Sunday, November 9, 2008

"yo, what are you gonna do about it?"

okay, so maybe i have a big mouth and i don't know when to shut up sometimes. but other times, it makes for a great story.

i just moved into chateau harder this week. on wednesday, i went to wal-mart with brooke to pick up a few things for my new room since i haven't had my own bedroom in about a year and a half and have given up the majority of my belongings. we took the long way through the parking lot just so we could take a gander at chuck-e-cheese and reminisce about the days of playing the jurassic park ride til we were about to puke from the greasiest pizza known to man.

as we rounded the corner of the parking lot, past the grocery store, i said outloud, "man, this is the worst fucking parking lot i've ever been in." now, i've been in some pretty terrible parking lots. the shopping center by my dad's house is one of the absolute worst because if it's not small mexicans driving through in cars that are on their last leg, it's hockey moms in suburbans they don't know how to drive. following in a close second is the parking lot in the calabasas commons. not only is it not uniform in the sense that the lanes don't go in a grid-like fashion, but there are diagonal aisles. fuckin' a.

the aisle i'm going down empties out right by a driveway, and fellow (not a gentleman) in his late 30s, possibly in his early 40s. balding, olive complexion, possibly some pockmarks and a mustache, was driving a pick up truck going mach 70 speeds through, nearly clipping the front of my adorable volkswagen golf. my window was down because it was such a glorious southern california day (read: 90 degrees in november with my shirt sticking to my back), and so was his (most likely for the same reason), so he definitely heard me yell "WHOA SLOW DOWN YOU ASSHOLE!"
he did not like being called an asshole very much, so he stopped his truck in front of my car and said, "did you just call me an asshole?"
my reply to him was "OK, COULD YOU MOVE?"
oh, he moved alright. he moved up to the driveway, jerked his truck to a halt, and got out of his car.

as he walked towards my car, brooke gripped my center consol, looking around for something to be used as a weapon. i thummbed through my brain glossary, wondering what i could use because my mace was not in my purse and if this dude hit me, i was probably going to stab him. a persian mother in a sea foam green explorer pulled up LITERALLY on top of my car and said to me "people in this world are SO mean" to which i replied "yes, i am aware."

pockmark mustache man is approaching my car rambling about how i called him an asshole, and brooke goes "ok, so what are you going to do about it?" and all i could say was "brooke, please." because there are no weapons in my car. so finally i go "OKAY, I'M SORRY." and he replies with "you better be."

WHAT? REALLY? it's the year 2008, you're hauling ass in a parking lot, AND getting offended by being called an asshole? do you have anger issues? control issues? are you abusive? WHAT WERE YOU PLANNING TO DO TO TWO GIRLS IN A CAR? REALLY.

so pockmark mustache man walks back to his car, brooke and i start cracking up hysterically, and make our way into wal-mart.

later on, on the way home, we saw a man using a a segway as a mode of transportation.......

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

why interoffice relations fail to work.

Office life is very dull, I do understand this. But while its dull, its just as incestual as the hardcore scene. Or maybe that's just my office.
I have heard about fistfights over girls in my office. I think that's really funny. Why would you take part in inter office relations anyway? I guess if life is dull, you can always flirt via e-mail.

There is one fellow in particular who thought itd be a great idea to attempt this with me.
On sundays, he would approach me awkwardly in the breakroom. His short pants hitting his ankles while he walked into the room, making a silly slapping sound. His 1998 faded black sideout shirt was an extra nice touch. Do they even still make sideout? Where would one aquire such a marvelous piece of clothing brand new?
He looked no older than 12, but his age was 21. He was from Kentucky, and wore a wedding ring on his finger.
If you're married.....act married. Please for the love of fucking god.
Anyway, his favorite topic of conversation with me was always baked goods. Challenging me to inter office baking contests while sheepishly smiling like the choir boy he portrayed himself to be. Of course, I like to satisfy peoples' wants by telling them what they want to hear when I don't want to be bothered, so I obliged while typing on my sidekick to someones away message, attempting to look occupied.
This went on for a couple of weeks, and then he e-mailed me about an expensive gourmet cake, and some pizza. I got the inkling he liked his women fat, so I just worked out harder. This fucker really was starting to chap my hide. I eventually started to ignore him.
One day, he let me know that his favorite type of music was German techno. I may listen to that in my spare time with the techno twins Schloz and Deter, but that does not mean I partake in German techno activities on a regular basis. I decided this fucker needed to get lost once and for all.

