i love cloudy, rainy days. thunderstorms, too. i like them the most when i am cozy and indoors and in clean pajamas and the thunder and lightning are at a fucking minimum. i HATE them when they're in the middle of the night and the thunder is so monstrous it rattles my fucking building and the crack of lightning makes me jump out of my goddamned skin.
i've lived alone in my own place for eleven or twelve years, but i still get a little nervous when nighttime falls. a few of my old places had external staircases that allowed unfettered access to my back door (write your own fucking joke), and if the thought of that isn't terrifying, i don't know what the fuck is. in my current abode i live off the fire escape, a fire escape from which you could easily climb into my bathroom window and steal my shit or cut my head off while i am asleep. because i do not hear ANYTHING while i am asleep. i sleep like the fucking dead.
last night was funny ha-ha, and fuck you ha-ha if you didn't come. for real. it really was so good and SO HILARIOUS. you know i'm a bitch and i don't think very many real people are funny, but i laughed at every single dude (and one dude's films) who performed. it was so great, and i wasn't even that drunk in the beginning, so it's not like my beer goggles made these dudes more awesome than they really were. i giggled my dick off. and i was afraid it wasn't going to work because it was full of fucking hipsters who were paying for their cans of pbr and hamms with laundry quarters and loose change picked up in the street, but it was so awesome.
i wrote something new that might be one of the best performance pieces i've ever written, but i'm not going to post it because that would be like rewarding my dumb dog for taking a huge shit on my kitchen floor rather than in my enemy's dinner as he'd been taught. so just squeeze your mind grapes really hard and try to imagine the greatest thing you could ever hear any mortal human being on the face of the earth say, in one of the greatest voices that any mortal ear could ever dream of beholding, coming out of the most gorgeous face and the sharpest comedic brain on any planet in any galaxy, and that might be one-tenth of how good my shit was. and you fucking missed it. you should probably kill yourself. and maybe i'll try to make it to your funeral. dicks.
the highlight of my performance had absolutely nothing to do with me AT ALL. this older woman was sitting in the front row, right below the stage, and she was going total apeshit for my jokes and that, in turn, makes ME go total apeshit. if you laugh at what i'm saying it is 100% guaranteed that i will laugh, too. whether i'm sitting on your couch or you're in my audience, if YOU laugh, I will laugh. i just can't help it. and i hope you bitches find that shit charming and endearing, because if not i'm FUCKED. i was a little jittery (which mark helpfully pointed out afterward was totally obvious to him), but as soon as people loosen up and put their smiles on so do i and it was okay.
i read the line "too bad i fuck pieces of shit" (that's all you get, assholes) and the crowed laughed, but this bitch hollered. and then yelled out, "me too, girl!" and i looked down at her and lost my fucking shit. it was perfect. it was so fucking hot under those lights and i was self-conscious that my feet looked weird in these sandals i had convinced myself it was necessary to wear even though it was thirty degress yesterday and i had just gotten my hair cut the night before (you win, laura) into this pseudo blended mohawk sort of thing (IT LOOKS SO INCREDIBLY GREAT I THINK I MIGHT DIE) and was a little shy about it especially since neither rachel NOR amanda would tell me how good it fucking looks because they liked those curls so much and i had seriously almost fallen off the stage, so when that bitch heckled me it made my fucking night.
my performance pieces are different from this bullshit i spew here because they're usually structured and not so rambling and crazy. plus, i fucking read them. and i have killer comedic timing. i guess what i'm trying to say is that i'm worth seeing in person. especially before it costs you more than ten bucks to do so. sigh. seriously, i could offer a blow job and three drink tickets to everyone who shows up and it wouldn't make a fucking difference. i don't know whatever who cares. call me and i'll fucking read it to you.
so the show was totally rad and everyone was hysterical and i met some insanely hilarious and interesting people, and as soon as it was over we got fucking WASTED. one of my favorite things in the world is when people are fawning all over me telling me how funny i am and so much of that was happening that my mood went soaring into the clouds. hooray for fucking sam. and you know i like to celebrate a good mood by drinking as many beers as i can while remaining upright, so fifteen pints of three floyds it is. let's do it.
so my real (non-biological) family all showed up and, if you've never partied with us before, you should probably know that we like to rage. and eventually end up partying like frat boys. i'm almost embarrassed to admit that when we do shots, we do shots of jaeger. maybe jameson on a classy day, but typically it's jaeger. god, that's terrible. totally fucking horrible. godfuckingawful. the problem started when claire gave this bitch some fucking drink tickets in exchange for her performance, and she used them thirty seconds after walking in the door. and i hang with the kind of people who just buy round after round after round, and no matter what way you turn someone is pressing a fresh cold beer into your hand that you are expected to drink in one swallow so he can hurry up and buy you another. it's EXHAUSTING.
