BIRTHDAY LIST! I'll be turning 25. I am now closer to 30, than I am to 18. This displeases me, so buy me something pretty.

-teapot
-doggy
-gift certificates for tattoos
-books
-denim jacket
-body oils
-vacuum cleaner
-candles

you know what I like.

If you wanna caress a fake Mel Gibson/Tim Allen head of hair, you've totes gotta meet me at Grumpy's downtown, and buy him a shot from a "secret admirer", and makeout with me in the ice room. Door locked.

I'll show you.
Brown Leather.

black & white young male, please.

I got a tattoo of a really tiny pink kangaroo. No I didn't.

I want a dog so bad. And this isn't some little kid thing where I saw a cute puppy and I'll want it for a few weeks then forget all about it, and mom will have to take care of it forever, and when it dies, I'll think it's all my fault cuz I didn't take it on walks.

no way. This is for real. I want to rescue a dog and love him and keep forever. I'll walk him, clean his poops, give him baths, feed him everyday, let him sleep in my bed, play ball, bark at stuff, and I'll take him everywhere. That's how it was with my last dog, Tuxx. Best friend I'll ever have. This is turning into a very strong need. I think a dog would really make everything ok. It would be therapeutic, for me, and him. I'm sad, and kinda lonely, and I want to have something fuzzy that doesn't talk, and always wants to hang out.
Britt has Jimmy. Carmen has Louise. Terry and Susan have China. And I have a cat that bites me. Hard. I'm Jealous. I'd be a good dog mommy. Bank on it.
So anyone reading this, if you find a Siberian husky, or husky mix (or anything suitable for a girl in an apartment like me) at a shelter, get him for me as a present. I can't turn down a present. And I know all of you 3 people who read this want me to be happy. Right? And you'll get all the free licks you want. YAY!

The pains in my head that make it hard to live.

I don't have anything to type about. I haven't in a long time. Want to hear a story? Do ya? Ok.

When I was a senior in high school I had two friends, Logan and Tara. They were boyfriend and girlfriend. We were always together, sleeping over at eachother's houses every weekend, dropping acid in the Champlin cemetery with the Ouija board, breeding guinea pigs, torturing the Texas Tooth, smoking menthols, skipping school, eating gummies, watching Killer Klowns, and just being assholes. Loved those two. We don't talk anymore, but that's totally a different story.
One day, actually , I think it was the day before my graduation party, I was talking to Tara on the phone about what kind of kegs I wanted, and daring her to put ketchup packets in my uncle's shoes or something, and all of a sudden, IT hit me. I was knocked unconscious, went to the emergency room, and later Tara told me that day, she had heard the whole thing over the phone and couldn't stop laughing. B-Yatch.

You see, a few summers ago, while the family was on vacation, those super fucked storms hit Minnesota, and everything wicked flooded, especially our basement. Which was my bedroom. We were gone for like, 3 weeks, and had no idea any of this happened, so when we returned, my room was fucked. Moisture ruined everything, even the ceilings. Major construction. So in my room there was these huge wood and metal support beams to keep the ceiling from falling. Totally sturdy, no? NO.
so yeah, when I was on the telly with Tara, the big one collapsed, and hit me on my stupid head. I've been getting migraines ever since. Got two this week. YES!

I'm going to go to the doctor again, and make them fix me. Headaches shouldn't make you vomit. Or fall down. It's getting scary.
Maybe I'll get a new head. A bigger, better, smarter and faster head. The biggest head!

Bochina and the Lonely Tooth

"How many boys want to be whipped by Steve Albini's guitar?"
-Kim Gordon

Hands up!

If anyone sees a member from Bochina, tell them to put down the fork/laptop and get their busy ass back down in the basement. lawyering is hard, but not rocking, for me, is even harder.
I love my 'Chinas.

worst news ever.

Henry,
no one can ever hurt you again. you can poo on the beds, bite the kids, and bark bark bark. no collars, no kennels, no leashes. just all the snausages a dog could want, and belly rubs whenever you give that puppy look.
i love you so much, Henry.
we'll miss you more than anything.
RIP
good boy. who's a boo boo doo doo?

FIRE ANOTHER ROUND

This isn't AmRep it's not no Husker Du it's not the Uptown it's not First Avenue

it's something way bigger. i can feel it in my need to rock.

March Fatness.

