a bad egg. a very, very bad egg.

Dear Kevin,

RE: Your wall post on my Facebook

It was a BFI overall. However my response was a WFI, as it has left me regretful. You know that Seinfeld episode where George comes up with the "jerk store" comeback long after the insult, and then tries to recreate an opportunity to use it? It's like that. I would love to get fired all over again.

See, I have been working for this restaurant (a chain throughout Arizona) since the first week in January. I always preferred serving breakfast and lunch as opposed to dinner or cocktailing because I would rather go to work at 5am and be done at 2, then go to work at 4 and be done at 11. Or whatever. I like getting up early, and even more than that, I absolutely love having an excuse as to why I can't go out at night. You see, "Oh, I'd love to but I have to be up at 4 for work tomorrow! Oh shoot!" is not only easier [read: less embarrassing] to say to your alcoholic friends, but they also mock you less than with other truths made up excuses like, "Oh I'm not a big drinker...", or "But there's a Degrassi marathon on tonight!", or, the worst, "But they're rerunning Lisa Ling produced documentaries on PBS all evening! You remember Lisa Ling, right? She used to be on The View, that show with Barbara Walters and all those kooky women! I mean, I totally hate Elisabeth as much as the next Liberal Jew, but Rosie really brought that show alive, and I'm a huge Whoopi fan. No, I know neither of them were on the show when Lisa was but still - no thanks, I don't drink, but that's nice of you to offer. No, really, I'm driving anyway. What? You don't even know my mom. Okay, I mean, just one. Is this a double? What does that even mean - oh it doesn't have more alcohol? Are you sure? Really? Okay...But just this one..."... So, when I moved from Tempe back to Tucson to live with my parents - which is a whole separate WFI for another day - I decided to try my hand at transferring from the Scottsdale location to one of three Tucson locations.

I loved where I worked in Scottsdale. Not only was everyone awesome in their own way, but everyone there knew how important their job was: not at all important!!! The restaurant was a transition place for these servers; people were working there in order to get somewhere else. Saving up to travel, paying for college, buying pot (important!), opening up a private practice, etc. etc. etc. They didn't live to be waiters, they waited to live!!!!! ...Not to mention I was well respected and appreciated and people laughed at my jokes there... But this Tucson location! Oh Tucson! With your recovering meth addicts, ex cons, strippers, and community college drop outs. I mean, not that I hold anything against people who are recovering addicts - I mean, good for you! Awesome! Ex cons getting their life back in order? Great! High schoolers - hey, make money money! But...zero aspirations?? Shit! With the exception of a few servers, barely anyone talked to me and when they did they were telling me what I was doing wrong and how I needed to "smile more, SERIOUSLY, IT'S A BIG DEAL", or "walk faster or you'll never make it in this business!" or "blahblahblahstupidblah". Give me a fucking break... I used the wrong size kids cup once and had a serious talking to - that began with "what the hell are you doing!!?" - in the kitchen about it. This place was a nightmare. And I was planning to quit in a couple days anyway.

But the incident! I knew something was wrong when the
manager, a big man with a goatee who looked like he should be running a nightclub and not a family breakfast restaurant, was standing outside talking to one of my customers as they were leaving. Customers that left a shitty tip... I had no idea what the problem could be though. This man had been on my back constantly for my "lack of smiling", so I figured maybe she said something about that. [The irony behind that is that I would often go up to my table and joke around about how the manager doesn't think I smile enough and warn them about how if I looked crazy it was his fault! It was a home run of a joke!] Turns out, that wasn't the problem...

What this bitch of a lady harpie was saying was that she heard me tell another table that the restaurant was a "Shit hole" and how I couldn't wait to get out of there.


WOAH WOAH WOAH. Is that lady a mind reader or WHAT!!1 But seriously...


Why would I say that to a table??? Why wouldn't the table I said that to tell the manager?? This lady is just a tattle tale! But even worse, she is a maker-upper of things to tattle!!

