How to get to Sesame Street?

This morning on Sesame Street...

Sorry, I know I shouldn't have gone there, but my Klonopin is wearing off. :)

Fangs

Can I fag out already? Must ask S. and M.

Verb 1. fag out = exhaust or get tired through overuse or great strain or stress; as in "We wore ourselves out on this hike"
--- www.thefreedictionary.com/fag+out

fags = cigarettes; not to be confused with fangs = "Twilight" crap

Gay-Out

My wonderful workplace is a website called XYZ$%#. Don't want to get them in trouble.

Quote of the week: "I'm a raging homo and I've never heard if it."


Uhm...

That sure means a lot to us.

Thanks, Daddy Dearest

You know, on the recent pictures you sent, you actually look almost like your old self again, you know, kind of pretty, almost one could say, you may have lost some weight. Not like you looked bad before, just not so, you know, attractive, like recently with the weight and whatnot.

Vodka

The Russian govt. is concerned about peeps drinking 18 liters of vodka a year. That's not even a bottle a month! They should come to LA and check out what's happening at Cha Cha's or Footsie's or the Red Lion! That's half a bottle in martinis and cosmos and red bulls a night! Oh, they also said cheap vodka can make you blind. Now, that's a scary thought!

Love this blog entry: ..."the Evil Young have turned their backs on vodka, which is now officially The Liquor of The 52-Year-Old."

from www.hownottoactold.com

Gee. Thanks!!!

The way punctuation has changed the world in the 2000s:

Thanks! means ohthankyousomuch. Ireallyappreciateit!

Thanks!! means omgthankyouiloveyouyouaresoawesome

Thanks!!!!! means i'mspeechlesswithgratitudeyouwonderfulbeing

Thanks means fuck you bitch

I shot...

Hi, my name is Kim.
Hi, Tammy, nice to meet you!
No, Kim!

What's your name?
Royce Hall.
Really? Hahah.

Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Akshad.
Hi, like Akshad?
No, like that song: I shot the sheriff.
Oh, like Ashat.
No, A-s-h-a-f!!!
Oh, sorry.

The other night at Haute.

Naked Lunch

I don't kerr if you donnt vant soda vith yourrr lunch. It meks no diffrrrenz to me. So you vant it or naht? Says the Middle Eastern (or Armenian?) lady in the diner downstairs who thinks I lost my baby. One day I will strangle her. But as they asked of Abdul Mutallab who recently wanted to blow up a plane: are these merely jihad-style fantasies or actual plans?

Feeling Moody?

Rick Moody (Demonology, Ice Storm) has written a very smart memoir---not recently!---that I have been torturing myself with. I only picked it up because the back cover promised stuff about stays in insane asylums. He's so very smart and makes such good observations about peoplw in a Chekhovian way. But I hate the book, and I found someone else who does:

"The Black Veil offers the Jamesian 'figure in the carpet' glimpsed from the verso, all rough weave and stitches. Moody makes almost no mention of the attainments of his life — there is almost nothing about [ ...] the riveting epileptic convulsions of a soul in extremis, a life he views as blackened at its very root by 'brutality, bloodthirstiness, and murder' --- Esquire

and

"Rick Moody is the worst writer of his generation." --- The New Republic

Pretty harsh.

Nose Job Desired

Somewhere over the rainbow I read a tip from a make-up artist about how to apply some concealer or something that gives the effect of lifting the tip of your nose. Pretty cool, to lift the tip of your nose. I feel like mine has been drooping a bit. I also read somehwere, decades ago, when I was just a wee que sera whatever I'll be, that your ears and nose never stop growing. That's why very old ladies look so witchy, when the nose meets the pointy chin. Oi. I need that creamy tip! But which magazine was it ever in? Help!

Akathisia or Comet?

K. said: Your house is so clean. Do you have a maid? I should have said: No, I have akathisia.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akathisia: a syndrome characterized by unpleasant sensations of "inner" restlessness that manifests itself with an inability to sit still.

The Gap

Once upon a time, there was Lauren Hutton of the gap. Now it's 2010 and every model in every major campaign in Vogue has a gap between her front teeth. Now, I need to preface this by saying that by own teeth are far from perfect. But what gives? It makes them look even younger and actually dumber in a Russian mail order bride kind of way.

Girl, You're So Beautiful...

Anonymous girl in the office building: You have to be really careful when you have really yellow hair and a really bad fake-and-bake tan and on top of it a squeaky Minnie Mouse voice. People might think you're a genius or something! Or a Ritz cracker.

Penis Pants

Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves (or so we've heard), while others wear their cocks on their pants and thus wear out their welcome at my party. Who is this Isabel Mastache designer anyway, and why can't she design a nice pair of Dockers?

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

A told B and B told C, I'll meet you at the top of the coconut tree.

translation: A, B and C are all kooky/coocoo (i.e. coconuts) and chicka chicka, there won't be enough room, and crash. kaboom.

