My Ego.

Here's a narrative for y'all. It's about my ego and tiny details, complete with nicknames and new characters.

I was visiting friends, and committed to intoxication. Without going all Gossip Girl, I am among some people that do not get along, so I divided up my time. How considerate.

After my darling hosts and I went to dinner on a Friday night, suddenly everyone in my phonebook was becoming mutually intoxicated and reminding me of what I do best. Being out of town, I really only wanted the attention of this one beautiful boy, The Painting. I call him "The Painting," because, as a painter, I know just how much emotion and beauty go into a painting. He is both complicated and beautiful. And one of my best successes in seduction.

We tried dating once, but to no avail, and he did hurt me emotionally, however I grew up far too much since then, and I now fancy him the way a therapist should not fancy their patient. I am attached to helping him, talking deep, but also constantly wanting to tumble around on a lofted bed.

I consolidated my text messages, and after an impromptu rave, complete with Jock Jams Volume 2 and glow sticks, my lovely hosts went to bed (as they still had commitments to reality.) I decided to meet The Painting with my flask. I did not plan for making any notches in my bedpost, but I would not have been upset by such. We met, and he took a drug.

And we walked and talked like we do, all honest, and reflective, and psychotheraputic, I met his soft-spoken room mate and sat of the floor of his dorm for all of 5 minutes. I thought maybe at least 2nd base? Still no. I started chugging away at a sugar-free Red Bull, as both my physical energy and seductive energy was running out. He now suggested he walk me back.

With all the walking my perfume was fading and my ego was slipping. I was losing my touch. Drunk I slyly reminded him of how attracted I was to him. He thanked me.

I am now set in his name being "The Painting". Paintings can't really love you back. They can just sit there on your wall and look all lovely and complicated. And in my mind he will forever be the little snapshot of his head hogging the blue pillow with his hair in his eyes all peaceful and sleeping. I sat down in the wet grass as he decided he would leave in 5 minutes. I was anxiously awaiting the moment where I could be alone and smoke, so I was blunt and asked,

"So, 5 minutes, anything you want to say?"

"It was nice seeing you. "

I stoop up slightly angry and hugged him goodbye. It was good enough for me, but not my ego.

My friend was waiting for me equally as drunk and ready to smoke, and hungry for Mexican food. We sat on the sidewalk of the apartment building and pretty much finished our packs and watched drunk people come and go.

There was an Asian being carried by 6 other Asians, for which I presumed was either for a sacrifice or his first time drinking. There was also a real wasted dude in a Captain Morgan shirt, to which he introduced himself, and shook my hand strangely.

My friend and I discussed food as a tall guy walked towards us. I asked him all drunk and polite if there was anywhere to get Mexican food close.

He kindly responded that he was also hungry and there was a Taco Bell quite close. He walked us there and it was closed. We attempted to walk through the drive-thru, but they ignored us, as that is never allowed. He mentioned that if we went back to his place he would order us Jimmy John's sandwiches. This sounded fine.

We plopped on his couch, and learned his name. We learned a hobby, and a mutual friend. We took shots. Our sandwiches arrived. We ate and my friend was ready to leave. The tall guy, having kept his hand on my leg during explanation of his talents, seemed to be building my ego. Either that or the vodka was. I told her I'd meet her there, as I was not yet tired.

The tall guy and I took another shot, to which he immediately vomited, and he used mouthwash, which I asked if I could also involve myself. He explained that I did that because I wanted to kiss him. I am not sure if that was true, but I knew my broken little ego wanted it.

The rest is kind of a blur. But I do remember black bedding, me losing my headband, and saying, "Would it be better if you pretended I was someone else?"

I left as he was falling asleep, running back to my host's apartment 3 doors down in only my tank top.

Even with an ego, I still have no self-worth. It made me laugh a little.

Inyoxic

This is important. Did you know alcohol decreases your inhibitions? Did you also realize it is much easier to use contractions while talking aloud?if not try playing circle of death with one other person using shots and jello shots instead of beer. And then making a rule if you use contractions while talking everyone drinks.

