Wednesday, May 19, 2010

algebra and electronics.

1 "how is that math degree coming?" danny asked me that when i saw him at seven o'clock yesterday morning at the loyola starbucks. i was in sunglasses and pajamas and flip flops. ie, looking like a bag of flaming shit. "i still have all of those trig books if you want them," he said, and then he watched me pay for my mocha and sunday new york times with money i'd taped together and laundry quarters. "i can come by later with them if you want."

at that exact moment i realized that i fucking forgot to sign up for school for the summer semester. shows how much i care about my education, no? i'm not even sure how i forgot, but i fucking did. maybe i forgot because i hate school and i'm miserable and not paying tuition leaves more money for beer and nail polish. who the fuck knows. and when he said it i was just like "holy fucking shit" as the realization that writing the note posted on my bathroom mirror that reads SIGN UP FOR SUMMER SCHOOL was merely an exercise in futility. god, i really like not going to school. i just can't wrap my brain around working a twelve hour day and going home to do anything other than watch wrestling in bed with a bottle of red wine. to hell with homework.

and i think i still might be technically able to register, but my tuition money paid for some tattoos and a new tv this weekend. so september it is. maybe.

2 i got a new television saturday, and i fucking hate it. mostly because i think some of the parts i need to properly set it up weren't included in the box. specifically the COCK and BALLS. did you know you dudes can't buy regular tvs anymore? i mean, old school cathode ray tube television sets? that is the thing about technology that is fucking terrifying to a luddite like myself, that one day shit is just OBSOLETE and fuck you if you weren't ahead of the curve.

so travis and i went to target and i searched in vain for a sturdy, dependable, operational cube amongst the shelves stocked with sleek black modern rectangles. to no avail. so i bought the smallest (19") and cheapest ($200) flatscreen i could find that was an actual name brand that sounded familiar to me. because i don't give a fuck about electronics. i just want to watch some goddamned tv. masturbating to my imagination is boring and produces unreliable results. trust me. i tried.

it took me thirty fucking minutes to get the base screwed on the fucking thing, twenty-nine of which were spent trying to use a regular screwdriver into slots meant for a philips head.  in my defense, it was one in the morning yesterday and i was balls tired. i figured out how to connect the directv, which uses those multi-colored coaxial cables. (is that what they're called for reals?) but so does the dvd player. which i don't even want to goddamn use, as everything i watched was in a tiny rectangle 2/3 the size of the screen.

so do i have to switch them every time? and how do i get the directv remote to work the new tv? it worked the OLD one. am i going to have to sit with three different remotes at all times? one for the channel, one for the volume, and one for the dvd? which i have to get up and swap cords for anyway? do i need a new hd directv box? and an hd dvd player? if not, how do i get what i HAVE to work right? why is the picture so fucking small? is there a way to get it to fill the whole screen? without my having to read any manuals or research whatsoever? how much more fucking money do i have to spend?

someone needs to please get his penis over to my apartment and set all this shit up so i can watch my movies and shows without wanting to stab somebody in the face. i could cook you something. or tug your balls. or anything else i can do while watching gossip girl. call me please and thank you.

3 i wasn't going to get tattooed. for reals. i decided that i wasn't ready for kalonji's neck piece, so i wasn't going to get anything at all. but travis and his cool aunt walked into the tattoo shop and i breathed in the smell of fear and searing human flesh and was like, GIMME. travis, who is eight feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds and plays center on his college basketball team, got this giant business tattoed on the inside of his bicep (totally hot) while a dude laid on top of me for five minutes and added to my collection of angry and aggressive body art.

my favorite quotations are always fucked-up and horrifying, you know? just the coldest shit you could ever say to a person. and THERE WILL BE BLOOD is chock-full of some of the coldest. my very favorite is "i want no one else to succeed," which is now inked on my chest FOREVER. i mean that shit, too. i would rather see you die than become victorious, particularly if that victory surpasses my own accomplishments. and now i don't even have to tell you. you can read it for yourself.

4 i am so averse to doing the laundry that i went to american apparel and old navy and got gorgeous shirts so that laundry is no longer an issue this week. i have 700 pairs of underpants (rachel loathes the word "panties," and has now somehow transferred her crazy to me) and some clean socks and jeans, so i don't have to wash anything for another week. samantha 1, dirty pile of stinking, rapidly-mildewing laundry 0.

5 conan is TONIGHT, and i'm so excited i can't even stand it. you should be inconsolably jealous.

