it's not your fault, koko bear.

muddles puddles and sunshine.

i haven't forgotten about you.

join in and play.

i guess i could have noted this in my previous post, but i feel it deserves its own; and that you all deserve to know....rock of love ashley, paragon of elegance and beauty, has replaced rock of love megan as the official love of my life. want her need her love her.

giant germ.

i've been pretty much dead again. the flu and two ear infections (my third ear is, as of yet, unaffected). ill tell ya, man, healthwise, between sinusitis, hyperglycemia, colds, teeth-pulling, bronchitis, and now this nonsense (to say nothing of father and joeys' surgeries and whatnot) you can take 2009 and give it back to the indians. i mean, i dont WANT to use this thing just to bitch, but, i mean, it is what it is. wtfuck that's supposed to mean.

finished "when you are engulfed in flames" by sedaris yesterday....underwhelmed. Always, have his books made me laugh out loud, literally, even upon repeat readings. Not this one, not even once. Less about Hugh, more about his familly would be great. It also read as a bit self-referential and self-congratulatory, i thought. Usually sedaris utilises a more self-loathing approach, i thought, so that was weird. obvs, it had strong points, just few and far between. AH WELL SUCH IS LIFE.

i was thinking the other day about how whenever we were little kids our dad would tell us that only white trash uses satellite dishes. Whenever we were driving somewhere, though, lets face it, it was most likely up to where my mothers from, an area some (i.e., dad) refer to as hillbilly country, he would invariably point out each and every satellite dish and note the alleged white-trashness and likely neer-do-well tendencies of said dishs' owners. joey, of course, was very delayed in his speech...he did not begin to talk until he was four or five, if memory serves. some of his very first words? passing a satellite dish, pointing, and EMPHATICALLY yelling "why rash why rash!". Yes, "white trash, white trash", to the beginning speaker. daddy done brought us up right.

falling up.

sometimes there is not a doubt in my mind that you are all i have ever needed.

questions i got at work the other day:

Q)What is the average size penis?

A) According to AskMen.com, the average penis is 3.43 inches when flaccid, and 5.8 inches when erect.

i get that question at least once, but usually much more per shift. also, who has the world's largest penis? It's jonah falcon, i believe, at, 13.5 inches. I was once asked if, laid end to end, how many of poor mr. falcons (seems it would be both a gift and a curse, really) would it take to a) reach the moon, and b) circumference the earth. i remember neither of the exact figures, but trust that they were staggering.......even mind-boggling.

Q)Whats that movie, with that guy, that was in that other movie...with that dog?

A)There are many films with men and dogs, from last year's hit Marley & Me to classics like Sounder, and Old Yeller.

like, damn son, really? i hope you was being a smartass with that question.

Q)Why does sparkle drink so much?

A) Sparkle may drink too much alcohol in order to feel drunk or escape the problems he/she is having.

i assumed that they meant alcohol cause upon first glance i of course assumed that sparkle was a person, maybe a stripper or a drag queen of some stripe, what with the name sparkle. or maybe i was projecting. i suppose it, it meaning sparkle, of course, may have been a cat or a gerbil, or some such shit, too, i guess. in which case not drinking enough would be symptomatic of renal failure, or simple dehydration.

in keeping with the cat motif....

Q)Can u get high from inhaling cat urine?

A) Although cat urine has a foul odor and has been rumored to give off a high, there is no scientific answer as to whether it really does or not.

its kinda like ewwy why would ya wanna but hey man its like me and anne have always said we take res hits cause we need to not cause we want to...same kind of thing i guess or perhaps im just rationalizing on this poor blokes behalf.

Q) What is a penis?

A)The penis is the external male sex organ which contains the urinary tract & is used for reproduction.

File this one under "if you have to ask...". and, yes, our clientele is really, truly, this penis-centric. between this and horoscopes, goddamn if i have time for anything else. been workin three weeks, and only TWO shark questions! only TWO! and that was specified as one of my areas of expertise!


Q) my ex, its hard for us to communicate now that its over
A) When communicating with an ex, it is important not to bring up old issues, and to be empathetic. More?
Q) ya i would try to talk to him, but everyone thinks i hate him, because after hmy badly he hurt me i should. but i guess i am deeply in love with him too.
but i dunno. its hard to talk to him about it. he avoids situations like that sometimes. well certain ones. Well, we are not even cloud to be together. my mom doesnt trust him.
A) If you really do want him back and you both are ready, have a serious talk; talking with your mom might also help her trust you and him.
Q)O ok. so i really miss my ex, and something tells me that he is in love with me, but he has had a reputation as a player for a long time so its hard for
him to go back to me. at least thats what i think and observe. i work with him and see him and school. he already has a new girl but everytime he sees me
A)Try communicating with your ex-boyfriend by phone or email & ask him if he still has feelings for you.
Q)even when he is with her, he walks with me and hugs me. what do you think?
A)Maybe talk to him in private about what you feel for him and about his actions toward you. Good luck!

they more mixed up than a milkshake. also, that was both physically and mentally exhausting for me. more than i could ever ever express in one blog post. ever.

and i try to leave but you know me i come back when you want me to.

pete the p.o'd postal worker.