I was born too late, and now I'm letting myself go. Wait, that just sounds wicked. I might not be slothing about in sweatpants for days on end, and going to Wal-Mart with pizza sauce all over my face and getting preggers once a year, but I am, uh...should I say, getting comfortable?
My vinyl pants don't fit, I can't vaseline myself into my rubber shirts anymore, and I certainly don't feel right in those amazing red velvet platforms.
Something must be done. From now on, I'm ditching the party pizzas, laying off the beer, and I think I'll adopt a doggy to get myself out of the pad more. I guess being a raging punk rocka isn't so good on the body. Who the fuck would have thought?

Spring time resolutions:

more nice, dry white wines

waking up before 1pm

forcing those fabulous tiger print stretch jeans to fit

thrashing the drums

more running from the po-po (maaaayyybe!)

green tea

physical situations

nude beaches

no cabs, no buses, just BIKES

therapy

GET EXCITABLE!

this wicked girl needs yr support. Get me off my ass, and remind me that 25 is still considered spring chicken!

On the farm

Have you ever fucked a sheep in broad daylight in front of an open window facing all of suburbia for a dirty old man?
no? Dude....You need to get less boring!

Also, have you ever noticed that when feminist issues come up, the only assholes who think that they have something really important to say are guys?
yeah. What a big fat stupid surprise.

my crusade isn't over. yours shoudn't be either.

Maria, out.

As of 8 minutes ago, I have officially given up on humanity. I just had to re-live a painful tale from "friends" of the past, and I know I say this a lot, but I am literally sick to my fucking stomach. Ask my mother if you need confirmation on this nausea.
Where does all this evil come from? Arms up. I quit. White flag, I surrender, get me the fuck out of this place. People are just not worth my time anymore. Friends? fuck you. I'm done.
All I want to do is liberate the animals, children, and women from this disgusting white male macho oppression, and get the fuck out.
I've got the anger shakes so bad right now that I have had to re-type every single sentence so far.
I am so ready for some severe separation anxiety.

Polaroids don't lie.

I now have the testicular fortitude to say that I am a stone cold fox.

deal with it.

Swim towards the sewage!

RIP
Russell The Big Brained Goldfish
02/12/05 - 03/14/05

he was really great. He was sent to the toilet Valhalla and given a naked funeral at 3am this morning. Cause of death unknown, but I suspect the cat had something to do with it.

we'll miss you.

Spring? I miss you.

What a relaxing weekend. Finally. I'm not going to prison. I didn't get drunk and say a bunch of idiot things that I wouldn't have remembered anyway, and I exercised. Hooray me.
I changed the water for my goldfish, cleaned Corey's litter box, rearranged the living room, (I still can't find a spot for that fucking monkey lamp) and had to give a funeral for the plant that Corey smashed at 3am last night. Not a send off to Valhalla or anything, just swept up and dumped into a grocery bag. But still, very very sad all the same. I slept in, and ate 15 croissants while watching Matthew Barney art, and The Office, (with NO subtitles, thank you ma'am.)

My favorite salon, Sudz was destroyed today by some tard in a cargo van. I'll have to crank WCCO to hear the latest. I hope all the cute queer hairdressers are safe, cuz I'll just die if Scott can't wax my eyebrows anymore. Really, he's the best.
He turned me from Brooke Shields to Cruella DeVille. H O T.

Oh yeah! I colored my hair again, too. ( I write all this stuff cuz I know whoever reads it TOTALLY cares) Not all of it, just the tips. Brown. Actually it had one of those new color names that isn't really a color, like when you buy pink nail polish, and on the cap it says "Slippery Smooches", but it's really just pink. Out of all the colors and combinations in the world that I have experimented with, I have never ever had brown hair in my life. I thought I was due. Bleach blonde, dirty blonde roots, and brown creeping up the ends. It's pretty wicked. I have a pretty wicked cool secret as to how I achieved it, too. I'll never tell. Let's just say that being a receptionist of childrens salon for a year really pays off in the weirdo hair department.

oooohhhh! I love this song! Gotta dance dance revolution!

Smoking in the girls room.

Wow. I can hardly type right now. My lungs just took a blast back to 1994.

I made this new rule of "no smoking in the apartment" to try and help me cut down, maybe even quit, and so my cat doesn't have to breathe all my disgusting Camel chemicals, because she can't say, "hey fucker, my cute, tiny little lungs never asked for this shit!"

