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August 8, 2002
It's funny that I compared being sucked into the Anna Nicole Show to the fascination I have with serial killers, because yesterday I watched an A&E Biography on John Wayne Gacy, and that was way more interesting than that drugged out hippo. Though I noted that another similarity between John Wayne Gacy and Anna Nicole Smith is that they're both fat ass clowns. Gacy was at least, before they gave him the big syringe of death. Earlier that day I saw a True Hollywood Story called "The Last Days of Sharon Tate," which had might as well been called, "The Charles Manson Murders." I became a whole Manson authority when I did a paper on him my junior year, so I watched to see how much I could remember about the murders. I was taping it, and then I decided that I didn't need it, so I taped this silly little documentary on MTV about marijuana over it because I thought Gabe might like to see it. He likes it when they show people smoking weed on t.v.
I met up with him today so that we could go to the bank and pick up the Martini Madness c.d. that I forgot to take out of my computer on my last day. I also deposited the check from Hurley that I got in the mail yesterday, I was so stoked. Money. Incoming. Very exciting. Lame thing is, a lot of it went straight to Gabe for our cell phone bill, and I won't see anymore Hurley money for another month.
Tonight we saw a little bit of a documentary on the Boston Strangler. Lots of serial killer docs on t.v. over the summer, I notice that every year. They mentioned how his victims were all prostitutes, and somehow we got on the subject of strippers. I told Gabe that if he ever felt like going to a strip club, I wouldn't mind if he did, and in fact I was insisting that he go. I explained that we've been together for a long time and I thought it'd only be natural for him to want to go to a titty bar or something sometime just to look at someone else's tits for once. I said, "You need to see some big tits for once." He didn't like that idea and told me strip clubs were a waste of money. I suppose I was only encouraging him to go because I don't want to be one of those girlfriends that gets mad when her boyfriend wants to hang out with the guys and check out naked chicks. I thought giving him that allowance would keep him "healthy." What I forgot though is that Gabe isn't the typical guy. And I find that somewhat a relief.
August 7, 2002
I always think it's kind of funny when we get drunk with Joe and Alexis because they're such potheads. When they drink, they get kind of stupid and goofy, but when they smoke they seem pretty clear-headed and if anything, more conscious of things. It's weird to see them the opposite way. Gabe and I also drank, and I tried some of that Tropico stuff that Al wanted Joe to get from the store. She likes fruity things. I had premeditated the munchies and told Gabe to pick up some pizza while I bought the beer. Boy was I glad we had that to eat. I think pizza is one of my favorite foods.
Last night I stayed up till 3:00 in the morning moving around all the pictures on my walls to make room for the Juxtapoz poster I got at Comic Con. I was very lazy about doing that. Everything on my walls has a perfect spot, and I'm actually kind of sentimental about each thing. I've been needing a new blacklight for about four years now, but I still didn't want to take down the Marilyn Manson poster underneath it to replace it with Bettie Page. Something seemed wrong about that to me. I didn't want people to see Bettie Page as soon as they walked into my room. But I did it anyway.
The other day I spent a lot of time scanning pictures and designing graphics for a webpage I'm making for Gabe. I also plan on putting a page together for some of the concerts and raves I've been to. It'll be a while before all of this is done.
August 6, 2002
I caught the Anna Nicole Smith show tonight, which I wanted to see mainly because I heard her on Howard and she sounded like a fucking mess. I revel in the downfall of freakish former models, it awes me in a similar fashion to my fascination with serial killers. As it well should, Anna Nicole Smith is horrendous. It’s not so much how the show opens up with her face taking up every inch of my t.v. screen, but her whole schtick is beyond explanation because she’s so blatantly high on pills. The slurring, the eye makeup, and the fat, oh, the fat. Ten minutes into it, she supercedes the boundary of “shamefully entertaining” to “frighteningly annoying and pitiful.” Watching her is like witnessing a group of peaking e-tards. By the time you can grasp her speech pattern and decipher what the hell she’s blubbering out of that crook in her clown lips, you’re feeling sorry for her, and the rest of the show just becomes a Discovery channel-esque observation of drugged-out behavior. The conclusion is, I won’t be making a date to see each episode every week, but if it happens to replay while I’m watching t.v. I’ll keep the channel where it is long enough to check in on the beast’s progress.