I was taken out to the back parking lot where the manager proceeded to cuss at me and pull the little man's complex on me. "THIS IS MY FUCKING RESTAURANT HOW DARE YOU FUCKING SAY THAT. BLAHBLAH CURSING CURSING I AM UGLY BLAHBLAH TALK DOWN TO YOU TALK DOWN TO YOU. I CAN FIRE YOUR ASS WHENEVER. I OWN YOU BLAHBLAH." And all I could say back was... "But I didn't say that?!" or... "Yeah but still, I didn't say that?!" Seriously, with the inflection of a question. It was just such a ridiculous accusation. This woman had no reason to lie, he kept telling me. And I kept telling him that maybe she wasn't lying, but she definitely misheard me, or misread my lips or something because that is just out of the question! He didn't care. My argument about how I don't even use the word "shit hole" didn't go over well either. Which is true! But the REAL truth was that I was talking to an Indian guy I knew in high school who randomly came in and his name, seriously, from afar, when coming out of one's mouth, could be confused for the words "shit" and "hole"! I AM NOT KIDDING.

I should have walked out right there. That is what I regret the most. I should have called him a fucking loser, told him his restaurant was a shit hole, and gone home right there; after all we were in the rear parking lot. My car was twenty feet away. But I thought that that would all look quite silly when I had to walk back to restaurant and go inside to the front register to get my keys. And then come back a couple hours later at 2pm to get my paycheck. Things just didn't work in my favor in that regard. Then after I went back inside and WENT BACK TO WORK I thought...why am I not throwing a fit? I should have yelled at that man, gone back inside and made sure he was scolding me in front of customers. Or perhaps said something to which he would respond with "YOU'RE FIRED GET OUT NOW" and then gone back to a table, and told them that I had just been fired for saying something I didn't say, and point at the manager, who would inevitably be watching me with fiery eyes, and let them know that he had just cussed me out and yelled at me for something I didn't even do and that I was sorry I wouldn't finish up taking care of them and to please tip their server! That would have stuck it to the man! "See that guy? With the bad earrings and spiky hair?? He just fired me cuz some old harpie told him I called this place a shit hole! Can you believe that? A SHIT HOLE. Hey, also, he used to be in prison for dealing firearms and drugs! FUCKING GUNS AND DRUGS. SHIT HOLE SHIT HOLE!"

But I didn't. And I'm left wishing for one more shot at the establishment. At that man. It would have made a much bigger statement than the "no call no show" I pulled over the weekend.

So, the BFI = I don't ever have to go back. The WFI = I didn't stand up for myself and I let a man get away with treating me like shit.

But at least I have my paycheck. [And I didn't declare my tips for that day...!]


Job hunting soon omg byob bbq bff lolz!!111!!!!,

Lewis

WFI: hotlinking!

I've been riding my bike.

For two weeks, I've taken the Southwest Corridor to work. I really like riding my bike and all the fears I had surrounding riding in the city are gone. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes to get to work, which is much faster than the train. On very hot days, riding is a cool breeze. At night, it keeps me from the temptation of taking a cab home. So, riding my bike: BFI.

I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.

Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.

So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.

After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.

So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.

Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.

To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.

So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.

but mandy moore IS pretty!!!!

sarah: my dad doesn't think mandy moore is pretty.
me: so?
sarah: my dad thinks I'M pretty!!! what does that say!!!!

i graduated from college and all i got was this lousy trip...

So Jackie has decided to attend a university in Georgia for grad school. And, since I plan on continuing my role as "Jackie's best friend" well into the future, this is absolutely not my first grad school pick for her because now I'll obviously be making semi annual trips to...ATHENS GEORGIA!!!!... instead of, say, San Francisco or Boston, or Austin, or New York City, or god forbid, New Jersey and basically anywhere else (although I guess I'm glad she decided against that school in wisconsin, eh eh eh??).

