bongs, glitter pens and kung-fu.

I had the best sleepover ever last night.
Let me re-cap.

about 11pm, the doorbell rings about a billion times. I know that ring. It can only be Beth! She shows up with her little dog, Prince Henry Handsome Homo Head aka the Muslim. She enters the pad, she has a package for me! Wrapped in Spongebob paper! I open it to discover the most pricless artwork EVER. A half velvet, half paper picture of Spongebob and Patrick that she colored herself! With big pink words that says BEST FRIENDS!!!!!! we are best friends.
I was blown away by her dedication to such a complicated project. I mean for Beth.......WOW!

Let me tell you a little bit about my Bethy, and why this impresses me.
If you look up Reggae Junky Jew in Websters, you'll see Beth's angry picture! Not only is she a black belt with lethal hands of death that could punch my head straight fucking off, she also has a wicked case of that Adult ADD that's going around. She has a robot arm, and calls me swears in Hebrew while cradling her bong like a fragile premie. Hygiene is foreign to her, but the Star of David that never leaves her neck is always shiny as a wet baby's ass. And for a whitey, her dreadlocks are PRISTINE.

Back to the slumber story...
It was classic! She lives right next door to me, so that automatically makes me feel like a 3rd grader! We walk her doggy, he makes an impressive poop right in front of my door, and we trot back to her lair.

We proceed with a fashion show in her living room, and I tell her that I don't think red looks good on anybody. She gets pissed.
We pull out ALL the crafts! I'm swimming in a sea of glitter pens, construction paper, scissors, glue, gluesticks, kitten stickers, markers, scrap book shit, and glue on jewels. It was heaven. We cut and paste and colored and bitched about boys, and reminicse about trips to the crazy house, and high speed chases high on speed til it hurt to talk.
(but we're good wholesome punk rock girls now. we want to learn to knit. i swear.)

We pull off the bras, keep on the shirts, pull off the pants keep the unders, and pull off the sock, cuz they make me sick, then crawl in to Bethy's featherbed to cuddle and pass out. But Beth HATES to cuddle, so we chain-smoke and sip sodas and watch a shitty Kutcher movie till we have sweet dreams. No, SHE has sweet dreams, i have to poke her every 6 minutes to make her quit snoring. Middle night face punch is waiting for her.....but alas...i sleep through the nasal noise.

9am WAKE UP.

Beth: get outta my house, i have to be at the rapist in 10 minutes.
Me: goddamnit, i'm taking your boom box.
Beth: no you're not.
Me: watch me.
Beth: call me later
Me: no.
Beth: love you bitch
Me: whatever.
Beth: again tonight?
Me: fuck yeah! i love you bethy!

Parched Monkey.

I wish I could ride a unicorn outta this state. Don't get me wrong, I love Minnesota, and really really love Minneapolis, but the season changes are so intense i don't know if i'm coming or going. Like today, I was so confused by the bright happy sun, that i walked outside in bikini bottoms and a fur coat, just to be prepared.
I can't deal with winter. Anyone who says they can is a liar and jerk and probablly doesn't even live here.
I hate going outside on a winter day, and having my entire body hurt, my lips burst into windburnt flames, and getting all rashy from shitty sweaters and ugly flannel. I like wearing as little as possible, and this cold thing makes that very difficult. Oh, and I HATE HATE HATE SOCKS. no joke. Wearing them is gross, feeling them worse, and picking them up off the floor is vomitous to me. I hate socks SO much, that when i worked in a record store, i would walk to work in the blizzards with my boots, and tights and socks, and I'd keep my little red flip-flops in my backpack, and change when i got to the store. Even the word sock turns my stomach.

Shit, i can already feel my lips starting to parch. Actually, that's a really good word to describe me in the wintertime: Parched. Severely cantakerous, persnickity, and Parched.

I wish I could figure out how to make links on this thing. someday.

By the by, not only do I detest socks, but i hate monkeys, too. Yet I cannot resist a sock monkey. Red lips, red butt, pointy feets, and a little hat. Thre are SO many games you can play with them.
But, put a sock monkey in socks, and I'll tear your face off.

Bitch, I am a minister of death....

Fuck Freeway. The only movie you ever need to see in your entire life is Freeway 2: Confessions Of A Trick Baby. It will fullfill all your cinematic needs. It's got swears, blood, old-fashion plug-in vibrators, and an old-timey story book feel.
Go to SuperAmerica on a Sunday, buy about six 3.2 40oz. of Bud, and rent this fucking film. You won't want to go to work in the morning. Your only concern will be finding your way into a women's correctional facility, then escaping with your favorite mexican lesbian. Shit, that's all that's on my mind.
I might not be able to write much longer, as I am full of beer, and sooperdoopertothemax excited about getting arrested.
Tonight my jammies are hot pink hot pants and an oversized Jesus & Mary Chain t-shirt. I guarentee if i walk out into the streets of Bryn Mawr, ready to fry up some johns, I will be in the slammer by 4am.
Bank on it.


"I'll bust you open like a goddamn watermelon."

Saturdays Pabst

So, i woke up at 4 today. That isn't anything new to those who know me, but for some reason, it just felt really.........off. I can't explain it , it seems so stupid. I woke up from being passed out on my futon in the living room, which is kinda weird cuz i had NO beers last night, or anything fun for that matter, so i have no idea how I even got there. Things like that kinda freak me out, you'd think your sober memory would be able to handle something simple like that. I'm probably dying from some wicked disease. I don't know for sure, but the fact is, the left side of my head has been extra sensitive lately. and I JUST KNOW that it's going to turn into a major malfuntioning problem. Big Deal? You're goddamn right.

After pouting around for awhile, posting on message boards and making up online quizzes for my uninterested friends, i got a call from my totally awesome girl, Britt. She came over with PBR for me, bought me cigarettes, and just let me ramble about my fears, my love for America's Next Top Model, and willing to tell me stories about her wicked awesome angry husband. She turned the night around. if it weren't for her, i would have been a home alone sad bastard wondering about what math classes i should sign up for and where all my lost loves went.

I may not have many friends, but the ones i do have kick the shit out of anybody elses pals. FACT.