I just got stuck in the elevator with him, once again awkwardly pretending to talk to someone on my sidekick. I heard yesterday he told someone in the office that he hasn't gotten a vaccine since the 3rd grade. Ilegal? Yes. But I wouldn't put anything past a Kentucky asscreep.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

"if the jizzum isn't hizzum...."

Right after I turned 18, I got a job working for an 'adult' production company called BackEnd Productions. Meg Loyal got me the job because I was in dire need of work and she was the receptionist. I'm just that much of a smooth talker that I bullshit my way into this job. Little did they know that everyone they'd hire after me would eventually be the demise of the company.

The company was fairly new, so they hired outbound people to call mom and pop video stores to sell these dvds. Essentially I spent my day talking dirty to old women and Indian men named Patel from Nowhere, USA. Imagine talking dirty to your grandma. Yeah, sweet life.
The title we were selling was called "He Said, She Said" and it was a spoof on the Kobe Bryant case which was obvs the hot ticket at the time.
[Sidebar... Lexington Steel was in it and, and man, let me tell you...that fool has the biggest dick I've ever seen. Fuck that. Anyway...]
The best part about this job was when people would literally try to have phone sex with me. It happened all the time, and I could pretty much say whatever I wanted to them and/or hang up on them. Hanging up on people has to be one of the best things ever. It was also great when I had to call in the Bible Belt. If they sold porn, they would have me talk to someone else "in private" and they would talk about how porn is a sin and all this crazy religious stuff, and I was allowed to say, "Hey, you gotta get your rocks off somehow." The best response by far though was "we don't sell nigger one likes to watch white women get fucked by niggers."

Time went on, and we started hiring. So I somehow convinced my supervisor to hire Brooke. I begged him to hire her. Pleaded. And he finally did. And then he hired Sara. And Bijan. And Myke Turner. And pretty soon, the office was a big clusterfuck of hardcore kids who needed easy money. All my friends were working with me, and it ruled.
We spent the day bullshitting, making our supervisor do our work for us, eating hot cheetos, making fun of people's names (read: ANIL VATS) and listening to Bad Brains, Cro Mags and One Up [with some possible office mosh] I remember one day, Brooke and I went to our tattoo shop which was right next door, and she got tattooed on our lunch break.

At this point in time, Brooke and I drank ALOT. And by alot, I mean we'd go out at night, get trashed, go home at 2am, go to work at 7am, drink on our lunchbreak (her house was right down the street), go back to work, sell porn totally fucking hammered, go home, go out and do it all over again. It was awful, and I probably gained the brunt of my excess weight from drinking expensive fancy liqueours from France found in her dad's liquor cabinet.

Slowly, everyone started to get fired. Bijan and Myke were the first to go obviously because they were dudes. Then Sara. And it was just me and Brooke, because our boss loved us the most. (duh, obviously.) And then one day, Brooke got the axe. I was planning on going to Boston at the beginning of January, and a week before the trip, I was told the company was going under because we weren't selling enough, so I got laid off. I was so fucking upset. It was the best job I ever had. I got paid $10 +commish to fuck around with my friends all day long. And at the time, that was a pretty sizable amount for an 18 year old who didn't have any bills to pay.

No job has ever compared. RIP, BackEnd.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

for all the boys in the world.

i was reading my friend stafford's blog, and saw that he did a recap of every girl he ever liked from l-12. i decided i was going to rip him off, so i had to actually sit here and rack my brain for all the idiots who have infiltrated my life. i'm a winner.

k- i hung out with these two kids, chase and marvin. they were both black. they worshipped mc hammer, and i thought they were so cool cus they could dance. i got caught "playing doctor" with them both in a playhouse at my school. the teachers called my parents, i got in trouble. thus began a long, awesome road of chastity and prudeness. i also kissed two black dudes. u mad.

1- i was still kind of cute in 1st grade, but i wore bike shorts and oversized boxy hand-me-down tshirts. no boy was ever gonna wanna hold my hand in those rags. i had a crush on a 3rd grader named brandon coverdale who talked to me one time and i saw stars. he had a brother named corey who was in 5th. he too, was a babe. i guess it's safe to say i knew at an early age what i wanted.

2- i don't remember 2nd grade. at all.