Jackie's initial invite out to GA involved saying something along the lines of, "my parents want to know if you will come out and help me interview roommates when I move into my house" which in Jackie language means, "I don't know how to make friends. Will you please come make them for me??" And you know what? I will admit, this makes me a little nervous because not only I have had a constant revolving door of shitty friends during my own life that I have chosen for myself throughout the years, but when it comes to my very best friends and THEIR friends/boyfriends/pets* I turn into some crazy jealous beast wreck of a friend. Like woah. So I mean, obviously I will only be making friends with huge losers and people who she cannot possibly like, respect or appreciate more than she does me. LET'S BE REASONABLE, PEOPLE. (*just kidding about the pets...but the rest = HONESTY)

Now, the only really nerve wracking part of all this is that when I asked her how long I should plan to stay with her she said, "as long as you want!". Yeesh. And although I know what the correct response ISN'T - and what the WFI is (srsly? i'll stay forever! i'm clingy and you're my best friend and i never want you to become less dependent on me because i will not become any less dependent on you!!! text me pls!!!!) I don't think I know what the correct response IS and what isn't a possible WFI (staying TOO long or not staying long enough!). This decision could ruin everything!!! And I'm still working that part out. The dates wouldn't even be that important except that... When I'm done at Jackie's I'm heading out to Boston to visit Gem!! And she absolutely wants me in Boston on September 4th to attend the greatest dance party in the history of Jamaica Plain.


whiite thrash: I' ll have nothing to wear!
gemath y: I like to wear jeans and flip flops with a tshirt that I've probably worn and slept in for 3 days
gemath y: can you pull off something like that
whiite thrash: thats ALL i can pull off.


That is the WFI you will have to wait for.

reason why i hate myspace #865:

like tom selleck, but different!

The Great Jalapeno Disaster of '08.

Friday night, I came home fired up to clean the kitchen. First, though, I wanted to eat something, but man, if I got into cooking, I'd get all sidetracked and lazy and not do a damn thing. The only solution was to eat Mary's half mini bag of jalapeño and cheddar chips.

They were good. Too spicy for me to purchase on my own, but a fun taste excursion nonetheless. I washed it down with some diet pepsi I keep at my house for when my mom visits. No one reading this knows my food habits, but chips and soda are the least likely things for me to eat, like, ever. Unless there's alcohol involved. That's just how I get down.

So, maybe it's the white trash thing to do or my chip eating inexperience, but there were those bits of chip shrapnel at the bottom of the bag and the only logical thing was to pull at the bag to create a nice crease so as to create a virtual chute to pour chip crumbs directly into my mouth, eliminating the need for a middle man/hand usage. After this, I'd get right down to cleaning the kitchen.

However. When pouring the chips into my mouth like a lazy, overweight, starved lonely, single white girl child, a jalapeño laden particle ambushed my poor left eye. In a panic, I began blinking because I knew the searing pain that was about to take place. Immediately after the realization that jalapeño oil was about to burn my eyeball, it did, in fact begin burning.

There are times in my life when imaginary life-threatening events take place and I am wracked with anxiety over how I will handle myself in those situations. Walking home at nighttime, for instance. Riding the train. Dreams. Will I be able to fend off a mugger? Is someone on the train planning to rape and murder me when we get off at the same stop? Would I actually RSVP yes to Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson's wedding*? But who knows what life actions to take to prepare oneself for pouring jalapeño chips into one's own eye?

My first action was to turn on the sink and begin throwing water at my face, blinking all the while. This helped, but with every blink, I was reminded of my contact floating around in there, jalapeño chip bit trapped underneath. Thoughts of corneal abrasions, blindness, the possible admission to whatever eye professional that I have been wearing this same pair of contacts for months...a year? longer? I don't know!!!!...began exploding in my brain. I rinsed my greasy fingers underwater and made the executive decision that soap wasn't necessary. Pshhhh, water cleans oil all the time. :rolleyes: I jabbed at my eye and fished my contact out of the water/mascara/jalapeño abyss my eye had become only to experience a second round of more intense burning. With my contact safely on a paper towel, drying to a crisp, I grabbed a small glass, filled it with water, held it to my eye, and threw my head back with all the finesse of a 20 year old on spring break doing tequila shot #10.

