To your left you'll see, indistinctly, what adorns my wall: a fly that I karate-chopped en route to Dr. J.J.'s office: Whack. It clings by one sticky wing to my wall. I chopped it so cleanly, so relexively, that i was kind of grossed out myself, the chopper. Nevertheless: there it remains, a warning to any other fly insurgent. Problem? My boss potted (stole) plants from her old house and brought them into the office, and the one I got generated tiny flies, so, freaking, Jon and I put a plastic bag over it and hauled it to the corridor, and then they started GROWING, and so we sealed off the bag with packing tape, and then it made likea tiny BioDome* in there, with condensation and tropical conditions, and the tiny gnats became HUGE FLIES, and ohmygod barfff.
I could not help it
On Saturday I cleaned the shit out of my closet (People: I have 75 pairs of underwear. SEVENTY-FIVE. And even after a ruthless culling of some more elderly models [which give you what my friend Lirona winningly called "old-feeling butt"], I still have like 68 pair of nice, cute draws. WTF). Anyway so I cleaned the HELL out of my stuff and hauled a giant Santa-y sack of saleables to my old workplace, whereupon I got me $70 cash and then THESE MAGNIFICENT BABIES at right (or and here is a better picture in brown): I literally could not help it; they are so gross and beautiful and demented and LOGOED. I'm like a society wife from hell, on pretty tottery Coach stilettos. STABBY!
Dear Boss and Other People, If you ask me for my opinion on something because you DON'T UNDERSTAND IT, then don't ARGUE with my opinion when you still don't UNDERSTAND it, because you end up looking RETARDED, like so: Me: "I don't know what DPI they want, since '340,8' isn't a number." Her: "It says 44cm wide." Me: "I see that, but that has nothing to do with DPI." Her: "But--" Me (inside): "NO YOU ARE STUPID. SHUT UP. Sht. Shutup. SHOVE IT."
Today I have two tears drawn on my face with inkpen, just under my left eye. Am I sad? Am I Goth again? What's happening? No, it's because that's what cholo gang girls do--one tear for each SUCKA they have to ICE--and so far I have imaginarily killed two (2) people today, although I'm not capping the pen yet. GOD. DIE.
I said something stupid Saturday night, which was, "But [hypothetical action] would be motivated by revenge, and that's a bad idea," to which dumb statement Sam replied "I think revenge is a great motivation," and I agree, and today, in application to another hypothetical action I am inclined to agree, and today I wish yet again that I had a body double, for such purposes as: Seeing how an outfit looked, and Simultaneously comparing two outfits to see which is superior, since a big part of this vengeful act might depend upon How Hott the Claw Looks, so you know where this is going, I think, mo'freres: DOWNHILL.
Monday November 29th I am featuring at Green in Santa Monica, so if you are in Southern California you should come: UnUrban Cafe, 3301 Pico Blvd, 9:00pm; just please, crazy stalkers, stab me AFTER the set. Thanks. Seriously, though: it's fun to meet people I know from online, especially when they are all like "I know everything about your life including THIS embarrassing episode!: [insert embarrassing episode here]! Toothy grin!" Yes, great. Also soon there'll be an opening at Steinberg & Sons in Los Feliz, of the owl paintings (or I guess: the Owl Paintings. The Superb Owl Paintings. Official!). I'll let you know. clm.
*Seriously: I saw Pauly Shore.