June 2005 Archives
i am writing large checks. i am writing large checks to myself.
why? because i deserve it! i am all growed up!
i am so all growed up i am twice as big. i am marinated. almost married! and yes, after lots of hemming and hawing (and, uh, doesn't that mean shortening pants and cutting down trees?) we -- that being me and bartlebee -- have figured out how to marinate our money.
it was not easy.
good morning class!
who has a show and tell item to share today?
anyone? dottie? preston? brunhilde? no?
okay. then i will share.
na na na na na na na na na na na na na na
bat man.
bat man.
batman.
we went to the IMAX last night to see the latest batmantactular. i would like to say about it:
1) this is the first batman movie in which i found myself thinking, "dood. batman is awrsome. maybe i could be batman someday..."
2) i want that car.
3) michael keaton is a fatman batman. val kilmer is an iceman, not a batman. george clooney is a scatman. christian bale needs to stop smoking and stand up straight, but he is a batman. batman is haunting. he doesn't have scoliosis.
4) katie holmes. you used to be so adorable! now you look like tina yothers, act as convincingly as a freshly laid yak turd in a tiffany's box, and it's impossible to look at you without thinking about tom cruise and his alien love cock. fie on you, katie.
fie.
on you.
okay. i didn't want to do it.
but i have no choice.
i'm going to take off my pants.
then i'm going to get up on my desk and waggle my buttocks whilst singing "loo-loo-loo-looooooo" and whacking myself in the head with an inflatable dolphin.
it's a thursday tradition.
jam on it.
i, for one, am durn tootin' glad that mike jack isn't going to have to share a cell with anyone that is over twelve.
i mean, seriously. the guy is an a-number one freako of galactic proportions and he probably also juices up pre-teens and likes to look at them in their tighty-whiteys -- but c'mon.
who doesn't?
and how many platinum albums have you cut? none. that's right. none plus none equals none.
i know nobody cares anymore. in the blogosphere, we've already moved on to the next craze which apparently is dressing up like characters from video games and acting them out religiously.
get a life.
i'm devoted to letting mike jack continue mutilating his face and engaging in sham matrimony.
i just hope he realizes what potential he has now to write his life into a pop-opera. i'd see that. expecially if it had a corey feldman cameo.
i've been feeling completely unmotivated to blog lately. there have been lots of interesting things going on, but...
we bought our wedding rings. from Lang, an estate jewelers. they're both engraved from what i presume are their first lives. mine is from 1887. bartlebee's is twenty years older. just simple, rounded, yellow gold bands. 18k.
but put those fuckers on your finger?
time to sit down.
the wedding countdown clock that zipperhead gave us as a joke turned itself off when it ran down to 100 days and counting. self-preservation maybe? that thing was begging to get smashed.
which is how we spent most of this weekend.
yeah. as they say, now i'm older than jesus.
i don't FEEL older than jesus.
i guess i'm also older than john belushi, too. which is sad. if it weren't for john belushi, i would be unable to comically and quizzically raise one eyebrow.
i practiced. in front of the mirror. in high school.
because i liked john belushi.
ha ha ha. today i feel less crappy.
boy. that's good news.
see, i have a birthday this week. tomorrow actually. and well, i don't want it. usually my response to birthdays is, "yea! free stuff!"
this year i feel more like, "fuck off. i am not a glorified secretary at thirty-three and curse you to heck for saying so." ha ha ha.
it's just a thing. possibly encouraged by the fact that my father just sold his first novel for $50K and i have sold nothing for $0K. i have, however, filed a lot of meaningless paperwork, though. so beat that!
i know i've been away and should have good exciting new york stories to tell, but frankly today i'd rather just get on a plane to some disaster-prone nation, find some building made of razor wire and rusty steel, bury myself in the basement, and wait for an earthquake.
in the past 24 hours i've tried to help twice. both times i've made it much worse.
i am, actually, a jerk.