Oh sweet relief. My relationship with water has always been a loving, successful, and supportive friendship. Never before Friday had I needed water so much and never before then had it come through so valiantly.

With one swollen, bloodshot eye and a drippy nose, my first thought in the moment's respite following the entire ordeal: I'VE GOTTA GET PICTURES OF THIS. Battery's dead. Where's my charger? Call Mary! Use hers! Head-related injuries must cause rampant nonsensically frantic behavior.




Photo shoot over and done with, I vow to never eat those chips again. And to also close my eyes when I'm too lazy to use my hands to eat.


*The life-threatening aspect here being my eventual suicide from perpetual nausea and/or sheer embarrassment.

A short message of advice.

Do not, for a moment, think that anything involving dairy will make you feel better after eating something greasy that has made you feel ill.

Last week: french toast, frites, mimosa breakfast illness followed by m&ms (a pretzel) and some ice cream.

This week: chicken ranchero quesadilla with extra picante illness followed by peanut butter and banana smoothie.

Fool me once, dairy, 12 hour sleep it off session. Fool me twice? Blog about it.

attribute specifics!!!!!! (that's an order!!)

whiitethrash: you must see lars and the real girl.

vietnamesefriend: my friend just saw it the other day and said it was terribly depressing

whiitethrash: no!! it was heartwarming!

whiitethrash: your friend is autistic!

dear everyone who drives a smart car,


you look like idiots and i haaaaaaaaaaaaaate you.!.!

my best,
Lewis

temporary tattoos!

ah, passover week! aka, my birthday week! an entire week! well, no, but passover began on the 19th of april, as did my venture into My 24th year. Yes, i turned 23. and yes, i randomly punctuated some of those Letters. my mom demanded that i drive two hours down to my parents' house for seder. and, after telling her how much i didn't want to do that and how much it would totally ruin my birthday plans (of which i actually had none...), i succumbed. i caved. i went. and i brought a shiksa named jacqueline.

mother said the whole family would be there! and the whole other family we "celebrate" with would be there! and my parents' best friend from college and his girlfriend, neither of which i had met, would be there, and my mom really really wanted the whole family to be together and for me to meet the friends!!! yay!!!

turns out, my brother didn't get off work (which means his totally awesome girlfriend, who is also my totally awesome friend wouldn't be in attendance), my creepy uncle chose to spend the evening by himself (no loss really, but i had been telling jackie how creepy he was and i think a part of me wanted her to experience the weirdness for herself, but alas, another time...), their daughter didn't get off work, and i have met her friend, paul, and his girlfriend, fran, NUMEROUS TIMES. a ton! A SHIT TON. a lot!

thusly, dinner was me, jackie, my parents, paul and fran, and lynn and cliff from the other family.

i am the only jew jackie, a product of private catholic schooling and a right wing family, knows. so, naturally, everything was a little awkward. but i introduced her to matzo ball soup and maneschewitz wine so all was well.

i wore short sleeves by the way. remember this?? my parents had yet to see it. i was hiding it very well. but on this night, which is unlike other nights (joke for all y'all jews out there!!), i wore short sleeves.

and i showed it to my parents.

"here is my tattoo!"

WTF!!!Q!!!@#$#$WERASSE#WS#@#%R$%#T^U

they were not happy!!! i thought they would sigh and roll their eyes and figure what's done is done, and it was my 23rd birthday so they can't tell me what to do I'M FUCKING TWENTY THREE BITCHES!!! and i had a guest with me - you can't have family arguments with a guest! (jackie is well aware that my timing was NO coincidence - but she also thinks my mom was pretty drunk and my dad has a tendency to forget absolutely everything so...you know, maybe it all wasn't/won't be SUCH a big deal??).

in a panic - or maybe, MAYBE, in a moment of brilliance [read: another WORST FUCKING IDEA] -

i told them it was a new form of temporary tattooing! and it would be off within TWO WEEKS.


did i mention i am moving back into my parents' house in SIX WEEKS.


oh goodness!!!!!!


lord help us all!!!


and yes - that is a real picture of my father!!!

