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Author Archives: iasshole
Glib; I’m Not Even Going to Wait for This to Get Rejected
Hey look at me putting myself out there.
SBLOTCHYF seeking whatever, really. Must meet or exceed the following minimum expectations.
Looking for jerks in that kind of deliberately-cool sense. Bonus if you have a pompadour or skater cut you can flip while being one. Cripples are encouraged (emotional okay, physical preferred) and interesting scarring patterns. Librarians are also encouraged to reply, but only if the only time I hear about said librarianship is when the words are coming out of my mouth as I am introducing you to my super-cool friends at a party. Then you will be subjected to me going “HOT, right? MROWR,” and winking. A combination of crippled jerk librarian is ideal, but not totally necessary.
No tramp stamps.
Pole or hole or both at once, and that’s me being neither politically correct OR perverted. I am serious AND I have a signed piece of paper from three (3) sexually-ambiguous people backing this up.
You must be excited by the idea of owning a gold Jetski without immediately needing to say something stupid like, “But you realize a gold Jetski would immediately sink to the bottom of Lake Washington, right?”
Other preferences include: minimal eye contact, a hatred of furries, appreciation of and frequent use of Rule 34, telling me I don’t look a day over 48, the ability to lick the back of your knee, a GED and a McMansion (these last two items (2) must be both or nothing).
MUST have the musical taste of a fifty-year-old gay man without actually being one, because I don’t think that will work out very well, do you? Must know what ODB stands for and the ability to dance unironically to DJ Assault.
Ownership of a Mini Cooper without a twee vanity plate (I see wut you did there, BlkNTan).
Must be able to lift 82 pounds.
Must be able to stealth vomit.
Must know how to braid.
Must not mind when I enter a fugue state and shout “NO FACE!” while we are fucking.
Accents and all your own teeth a plus. If you do not have all your own teeth, then let me see your grill. Nerds, accents (convincingly fake OK) from UK A+.
NO CANADIANS.
I totally know this is going to work. Have a nice day.
P.S. If you think you are a qualified candidate, clarifying questions will be tolerated via comments.
I Should Change My Ringtone to This They Would Love That On the Bus
Yesterday on the bus I decided to start a new blog titled, “Obnoxious Assholes on the Bus.” There was this lady who would not stop talking and the worst part was, she was taking text messages WHILE she was talking to her friend, reading them aloud, and laughing like a loon. “I will make a blog about people like YOU, Nail Biting Giddy Lady” I said to myself. I took a phone picture of her from the side with her mouth open and her face twisted. This was not enough.
I came the face her and put my phone at the level of her giant selfish head. “SMILE,” I instructed her. She looked at ME like I was crazy. SHEESHERS.
I should be ASLEEP!
And This Song Is Not Going to Save Your Relationship
Dear Goddamn Diary,
Someday I am going to look back at this year and cringe, absolutely. I pretty much do that every year, though. This is the risk of keeping a diary. God I was stupid in 2001, rinse, repeat. The rough thing now is that I have finally gained the wisdom to know it is not enough to sit like a pudding and shout “DAMN YOU UNIVERSE.” Even if you do all the “right” things, there will be repercussions. I know a lot of what I’m doing right now is just spinning my wheels. I can’t just blame the economy. I may have forgotten to tell you that I pretty much had a nervous breakdown last summer. I am not the same person I was in June. Somehow I make it though alone and unmedicated as usual. I probably could have liveblogged it or something, but really, no one cares but me.
All my close scrapes and doing it by myself for years used to be a badge of honor. Now I am just so freaking tired and wonder if things would have been different if I ever let anyone close into my life whom I could actually trust in a pinch. Now I feel like I want support but I don’t want anyone near me. O paradox.
What I can’t answer now is if I need to be nicer to myself and be glad that I am getting out of the mud at all, or if I need to work much harder to make up for the time I missed. I kind of don’t remember October. I remember one day: my birthday. I had pommes frites and sauvignon blanc. I can look back and see a trail of writing and emails, but half of 2008 is gone. I think my consolation is that I know I’m not depressed, I’m just bone tired. All my fight has been squeezed out, from the middle of the tube, even.
