I know, I know.
GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK
Friday, February 17, 2012
Going to Myopic
Since I'm always losing loose bits o' paper, I wrote down some suggestions for light 3-day weekend reading.
I know, I know.
GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK
I know, I know.
GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Self-Portrait: Shade
I'm bored and killing time at work by drawing self-portraits of myself looking super bored.
To be honest, it started out with me just trying to see if this pen worked. You can tell because I started with bangs (you NEVER start with bangs!).
Beneath My Skin by Linkin Park
Last night I got really stoned and instead of going to the laundromat like I told myself to, I ended up daydreaming about all the ink I wanted on all the different parts of my body.
Then I opened Google along with a million other tabs.
Long story short, this is just the first page of shit I sent myself last night:
Yeah. This is gonna be costly but I predict in about three years, I should be covered in AWESOME.
Driver, Surprise Me by The National
Been coming in to work late every day this past week. Also, been coming in to work without my work laptop despite my boss telling me every day he needs to make updates on it.
Took a cab from Rosemont just to be early and bearing my laptop.
Wouldn't you know it, no one's come in this morning. I'm literally the only one in my department here.
Niiiice.
Took a cab from Rosemont just to be early and bearing my laptop.
Wouldn't you know it, no one's come in this morning. I'm literally the only one in my department here.
Niiiice.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Last Nite by The Strokes
Best. Valentines. EVAH.
Still a little drunk but not in that can't-walk type of way; more like the everything-is-fucking-hilarious leftover drunk, know what I mean?
Turns out, the event wasn't at the Empty Bottle at all but instead at the Logan Square Auditorium. They gave us gift bags from The Pleasure Chest (came with pens, paddle, button and vibrator sans batteries), free moscato AND Jeanette snagged us seats right in front. The hosts were hilarious and the best-kiss/worst-date stories made me "awww" and "bwahahaha" respectively; Derby Girls (The Fury!!!) went around with free moscato and $2 Valentine cards, proceeds going to charity (I bought 2: one for Jeanette and another for the musician onstage - despite him constantly being referenced as MIKE, I wrote "Drummer Guy" in the To field and signed it with my number and "The Chick with the Weird Glasses").
After the stories and before The Black Belles, Jeanette and I played the "Stranger Danger" game which, if you've never heard of it before, it's basically going up to random people and talking to them for however long the conversation goes.
(Not gonna lie to you, it's really just socializing but if the person decides they want to be lame and not talk to you, you can shrug it off like, "Whatever, IDGAF, I'm not embarassed and my feelings aren't hurt, you were literally a game to me.")
Fortunately, this has yet to happen to me *cough*happensallthetime*cough* but last night I harassed a redhead and we bonded over a shared love of Florence's tresses and then after her friend came back talkin bout "Sorry but you're sitting on all of my belongings" I went back to Jeanette and we descended upon two men, a Jew named John (original, I know) and his Filipino friend (I totally forgot his name). Jew John showed off his Ween tattoo and bought me a beer then The Black Belles came on.
I thought I was going to see a whole Black Belles show but naw, they did like 4 songs. There were maybe twenty people on front of the stage and 4 of us were dancing. Jeanette and I were rocking out right up front and this cute hipster couple came over to dance with us since most people were just bobbing their head and tapping their feet.
Can someone please explain to me when this whole "dancing is for lames" shit started? Honestly, it's like motherfuckers pay money to come out and act like they're listening to the radio. Even the lead singer was like, "I feel so uncomfortable right now."
Anyway, the girls ended with an extended version of Dead Shoe and while this might not be true, I'm almost positive they played it specifically cos my drunk ass kept yelling (and getting Jew John to yell) Dead Shoe from five feet in front of them. Totally worth it though.
Still a little drunk but not in that can't-walk type of way; more like the everything-is-fucking-hilarious leftover drunk, know what I mean?
Turns out, the event wasn't at the Empty Bottle at all but instead at the Logan Square Auditorium. They gave us gift bags from The Pleasure Chest (came with pens, paddle, button and vibrator sans batteries), free moscato AND Jeanette snagged us seats right in front. The hosts were hilarious and the best-kiss/worst-date stories made me "awww" and "bwahahaha" respectively; Derby Girls (The Fury!!!) went around with free moscato and $2 Valentine cards, proceeds going to charity (I bought 2: one for Jeanette and another for the musician onstage - despite him constantly being referenced as MIKE, I wrote "Drummer Guy" in the To field and signed it with my number and "The Chick with the Weird Glasses").
After the stories and before The Black Belles, Jeanette and I played the "Stranger Danger" game which, if you've never heard of it before, it's basically going up to random people and talking to them for however long the conversation goes.