so we pounded beers as usual and added the shots to celebrate both my hilarity and andy's completion of his phd. i'm too old and have too long a work day for that shit, but it seemed early. pffft. then we went to big star to rub elbows with dirty-ass hipster trash because i'd made amanda promise to go get tacos after the show. here is the thing: i like neighborhood taco joints with paper bags and horchata machines and two-buck specials, and just the thought of hollering at some trendy overpriced bullshit at midnight made me fucking tired. i don't do these newfangled hotspots that get written up ad nauseum and have you hoes standing in an endless line clamoring over a fancy cheeseburger or whatever. i like to wait for the buzz to die down, because i DON'T like to wait in line for seven hours to pay sixty dollars for a goddamned sandwich.
but geno wanted to go and then ginger got on board so how could i possibly refuse? big star is now where the pontiac used to be, and i never went there either, for the exact same reasons i listed above. eating food with social-climbing scenesters is weak. especially if you actually want to enjoy your stupid food and not just talk shit about all of the bitches walking by you. blah. there were seven of us, which totally would have been murder at a reasonable hour, but since dawn was rapidly approaching our herd was seated reasonably quickly.
and as much as i'm dyyyying to talk shit, the tacos al pastor and the pescado tostadas were so good i would have stood in a corner of the bathroom to eat them. christ almighty. and the pork belly tacos were better than a man. i seriously considered proposing to them after every bite. so it was great. and i was so hammered i couldn't see straight. or follow any conversation for longer than five seconds. i feel like amanda and i went to the bathroom 17 times, but i can't remember. and i don't remember leaving. i DO remember falling asleep in the car on the way home, yet being lucid enough to know when geno and zoe were making fun of me.
so the night was a success, right? aside from it being balls cold and rainy as shit, good times were had by all. i stumbled into my place and used the last ounce of sense i had left to feed the damned cat, then got into my pajamas and fell into bed. a little while later i woke up to pee (stupid beers), and noted through my drunken haze that it was thundering like a motherfucker, and lightning was ripping apart the sky. i got the pee in the toilet (i've missed that bitch before) and got back in the bed. what felt like three minutes but was probably thirty went by, and i had to go AGAIN. and i woke myself up (thank god i can still do that) and rolled out of bed, then some lightning cracked, my tv (which was OFF and on a fucking SURGE PROTECTOR) made a loud pop!, then some flames shot out of the back (it's not a flatscreen), and so much black smoke came out of the top.
let's reiterate that i was drunk as shit and had been in REM sleep for maybe forty-seven seconds, and i was totally disoriented and delirious. smelly helly shrieked and hissed at the fire while i tried to figure out whether or not i was dreaming. then another flame shot out and my brain caught up and i threw my really nice blanket on it and tried to shoo the cat away (little dummy) and then stood there trying not to cry while my most prized possession sizzled and crackled and smoked beneath a blanket i'd forgotten until that fucking moment had cost me two hundred fucking dollars.
i love my teevee more than all of the members of my family combined. and she was only six years old. why does god always take the good ones so young? it just isn't fair! we had so much life left to live together. all of the movies and shows and sporting events i will never experience bathed in her soothing warm glow. she keeps my lonely ass company because i don't have any real friends who actually want to hang out with me. takes care of me when i am sick. watches over me while i sleep. i was even planning on letting her raise my future children. jesus, i might start to cry.
and this shit always happens at the most inopportune time. 1 i don't really feel like cleaning my apartment, and now i have to. 2 the nba playoffs are happening right now, and i want to fucking watch them. 3 last week i had two fucking grand just sitting around in the bank collecting dust and i spent that shit on popcorn and magazines (really, i paid some bills, but that is beside the point), and now i have to WAIT until i get PAID and can go get a new television. also, i need someone to take me to get a new tv, so call me if you have a car.
and fuck the internet. the internet is not tv. neither is the radio, nor is my ipod. and i have lots of books. and by "books" i mean i'm going to read twilight seventeen more times. maybe i can pretend i'm a grounded teenager or anne frank or some shit, alone in a room with no monday night raw or keith olbermann. keep your eyes peeled, i guess. my diary's going to be hilarious. i guess i can watch dvds on the computer, but i want to be doing computer-y stuff on the computer, like looking up stupid sex questions and reading celebrity gossip. what am i going to do while i eat dinner? or when i'm tired but not quite ready to fall asleep? who is going to hold my hand when it's storming and scary and loud outside?! the truth is i have a stack of books on the bedstand that i need to get to, and maybe i should go see iron man already. ooh, and robin hood.
this is total balls. and, in case you were wondering, burning televisions and blankets smell like ass mixed with death. sad face.
god, i thought this twelve-dollar salad i just got would make me feel better. but it hasn't. and that was twelve dollars that should have gone into the new television fund. fuck. it hasn't solved a goddamned thing. maybe that's because it's made of SALAD and not CHOCOLATE CAKE. i'm so stupid.