a bad joke in poor taste

there is a lot of sitting and waiting around having to do with this job. while it pays while the frustration is ridiculous. thankfully there's only about 5 days left before the break and then i can have more time to myself for a bit. then it's back for round two. but not before i make a few purchases with my new money.

been a while since i've updated this and i am titantically bored, so i figured why the hell not. i should clean this blog up really and defriend a bunch of people. i'm only sad i can't block a bunch of people.

one day i should actually create another icon/avatar rather than just steal them off the internet.

the oldboy box is mine though.

it's been a long time since i posted here, but ONTD gave me a reason to come back. LIVEJOURNAL LIVES!

Cypher: I have your Golden Spatula, Give me a turkey and a stack of pancakes if you ever want to see it again... PS...I also have your bronze skillet

Who Should Paint You: M.C. Escher

Open and raw, you would let your true self show for your portrait. And even if your painting turned out a bit dark, it would be honest.

it goes a little something like this:


http://fotos.pere.net/escher/dragon.jpg

"Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge."
- Paul Gauguin

"No man remains quite what he was when he recognizes himself."
- Thomas Mann

Brenda Leigh Johnson: Well, when all else fails, you could try being yourself.

Brenda Leigh Johnson: If I liked being called a bitch to my face I'd still be married.

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

nobody likes you. everybody hates you. you're gonna lose. smile, you fuck.

vengeance.

it feels good. someone tried to point out that the circle of revenge never ends. bullshit. especially if the person you serve the ice cold dish to is a pathetically deluded waste of space who hasn't the slightest clue how to defend themselves without a pack of like-minded idiots standing there with them. the group brain spits out the group think, but even then, they don't stand a chance against someone like me.

i was nice before. now i'm not. but i'm getting ahead of myself.

once upon a time, i knew a bunch of born again christians. my experience with them has led me to believe that they are doomed to eventual inbreeding brought on by basic stupidity. iow: they are such morons that no one of any character or personality would actually want to fuck them, except as an experiment of sorts.

how this happened is that i started dating this guy. long story short, i should require full disclosure before consenting to go out with types like him. had he disclosed, before i actually decided i liked him that he was a christian who attended sunday school, well, every motherfucking sunday and a person who gave a shit about what his church buddies actually thought of his actions, let's just say that i would have run screaming in the other direction.

i'm just not the type to be able to cordial to these walking punchlines for long and i like to have sex with my boyfriend. you'd think that would be a given at this time period in modern history, but apparently doing that makes you nothing but a dirty slut in the eyes of cretins with sore knees.

but i digress.

the basic set-up is this. he was dating one of his little virgins, who adored him and he was enough of a wuss to go along with it. we met and all bets were off with her.

boo-hoo.

so we start to date and she gets anyone she can enlist within the church group to try and make my life miserable. i make some good friends and ignore her best i can. i try not to rise to the bait put before me again and again, but after a while, she starts to wear on my patience and i start to respond in kind.

this was something she was not ready for. like i said, she is one of those people who lives in their shiny world of happy thoughts about themselves being the apex of the world's social order. she was also one who thinks that the high school crap that worked for her in HIGH SCHOOL would continue to work in the adult arena.

wrong.

[aside: i notice that plenty of people share this particular delusion. their clumsy attempts at manipulation are as sheer as a hooker's nightie at the bunny ranch. they telegraph their most cherished wishes to everyone in a four hundred mile radius. some are lucky enough to find some willing rube who wants to be their sucker, but mostly they themselves get played by anyone with even a moderate level of experience in the battle royale known as los angeles.

they are roadkill waiting to happen on the autobahn of life.]

fast forward to two weeks ago. i knew that it was inevitable that i would wind up with the golden opportunity to pay miss christian back. why? because she is a low level worker bee in the big scheme of the studio system of hollywood. i knew she wouldn't leave because that bottom level acceptance in the entertainment industry would serve as the balm for her needy soul.