So let’s talk about things less nebulously, Dear Diary. I have finally achieved my dream: I have acquired a third job, and it’s coffee. If figure the the economy continues to tank I better make damn sure I can pull shots again and shit. So know I have this sweet trifecta of sales, coffee, and a writing gig I will have to borrow time to keep up with. I am excited that I am working full time, but it stings that I could be managing the stores I work in with no student loans had I just skipped the whole grad school thing. I am still going to look for a contract. In the meantime I will just be slacker pie.
After Hester’s motherboard blew, the display on AbacusTop died. In theory my novel-in-progress is still on the hard drive, but the display looks like it’s underwater. I am currently on a computer from GRAD SCHOOL HUR that is half a blooperhertz faster than AbacusTop. I am going old school and downloading The Sims 1. Yeah baby. I have taken all of this as some kind of sign even though I don’t really believe in those. I am giving up on intellectual pursuits until I don’t know when, is what I have decided.
I think it’s times like these you just have to grab pleasure where you can. I am listening to music a lot as I commute around town and walk places. I am drinking too many bubble teas. I think I am going to get Los Campesinos tickets for April when they come to town. I am sitting on IRC talking shit a lot when I have time off. I am chipping away at getting things done.
I will go back to more normal life-documenting mode. I guess I just have to have these service interruptions sometimes.
D.O.A.
Important: I am looking for coffee work or some other part time works, since my retail hours have been cut to almost nil (it is not a hint–no one has hours). If you know of anything, email me sj at this domain, especially if you can nepotize me in somewhere. I would not look off professional work, either, but I have to be honest. Headhunters are not even calling me anymore, and everyone and your mom has a hiring freeze on. Trying to avoid sucking dick for drug money, but all else is fair game.
I am kind of at peace now, because after talking to some nerds, doing various works, etc, I have discovered that Hester Prynne is dead. Like, dead as snap crotch bodysuits (you heard me). You may recall that recently I replaced the hard drive. Apparently that caused the motherboard to get all shitty with me and fry.
I have to tell you honestly that I have this little feeling of panic along with the peace, because I have always played games. Always. I started with Atari in…I dunno…’83? My stepfather had a coin op business and for a while we had an arcade-sized Centipede down in our rumpus room. To this day, I still occasionally have dreams in Centipede colors (green and purple FTW). We moved on to Commodores and Segas. After that I had PCs or my own, or lived with boys with consoles. Now I have nothing. I know this is absolutely nothing in the face of any kind of real crisis, like a splinter or being out of mustard, but it makes me sad that I have come to have a hobby that is expensive up front. I was also hoping to start reviewing games more, as I did recently with World of Goo. Who wants to read a review of Minesweeper?
I also almost complete destroyed my AbacusTop with Trojans. I blame 2 a.m. porn. SO RONERY! But now all is well. If this keeps up, I may have to start playing Nationstates 2 or something. Into browser-based purgatory I go.
Hey! Who wants to cook up another generation of speshul snoflakes? What’s that? People with kids my age? Looks like.
A few folks have written to ask about gifts, and here’s what we’ve decided to do: we’re having a book exchange. The idea here is that each child arrives with a (wrapped) book, and each child gets to go home with a different (wrapped) book. This way everyone has a surprise and, with any luck, a book they don’t already own! Most of the party time will be spent jumping around in the gym, then at the end we’ll have a treat and exchange gifts. The “let’s-minimize-conflict” model has the presents remain wrapped during the party.
I was thinking about skipping prezzies at Strudel’s upcoming quatroceanara, because I don’t know half the kids or the parents who will be dropping said kids off, but Ruby snapped me out of it. “Kids need to watch someone else have the limelight,” she said. Then I got the above email and tabled it after putting a few more dents in my desk with my head. Now children’s parties have models. I guess I am a little burned out lately, because every single party we get invited to is at a large corporate partyspace. I know, I know, it’s winter. Still.