3- i almost got expelled my 3rd grade year. not only was i the most annoying kid, but i was fucking awkward. i was boycrazy at 8, but i was so terrified of boys. i'm pretty sure i had a crush on most of my 3rd grade class except for andrew yazno. he was gross and super russian. i did also have a crush on a 5th grader named ben kogel. he ran for school president. i voted. if i could compare him to anyone (at that time), it would most definitely have been devon sawa. swoonz.

4- my best friend rachel and i hung out with this kid named tyler compato. he was in the 6th grade and smoked cigarettes so that automatically made him cool and badass and foreign to me because the thought of a 12 year old with braces smoking cigarettes was preposterous. i think he might have asked me to see my boobs at one point, but i was a AA so i said no. plus i was afraid of boys. he ended up being rachel's boyfriend.

5- i went to a catholic school. why? i have no idea, i'm jewish. tom patternoster was my main squeeze this year. laugh at me all you want, i know this dude is a total fucking homo now. that's fine, because i'm pretty sure he threw a handball at me.

6- still in my catholic school, but this year i got rebellious. i told everyone to fuck off. still the most obnoxious 11 year old you ever met (ok, i'm young. my birthday is in august) this year, i had a crush on ben cox (which i'm 99% sure someone on my friends list whos reading this probably knows him...) and leo rodriguez. this is where my pattern of blonde haired blue eyed dudes starts. this is also the begining of my latin fever. leo was really nice to me, but ben was not. ben knew he was hot shit. he also liked smashing pumpkins alot, so i liked them too.

7- oh boy. love of my life, eddie simmett. this was the first year of my life that i ever even hugged a boy. eddie is my angel. he made me a tape of dead kennedy's "give me convenience..." and thus changed my world. we hung out every day and skateboarded and listened to blink 182 together. we got held up at gunpoint on halloween for pumpkin bowling, and then he moved away. i saw him a few years ago at a locust show, but he's not the same. eddie, come back to me.....

8- hahaha this year is so fucking laughable. this is the year that i got "popular", and all the boys loved me. they did a survey on who had the best assets, and i won it by a point. brandon rodriguez was my boyfriend. we never kissed. we just held hands and he walked me home from school. it lasted 2 weeks and then he moved onto my best friend nicole tavdi.

9- i wish i could erase this entire year. 2001 sucked. i had my first REAL boyfriend. nate siggard. he was in a pop punk band called private selection. he was mormon and had very very deep seeded issues. he was a fucking pussy and would cry about everything and he loved to put me down. we dated for 4 months and he was my first kiss (which happened on october 11th, 2001 while american woman by lenny kravitz was on mtv). all he wanted to do was eat my vajay. i guess i was ok with that though. he made me break edge by smoking weed and he liked incubus alot. literally he said "you're too uptight. your edge, or me." of course, him. and he dumped me that night. LOL.

10- i got really into pills and shitty coked out dudes when i was 15 for some reason. me and cortney twomey hung out with dudes named fish and ilya. i was a fucking mess, and totally crazy about some dude named josh puklavitz who was the singer of a band called the christpunchers. he was 17 and had a 32 year old girlfriend. i made sure to let him know everytime i talked to him that his girlfriend was old enough to be his mom. he didn't like that very much. later on, i got a crush on a dude named jimmy who was in the same band as josh. jimmy was just fucking awkward all around and once he found out i had a crush on him, he didn't look me in the eyes.

11- shane from north carolina. some might know him, some might not. broke veganism on a snickers bar he bought at 7-11 in tarzana. wild times. next!

12- i lost my virginity to matt good. he was my boyfriend, and he is not in a very good band. we dated for 7 months and i got free trips to georgia and florida. while he was on warped tour, he decided he didn't want to be with me anymore. i was more devistated because i love his mom and sister. he is a rockstar prick. fuck him.

and there you have it.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

The night that the Persian Mafia almost killed me.