"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."



hemingway said that. my dad's sick....his heart. headed up to phoenixville now. i don't pray, but....

outside over there.

exhibit a: cozy.
exhibit b: weed pipe cozy! yay!

that being said, here is a story i wrote a little bit ago. i call it "sardines", because i'm very original like that.

You cut the headlights a half mile before you reach the meeting place. Your radio, and Elliott Smith’s doomed voice along with it, you cut off, I don’t know, a quarter mile before that.

The ski masks and assorted bandannas that will be covering your faces, you put those on as that distinctly church-shaped behemoth of a building, centuries old, once undeniably grand and now crumbling into the landscape and latticed with ivy, comes into your limited and obstructed field of vision.

Sardines.

Sardines we said, sardines is what we called it. Nothing more than a bastardized hide and go seek, a slight departure from your garden variety children’s game. A game in which all one needs is a group of friends, a lack of good sense, a dark and moonless night, an abandoned building, a handle or two of cheap vodka, and the feelings of invincibility which only youth can bring.

Sardines is the name of the game, now here’s the rub; the bravest or drunkest of your party (and how the too are entwined!) hides alone. Hides alone, mindful of loose floorboards, derelicts, and roving bands of mice and rats. Hides alone, in this archaic monument to the abstract concept of God. Hides alone. The rest of you attempt to find him, and upon doing so, perch, squeeze, or bend and hide there a long with him. A game where, if successful, all seekers become hiders; all hiders, all crammed and jammed together, balanced on cramping legs and trying not to make a sound, in the pitch black of a building without electricity for decades; sardines.

Our game took us all over that church, guided only by the lights of our cellular phones and by the various substances consumed. We found each other in the bell tower, where no bells sound anymore. We found ourselves perched along, step by step, a white marble staircase, a white so stark, so bright, that not even the pervasive and utter darkness could muffle its glow. We found ourselves attempting to squeeze beneath the altar, the crucifix hanging mastodonic and menacing above our heads, Jesus Christ in his final and private throes, unaffected by the sacrilege taking place at his very feet.

The final hiding took place around the baptismal well, still filled after all these years. I was the last to find them, this time; I traversed a hall, negotiated a turn, went through a door, and then I heard it: various shouts and screams from my friends, those poor wretches, as disconsolate and sardonic as I; “Stop! Be careful!” “EMMA? Don’t fall in the Jesus water!” “Finally, you found us! Do you have the last bottle?”. We sat and we drank, then, til that last bottle was as dry as the deserts of Jerusalem.

As I was the last to enter, I was also the last to leave. My friends filed out, and yet I sat, sat on that narrow ledge with the stagnant water beneath me. I dangled my feet above it, and I sat. I sat and I thought of the men who once built this church, our Irish or Italian grandfathers, new to this country, sneered at, yet good enough to build the places of worship. You think of all the thousands of parishioners who once moved through these halls, many of them absolved of their original sin in these very waters. You think of the priests, black robed and long faced, the years of study and the lifetime of celibacy they gave up for their beliefs. You wonder what they, the congregation, the workmen, the clergy, would think of you; a group of half drunk and irreverent suburban teenagers disrespecting utterly and totally the place they believe to be literally God’s House. You feel ashamed, and you wonder where this life could ever lead. You worry for you, and for your friends, for whenever the bottom falls out, for whenever that proverbial pendulum swings back.

i really hate capital letters. i'd go back through and take them all out but i just dont know where i'd find the ambition, you know?

brown bear brown bear what do you see.

today as i was eating dinner nom nom nom my mother was watching survivor man, to which man vs. wild is far superior in my opinion but im supposing her usual infernal two and a half men or nails on a chalkboardesque cash cab were not on but anyways as he whoever he was (survivorman mm hmm) was meandering through the sahara, or whatever desert it may have been, eating grubs and setting fires (to warm the ground on the area he would be sleeping, obvs) i was reminded of the time at the oley turnpike dairy in which me, aforementioned mother, and presumably the little brother and seester witnessed an emu kicking a lamb, who had somehow found its way into the emu enclosure, to death. shit was brutal, in every sense of the word. one wonders what effect this had on us, as my sister is a would be dog murderess.