6 my hot pilates instructor came up to me at the end of the last class. it was taking me a good half hour to roll up my mat, because i was CONVINCED i had ripped apart something in my back doing the wall roll down and could barely move my fingers and arm because of this peripheral arthritis. also, we do that shit barefoot, and i have to take my time so i don't slip and crack my face open because my giant, smelly feet are sweaty and disgusting. a delicate flower? why yes, i am, thank you.

he said, "your form during the side plank is beautiful. you look like you're getting the hang of things!" i paused, looked at him for a second to try to gauge whether or not he was joking, wiped the sweat and snot and grease and blood off my face, opened my mouth, and "ahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha" breath "ahahahahahahahahahahaha" breath "ahahahahahahahahahaha" breath "ahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" came out. man, fuck that dude! that class is killing me and my joints one pelvic curl at a time, and i seriously doubt my form is "beautiful."

i still stand in the back, i still wear all black, i still skip the exercises that look too difficult without even trying, and i still sometimes go out for beers after class with david. but i still go, because i still want to be able to kama sutra some shit when i've decided my casual sex hiatus is over. (no, i do that shit to help this deadly arthritis. but kama sutra sounds better than arthritis. so pretend that's it for real.)

7 speaking of, this medicine isn't working and my joints are out of control. literally. i cannot control them. if you read this shit for real and on the regular then you already know that people with bowel disorders and diseases often get secondary arthritis (the crippling kind) as a party favor. just for showing up to the poo party. i'm up to fourteen capsules and pills a day. it's almost time to try something else. like getting hit by a bus.

so my left hand and forearm are back in the hideous brace i stopped wearing OVER A YEAR AGO because i decided to fuck this crohn's in the asshole. well guess who won that fight? not sam. so i'm back in this awful flesh-colored fabric and metal contraption. typing in it is difficult, so since i am going to be forced to wear it every day for the rest of my life, i am shutting this blog down. it's been real. laters.

oh, i'm fucking kidding. i will write this slutty piece of trash until my goddamned arm FALLS OFF. god, i wish this shit wasn't BEIGE. can someone please find or make me a stylish left hand metal splint wrist brace that has straps and comes to the middle of my forearm please? or bedazzle the one i already have? you hoes know i'm not crafty. it already took every fiber of my being not to smash that tv into a thousand motherfucking pieces. i'd HATE to see the shambles this brace would end up in. and, unfortunately, i need it. so all you scientists and seamstresses and scrapbook queens need to come up with some hot shit for my arm and hand. and thank the lord it's not my jerking hand. for cereal. there would be tears.

8 i am obsessed with arm and hammer clean shower in mountain rain. i already told you that cleaning the bathroom is my religion. add to that an unquenchable thirst for purchasing shit i don't need, and you've got yourself a powder keg of product testing awesomeness. i use natural bar soaps from lush, and while they are fabulous and incredible and amazing, they soap scum my shit up like you wouldn't believe. and my useless arm and i don't have elbow grease kind of time. this shower spray has changed my life. it will change yours.

9 thanks to amanda i am also now obsessed with the phrase "real talk." no one would say that shit unless they lie all the time. i mean, why would you need to otherwise? can't i just assume that everything you say is true? why qualify it unless you're fake talking me the rest of the time? is what you say only true when followed by the words real talk? why is popular culture so totally baffling to me all of the goddamned time?!

10 i hate this weather because it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to dress for. most weather is difficult for me, because i am ornery and I HATE EVERYTHING. the summer is particularly awful, as i do not believe in shortened pants. of any variety. on any person. they just don't look right. yes, even on YOU. you should really be wearing pants. and staying indoors. with me. where we can hide from cancer and dudes who think that 1 it is appropriate and 2 they are fit enough to be outdoors in a goddamned tank top. come on, gentlemen. i'm going to need you to put on a shirt. with sleeves. i don't have my bush out, so why the fuck should i have to stare at your smelly, glistening armpit hair in the grocery store? or jump out of the way when one of your balls of deodorant leaps out at me because you keep flailing your fucking arms around? stop that shit. and i'm tired of seeing twelve-year-old pussy lips in what these girls are calling "shorts" nowadays. fuck you if you think i'm old. that shit is disgusting. and DANGEROUS. because if i'm looking, that pervert whose mugshot i'm about to see on the today show in a week is DEFINITELY LOOKING. put that shit away. you want to show it off and don't even know how to use it yet.

11 have a good day.