Probably am going to vomit up my liver yall. Love you.

Which makes me want to mention. I want to tell like 3 people I love them right now. How absurd. Thanks hydrocarbon chains and fementation-distillation.


-- Desperately posted mobilly.

Shelfish

I blog about shell-fish frequently, but this one is about being selfish, and things that I want.

I want one of those moments, where you say goodbye to someone after having a nice time, and then you both turn around and, magnetically, if not metaphysically, your faces collide in a passionate kiss. As long as we're wishing, he might as well have beautiful arms and a hooded sweatshirt.

I want an extra two hours a day, so a 26 hour day, where I could spend those two hours reading or doing things that I have procrastinated. They would be literary or procrastinatory hours.

I want things with carbohydrates to taste bad so I do not eat them.

I don't want pets to die, ever.

I want to be famous. I am not kidding, and I am not saying it in a little-kid or Pussycat Dolls way or whatever. I actually do want to gain some sort of notoriety so my ideas can be spread further, and I can make enough money to open a school, and maybe (just maybe) buy Marc Jacobs clothes. AND! I don't want to get famous through a sex-tape.

I want a version of solitaire on my computer that doesn't insist that I "buy the full-version" or else I will never win a game.

Most of all, I want people to stop telling lies to me. No more. Stop. I can tell, and it's taken far too long for y'all to admit it.

October 30

This is a story I wrote tonight. No truth, just a story. It's called "October 30"

October 30, 2007

I want to get this all off my chest. You know before I run away with my new lover and all. I just thought I’d let you know that I am listening to that song by The Cure you gave me. I think you only gave it to me because of that thing I say about them. What kind of band names themselves something so hopeful?

I hate you so much little darling. You and your furry green body, all sick and intoxicated. Flirting with whomever you will call yours this evening. When it was me, I adored it. Now every time I look at your neck I think about the time you forced me back into my car, stuffing all the bubbling, bulging fat into my tiny Ford focus. I never did thank you for that, the way you strained and jostled my cumbersome flabs…

She was writing a letter to whomever she could think of that remained in her life. She had happily found someone new, and they, so completely enamored with one another, had decided to elope and run away on a motorcycle. Very Che, but less polio.

The recipient of the letter, probably forgot how to read, she decided, and she abandoned the entire writing process.

“Writing to a party monster is entirely useless. Unless I sealed this letter with an absinthe kiss, he’d never be interested…”

For those of you who don’t know what a party monster is, it is actually best explained like a cookie monster. Fueled only by a love of parties, they think of nothing more, except the occasional word or letter of the alphabet. Party monsters do not overlook any means of party, getting “fucked UP” and any variation of such. Often times they have a tiny reminder of the shell of a human they used to be, before socialization became their primary interest.

The girl looked at herself in the mirror and tried desperately to recall more people to write to, people that could read.

Dear….

You were my… You just got away, didn’t you? We were never really anything, but I must confess, briefly, this time, that you had a nice little residence in my head, right next to daisies and beautiful sunsets. I never did lump you in the category with the assholes that explained things with their fists and dicks. Even if I did touch you, I don’t even remember because that’s not really what I wanted. Anyways, I am happy now and I hope you remember who I am when you get this. If not, then regard it as a junk mail much like a coupon for something you already have…

She nodded in approval at that letter. This particular someone was never really in her life, but why not? She figured. She decided to hop in the shower to prepare for that night.

A wedding! How enormously exciting. She would wear sexy white lace for such an occaision, under her business casual attire for the courthouse. Even if she wasn’t a “blushing bride” she’d still wear blush and make it appear that she was, somewhat, innocent and virginal.

Getting naked was always hard. The mirror would always tickle her in her most sensitive spots, and when it had a good grip, it would shatter, sending shards deep into her tissues. Scars and blood covered her body, but her new lover, made her feel like a princess. Such an unconditional love! He never criticized her for her tendencies to swallow entire grocery stores, and then entire pharmacies and spend the weekend vomiting. He’d just cuddle up to her arms and the weeping would cease. He’d kiss every wound on her arms and inner legs, and call her skinny even if she wasn’t.