Speaking of being high, tonight I acknowledged three things that are really hard to do after I’ve been smoking. One is remembering. Second is waiting in a line. Fucking horrible. Thirdly, willing to learn the rules of a new game that involves drinking and/or a deck of cards. Gabe and I went to the beach for a while and met up with Joe and Alexis. We went to Joe Momma’s house and smoked ourselves bologna with this new piece he bought for 30 bucks that looks very nice. I was then given the orders to obtain Coronas, and that’s where the waiting in line came in. I hate going to the store high, I get paranoid. First of all, I hate keeping a mental shopping list. Remembering is very hard. And if I do, I’ll walk out of there—this little girl barely over 21—lugging an 18 pack of cheap beer under one arm and a frozen pizza, a six pack of good beer and maybe some fuckin M&M’s or something under the other. I’m like a couple bags of chips away from being a frat boy. And it’s kind of a similar feeling to buying tampons, even when I’ve done that a thousand times already. I always think there’s someone looking at me thinking, “Huh huh, she’s buying tampons. She’s bleeding.” Just as they could be saying, “Huh huh, looks like someone’s partying tonight,” or making some stupid predictable comment. I loathe predictable comments, especially if they’re just thoughts. Yes, it’s insanity.
I don’t like people analyzing the shit I’m ringing up at the register. I did that to some guy tonight while I was waiting in line, stoned and out of it and trying to hold my beer, literally. (I didn’t want to put the shit down because it’d mean I’d have to pick it up again, talk about fuckin lazy.) The guy in front of me was buying toothpaste, a toothbrush, and rubbing alcohol. Toiletries. No big deal. Yet I still thought, “Eek, he needs a new toothbrush. The one old must be rank.” Always the worst possible thoughts. So I never underestimate the negativity of scutinization at the grocery store. It can be anywhere from what I’m buying to how old I look. Tonight when I had to move to the regular lane since it was moving faster than the express lane, which was already slow as fuck, I almost lost it. Someone give me Paxil, I get anxiety attacks. Now I can claim a disorder like everyone else.
When we got back, Joe wanted to play this game called Sequence with me and Gabe, which is just like Bingo except you use cards that are dealt to you instead of numbered balls. It’s very simple, but I didn’t win one game. I was too high to even want to listen to Joe read the rules, I’m not much of an audible learner. But even when I thought I was getting some strategy down, I’d still lose, and that’s why I’m such an incompetant gamer. I’m all over the goddamn place.
I tried to play hack today at the beach and I swear my right ass muscle is gonna fucking implode, it’s so sore. After perusing the Comic Con, walking all night with Will, and exercising around my neighborhood, I haven’t been keeping off it too much. Kicking a hack doesn’t help either, but I always have to play a little. I even suck at that. Oy vey.
August 5, 2002 Will
I tried something different today. I took a couple bananas, peeled and froze them, and smashed them into a waffle cone to eat instead of helping myself to ice cream. It looked very similar to ice cream. I might have even eaten it with more enthusiam because it wasn’t ice cream but just cuz it was shaped like an ice cream cone. Huh? Interesting conditioning. Must be the same mentality that goes behind making dog biscuits bone-shaped. The dog doesn’t fucking care what the hell it looks like, it wouldn’t know. But all dog-biscuits are made bone-shaped because humans are stupid enough to want them that way. Marketers even have us believing that each multi-colored dog biscuit in a “variety pack” is a different flavor, because the box says so. But how can we be sure without sampling them for ourselves? The dogs sure as hell don’t seem to care whether they get chicken or beef. They can’t even see in color.
Will Loving called me today and I got to see him for the first time in almost two years. We had some coffee and walked around in a park. He sure likes to walk a lot. He isn’t drinking or smoking until his band finishes their album, but that didn’t stop me grabbing a big bottle of Mike Hard Lemonade and swigging that for the hell of it. It was funny, I think we kept walking by a couple trying to have sex on one of the benches by the playground. They were a target for the old familiar joke-cracking sessions we’d always aim at people in high school—an idiosyncrasy still makes it hard for me to believe that Will never entertained himself by lampooning me with or without my knowing. I know I’m not immune to being ostracized. That’s just another little unsettling notion to put in the back of my head that’ll make me nervous about hanging out with him.