For Example...

This post used to have a very long, terribly unfunny, overly personal story about poor communication among friends. And since the internet is not for talking about personal things, this post needed to be edited for content. Below you'll find the only good things about the previous form of the entry:




I was unhappy. So I wrote this brilliant gem of a txt: Thank you for inviting me out tonight. Unfortunately, I'm starring in a brand new hit tv show called Party Of One: The Lonely Years. Hope you can still have fun without me.

No response.

absolute truth.

i made this chart today to explain why text messaging has lessened the amount of face to face confrontation while at the same time increasing the amount of hostility in a relationship. truf.

then i posted it up to the bulletin board at work. the bulletin board is where everyone stands while they text message all the people they'd rather be with.

fortunately this little creative endeavor reminded me of this site. which has always been brilliant.

also, in the last few weeks i have spent about $50 on powerball tickets.

and i have won no money. but i think tonight is the night.

friend emily: i purposely tell my boss wrong names of people on hold

friend emily: so she looks stupid when she is like "hii laura its sue"

friend emily: and her name is like lisa

Being straight is so hard.

While Sasha was busy getting ripped off, I was busy getting ripped on.

Last night after seeing Penelope with KT and MLE, we went to Zuzu to see Ryan dj. Last time I saw Ryan at Zuzu, there was no one there. The following time, when I didn't go, the place was full and a lot of my friends went and didn't tell me they were going. To be fair to them, we're more the type of friends who just see each other out rather than invite each other out. Still. So, I imagined last night would be a melding of the two other times and going to Zuzu would be fun. However, there was only a few people there and it was a fairly awkward time all around. Ryan's friend Jake was there. I've met him a few times and he was nice and chatty, which I also thought was nice because I don't know him very well. He was nice until I realized he was mostly drunk and when he asked 'did you guys come all the way from JP?' he wasn't really interested in a conversation, but more looking for a ride home which he made more clear later on when I said 'everyone's leaving! must be curfew' and he said 'hey I'll stay as long as you give me a ride home' and proceeded to complain about how much a cab would cost, inflating the price about $10. Then Emily actually offered a ride home to everyone, which prevented some awkwardness as I think Jake had already assumed the ride. So we, Mary + Ryan + Jake + and me and Emily of course, get in to the car and Emily, iPod music director, puts me in charge of iPod playing duties for the ride home. At one point, I chose the Kryptonite Pussy song by Yo Majesty.

Ryan said: Hey Meghan, do you feel a connection with these girls cause they're lesbians?
I said: NO. WHY.
Ryan said:
Mary said (referencing a conversation earlier that day about what I would do in art school): Yeah, something something fiber arts lolz
I said:
Ryan said:
Emily said:
Jake said:

After playing a few more gay-centric songs (Missy!), Em dropped Jake home at the rest of us at our house and I txted Emily "Does Ryan really think I'm a lesbian?" and she said "Unclear, but it did sound like it." Today, I txted Mary, "So, does Ryan really think I'm a lesbian?" thinking she would know if he did or at least have told him the fiber arts story. She responded, "No. Why would you think that? Did he say something about it? If he did, I'm sure it was a joke." So, apparently Mary wasn't in the car. After a little back and forth, she doesn't have any ideas why he would think that so I don't think she told him the art school fiber arts story and that he decided on his own that I am gaygaygay.

Once again, Sasha and I have similar lives. Why does mine seem more embarrassing?