(Not gonna lie to you, it's really just socializing but if the person decides they want to be lame and not talk to you, you can shrug it off like, "Whatever, IDGAF, I'm not embarassed and my feelings aren't hurt, you were literally a game to me.")
Fortunately, this has yet to happen to me *cough*happensallthetime*cough* but last night I harassed a redhead and we bonded over a shared love of Florence's tresses and then after her friend came back talkin bout "Sorry but you're sitting on all of my belongings" I went back to Jeanette and we descended upon two men, a Jew named John (original, I know) and his Filipino friend (I totally forgot his name). Jew John showed off his Ween tattoo and bought me a beer then The Black Belles came on.
I thought I was going to see a whole Black Belles show but naw, they did like 4 songs. There were maybe twenty people on front of the stage and 4 of us were dancing. Jeanette and I were rocking out right up front and this cute hipster couple came over to dance with us since most people were just bobbing their head and tapping their feet.
Can someone please explain to me when this whole "dancing is for lames" shit started? Honestly, it's like motherfuckers pay money to come out and act like they're listening to the radio. Even the lead singer was like, "I feel so uncomfortable right now."
Anyway, the girls ended with an extended version of Dead Shoe and while this might not be true, I'm almost positive they played it specifically cos my drunk ass kept yelling (and getting Jew John to yell) Dead Shoe from five feet in front of them. Totally worth it though.
Before we left, we chatted up some of The Black Belles, asked Jew John to take pictures with my shitty phone, gave Jew John my number and traded a cigarette for a fresh bottle of pink moscato with the Emeri guy working the bar. I let Jeanette take the moscato cos I'm a lady... Actually, she might've stolen it from that guy. Not sure. Whatevs, it was delicious.
Like I said, Best Valentine's ever.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
When You Need To Cheer Yourself Up....
...do as I do.
Go into your bathroom or wherever your nearest mirror is and give yourself the Aziz-Slow-Smile-Ansari:
Works every time.
LMAO See I just did it right now and it was the most hilarious thing ever.
Go into your bathroom or wherever your nearest mirror is and give yourself the Aziz-Slow-Smile-Ansari:
Works every time.
LMAO See I just did it right now and it was the most hilarious thing ever.
Happy Valentine's Day by Outkast
FUCK VALENTINE'S DAY AND EVERYTHING IT STANDS FOR
Naw, I'm just fucking with you. I'm actually way excited for tonight. My best friend and I are going to the Empty Bottle (hipster Wicker Park bar) for an Anti-Valentine's Day Party featuring The Black Belles.
Normally, Tuesdays are reserved for catching up with Downton Abbey or some shit BUUUUUUUT the ticket was like $14 and I like The Black Belles. Plus, Jeanette and I have fun together anyways and of course, BOOOOOOZE. I want that sweet sweet likwhore in my mouth, down my throat and into my taco-lined belly.
The worst part: the Empty Bottle is right across the street from Flat Iron, Piercer Dude's regular haunt. Best part: It's Tuesday and if I remember correctly, he works Tuesdays so he shouldn't even be on the same block.
I know. I'm that lame chick teriffied of running into her ex anywhwere. I'm pretty sure if he and I were to ever make eye contact again, I would melt into the most ridiculous puddle ever.
Seriously. It'd just be my glasses steeped in a small pond of dirty wet humiliation water.
Naw, I'm just fucking with you. I'm actually way excited for tonight. My best friend and I are going to the Empty Bottle (hipster Wicker Park bar) for an Anti-Valentine's Day Party featuring The Black Belles.
Normally, Tuesdays are reserved for catching up with Downton Abbey or some shit BUUUUUUUT the ticket was like $14 and I like The Black Belles. Plus, Jeanette and I have fun together anyways and of course, BOOOOOOZE. I want that sweet sweet likwhore in my mouth, down my throat and into my taco-lined belly.
The worst part: the Empty Bottle is right across the street from Flat Iron, Piercer Dude's regular haunt. Best part: It's Tuesday and if I remember correctly, he works Tuesdays so he shouldn't even be on the same block.
I know. I'm that lame chick teriffied of running into her ex anywhwere. I'm pretty sure if he and I were to ever make eye contact again, I would melt into the most ridiculous puddle ever.
Seriously. It'd just be my glasses steeped in a small pond of dirty wet humiliation water.
Friday, February 3, 2012
It's Been A While (by Staind)
I started this blog as I have every diary ever: with the full intention of regular entries followed shortly after with the full-realization that Ize A Boring Bitch. Since my last entry I have broken up with Piercer Dude (through a voicemail, no less), seen (some members of) Wu-Tang live, started a Facebook and entered an ongoing period of depression.
