Saturday, April 24, 2004

Life so fucking sucks right now. It's hot in my apartment and it stinks because I forgot to take the trash out like three days in a row. So exactly the way I feel. I did something really trashy and I feel like a whore. I don't care if people think I'm a slut, but I don't like feeling like a whore. I went to Vegas with a bunch of people I know from work. Head Injury Boy was there. I found out that he didn't want me to come even though I was invited by like three other people. I wanted to see Henry Rollins and if I backed out I was assed out because in typical Rollins tour bullshit he's not playing L.A. and I'd already missed my chance to shag it down to San Diego. So I figured fuck him. Well the ride up was kind of weird because the two girls I know were involved with all this gossip about some crazy family and that asshole I can't stand was driving. Head Injury boy pretty much pretended I was invisible the whole time. This one hippie chick I like was really nice to me. She read my palm and did my tarrot cards and stuff. I don't know if I go for that stuff, but it was fun. We finally got to this absolute hell hole we were staying in for like 20 bucks for both rooms for two days I'm so not kidding. The guys took off to go gambling and there was this total cat attack all over me. This one girl was asking me about Head Injury Boy and why I didn't just kick his ass and get it over with. The other girl was telling her to leave me alone but then she asked me what happened in Mammoth that he wasn't talking to me anymore. It was retarded. I just told them that he couldn't handle the fact that I had a penis, too. One of them actually thought for minute I was a he/she. Anyway, I guess it turned out cool. Then when we went to see Rollins, which was fucking great like always, it turned out he was kind of sitting/standing near me. It must have been hard for him. Too bad. Afterwards, everyone kind of split up and he started talking to me and asking me what I wanted to do. I said I wanted to maybe gamble. I'm not into Vegas shows. Some of the girls were going to the Bellagio to see the fucking lobby or something. I decided I would probably just go with them. Then he gets all pissy with me. Like I'm his date or his girlfriend or something. He gets like well I thought maybe you might want to do something. What the fuck? Yes, genius. That's my idea of true love. I wish you would act like a fucking two year old whenever you're around me, ignore me or make pain faces at anything I say, then pout when I don't want to go fuck you bowlegged on a rooftop in Vegas. Fuck You. So he gets into this huge stink with me in front of God and everyone. Wrong girl, buddy. I let him have it full force right between the eyes. I told him that if I'd had any idea what kind of bullshit I would have to put up with I would never have fucked him in the first place, even knowing how good it was. Then he starts all that guy shit like who do you think you are? You fucking slut, on and on and on. I just walked away from him and got lost in the casino. What a fucker. I can't even explain here how pissed I was. I didn't really feel comfortable around all those people and in Vegas and all. I just felt really alone. So I sat in the corner and I called everyone I knew and the only fucking person who answered the phone was Boring Boy. That's how fucked up I was at the moment. I called Boring Boy and get this - he bought me a plane ticket online as we were talking and I went back to the hotel and got my shit and cabbed to the airport. I only had to wait like 45 minutes for the plane and he picked me up. It felt so good at the time to just be like fuck you I'm so outta here like a jetsetter. Except that I'm not a jetsetter. I totally used him and the whole way home from the airport he was like I'm really glad you called me. So. I got home and I gave him a kiss but that's all. I'll pay him back for what he did somehow. I turned off both my phones and took a bath and went to bed. I didn't wake up until late the next day and there was like three hundred messages on both my phones from Boring Boy, Head Injury Boy, Goth Boy remember him?, and another guy who was with us in Vegas who I think actually does give a shit about other people. He and the hippie chick and her boyfriend were all worried about me, but the rest of them can go fuck themselves all the way to hell. Fuck them all.

