Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Don't Ash on My Dash
Why can’t I blog anymore? What the hell is wrong with me. I knew it. I KNEW IT! My inspiration runs completely dry when I don’t feel terribly tormented by my demons, Shelley Mae and Trong Weeblehausen. Yes, I name my demons. I feel like it humanizes them and sometimes I can ask them to leave when I’m tired of their trying ways. Well, I didn’t mean forever guys! Come ON! Where are you?!?!?! Every good and wonderful artist whether of words or instrument or paint has some sort of inner turmoil that makes them so fascinating. Hemingway, terribly suicidal/overall insane. Parallel sentences and vivid, artful expression almost saved him. But not quite. Van Gogh…chopped off his ear. Crazy. Swirling textured paint not adored…Would adoration save him? I wish someone would adorate me. I just made up that word, ‘adorate’…It sounds less cheese filled than saying, “I wish someone would adore me.” That just sounds desperate. And we all know I would never admit to that. Dammit…I can’t think of a good musician that isn’t someone like Kurt Cobain to use as my musician example. Boo. Anywho, if someone would mind shipping my demons back to my…my blog and I could use them. Or maybe people’s suspicions are right. Shelley and Trong don’t want to leave Houston…because it really is hell on earth there. Interesting….
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
D7 is a cadavars name. It's also a long story.
So, I have this problem where I don’t get enough sleep and then I feel overly emotional. This is really weird to me. I can totally understand not getting enough sleep and being a little bit cranky or some such thing…But I get really emotional. For instance: D7 was in town for the past two days looking for jobs in glorious Austin. Now, I always fall for him when we’re together. But today…he’s leaving and I feel incredibly sad about this. I don’t want him to leave. I want to wake up tomorrow next to his stupid, bald head in the morning and hear the freight train coming out of his phlegm filled throat. ::pouting:: Whatever. I want to come home to his stuff strewn across my room. I even wouldn’t mind being woken up in the middle of the night again to throw the cat off the bed. He refuses to touch Frank claiming deadly allergies. And yes, he really woke me up in the middle of the night to throw Frank off the bed. It’s amazing what girls let boys get away with. I am being SO stupid. I mean….chances are he’ll be living here in one month anyways. One month. I never see him that often. Well, I’m just feeling dumb and wanted to share. I wish I was a guy and could separate someone rubbing my back till I fall asleep from liking them. If that even makes sense.
Well, anywho, last night was fun. D7 and I went to this shee shee little spot called Wink. Three glasses of wine a piece, salad, scallops, stakewing, and $101 later we were full and definitely ready to hit up downtown, Monday night nightlife in Austin. We head to Emo’s. D7’s friend of 27 years is a bartender there. We obviously drank some more…for free. Some chick the friend knows is talking to D7 about him moving in with her. I look at friend with that you better watch your girl over there before she gets slapped look. He tells me I have nothing to worry about and does that peace sign thing from his eyes to my eyes and back again. I do it from my eyes to her eyes with a horrible scowl on my face…but she didn’t see me. She was way to busy not flirting with D7. Yeah right. The three of us, D7, friend and myself venture outside for a little nic break. D7 mentions that the room she’s talking about sounds perfect and they have three cats. I of course shout out in the whiniest, most insecure voice ever, But…Uhhhhhh….You’re allergic to cats!!! All the while wondering if that ugo chick will take my place in throwing the cats off the bed. Friend looks at me and tells me to shut up. All of this flies right over D7’s bald head. But he flashes me his quite rare and almost forced looking teethy smile. So, I get over it. Again, girls are ridiculous. But we can’t help it.
Good Lord…I hate boys. I hate dating. I hate being a girl. I wish I could just wake up 10 years from now and have my life planned out by soccer games and mortgage payments. But no. Torture.
Well, anywho, last night was fun. D7 and I went to this shee shee little spot called Wink. Three glasses of wine a piece, salad, scallops, stakewing, and $101 later we were full and definitely ready to hit up downtown, Monday night nightlife in Austin. We head to Emo’s. D7’s friend of 27 years is a bartender there. We obviously drank some more…for free. Some chick the friend knows is talking to D7 about him moving in with her. I look at friend with that you better watch your girl over there before she gets slapped look. He tells me I have nothing to worry about and does that peace sign thing from his eyes to my eyes and back again. I do it from my eyes to her eyes with a horrible scowl on my face…but she didn’t see me. She was way to busy not flirting with D7. Yeah right. The three of us, D7, friend and myself venture outside for a little nic break. D7 mentions that the room she’s talking about sounds perfect and they have three cats. I of course shout out in the whiniest, most insecure voice ever, But…Uhhhhhh….You’re allergic to cats!!! All the while wondering if that ugo chick will take my place in throwing the cats off the bed. Friend looks at me and tells me to shut up. All of this flies right over D7’s bald head. But he flashes me his quite rare and almost forced looking teethy smile. So, I get over it. Again, girls are ridiculous. But we can’t help it.
Good Lord…I hate boys. I hate dating. I hate being a girl. I wish I could just wake up 10 years from now and have my life planned out by soccer games and mortgage payments. But no. Torture.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)