She spoke out loud with the water running.

I am eloping tonight, you beautiful tiles. Hopefully I will spend the rest of my wonderful life bleaching you, and then waltzing downstairs to prepare dinner for my lovely husband. And we’ll have a pretty little child that will reap the benefits of a clean, germ-free shower. And on your walls, we will stick shaped sponges and help him learn the alphabet or something equally as worthwhile. And then when he is older, he will masturbate on you, mumbling names of the women or men he desires. I wont be mad, just ready with my bleach.

The tiles responded.

Better use all those soaps tonight honey. You wont be getting any, and certainly not making any offspring smelling like that. And you better do something about that hair of yours. Even though you change it, no one really likes it. It was better when you just let it drape over your floppy chest, all frizzy. Two men liked you then.

She should have been taken aback, but she decided they were probably right. After her cleansing, she would pin back her hair so no one could distinguish what it was really like. And focus more on her face.

Just then the mirror exploded with a gigantic, “NO!” Her face was showered with shards.

“It was a good thing I invested in such heavy duty tweezers. They will most certainly get these out before I have to get married.” She began plucking out the shards and using some antibacterial spread on the wounds. The stitches could wait.

She resumed her shower and then toweled dry. Then, a knock at the door.

Quickly, she laced up her lingerie and buttoned a blazer that matched a pencil skirt.

He walked in, and said,

“Honey, I have a surprise for you. I brought the judge here, so all we have to do is sign, and we’re together forever.”

As if in an ecstatic trance, she sat herself down at a table.

“Everything I have ever wanted. Complete happiness. The overwhelming sensation that someone loves me. Its my vows for you darling, take me now, you wonderful little pointed vile…”

She spoke as her necklace wrapped around her left arm real tight. Teeth pulled the chain into a tourniquet as her lover plunged into her exposed vein. The wave of wonderful. Then a shiver. Then a shake. Then frothy spit. Then nothing.

Something smelled like alcohol. Does hell smell like party monster? Her eyes peeked open. No! Fuck!

A hospital? No! This wasn’t the plan! Some adrenaline pulsed through her body and she broke form the restraints that held her arms down. She burst through the window and made a dash for the apartment. A cop was running at her gun drawn. An idea.

She elbowed a middle-aged woman and stole her purse, rummaged about until she found a lipstick. On her gown she scribbled the letters spelling “FOR YOU,” and then hid her hand in her gown. When the cop got closer she yelled that she would shoot. The cop, consequently was trigger happy, and shot her three times in the chest, for her threat.

She died with the second bullet.

Zany and Tacky

Listen to "Petals" by the Honorary Title. Please.

I'm feeling hopelessly dramatic today. Maybe it was the doughnut I had for breakfast. I had one of those dreams that I immediately had to attempt to recreate.

I was with my ex at Dunkin Donuts and he was insisting that I order my coffee the way he does with his friend in the city. I was desperately pleading that I hated it that way, but he made me order it that way and then did not allow me any doughnuts. He then walked over to a table where a girl named Cara who graduated 4 years earlier than I did was sitting, and began making love to her doggie-style. I watched a girl get dumped by her boyfriend and then woke up.

Needless to say, I went to Dunkin Donuts alone and ordered coffee the way I like it, mixed with espresso, cream, and 1 sweet-n-low. And I got doughnuts for my family. I'd like to think I dodged a bullet.

Now listen to "The Horror of our Love" by Ludo. Please. I keep forgetting to be polite.

I'm glad I didn't do what I normally do when I am giving up on someone or something. I think there is this little switch in my head when I come to a point where I need to forget about someone. Either I take the alcohol and harlotry way or the book way, and I am really really trying to just bury myself in books. Other people's words wrapping me up in a cozy little hug instead of me wrapping my shaved legs around some dude because I could blow a .08. It's pathetic. At least I can get enormous pleasure when the main character dies.