When I was 17, I took Cosmetolgy courses as part of my high school's ROP program. It was free, it was after school, and it sucked. There was a girl in my class who I went to remedial high school with (before I got kicked out) named Ciji, and while we were not friends in school, we were definitely attached at the hip in Cosmo because we didn't know (or want to know) anyone else. She lived down the street from me too, so we carpooled often. It didn't matter though because gas was like, $1.75 then and we lived like 10 miles from the school.
Ciji looked like Mariah Carey and loved Persian dudes. Persian dudes suck. Anyway, she had a boyfriend who was a real scumbag and would always give her problems. She'd always talk about some Persian Mafia type shit and in typical Martine fashion I always told her to ditch the zero and shut up about it. I think she even mentioned a time when he was physically abusive to her. That's a big no no.
One night, Ciji is driving us home from school and we notice a car is following us. Not in the "oh, weird that car is going in the same direction as us" sense, it was in the "holy fucking shit, that car is following us." So she starts going down all these weird inconvenient side streets and sure enough the car does too. At this point I'm freaking out and asking her if she knows whats going on and again she spouts some shit about the Persian Mafia and her boyfriend and yadda yadda and I'm like "CIJI DON'T GO HOME, DON'T BE DUMB JUST GO TO THE POLICE STATION." And in typical dumb slut fashion, she says "no, I can't. They'll just drive off and wait til the cops are gone to fuck with me." I'm shitting bricks, and she turns up the street to my house and we hit a stop sign. The car cuts us off, stops in front of us, almost hitting her, and two Persian dudes with baseball bats get out and run at the car. She books it back to the 101 with these assholes in tow and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs about to cry thinking "oh my god I'm going to die because of this fucking goon." She calls her boyfriend and he's at some park in Tarzana laughing at her, so we end up there and a couple exits before that, we lose these fucking baseball bat wastes of life. Once at the park, Ciji's boyfriend YELLS AT HER because of what happened, even though it was somehow his fault (I don't exactly remember why..don't drink ever.) and instead of going home in a timely manner, I had to sit in the park with this cunt and her boyfriend for 2 hours until she brought me home. In this two hours, the boyfriend just berated, talked down, and shoved Ciji. I guess she deserved it for being such an idiot loser and almost getting us both killed by having a furball for a boyfriend. I held my tongue ever so gracefully.
Shortly after this incident, Ciji dropped out of class and we stopped being friends. That's fine, because I could never be friends with someone who would put my life in danger. Thats just selfish business. Since that day, whenever I drive to my mom's house at night, I'm terrified someone is following me.

Monday, July 7, 2008


I'm backtracking a little, and reminding everyone why it's important to celebrate the American Dream. America is a great, greedy country, and I'll be damned if I don't celebrate its independence every year. This year, this is what I was celebrating and why.

Why? Because it's good.

Because we're overpopulated and it's forcing me to learn more Spanish than I ever intended on.

Even though we haven't been in the playoffs let alone won a Cup for years, this is MY sports team goddammit. While it is a Canadian sport, it's a Los Angeles team. Los Angeles is in America. (but just barely)

If you hate Disneyland you can delete yourself from my life. BAI!. Disneyland rules. Who doesn't love a little fantasy in their lives? I know I do. I can go from being in NOLA to being in Tomorrowland in like, 10 minutes flat. Take all my money please, Disney franchise.

I don't need to tell you why I'm celebrating these three albums, you should already know. And if you don't know, you better ask somebody. Or purchase them. just sayin'. Also, throw Cro-Mags "Age Of Quarrel" into the mix. I was just too lazy to find the cover and upload it.

Food with Integrity? Fuck yeah, I wanna eat food with Integrity. Anyway, Chipotle rules. Whoever god is, he better bless Colorado for having the first Chipotle.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

This Is Why I Suck.

On the 4th of July, about 20 minutes before my store was closing, a dude named Eddie came in and struck up a conversation with Monique and myself. He asked for my number and cause I'm a sucker for a half latino dude, I gave it to him. He texted me later on with what might be the worst thing ever:

The word "conversate". As in "I just wanna get food and conversate wit you." (no 'H' on 'with')
I took the liberty of looking up the definition for this word on a very reliable source known as It says:

1. conversate

A word used by backwards, ignorant, illiterate inner city trash who mean to say 'converse'.
"Yo, I just needs to conversate witcha!"

To which I replied, "No, you need to _converse_ with me, you dumb shit-eating fuckhead!"


I tried my damndest to ignore this kid. There is absolutely no way I am hanging out with him based on this alone. Granted I might not be the smartest ever, but I am fully well aware how to speak properly. Between last night and this morning, he called me 8 times. I answered one time (the first time). Wild. Along with cute must come brains.