[aside the second: some people come to el lay and work in the entertainment industry just to be able to tell other people that they do. somehow this makes them better people. they "dine out" on their place of employment, which cares not for them in the least.

to illustrate this more concretely: there was a singer by the name of cristina. she was a celebutante before that category was invented, but she sucks less than the likes of paris and nicole. she had one song that sticks to my memory in this instance. it was about a husband who told his sob story of a wife who killed herself to his potential new lovers to garner enough sympathy to ensure he would get laid. the song? "he dines out on death".

parasitical, isn't it? well, this type of ego massage is exactly the same thing.]

there i was, working an event at one of the studios. i was in the technical backwater of the lot and the evening was pleasant enough. all of the sudden, i sense rather than hear someone calling me. she couldn't really call me since she had forgotten [or was pretending to forget] my name. i really think she actually had since i was probably someone she wanted to blot from her tidy little life. i look up expecting something truly to be enjoyed. i already had the smile pasted on my face. as follows:

her: i'm sorry what is your name?
me: real name given
her: oh!!! hi!!![this is where she pretends to be pleased to see me]
me: [i smile even more broadly] yeah.
her: don't i know you, didn't you date XXXX?
me: yes and you hated me for it. [i radiate good cheer]
her: [look of dismay]. oh no. i didn't do anything like...
me: yes, you did. you treated me like shit. i have a very long memory. your name is XXXXX.
her: [utterly flabbergasted and without words, she gapes]

at this point, i get back to work and ignore her like she doesn't exist.

which in my life, she doesn't, except for this one moment where i get to slap down her pretensions. so i wander off and pay her no mind. i just wait for the eventual return. i must confess, even though no profanties were uttered and no blows exchanged, it was as satisfying as beating the snot out of her would have been. even better, to anyone more than two feet away, it looked like the most congenial of exchanges. best of all, there was not a goddamn thing she could do about it.

like clockwork, i turn and find her looking stricken, hand to her chest to indicate sincerity. i cock my head and prepare to launch the second strike.

her: i don't mean to be contentious. [this is as far as i allow her to go, the unspoken part of this sentence is simply not needed. i already know what she is going to say]
me: [i lean in confidentially] i'm not dumb.
her: [she affects to not hear what i said] uh. what?
me: i'm not stupid. [i pin her to the wall with my eyes and compress every ounce of scorn that i can into those four syllables]

here comes the truth.

her: well, i was hurt.
me: well, it wasn't my fault that you got dumped.

register: pain.

me: you know, i could tell you a couple of things that would really make you feel bad about yourself, but i won't, because i am the better person.
her: syllables of aborted thoughts, but nothing really of note.
me: oh, and do say hello to XXXX.
her: you want me to say hello to...
me: sure. why not? but really, i couldn't care less what you do. [i beam with genuine good will, which is all the more grotesque in this context.

she runs for the hills.

the end.

Fun at the Titty Twister.


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Thanks for another quiz, Jade.

zombie dreams again.

it was pretty normal for a dream right up until the point where some guy walked up swallowed another dude's face and started munching. not a lot of blood, but some crunching. after watching the films of george romero, especially "night of the living dead", i had bad dreams for years, usually in black and white. graphic horrible dreams of blood and violence and creepy lonesome dreams of vacant houses with all the windows and doors flung open in front of a dark forest populated by the living dead.

i used to not sleep very much.

and i was very very frightened.

not that any of you care.

in a couple, i had to defend myself against the people who [supposedly] loved me. i did some things in my dreams that would be best left there. i'm a survivor type.

seems that not a lot has changed.

there really is a reason why i dreamed those dreams and still do. why sometimes i wake up frightened even now. i know what it is and it is worse than you can imagine.

but, like i said, who really gives a shit?

ps: i do wish there was someone who cared enough to wrap me in their arms and make me feel better. there was someone who i thought might, but, well...