I think it's official. I hate Coldplay. And the fact that he's married to the queen of dull-Gwyneth Paltrow.

I fell in love and alls I got was this stupid t-shirt

That is essentially how I feel about love I guess. If I may quote a dumb band, "you may not lose but you never win." It's like the joke is always on you.


For example, I made this lovely little picture book to be silly and creepy while I borrowed someone room who has not moved in yet containing all the things "I want to do with him." This was not sexual in nature in any way, just a mere list of things I want to do with someone. An instance:
I want to hot wire a car with you.
I want to eat French toast or cereal with you.
I want to carve pumpkins with you.
I want to go whale watching with you.

But. The joke's on me as it so often is. This book was a transferrence of things I'd like to tell someone else but never will because I'm too afraid that I know the answer already. And it's short. With two letters. And the occaisonal prefix of "hell" or suffix of "way." I can be silly and creepy to someone I have not spoken to in person, but have such a low self worth that I cannot bear a moment of seriousness with someone I admire.

It may be a stupid t-shirt, but right now it's my favorite.


-- Desperately posted mobilly.

If I were Oprah.

If I were Oprah, I would give away all these things at my show. As a budding consumer and capitalist (just to make everyone happy) I have learned that these items either make me smile wildly, or are so frequently in use, they are me. Luckily, these items aren't terribly expensive.

Box Cutters are the perfect tool. If you are a masochist like me, don't like riding on airplanes, just moved somewhere, get many packages, have to frame pictures, like making collages, like stabbing, the list really is endless. Perfect little blades and a cute little clickey sound, makes other knives dull. (I am so punny.)
Queen's greatest hits (at the very least.) Freddie Mercury's voice is unparalleled. Possibly a perfect compact disk for listening, even if Queen is not your favorite band. It is not even in my top 10, but I think everyone should have this music. Just in case of being on an airport runway...
Lucky Brand Jeans. Everyone should have one pair. They make you feel like a million bucks if you have to wear jeans. Just, SERIOUSLY. Don't put them in the dryer.
Oh, nothing quite beats the taste of a Slurpee. So sugary, so cold, so classy! Best paired with cheap cigarettes and lack of air conditioner. But will always remind me of coming home from the doctor's as a child. My reward for enduring pain, if you will.
Daisy by Marc Jacobs makes me feel like a princess when I wear it. I want to smother people in my nice fragrance.
Glow in the dark stars that stick to your wall. They make you feel like you are 8, but you do smile when you turn off your lights for bed.
A Blobfish. Look at the 'lil guy. He's even equipped with a booger of sorts.

Contro. A Sketch Blog

"Ali"

Yeah, here's me in my hospital gown (wardrobe of choice) thinking about my favorite not-so favorites of all time.

"Virgin Vixen"

Probably the person on this fine earth that hates me most. I am transferring schools, and I can't deny that she is one reason. You win!

"Oh you know.."

ED, ANA, and MIA and I have such a complicated relationship.

"Indie Ralph"

No boy frustrated me more in 2005 than Ralph. He hated all of my ideas, and quite possibly wasted hours of my life. Bjork and I fought him in a short-lived comic series.

"Most Beautiful Girl in High School"

Gosh, did she hate me. Once she cried because of my presence at a party. Probably my first REAL enemy.

"Stoner Bruiser"

What an asshole. Likes beating women and smoking pot. Thinks he's cool, but is one of the most cruel people I have met. Ever.

Just bored watching the Disney channel. Hope it makes people giggle and smirk a little. There were a handful I retracted. Maybe they will show up on a braver blog. Right now, cowardice.

"Listen, Ali..."

Oh! My favorite combination of words of all time! I've decided to make a compilation letter that is historical fiction, and a hypothetical response. It may or may not be included in my future memoir, and is probably best read while listening, and paying homage to, "Excerpts from the various notes strewn around the bedroom of April Connolly Feb 24, 1997." By Cursive.