But thank you, atypical antipsychotic. Thanks to you, I found a little perch on the coconut tree!

Twin Towers

When big towers collape, people get:

A. crushed
B. the last laugh
C. sentimental

Logical Syllogism

Here's a logic problem to test your IQ:

A said to B something C said about B and D. B is furious and confronts C and talks to D. Turns out the whole thing was told to C by E, who now says A made up the whole story, is a liar and is playing both sides. The sides being? Driving a wedge between B and C, so that A can have either B or C to herself? Or just becase she's a lying psychotic drama queen. Which conincidentally is what E says C has been saying about A and B all along! Question: If B hates A and C, and C hates B and A, what the f is E's role in this and what do we do now? Does this mean Es are lemmings and Bs are crazy and As are insane and Cs are penguins?

By (D)olly

Oh, and he has a doll tied to his belt. The psychology of that. Deep!

Argh

Feeling a bit funky after the initial Abilify ride. No gotten used to being the driver of this fast new little vixen. But when feeling down, look up. At the possibilities. Oh, Hallmark. To have a child! Light of God shine on.

Got Sleep?

Sleeping with Milan in the Middle last night was so worth it, feeling his hot little feet pushing into my back. My face smushed against the wall. Not being able to turn. Hearing every sniffle. But then at 6 am, when I was greeted with an eskimo kiss and two hugs, it was even more worth it. Priceless.

White Lies

You know you have PMS when driving around Pasadena, crying to various White Lies songs (To Lose My Life) and regretting not being nicer to a certain cool Russian Dad who now lives in York (not ON York, alas, but in England). Except that being nicer could have meant all kinds of things I wasn't ready for. But still I cannot turn that frown upside down.

He said to lose my life or lose my love,
That's the nightmare I've been running from.
So let me hold you in my arms a while,
I was always careless as a child.
And there's a part of me that still believes,
My soul will soar above the trees.
But a desperate fear flows through my blood,
That our dead loves buried beneath the mud.

--- To Lose My Life, White Lies

Dishing at Dish

Dinner with gorgeous Marc by Marc Jacobs-clad X. who told me illuminating things about J. over pâté, duck prosciutto, foie gras, truffled fries and Champagne cocktails. Thought that J. was always consumed with envy and bitterness and spoke from a place of anger. Felt superior to me when I was down, then couldn't handle me when I woke up from my 1,000-year sleep. Kissed by the spiderwoman. A poisonous girl that chick. X. thought B. was socially inept, too. Feel so relieved to hear another perspective. And really, what did J. and I ever do have in common? Not books, not football (yuck). Not style, not substance. Good riddance, I say! As to Dish, I'd give them 2.75 out of 5. They still have some kinks to work out.

Getty Jack

Going to the Getty was fabulous for several reasons: Rembrandt exhibit, gardens in bloom, a boy knitting a red sweater and running into Jack Black. Was a weird moment. He looked like a friend and he was smiling at us from the stairs. When I came up the brief flight, I said "aaaagh" or something and he said "hey." He was with his little toddler and so were we. Cool dads. Funny.

Abilify Me

Legalize it. Don't criticize it. Yah, mon, just found out that my new friend is yet another "antipsychotic." But it makes me engage people in small talk. And I crack jokes with car rental people. And I smile at the garbage collector. And I look at the bright side of feckin everything. In just a week! So? Yeah, so, hey Bristol Myers (I thought they made ham!?), if you pay me enough, I'll tweet about it!

Not So Sexy Addicts

Heroin addicts are really unappealing on the other hand. Even if they are comedians. They smell. Their clothes smell. They're on the nod all the time. They only talk about themselves. They're really itchy and scratch themselves all the time. I could go on. Wait! Is that Dave Navarro? Just kidding.

Sex(y) Addicts

In my next life, I'm going to marry a comedian. Come to think, why are so many comedians sex addicts? Come to think even more, why am I so attracted to sex addicts? Aside from A., of course, who's a virginal Aquarius who'd rather play the guitar and paint than chase tail, I really had 3 memorable affairs in my life: the guy with the hooker story, the other guy with the other hooker story and the guy with the fake modeling agency. I wonder what's up with that.

The Face of America

nuff said

I Want My "Hm, Like, Duh" TV

I'm so glad I grew up with MTV and music videos. Kids these days think it's all about the "Situation," Snooki and her Pouf. I actually was fortunate to see Joan Jett and Depeche Mode and Prince and ZZ Top and Motley Cru and all the horrible-wonderful 80s bands. Today, MTV announced it dropped the Music Television" from its logo. The era has been dead for a long time, but this is the final nail in the coffin. Sorry, couldn't resist all the clichés.

