought I was twenty six or something.. Why are we switching the topic to television.... He was a child psychologist. Makes me skeptical. Asshole.
Then I played bad pool, made more successful banal small talk with a sad lonely bald little man (who in the same breath whipped out a picture of his small daughter and told me he "didn't have paternal feelings for me, cause he'd been lookin' down my shirt all night!" Damn!
And then I accidentally drank Stranger Beer, because I thought it was my water and I chugged the last of it. Nope. It was stranger beer.
I didn't die.
So be proud of me, I know how to make thirty-five year old banal small talk. But I won't even care about this shit when I'm thirty-five. I'm way too cool to ever be that lame, even if I got brain parasites.
Night.
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| Somehow This Works Out |
[21 May 2006|06:18am] |
Another wild night full of things, weird men, Nicole and Mike, Sally and Josh, Bryce, and Jimmy, and the girls. And rum.
And Bea Arthur strangling velociraptors. You probably know all about that. But it was news to me, who hadn't kept up on the NinjaNews.
Now I'm waiting for a bus to run so I can go home and sleep. Luckily I do not work today.
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| Southern Comfort is the only kind you should lean on... |
[26 Mar 2006|04:44am] |
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mood |
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Exhausted |
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music |
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jack johnson - no other way |
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Greta and I stayed up all night in our shop drinking SoCo and belting out music.
And we drew crayon pictures of our mean old boyfriends, some of them with death involved but mostly merely mockery and we took pictures galore.
She fell asleep now. I don't know what we're waiting on, whether we're sleepin' here or whether we're getting up for buses soon. Weird night.
I'm finishing the last of the bottle. And eating sprinkles. And listening to mellow shit. Maybe if we stay here, in the morning we'll go get coffee and some form of solid meatless grease. Or else just buy a bunch of Clif/Luna bars and munch. Who knows. I would enjoy that.
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| Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk is a very lovely song. Listen to it. Rufus Wainwright. |
[19 Feb 2006|01:50am] |
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mood |
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roller coaster/drugs |
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music |
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... |
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Been playing every single day. I have the busiest schedule of all time. I also don't really want to write anything down, but I feel a little compelled for an update. I love my life, it's also really hard and tense. I'll visit school the first chance I get to see a few people. Goodbye.
Really. Really, listen to Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk by Rufus Wainwright. Fuckin' do it. I want to die to this song, and in no ironic way.
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| SAVE DEM TITTIES! |
[12 Feb 2006|11:45pm] |
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I work in Starbucks now, too. I'm a Coffee Slut.
Greta and I found the apartment of our dreams. It's a drunken fall away from Kerouac/Jimmy's house/The Dube. $450 a month, 2 BR. It's above Fate Tattoo place and City Cut on Norwich. Hardwood floors, dishwasher, pets allowed, lotsa windows and enclosed porch storage space. We applied for a showing, and we also (synchronicity!) met the person who lives in A of A and B, where we are applying for B! Fuckin' A, it is meant for us! It's beautiful and we spent two hours fantasy-decorating it. It's just on the market and available earliest summer, which is cool cause we can have some time to prepare. Oh God.
Everyone has spent a lot of time talking these past few days, and I have been out every evening til at least midnight forever, and stayed up and out for the past three entire nights in a row. One with Simon/Greta/Fiona, two with Andii who I basically see five days out of seven lately. It's definitely been fun this week.
Theme songs have been Jack Johnson songs.
Quoth China in regards to Breast cancer: "Save Dem Titties!"
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| My First Boyfriend Was a Sausage! : (why did I say that at dinner?) |
[02 Feb 2006|02:48am] |
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mood |
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pissy |
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music |
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bus driver |
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Today went by really fast at work and then I had rehearsal and a panic attack.
Then saw a teeny bit Greta/Amanda/Robyn/Fiona and Kate, Sue, and Andii (we don't really talk for five years, but all of a sudden I've seen him for hours every single day since last wednesday, all except sat.)
And then I talked to Joe and it was sweet, and then went home and had another bigger panic attack and then some tea.
Now I'm just mad. Lots of things are mixed up and I'm all panicky but emotionally steady, so it's fucking irritating. It's just anxiety trying to eat me from the inside, like a juicy lady pork rind.
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