Listen, Ali...

You're an interesting girl. But, I am going to college soon and I just want to be able to experience that as much as I can. Really, you are just too young for me and the truth is, I have found someone else. I don't love you the way that you want to be loved, and that, I guess, is not all that fair to you. I stopped loving you a long time ago, and frankly, I am worn out of being around you. I can't take you, or any sort of relationship any longer. Things with you are always too complicated. I am probably gay. I think we could be good as friends, but I really don't like you at all. I need to focus on school right now, and a relationship just isn't practical at this moment. Plus, my ex-girlfriend is coming around again, and she was my first love, you know? Don't get me wrong, I love fucking you, but I kind of hate everything else about you. I mean, you're not like other girls. And by that I mean, you are smart but you put out really quick. And you're...interesting. You don't need much makeup, but I think you look better in the dark anyways. I really love this girl who hates you, and she doesn't want me to talk to you anymore. So I guess this is goodbye. We had fun. Remember that time in your car? Sorry about the broken promises and such, but seriously. When I said we should hang out again sometime, we both knew that I'm just not that into you.

Sincerely,

Every Guy Ever

Oh Every Guy Ever,

Thanks for calling me interesting. Really, I know you just meant not hot and kind of a smart-ass. Or maybe it was my obscene interests? It's okay really, I get it. I'm fun when your lower extremities are having fun, and unless they are, then I'm not all that cool. I have a lot of love to give, and it was neat sharing some of that with you. I would love to keep continuing to love you, and I probably will because I am pathetic and need something to art about. Let me just say that I am not going to forget you or all the lies you told me to get in bed or otherwise. We're moving on and growing apart, and you have a growing in your pants for another woman, or man, I wont judge. Just do me a favor from now on, please don't humor me. Please take me seriously. And for pete's sake, just stop leading me on. Be honest and say, I kind of hate you. I like it blunt, unless it's with knives, and you totally know that too. Can I have my stuff back? Thanks. Oh yeah, and it's probably better for you if you keep us a secret. You know. I collect enemies like a 10 year old collects pokemon cards. Oh yeah, one more thing. No late night sex requests, okay? It's a whole lot of traveling for me, and you probably never really made me come anyways.

LOVE always,

Ali.

I am really really bitter about how guys handle things.

"Hello Meteor...Hello Meteor"

There is a meteor shower tonight and I feel like that is epic enough to mention. It reminds me of an inside joke with someone I love very much and miss dearly. I seriously doubt she will read this but if she does, I never wanted anything that happened to actually happen. I hope you are okay, and that this link makes you smile.

I tried to write a blog last night, but I was so angry and listless. In fact, I did write a blog, but I x-ed it out and no one will ever see the lovely little story I concocted about a princess and her imaginary scar. I feel this blog is more level-headed.

Okay. So, say "laughter" out loud. Now subtract the "L". Is "aughter" a suitable replacement/alternative for "after"? If so, why isn't it "lafter"? And if not, "aughter": "otter"? HOW perplexing.

I began reading Lolita the other day, and I must say. I bathed after how much pleasure I got out of it. It's like a homophobe listening to Moby. I know for a fact I am past my "nymphette" prime, but how I would love to be the object of someone's affections like so! I want to be someone's madness, their sickness, their fault, their art. Lord knows, that's what they'd be to me. I am not saying with superior seniority should steal my precious love's innocence, but I really do envy the devotion. I guess for normies, it would be like reading Pride and Prejudice. I want a dreamer/pedophile to adore me, and worship my mere scent. And, let me just say, I really do try to smell good.

But I read the real book. And I know all the lines, and what you're going to say, and what you're thinking right now. But one of these days, you are going to, right in the middle of reciting, slam that book closed, and make out with me like one of the meteors is going to kill us all.

Not a music blogger, but listen to "You're not a Whore" by The Format. It's been in my head along with some pussy Say Anything that was at the end of an episode of Scrubs. "Alive With the Glory of Love." Hmph. Please, I know I am not musically well endowed.