First, why I broke up with Piercer Dude: I liked him way too much. Stupid - yes; cowardly - obviously; complete necessary - I'm starting to doubt. I say it was stupid because I'm not one to quit on people ever. Not necessarily a good thing all the time since some douchebags should be dropped sooner than others but PD wasn't a douchebag. He was super-cool. Too super-cool. I had been up one morning (a morning after I was supposed to see him but he ended up going out and getting hammered with his friends instead) and thinking far too much. I read through our text messages and noticed how one-sided they'd become. He hardly had anything to say to me (not even the rudimentary bullshit I adored like "Slept til 3:30... WINNING") and every text I sent got a different version of just "LOL". He didn't miss me nor was he trying to see me so it seemed just a matter of waiting to see when his interest would pique again. I hate waiting. It's the worst thing ever. So, in the spirit of ending a thing before it got spoiled (think: Seinfeld - didn't get canceled but didn't wait neither), I decided to call. Initially my cowardice would stretch to breaking up over the phone so I wouldn't have to look into his gorgeous pierced face with those unique scars and cheap glasses that were so becoming of him but then I heard his voicemail message and realized OMG I FUCKING LOVE HIS VOICE HOW IS THIS GOING TO WORK TFJHSGKJHJ. Before I knew it, the beep had sounded and instead of hanging up, I stammered my way through my first break-up that didn't involve me tearing apart his character or threats for a restraining order. After about 15 seconds of talking to myself, I hung up and let out a deep breath that sounded like "huuufuuuuuck". I told myself I would never spend another moment waiting for a PD text message and life would be roses again.
NAW. THAT AIN'T HAPPEN.
I miss him so much. His absurdly messy room, his dry tattooed hands, those cheap Wal-Mart glasses and the way he fucked with his hair. Sometimes, when I'm minding my own business, no thoughts of wrong-doing nor anarchistic ideas, that's when the memory of his tiny little white-boy mouth and the gorgeous shape it made when he pronounced his surname on our first date will pop in my head and I feel a pang in the spot where my cold black heart would still be sitting if I hadn't sold it to the Devils of Yorkshire for a Famous Amos cookie that one time.
What's really pathetic is as I'm sitting here thinking of those stupid hands that never stayed still for too long, the fact remains: he never called me back. Never sent a WTF text. Never heard from him again.
It hurts. I deserve it though. I know I do.
I'm not a very good person, Internet.
First, why I broke up with Piercer Dude: I liked him way too much. Stupid - yes; cowardly - obviously; complete necessary - I'm starting to doubt. I say it was stupid because I'm not one to quit on people ever. Not necessarily a good thing all the time since some douchebags should be dropped sooner than others but PD wasn't a douchebag. He was super-cool. Too super-cool. I had been up one morning (a morning after I was supposed to see him but he ended up going out and getting hammered with his friends instead) and thinking far too much. I read through our text messages and noticed how one-sided they'd become. He hardly had anything to say to me (not even the rudimentary bullshit I adored like "Slept til 3:30... WINNING") and every text I sent got a different version of just "LOL". He didn't miss me nor was he trying to see me so it seemed just a matter of waiting to see when his interest would pique again. I hate waiting. It's the worst thing ever. So, in the spirit of ending a thing before it got spoiled (think: Seinfeld - didn't get canceled but didn't wait neither), I decided to call. Initially my cowardice would stretch to breaking up over the phone so I wouldn't have to look into his gorgeous pierced face with those unique scars and cheap glasses that were so becoming of him but then I heard his voicemail message and realized OMG I FUCKING LOVE HIS VOICE HOW IS THIS GOING TO WORK TFJHSGKJHJ. Before I knew it, the beep had sounded and instead of hanging up, I stammered my way through my first break-up that didn't involve me tearing apart his character or threats for a restraining order. After about 15 seconds of talking to myself, I hung up and let out a deep breath that sounded like "huuufuuuuuck". I told myself I would never spend another moment waiting for a PD text message and life would be roses again.
NAW. THAT AIN'T HAPPEN.
I miss him so much. His absurdly messy room, his dry tattooed hands, those cheap Wal-Mart glasses and the way he fucked with his hair. Sometimes, when I'm minding my own business, no thoughts of wrong-doing nor anarchistic ideas, that's when the memory of his tiny little white-boy mouth and the gorgeous shape it made when he pronounced his surname on our first date will pop in my head and I feel a pang in the spot where my cold black heart would still be sitting if I hadn't sold it to the Devils of Yorkshire for a Famous Amos cookie that one time.
What's really pathetic is as I'm sitting here thinking of those stupid hands that never stayed still for too long, the fact remains: he never called me back. Never sent a WTF text. Never heard from him again.
It hurts. I deserve it though. I know I do.
I'm not a very good person, Internet.
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