i'm sorry, but french onion poop is the funniest thing ive thought of in a while. fo realzzz!

currently crocheting a weed pipe cozy, cause thanks be to god it was not injured yet! four rows of lime green, then two rows of blue/white/purple/lime green vareigrated yarn. had to take a break from blanket making when i reverted to my old ways and inadvertently created an inadvertent triangle, which, as heather pointed out, though useless, is very aztec-y looking. ill post picturezzz when im done yayzzz.

we are the sons of no one.

beneath a blue umbrella.

conversation the other day and when i say the other day i mean that actually, it was yesterday, about the other party not understanding that i got tattoos pertaining to musicians. specifically, elliott smith, and a silver mt. zion. not portrait tattoos or anything else so terrible i dont mean to disgrace anyones memory but elliott smith i wouldnt want him looking up at me for the rest of my life nah mean? not even terribly specific to the artists mentioned. but fault was not found in my ginsberg tattoo. i guess i understand the silver mt. zion one being possibly precarious as they could start releasing utter shit unlikely but nevertheless but i mean, pending some tupac-esque revival or unless they were found to have like, killed jon benet ramsey or something, its not as if smith or ginsberg are going to have ever created anything less than perfect. i feel.

obsessed with eels lately. makes me want to watch jarhead. most military movies are terrible i get that but i dont think that movie flim ever got its fair shake.

when i said eels above i meant mark oliver everett the musician but eels like ocean eels are pretty awesome too and obvs i mean if you know me you know maritime as a whole is a pretty huge part of all of my days. its like im an old clipper ship captain, im married to the sea. yes, but ive been out to sea a long time. max fischer said that once.

i know annetha has the same "issue" i say issue but its hardly an issue for me just for those on the outside, i.e. not me, but with relating anything and everything and any thing to a pop culture reference. like, a day does not go by without a sister patterson quote. nay, a day is NOT a day without a sister patterson quote. my audition for her traveling teetotaling band is pending btw.

peter peter pumpkin eater.

file this one under "a new low": cocoa bean mugatu now has a facebook.

that is all.

the mountains of tibet.

every parent should utilise those terrible, terrible "trick" candles....you know, those which when one blows on them, they initially appear extinguished, only to relight? they are probably necessary for every childs' birthday from every birthday since the....birth day. few things in this world highlight as much as aforementioned candles the lack of permanence of everything in this weird life, and how ineffectual each of us really are. valuable lessons, methinks.

the giving tree.

my toof necklace!! the picture does not EVEN do it justice shits awesome and makes me feel like a mofuckin voodoo priestess despite my conspicuous lack of melanin. i wrapped wire around the tooth, which is some sick ass deep sea under water weird twisty type toof, put it on a loop, then put a chain on the bitch. still need a toof hookup def need to make some rattly ass charm bracelet with like forty odd teeth hanging off of it. dad has some deer skulls out in the garage ill just take my pliers out one day i spose.

also: scarf thingie that i made. i figured out how to not just make triangles, heather! yayyyy!! anyways shitty picture obvs but its tan and white patterned yarn with a blue/brown/white striped yarn border around the top edge and the down the diagonal side, at which point it is stitched together. so it should keep my neck warm but also if i have another bout of hatchetface-ism then it will also function in that capacity.

speaking of hatchetface......wtfuck whoever votes for the oscars!?! no love for mr. rourke? shits fucked, man, i mean the guy just lost his chihuahua!! RIP loki.

and i am guilty of the same so i know this is some truth telling im about to do but if you say you hate 'hey there delilah' then you are a lying liar. lying liar pants on fire!

oh the places you'll go.

mixed reactions to my tooth necklace so far. some say its a new low, some think it is wonderful. all i think is that i need more teeth pulled. i probz only really need the front four for my continued survival, you know?

more upsetting than this though, or the surgery as a whole, is the fact that at the spray tan party my mommy let anne go in twice and me only go in once.

vicodin? i still don't enjoy it. just feels like im swallowing money that could be in my pocket every time i take one. you want some vicodin?