Rather than actually concluding this post, I will just catch you up pictorially. Recently Strudel’s dad invited me to his holiday party, which happens in late January. It was at the Museum of Flight. We were the only ones who danced practically, which made him a pariah at work, and this is among people who could not even be arsed to show up! BOOOO! You cannot play JT and expect me to hold still, ffs.
SUPER KAWAII OR SOMETHING!
Here I am in my robe of getting readyness. I am trying to make increasingly larger victory rolls. They went great with my ’50s style dress and digital watch.
WOW it’s Carl Sagan’s sweater. It had billyuns and billyuns of moth holes.
There goes my buttercuppy. Well, both of them. Bye jerks! Die jerks!
I will miss the eggs. We’ll always have omNOMNOMomlettes.
My grammar is atrosh today. Monkeychow OUT.
Squares Don’t Seem to Understand Why I Flip
Blossom Dearie died. Crap. I have been so about her lately. It kind of makes me want to check up on every other musician I have ever loved. I am kind of glad I couldn’t get to sleep, though I am going to feel like crap tomorrow. And guess what? I have been snookered into going to an AUCTION MEETING. Advisory only, I swear.
I am going to post pics tomorrow. Here’s a preview. It’s me running my fucking mouth because I can’t stop talking for 19 seconds.
Also, Franny finally learned to ride her bike before she turned twenty. Phew.
Sweet N Sour
Every morning I wake up now and Franny is lying next to me, staring at me. This is something you have to accept about being a parent. Your children, when they actually let you sleep, will stare at you. They will watch you go stink-stink. They will tell you your butt looks big and that you have prepared the worst enchiladas known to childkind.
But she cuddles and she holds my hand, and I think it is making her happy to have morning cuddlebears. When she was Strudel’s age and younger I would say, “Hey, let’s cuddlebear!” and she was outtie five. Strudel is the same now. A frantic little gobeast that has to run and jump at every moment. But I think she will never grow up to be calm and sweet like Franny. Franny used to be spazzy but sweet. Not so much with The Other One, as I call her when I can’t recall her name.
Last night Strudel flipped through the Territorial Seed Company catalog. The pages whipped by and I hear little tearing sounds as I finished dinner. She paused occasionally at some odd vegetable or fruit she didn’t recognize. Finally she stopped on one page for quite a while.
“What fuck is this?” she exclaimed, sounding a lot like someone else I know when she is flipping through US Weekly or Harper’s.
Franny and I looked at each other. “That’s celriac. Celery root. You know, we have it pureed sometimes?”
“Yeah,” Strudel said.
“Did you say ‘What fuck is this?” I asked.
“Uh huh.”
“It’s ‘What THE fuck is this,” I said.
“Oh.”
She was quiet until she got to the weird looking melons.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?”
“Dinner!” I said.
Honestly, Why Haven’t We Had Sex Yet?
Ruby poked me this morning at breakfast because she noticed I have not posted in a week. I keep opening my little box, staring at it, and closing it again. I feel like I am somewhat on autopilot right now. I could copypasta any post from the last three months and it would all be the same: kid does something cute, I do something stupid, still dropping resumes into the black void. WHATEVER. I live. Someone has a crush on me and it may be just about perfect because she is super busy like me and wants something casual datey, but is also crazy smart and a wine snob. Also SO HOT SHE’S MAKIN ME SEXIST. So I will report if something comes up. Mutual admiration society FTW.
So I post a meme for you, because I am tired of 25 Things I Learned About Your Mom (Because I Am Shagging Her LOL). It’s the new meme craze sweeping the nation (of internet rejects): Honestly, why haven’t we had sex yet? Go forth and ask people in your IM/IRC. Let me know if you get a bite! I pestered people in my favorite IRC. Names changed to protect the guilty.
* MrFruity has joined #irc
I, Asshole: MrFruity, honestly, why haven’t we just had sex yet?
MrFruity: What?
I, Asshole: Well?
Tigerlilley: ?
* MrFruity has no idea what you’re talking about.
I, Asshole: Strainer, honestly, why haven’t we just had sex yet?
Strainer: LOL
Strainer: I may have to ask that, myself.
I, Asshole: Win ding ding ding ding
NotoriousP.E.R.V.: You’re better off popping caffeine pills than drinking “energy drinks”.