And so, since I'm far too lazy to actually walk outside, I've been smoking in the bathroom, which is unattatched to my actual apartment, so it doesn't really feel like cheating.
And since I've been smoking much less, cuz like I said, I'm too slothful to really get up and do something, that when I do go into the bathroom with my dictionary and lighter, and ciggarettes, it feels like sophmore in high school after lunch, going into the handicapped stall of the girls room with like 4 other people and smoking a Kool as fast as I could so i could get my fix, and still not be too late for my Criminal Justice class with David Brent as clueless teacher. What a rush. Like standing up too fast after eating nothing but Razzles all day long. Super cool.
I fell like i'm going to get caught and have to attend Saturday school in my own home.
But without the #2 pencils, Child Developement worksheet, and the stoner ski team prattling on about black diamonds, and how being drunk is so fucking sweet.


Any of you bitches wanna come over and make me tea, and pet my hair while we watch we Code 46?

I bet this will get edited or deleted.

i've had it with friends. Last night was the last straw. The straw that broke the punker's back, and ripped up some good cred.
When you've known someone for that long, and you've put up with a billion pounds of their shit, let them puke in your hair, drag their passed out ass out of their parents yard at 4am, give them all yr xanax, wreck my records, fuck up my video rental membership, skip out on a pregnancy test, and have the nerve to call ME the big bad b word... Well, FUCK THAT. I've been scorned for the last time.
Crawl out the suburbs for one night to drink your shitty High Life and get up on that buddhist pedestal to try and impress some barely legal tail, and ruin MY special televised event, that YOU insisted on being the help for? i don't think Jah, or any of his divine pals in the sky would think that very Zen, Ah Pook.

if yr reading this, I fucking DARE you to call me right now and see what happens.
You might be fragile, but i am very very angry.

Panic in the streets of Bryn Mawr

What do you think would happen if the Smiths were to just come out today. Not come out in the boy kiss boy sense, but if they just released their first record today?
Would anyone get it, or would they be laughed right out of college radio? Not only is the music breathtaking, but that voice. Where do you get that these days? You don't. We don't. Unless you wanna buy a Morrissey album. And you do. But there is no more music like the Smiths, and I don't know if it would have worked in any other time period then when they first popped up. Funny how things happen. Lord knows Duran Duran can't make it now, but that's another whole fist of weird.

I wonder what Morrissey is doing right now, this second. Probably something so totally cool and morose that us puny humans could never understand pain and suffering as he knows it. It make our heads explode, and our hearts pump acid.

Meat is murder, and you're the one for me, fatty.

I am suffocating. Is there any evidence out there that incense can kill you? Goddamnit, google...you're just not smart enough for me.

Every morning this week, I've awaken with a bloody nose. Bodily Armageddon? Yeah!

I am the center of the Universe.

As you all might have noticed last night, I did NOT make it on the show America's Next Top Model. Fuck them anyway. I actually had to turn it off because the women were making me physically sick. Real girls don't look like science room skeletons with itty bitty swimming suits and palm tree tattoos. I'm not gonna puke my party pizza up just because Tyra and Janice Dickinson tell me i have excess adipose tissue.

Although it would have been the shit to get out of Bryn Mawr, I now say fuck that show.

No way.
i'm a real girl. a punk rock girl. how could i have been so stupid?

Where is Morrissey?

Jeez.
My bochina, Britt just took off to god knows where, and my sister skipped out to go see Danzig in Boston, and I'm sitting here in my jammies. I have to get out. I'm suffocating in the sarcophagus, and I'm totally repulsed by winter. Too much man, too much.
I need to be naked on beach, sipping a Red Stripe, and blogging the old fashion way: composition notebook, and a medium point black Bic.
I've just had it. It's March 1st, and I am in misery. Nature, this time you've gone too far.

The paralyzation has set in. I have to flee before I crawl out of my own skin, and the mailman finds me inside out on the sidewalk with a Hawaii travel brochure clutched in my nerve endings.

I need to be sitting in front of a slot machine with exotic chocolates and a midori. I want to be in Mexico to watch the monarchs come home. Fuck, I'd even take one of those disease ridden indoor water parks with the most boring waterslide on the planet. ANYTHING to get me out of this apartment. Away from my cat, away from my goldfish, away from making my bed, doing the dishes, the telephone ringing, chest hair banging on my door, subzero temperatures, the washing machine, my record collection, smoking, rose incense, dust, hoodies, mittens, icy sidewalks, Lunds at 3am, the jerks at Video Stardom, TCPunk, local bars, Montel, Wells Fargo.

I'm losing my shit. And nobody's reaping the benefits.

I'm going to buy new make-up and make myself feel better. NO! I'm going to buy a plane ticket and do you all a favor before I show up at your door with all my hair missing demanding that you AMUSE ME NOW.

you think i won't when i will?