August 4, 2002 Comic Con
Gabe wanted me to wear my catholic school girl get-up to the Comic Con today. I came outside with a plaid skirt and saddleshoes, but he showed up wearing his visor and phat pants, so I got bitter and felt like being all raverrific with him. It’s been a while since I’ve worn a skirt this short so I was mildly uncomfortable and crabby when we left. But I wore it for Gabe since he’s accustomed to showing me off at the Comic Con, like last year when I practically wore a piece of vinyl and walked around with my ass hanging out. I just kept a change of clothes in the car and spent the day as an innocent school girl hanging out with her dirty druggie raver boyfriend. The contrast kind of made it interesting. Nothing wrong with trying to look hot once in a while I guess. Especially since people at the Comic Con weren’t even looking at what I was wearing. There were plenty of other people in real costumes to look at.. the occasional Sailor Moon you know, or a Klingon or something like that.
I bought us some breakfast, and by the time we parked, walked to the Convention Center, survived the line to get passes and stood outside the exhibit hall, I was already needing band-aids for the goddamn blisters on my ankles. Stupid Lolita shoes. We waited around at least 20 minutes outside of First Aid waiting for the attendants to get back from lunch, just so I could get some freaking band aids. I insisted that we forget them and go inside because we were wasting time, but Gabe didn’t want me to be in pain. After we finally got them, we embarked on our four hour walk to scour the entire floor. Gabe helped me look for Catwoman collectibles since that’s the only real comic-y character I’m into, but I was sad to see that they weren’t selling the Marilyn Manson figurines I wanted. Of course all the cool Catwoman shit was no less than a hundred dollars, and I didn’t buy any of it. But I did buy a Ren and Stimpy video with episodes I’ve never seen and a Shag poster from Juxtapoz for half the price they have it for in the magazine. Juxtapoz was the only booth that gave us cool free crap. The best thing I saw the whole day was one piece from a pin-up artist’s collection of a hot raver chick. She wore kandy and had Adidas shoes on, and her panties peeked out from the cargo skirt she had low around her waist. Now that I think of it, I would have bought that book just for the raver pin-up girl. I should have.
The exhibit hall closed at five and we went home to rest since we’d been on our feet for four hours. That’s like four hours at the mall, which guys aren’t physically capable of, so Gabe was beat. We didn’t go anywhere after he made us some dinner and we watched Scary Movie 2 on t.v. Endless Summer was on and kept us stuck to tube long enough to tire our eyes and make us even lazier. I ended up getting a ride home to let Gabe pass out in his bed.
July 28, 2002
Everyone was still asleep when I came home this morning. I snuck up to my room, ate half a bag of Chili Cheese Fritos and went back to sleep for another four hours. Later that night I sat and watched people get Botox shots on t.v, fucking awful. Five to twelve hundred dollars to have a two-inch needle chillin under the skin in your face, RAD. I could have sworn my forehead started hurting just watching that shit. I also watched the Osbournes again tonight, which is rare since it’s on MTV. When I see it I’m always surprised to find myself laughing out loud. Very good editing on that show. I don’t mean how they bleep the cuss words, but how they catch those looks on Ozzy’s face when he’s really confused, and immediately cut to another scene like it wasn’t supposed to be funny. Bleeping out the cuss words is only kind of funny because otherwise you wouldn’t really notice how often they cussed. It’s all just a part of our language after all, to most of us anyway. After that was Ozzfest Uncensored, which was actually interesting, and I taped the part where Marilyn Manson bled from his nipple. That was funny too.