confessions of The Shadow * 12:12 PM

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Sunday, April 11, 2004

I have to go to my mom's and her husband's for Easter. I'm so not into it. His stupid son and daughter will be there. That means I have to dress extra slutty and be totally outrageous all day. I wish I could just relax. They have a huge jacuzzi and a giant screen TV with all the extra features and it would be really nice to just chill. But I can't because I always have to pretend that I'm so above all that shit. Which I kind of am, in theory. But I'm human all the same. I have to pretend that I live in the East Village because I choose to, not just because it's the nicest I can afford. I have to pretend that I drive a BMW 2002 because it's cool and funky, and not because I got it in a custody battle with an asshole roommate I used to fuck on occasion and he took his motorcycle and left without paying the last month's rent. I have to pretend that I dress in vintage chic because it's stylish and fun and not because it's just so fucking affordable for someone like me who can't get decent service at the mall where they always think I'm some kind of shoplifter. My so-called stepbrother really wants to fuck me. He's so lame. He's kind of chubby, which is okay but I hold it against him. He's kind of like the Pillsbury doughboy. I would never. He wears Brooks Brothers suits and Docker's and talks about getting a tattoo. The last three times I've seen him, he keeps telling me about this tattoo he's self designing. BFD. I'll be impressed if he actually gets it. His sister is actually kind of all right, but don't tell anyone I said so. She's who she is and she leaves off me so it's cool. She doesn't try to impress me and I know she's not at all impressed by me. We keep each other's distance, and I have to respect that. My mother's husband is an ass. No, he's a horse's ass. He could be a monkey's ass, but he's not that entertaining. He's always trying to talk to me about the most random shit that has nothing at all to do with me. Like he'll say, so what is it about these music stealers? Like because I'm semi-goth and a post punk I'm totally into download culture. Whatever dickless. Or he'll say tell me what's going on with that Osbourne family. Like I know? I don't even watch that fucking show. How the fuck would I know? Because I call over there? Because Ozzy and Shari are the King and the Queen and I'm one of their loyal subjects? Like I'm on the fucking e-newsletter list and get minute by minute updates on the calculated chaos of "The Osbournes"? He's a tool. I really can't stand him. He's so perfect for my mother. She's so oblivious about everything. Sometimes I wonder if she's on scrip drugs or something. I'm not just saying that. She walks around with this vague smile on her face like isn't everything so lovely? That's her vocabulary. She looks like the mom in a cleaning product commercial. She doesn't clean, though. She has a "lovely" Spanish-speaking woman to do all that. You should see mom speaking Spanish to Xochitel. It's some funny shit. So I'll go. Because Xochitel makes one fucking hell of a glazed ham and I'm already tasting her tater salad. She always packs a bag of leftovers for me and that will keep me for a week at least. How funny is that? Xochitel is Catholic, so I'm sure she has things of her own to do. She makes the food on Saturday, and then early this morning, then leaves to be with her own people and comes back later tonight to clean up. What a bunch of pigs we are. I'm bringing her a rosary I found at work. Some poor patient left it behind and I checked it out and it's real silver and black carnelian. I hope she'll enjoy it. I won't let my mother or the fucktard know I gave it to her. He says gifts spoil the help. Maybe one of these days he'll get really smashed and fall face first into his jacuzzi. That would be really nice. Then maybe my mother could get investigaed by the police for burying three of her five husbands. I could be on one of those true crime cop shows talking about how he was always leering at me. I'd dress all supah punk so the TV audience will think I'm troubled because he was making passes at me. Then when mom gets tried in the court of public opinion all the men will think she's a black widow and all the women will think she was just protecting her child. But only we will know the truth. Everything is bullshit and this is just another flavor.

confessions of The Shadow * 12:42 PM

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Sunday, April 04, 2004

I went to a party in Venice last night and I couldn't stop myself from going to the house on Brooks Ave. I walked around the block and it's not too far from Megan's house so I just took a little stroll. That house looks lonely. It doesn't look like it's got any life or children or joy in it. I don't know about the lady who lives there. She looks all right. I wonder if she's the owner or a renter or what. She peeked out and looked at me. I saw the curtain move so I left and went back to the party. I wonder if she could feel me looking at the house. I wonder if a part of JC is still there. I doubt it. He's probably on the road with Rollins.

Head Injury Boy was at the party. I noticed he didn't drink anything all night. How responsible. He also ignored me all night. What an ass. I couldn't find anyone to flirt with for jealousy inducing purposes, so I hit up with this lesbo chick who was there. I was asking her all kinds of q's about lesbo sex and if she was born that way or just fucked wrong by men so much she turned to the sisterhood. She totally knew what was going on. She started touching me a lot on my hair and arm and knee. She went into nicely graphic detail about lessie sex and it was pretty interesting. After Head Injury Boy walked away she asked me about him. I told her the jist of it and then she said I didn't know what I was missing with the girl stuff. It was funny. We all laughed. This guy Jon who thinks he's like the music master or something kept pulling CD's off Megan's wall and saying Hey guys, you have to listen to this song. He was playing some good stuff, but it was kind of strange how he was kind of forcing his opinion on the captive audience. My friend used to have a huge crush on him but then she found out he makes like a bazillion bucks a minute as a music company rep and now she's kind of over it. We went out for karaoke after Megan's and usually I hate that kind of shit because it's just so lame, but we went out to the Tattle Tale on Sepulveda in Culver City and it was really cool. I mean the singers were actually really good, and the entire bar would sing the back up and it was awesome. This old guy came out and was singing the Unchained Melody all soulful and real. It was great. Then the entire bar, and I mean every fucker in the place, got off their feet and did Summer Nights from Grease. I usually don't go for that cheesy kind of shit. Buncha drunks acting like retards in a bar is so not my idea of fun because it sounds kind of pathetic. But last night was fun. This one girl got up and sang Adia from Sarah MacLachlan. She sounded just like the real thing. That seems like a hard song to do. Then she sang that dumb song I Need a Hero by someone lame. All the guys at my table starting doing superman poses and running up to her and falling at her feet and stuff. Then one of them went up there and picked her up and was carrying her around the bar. It was cool to see people outside of work. It was also cool to not go home with anyone. I don't know. Today is supposed to be some kind of magical day because it's 4/4/04, so at 4:44 what are we all supposed to do? Meditate on peace? Try to converse with aliens? How about we all just take a restful nap and our peaceful energy will float effortlessly into the collective unconsciousness and bless the world?

confessions of The Shadow * 2:13 PM

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