Tigerlilley: :D
I, Asshole: NO
Tigerlilley: :D :D
Tigerlilley: You have to say it
I, Asshole: Alright, Tiger
I, Asshole: “NotoriousP.E.R.V., honestly why haven’t we just had sex yet.”
NotoriousP.E.R.V.: Er, what?
AnnoyingBint: Asshole, it doesn’t work with the quotes.
NotoriousP.E.R.V.: Yeah, I wondered who you were quoting.
I, Asshole: That was my reluctant voice.
* I, Asshole continues to wait for IRCPrude
* FirstTimeInTheRoom (~Database@host81-156-211-8.range81-156.btcentralplus.com) has joined #IRC
I, Asshole: FTitR, honestly, why haven’t we just had sex yet?
* FirstTimeInTheRoom (~Database@host81-156-211-8.range81-156.btcentralplus.com) Quit (Read error: Connection reset by peer )
I, Asshole: Whiteknight, honestly, why haven’t we just had sex yet?
whiteknight: And aside from distance and the fact that I kinda have a girlfriend, no real reason
I, Asshole: YES!
I, Asshole: That’s almost a maybe
I, Asshole: GoldenBoy, honestly, why haven’t we just had sex yet?
GoldenBoy: We have.
BEST.
Cockahole the Remix
Okay, remember when my cockahole neighbor was moving out, so I thought? Well, I was wrong. That’s right. But I couldn’t bear to tell you that he was just getting rid of his dinette set. I could not untell you. You were too happy for me. Well, now his moving truck is parked on my damn lawn for reals
and his ugly bachelor art and the nasty toadstools that he sat on while nomming delishus raw fish are spread out there as well. This is almost worth being home sick for. This could actually be a positive thing about the economy going into the shitter. Maybe he’s moving in with his parents in Bothell or something.
I can open my curtains on his side again!
Since I am less poor now, I bought new shoes. The other ones were pretty broken.
A hip youth told me they were “filthy” yesterday. I can only agree. Neon crown toes FTW. Basically when I shop I find the ugliest thing in the pile and choose that. YEY comfort while walking and unwet feet.
Franny Out and About
My schedule it is still scrambled and I have had a cold for about two weeks now. I think I’m out of that middle-of-the-night hack hack barf stage, so that’s good. Work is slow, so hours are short, which I’m glad about in a way because it’s giving me time to recover. If you haven’t heard from me, don’t take it personally, please!
Since I have been fairly out of commission lately, I rallied yesterday and dragged my tired old body to Franny’s school at three. I had told her about the wonder that is Sephora and she was very interested in seeing it for herself. We jumped on the downtown bus, had a snack, and hit the counters. She ended up with bright red lips and teal glitter eyeliner, which is funny on an eight-year-old. She got compliments wherever she went–“Ooh, she’s going to be a model!”
Her mood started to slide in the store and completely crashed once we left.
“I don’t want to be a model,” Franny said, as we crossed the street in the rain.
“That’s fine,” I said. “Make yourself happy.”
We walked for a while in silence. She had her head down and her hood was getting all covered in mist.
“Hey,” I said. “We’re right by your grandpa’s house. Want to give him a ring and see if he’s home? We can say ‘hi.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. Franny sort of followed me around the market after that, as I bought halibut and a demi-baguette and some little Chinese buns with red bean paste in them for dessert.
Later, as I was making dinner, Strudel picked up Franny’s elaborate Lego house and smashed it on the ground, where it shattered into a bunch of pieces. Franny wailed and ran to her room, slamming the door. “This has been the WORST day EVER!”
She went to bed shortly after that, since she was obviously so tired and at loose ends. The next morning she was in much better spirits.
“Feeling better?” I said.
“Yes, I am.” she said. “When I said I was having a bad day, I didn’t mean the part downtown. I just had a really bad day at school.”
“Well, life is hard sometimes,” I said. “The important thing is to try to keep the hard parts seperate from the sweet parts. I try not to let my bad days ruin the good things.”
“Okay,” she said.
I really hope she gets it.