BUY YOUR OWN, WHITE BOY!

at heathers babysitting. HOLLA!! how does hayley feel under my ass? HAHAHA SHES ALREADY IN BED!!! in the absence of being allowed to drink alcohol, at the risk of dry sockets, painkiller overdose, blah blah blah blah blah, i've brought some knitting to do. hardly seems like a fair trade.

everybody poops

this shit? fuckin blows. mouth hurts like a motherbitch and i was so very excited about my little vicodins but ive puked up every one ive taken so far. blood is constantly dripping down my throat and im not allowed to spit and if mr. chuck palahniuk is to be believed....what is it.......a pint of blood before one gets sick? something like that. never really popped much of a boner over fight club the novel and certainly CERTAINLY pop no boner over fight club the movie flim. but yeah anyways this shit is fuckin clown shoes, man. mouf is still numbish so im guessing the worst is still yet to come! oh joy.

went to pull out my cell phone in the surgeons office to check me messages THANKS YALL HOLLA and pulled out my weed pipe instead. approximately the same size and shape mm hmm but very different uses indeed. oopsie poopsie! as if dad doesnt know my lifestyle but nevertheless.

the giver

ive been finding it difficult to listen to anything besides obnoxious beepy music. crystal castles, et al. its really becoming a problem around here. that and the white stripes cover of "jolene". jack white is killing me softly with his song. actually, dolly partons song. dollys fuckin fabulous OBVS but no one does shrieky cat in heat better than mr. white. i wonder what dolly used to look like. or what she would look like now if it werent for her......upkeep. less boobs.

he doesn't look a thing like jesus.

dunkin donuts receipts empty crumbled camel light boxes loose fake eyelashes toulouse-latrec postcard white spiky belt with four spikes missing three scarves one grey and white striped linen one red black and blue madras one black and white and something that wouldnt be out of place around some manner of middle eastern jihadists neck a book of stamps emblazoned with the liberty bell no bottle of vodka three pairs of glasses purple gold and black none necessary for correcting my vision two pairs of hoops softball sized and just as obnoxious as that sounds interpreter of maladies weed pipe box of plugs and barbells and o rings now unnecessary since ive retired every piercing a birthday card that plays the theme of jaws thank you heather which i predict the motor will run out on in about...two days or so introduction to logic text rubberbands still swaddling it the evidence of a self paced course a few loose pez unlabeled cherry or raspberry a bottle of warm vanilla sugar flavored lotion and i do not even enjoy that scent that much.

goodnight, moon.

what makes me cry probz more than anything is reading about/looking at pictures from world war two. curious. thats a bunker from normandy. it looks like star wars, though.

my dad meant to call me a douchenozz today i believe cos me and the littlest bandy it about incessantly, but instead referred to me as, while i can only guess at the spelling, as a "douchemah". its almost like the time he was driving me to a show and asked if i was planning on joining in the "nosh pit".

where the sidewalk ends.

my punk band will be called:

taylor moyer is rude.

or

like dolls eyes.

what to do what to do.

if i could blog like anyone it would probz be kanye west. if i could have anyones hair it would probz also be kanye wests though only its current mullet form obvs. or neal cassady if he had a blog. if he were even alive in the time of blogs. hypothetically then i would blog like neal cassady were that the case.

whenever i smoke in the dark i become irrationally fearful that a sniper, seeing the lit end and mistaking me for someone else, will kill me. my dad did get drive-byed with a paintbull gun once. and i have been stabbed. this is a nation wide concern.

number the stars.

Had to write an essay on the book that has impacted us most. Early Childhood Literature was the class. Wrote aforementioned essay, bangin ass essay (though as usual far over the draconian word count limits presented), on American Psycho. The novel obvs not the movie flim. Submitted to the professors' dropbox, copy and pasted to the discussion board..........................until I realized an American Psycho analysis may not be the most apropos choice for a class more geared towards the Berenstain Bears and Where the Wild Things Are. Though Maurice Sendak was on some other shit too, with that shit (he did write Where the Wild Things Are, didnt he?)

No one likes me in any of my classes, which is weird. I understand people not liking and ostracizing me in person, because of my incessant kiss-assery to the teacher and general obnoxiousness. But these are all online, and yet no one responds to any of my discussion board posts! No one! Not one! At all! All semester thus far. But then again one of the hos in my english class tried to say goddamn Twilight was the book that has influenced them most so maybe this shits on some positive. WHAT DO I KNOW. I DONT KNOW.

I was really fuckin happy though about my John Updike essay, it had a 700 word limit............and I ended up through some jest of god WITH EXACTLY THAT. Amazing!

Been so bored I've been going out of my mind. Goofy thoughts abound and, like my father, I have resorted to taking my boredom out by annoying those nearest and dearest, so to speak, even though i have a general disdain of such ridiculous little phrases. Taylor can attest to this. The annoyingness, not my abhorrence of rhyming phrases. And, you know, I gotta say...the old man is onto something. I always knew I loved awkward situations but I never knew how awkward I can make them. Heavy lies the crown, sort of thing.

COCOA BEAN MUGATU is so goddamn persistent with attempting to laze across my laptop keyboard I swear to god if this cat does not get anointed and exorcised soon (or exercised she could use that too) I am just gonna flip.