Another thing I got sucked into for a few minutes was the international channel where there was some Indian (or “injun” if you get a kick out people saying it that way) singing competition. Alexis and I once had a conversation about the Indian music videos. How there’s always a guy and woman taking turns singing to each other; the woman is playing finger cymbals and the guy always looks like he’s mesmerized by her dancing, as if he can see her from the opposite end of the whole field that they’re standing in. Anyway on the Indian Star Search, four contestants were all singing different songs and standing next to this host who wore what looked like a gold Dr. Evil suit. The contestants didn’t have a star quality to them, they were all just everyday guys with bad teenage mustaches. I listened to them and tried to determine if they were good singers or not, but I couldn’t tell. Indian music has a strange beauty to it sometimes, so I thought they were all very good, until they cut to a shot of the judges. They would always be frowning and shaking their heads. I was like, Eek. I’m sure that on American Idol there are judges that shake their head or do something even more discouraging, but if I was ever singing to an audience and people shook their heads at me, I wouldn’t know what to do. I might throw the mic down and get all Fiona Apple on their ass.
I think when I was napping I had this dream that I was talking to someone and they asked me, “Is that your real voice?” So I cleared my throat and what I said after that came out sounding like Satan. The voice that Gabe does when he’s singing Pantera. Heh. I’m not sure if that’s what happened, that could just be my imagination making up a good ending since I don’t really remember what happened. It reminds me of this time someone I was helping at the bank asked me if I was talking with my real voice. When I asked him why, he said I sounded like a phone sex operator. That wasn’t a dream. It only now occured to me that I should have said, “How would you know that.” Damn it.
July 27, 2002
Joe and Al woke us up this morning by throwing their nine-month old pit bull Lucy into our room and closing the door. The most she could possibly do was jump on the bed and wack us with her wagging tail, but she just waited by the door to be let out and me and Gabe got up on our own. My legs and ass were totally sore from playing hack yesterday. That’s how out of shape I’m in.
So I went home with him so that he could help his mom prepare for this big dinner she was making for friends. He wanted me to be there. I cleaned his room and hung up his clothes, and fell asleep on his bed while he was out buying lemons for the salmon. We were both exhausted even before everyone came over and started eating. When everyone left, Mikey called and told us there was a bonfire at the beach, but we were so full and lazy we stayed home using how late it was as an excuse. After I helped Gabe’s mom with the dishes I came back and ended up passing out on his bed again. I stayed overnight, partially because he didn’t want to take me home and because I just really wanted to sleep with him in his bed again.
July 26, 2002
I met with Gabe before he got out of work and we went down to P.B. so that I could pick up the newest issue of No Cover, which of course was the June issue. I read my interview with the Bosstones for the first time since I submitted it and was relieved to see that it wasn’t as bad as I remembered. After we checked out some used CDs, Joe and Alexis told us they’d meet us there. Gabe and I played with his hackey sack on the side of the street while we waited. One guy named Luke skated up and joined us for a few minutes while he was on his lunch. I was havnig trouble because I was wearing a long skirt and slip-on shoes. Weirdly, we were all wearing Pumas. It was the first time me and Gabe hacked in a long time, and we both agreed that we missed it. It’s the only exercise I’ve gotten in the last couple weeks.
When Joe and Al met up with us, we all went to Joe’s mom’s house (or “Joe Momma’s” house, if you will) to drink. I picked up some Coronas and an 18 pack of Bud so that we could play Drinking Jenga. We managed to build a Jenga tower of 36 levels. Gabe and I were slightly buzzed and Joe and Al were pretty drunk, which was funny because I rarely see them fucked up on anything else but weed. When Alexis laughs at my jokes her nose wrinkles up and her mouth is open but no sound comes out. We had fun pulling the Name Game block. I guessed we established that Joe looks like Earthworm Jim, Gabe somehow resembles Ray Liota, I look like Mulan, and Alexis looks like Sarah the Triceratops from that movie Land Before Time. I dunno. It was a good time.
We smoked a bowl outside and simmered down as it got late, and Joe and Gabe worked on a puzzle while me and Alexis talked outside. She sat and listened intently to me blabbing about Gabe, smiling and resting her chin in her hand. It was cute. I also told her she was the only girl friend I had, which is true. We’d never really acknowledged how close we were until today after she’d been fighting with Joe and I was there for her to talk to. After Joe made pasta and pizza for a 2:00 a.m. dinner, he welcomed me and Gabe to spend the night in the guest room. It was me and 6’2” Gabe on a twin-sized bed, but that wasn’t a problem.
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