Alexander, RIP

Just because people can't walk in your shoes, that's no reason to commit suicide, man. Seriously, though, my heart is breaking to think that Alexander McQueen is now pushing daisies. Unless you have contemplated or attempted suicide yourself, you cannot imagine the agony and the courage it takes. It's the penultimate selfless (ish?) act. And there are several people involved. The one who wants to die. The one who has to do the dirty deed. And, shit, forgot who else. Satan?

Sad, sad, sad :(

All Pursed Up and No Place to Go

I feel strange vibes emanating from the woman behind me in line at the thriftstore, getting a hideous vase or something. Finally she leans in and says: 'You need to zip your purse.' I say: 'Ok, that's probably a good idea.' A minute later she picks it up again: 'You know, I'm not going to reach into it, but somebody might!' Gee, thanks!

Ritalin and Recovering Riddance

2010 is a fantastic year, and not only because the sum of its parts adds up to the holy trinity: 3. This will be the year I will be skinny, bitches. It will also be the year of letting go of festeringly bad friendships and reconnecting with old awol peeps, such as AP, who is on Ritalin now but cannot focus on even a giant elephant in front of him. But I'm glad we reconnected, because when Dr. S. retires for realz in July, I will start seeing AP's shrink to the stars. Other friendships that need some work:

SL, who accused me of making out with the boy she had a crush on, when all he did was pick me up and told me he wants to f... me.

CR, who thought I was a total loser for having PPD and left me out in the cold

IB, who I misjudged badly, mostly fed by nasty jealous comments from JSF

IG, brother dearest

SL, who I thought deserted me but turns out has been sick as a dog since August

I Can't Believe It's Not Butterbabies!

Butterbabies is jealous because I have secretely started another blog that is going to be bigger and better, and where I won't complain about people's pronunciation of French articles (this being "lah" for le and "lei" for la.) And I won't write about my obession with Russell Brand (yum yum crumpets) or Michael Cera or Julia Child. I will not write about the nice cop (Officer Panilla) who gave me a cell phone ticket today or the fact that Abilify is a really really good drug and that I'm enjoying my new status as fag hag. What a horrible term on so many levels. Nevertheles...

Happy Thoughts

American Sicko

German sicko, actually. I cannot tell if I have the flu or if it's the doing of my pesky little tetracyclic friend or my new acquaintance, the beautifully named Abilify, but I feel like throwing up, laughing out loud, curling up into a little ball and going on a shooting spree at 4311 Wilshire Blvd. (Spanish Lawyer). Will this go into my CIA file? To make matters worse, Bret Easton Ellis' "American Psycho" is being adapted into a musical. Ugh.

In short(s): I live in an ivory tower, bitch!

I don't know what to make of this. Dr. S. is retired and only seeing select patients on Tuesdays, which means he's seeing like 16 people max. And he always led me to believe, or so he said, that not only do we have a special, mutually fulfilling relationship, but that he was fascinated by my particular case in particular, it being a rare semi-psychotic yet totally mundane phenomenon. In short: he made me feel like I belonged to a small elite of super patients, worthy of his Punjabi wisdom, cultivated by not just Yale but many a stay in an ashram (over the past ten years he's regularly escape back to India). I hate to say "in shorts" twice, but yes, in shorts: Dr. S is my guru. So, imagine my horror, when I saw two of his other patients this past Tuesday, two fellow tribesmen of the fellowship of the SSRI. Patient A. trots out of his office, barely lifting his feet off the ground, tattooed from head to toe and wearing a jean jacket that could use some severe laundering. Then bursts in Patient 2, slamming the door and answering her cell: 'Why You Callin' Talkin' Stupid?' Hangs up. Phone rings again: 'Yo, don't be fuckin callin me like that, fool.' I'm just living in my ivory tower (ivory towers are a little racist, I know, but Patient A is white, and obviously, Dr. S is brown and my husband is heavily tattooed, so eat that!), but I really feel kinda weird now.

It's All Bull

I just want to clarify that I harbor no ill feelings toward toreros in particular. Nor do I wish any harm on them or their sons and daughters and the sons and daughters of their sons and daughters. It's perfectly fine to kill innocent bulls for money and spectacle. It's a manly, honorable, noble thing. And the righteous thing is, of course, for the bull to perish painfully, as his blood seeps slowly into the dry hot sand, while Hemingway-types and office assistants slap each other on the back in macho camaraderie.

Spanish Lawyer Part Deux

Occasionally I slip into an alternate universe where I get karmically punished for being a flake and not calling people back. Such as yesterday. After trying to reach the dopey Spanish lawyer who hit my car for two days, he finally condescended to taking care of this small matter. As we were walking down the depressing hallway to his sword-infested office, the following conversation ensues:

He: Have you been losing weight?
Me: not really.
He: you really should
Me: well, it's not working
He: it's such a shame. You used to be so beautiful. All you need to do is diet and exercise
me: silent
he: you're face is still beautiful though! It’s just such a waste.

in his office:
he, to his secretary: doesn't she have a beautiful face? Like a model. She just needs to lose weight.
me: (murderous thoughts)