Mellowsexual or "I Want Her She Wants Me" by the Zombies.

I don't care what anyone says, honesty is the best policy.

Once upon a post-coital glass of water, I became completely aware of a truth. Though I have stated this before, I am now completely certain of the reason why people copulate and kiss with their eyes closed. I specualted this earlier this year when I was best described as a really cheap replacement for rejected boys. (unpaid whore??) Either way. I now know why pressing into someone with your eyes clenched tight makes it all worth while. We're an unfortunate mixture of dreamers and scavengers. I politely take what I can get and dream about those who I cannot. It's cruel, but it happens to everyone.

Are horoscopes accurate? Or are they a little bit like a placebo (or religion or love...) where if you look hard enough you somehow believe their truth? I tend to placebo/religion/love everything which I often attribute to being an over-analytical female, but...who knows. Maybe fate exists and we're all wrapped up in one big blanket statement os truth and self-fulfilling prophecies. Maybe.

Sometimes smiles exist on multiple planes of reality and/or surreality. Simply explained by Paul in "I've Just Seen a Face," smiles can gut you right open. Just tearing directly through you, spilling out your ugly little guts for everyone to see. Isn't it lovely the intrigue of vulnerability based on omnipotent smiles? With pretty teeths and ear to ear range. Gosh. Addicting.

It makes me want to scream and dance that people are reading Here Lies. Never have I been more thankful for participants and observers. If you were near, I'd both high five and cook us dinner. Love love love y'all.

Important research: Beluga Whales and bulbous heads.

a. The melon is a rounded structure on the dorsal surface of a whale's head, just in front of the blowhole. On beluga whales it is prominent and overhangs the rostrum. The melon is composed of lipids (fats).


b. The melon probably facilitates sound production. It can change shape when the whale is producing sounds (http://www.seaworld.org/infobooks/Beluga/bephysical.html)

A Word I Don't Like, but Truth: Haphazards.

Lately, I've been thinking. About everything that has already happened. I then realized that I am turned on by nostalgia. When I am visited by ghost of ali past, my heart races and I smile and delve quietly into my stimulated self. It is even better when I can get someone from my past to play along. Even thinking of the most painful memories I have give me this sick, satisfactory, tingling sensation all over, better than any artificial invigoration.

F# and Bm sound really lovely together.

I went to Walmart and noticed probably 10 or 12 people with lazy eyes. Some people even had two lazy eyes. Is that possible/why all gather at Walmart?

On occasion, I desperately wish for some sort of detector that alerts me to something or someone that is worth while. It seems as though at my tender age, all I manage to collect are frivolous or dangerous nouns, and I would much prefer something more salutary, please. I want to say that I have found this, but you never really know until it becomes the past. In which case, even if entirely abominable, I would enjoy its memory.

From an old class in high school, I found a scrap of paper that I had saved. It is now tacked to my wall. To describe it quickly, it is an attempt at faith. More in depth, it is a manifesto for existentialists. I once battled activism against existentialism, and activism lost. I now wonder if it is possible to be both in love and an existentialist. Not to say that I am in love, by any means. Goodness. I have merely an infatuation similar to those experienced in ages 11-14. However, if I were to say I were in love, could I also call myself an existentialist? Some existentialists believe in a higher power, as a sort of cure to the absurdity of life itself, and most higher powers require an unconditional love for such. I would merely adore another human. But is this allowed?

I really do love living creatures. I think all the kingdoms are fascinating. I love to be a vegetarian, and donate money to helping animals. There is one particular creature that I have a beef with right now, though, and that is one of the insects that inhabit our fine Earth. I understand that Mosquitos are food for many amphibians, given their own amphibious nature, and birds and bats also feed upon them, but I cannot seem to sleep through the night without considering amputation for the bites I have received on their behalf. DEET is such a harmful chemical, and I really don't like the smell. If only we could co-exist without the extreme itch.

The neighborhood watch guy, I want to be him.