Dear Thugs,

Dear Thugs,

Yeah, you guys. You fucking, pieces of shit bitch guys. You dirty ass stupid kids who broke into my car last night while I was on the couch watching Amy Adams on SNL. You guys. You suck. Yeah, I know I left my car unlocked - but seriously - who the hell do you think you are walking up my LIGHTED driveway into my LIGHTED carport and rummaging through my smoking sexy 03 Honda Element?? And did you even hear my dog barking at you?? She is on to your scent now. You're just lucky that SNL suddenly decided to become funny again so that i was too busy to get off the couch and look out the window to check what she was barking at! So next time, because I'm pretty sure SNL will never be funny again - you better watch your backs because i have every intention of getting up and looking!

And I WILL catch you.
So now, let's discuss the things you took. Yeah, you took my ipod. But it's like, two years old. And a nano. So not only will all your thug friends that you try to sell it to think you're the biggest faggot in the world for having stealing a nano in the first place, but it's also valued around $25. In fact, the imported Best Of the Cardigans album that you overlooked on the dashboard was worth more than that nano. Actually, all my CDs that I had in the car were worth way more than that. And i'm a little offended that you weren't interested in them at all... And you took my old passport? Yeah, now you have my social security number - but i've already destroyed my credit so i don't think it will do you much good. And my car registration? i don't know what you're planning on doing with that, but i DO know that i'll have it replaced by tomorrow afternoon.

Although I applaud your decision to steal my caselogic zipper of cds, i will say that i am completely over that hip hop phase so i'm not even all that bummed out about it.

And lastly, just so you know, you missed out on the following:

•$180 in cash stuffed in a check presenter sitting in the center console
•dkny glasses, burberry sunglasses and christian dior sunglasses
•a really great mix cd i made in November before my disc drive broke on my laptop
•$4 in nickels and dimes in my cup holder

so....WHO SUCKS NOW??? HUH?!?!?!?! HUH?!?!?!?!


Fuck you!!!

-Sasha - but you knew that, because you have my passport.

2008: The Year of Lust LOVE!!!!

gemathy:
I've decided that I want to fall in love
and I think you should too
and that should be what we do this year
I guess that's a wfi already
isn't it

whiitethrash:
sooo...should i blog that or should you...

printmaking student association!

Although a printmaking major I am, I don't think I was ever OFFICIALLY a part of the Printmaking Student Association at my university, yet somehow I regularly attend meetings, participate in their annual show and print sale, and receive all their e-mails (read: Jackie is involved with the group, so I end up going to the meetings and tricked suckered into being part of the shows and sales!).


And sometimes Jackie volunteers for me things - like making posters for PSA events. This specific event revolving around t-shirts (because perpetuating the popular-yet-wrong idea that printmaking is just 'making shirts and stuff' is a fabulous idea...), it was dubbed the PSA "T-Party". Rather than bitch and complain* about her volunteering me to take part in an event that a) I don't care about, b) I think is a waste of time, and c) I don't even have the time for, I created the following masterpiece:




I didn't even get it approved by the people in charge of PSA and the event. Instead I just giggled at it and showed it to Jackie and e-mailed it to the higher-ups at 12:30 am. Jackie approves by the way.



But anyway, this poster is either the best idea ever - because kids on campus will be intrigued and excited about the possibilities of the T-Party!!! Or the worst fucking idea, because it is gross and perverted and PSA will realize I never actually paid my $10 member fee and can no longer participate in their print sales where I pocket 100% of my sales rather than splitting it 50/50 with the association!


Sigh.



*I actually did a lot of complaining about it. Duh.

curbing my cursing, or: things i still can't say to my best friend's face because she is too nice for that sort of thing

from a conversation i had ten minutes ago with roommate kirsten.

whiite thrash: i told jackie the story about [name withheld!]
whiite thrash: but i couldn't bring myself to say
whiite thrash: "titty fuck" in front of her
whiite thrash: so i just said he "blew a load on her face"...
whiite thrash: i'm not sure if that was any better.