Today, I made a vow to myself that I won't give out my number unless the dude asking for it likes and can tell me about the Cro-Mags. NO CRO-MAGS, NO WAY.

Sucks for me, because an hour before closing, a dude came in and while conversating (-_-) with me, I mentioned the Cro-Mags. He was into it, as well as other hardcore bands I like. Except this time, he gave me his number.

Forever fucked.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008


I have horrible taste in men and I am aware of this. Come along on a journey with me to showcase my current celeb crushes while I ramble about them in little blurbs. I am so gay.

David Beckham is so handsome. He is everything I could want in a man, sans deep manly vocal capabilities. Tall, fancy looking, shaved head and lots of tattoos. The only thing that really gets me is that when he has hair, he has some stupid mohawk or a variation of. Please, Becks. just keep your head shaved. You are so much more hunkier that way. I would.

Ah, James Bond aka Daniel Craig. You are most definitely old enough to be my dad, but god damn if you aren't a dilf. I would definitely let you fall in love with me. You know you're handsome.

Channing Tatum. You're gay and can dance well. But you're really good looking and that sucks. Another thing that sucks is that you do horrible movies. Plz ungay yourself. Thanks you.

Sean Avery. You were my fave rave on the LA Kings but you've betrayed me and gone onto a NY sports team. Now, I don't like NY sports teams, never have. But for you, I will like any team. You are strapping. And you pick fights for no reason. And you have a cute facial scar that adds so much character to your freckley face. Thank you for being you, Puppy.

Henry Rollins. You too are old enough to be my dad. But I would let you talk down to me for reading Harry Potter. I don't even read Harry Potter but I would tell you I did anyway. You are a hulkomatic and I like that. Smack me around a little. It's good for me.

Would most definitely party hard with Andrew WK. I would wear white pants and punch myself in the face with AWK. He is the party, and so am I. Rain or shine, we will party together. Peep that smile...who would have ever through that AWK would get on a girl's babe list? He's the odd man out.

I don't wanna catch you in the chinchilla all through the winter, man. But make my whistle blow. Juelz Santana is definitely what my game's been missin'. Just sayin'.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008


Since it was important enough to post on World Moves Fast, I figure I should probably post it in my blog.

Mary Jo Buttafuoco's New Life

My parents rule.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

To live and die in LA

The 110 freeway is the most poorly constructed freeway in the greater los angeles region. With that in mind, you shouldn't blog from your phone while driving on it like I'm doing now.
I had to make my pointless downtown los angeles trip today to pay a fix it ticket I received from officer gutierrez in april. I had expired regestration because I'm irresponsible.
I've never been in trouble with the law short of not paying tickets on time. No police record or anything like that. I'm a good girl.
I got my first traffic violation the day I got my license. I was 17. December 2nd 2004. I had 2 people in the car with me and I made a left turn during hours where left turns were not permitted. Fuck that. The officer who issued my ticket was nice though and he didn't suspend my license. He just made me go to boring traffic school for 8 hours.

I got to the courthouse around 10:45am and I didn't have 7 dollars on me for parking so I had to go to mcdonalds to use the atm.
Note to self: never wear dior glasses while in the ghetto. Its bad for your street cred, white girl.
I go and park and make friends with obviously white trash south bay kids to find my way into the courthouse. We chit chat, find out what each other is there for, and then part ways. Friends for life. I step inside and the entire place reeks of weed. Dumpster blacks love to carry weed on them at all times. I don't know why this is because it used to happen all the time at MAC. Its one thing to smoke good weed but it is another to smell shwag weed. Yuck. I probably should have prefaced that statement with the courhouse was filled with black people. 6 mexicans and 1 white girl....myself. Nothing like seeing a pregnant 17 year old first thing in the morning.
I'm standing in like and this fat slob gets in line behind me. Everytime I move up, the slob moved up too, to the point of where he is invading my personal bubble. He yawns in my direction and it smells like he's been dead for 18 years. At this point, it is my duty to myself to find any way possible to distance this guy from my area. It gets to a point where I'm literally doing splits to make him give me my space.

I decided my biggest pet peeve while in line today: I really can't stand it when people talk about me in front of me. Okay, I get that I have marvelous eyebrows and I look really angry all the time, but I'm like a porcupine. I use my face as a weapon against any idiocy that could come my way. I'm very very nice, I just don't tolerate bull. I'd rather walk at a rapid pace than talk with a 16 year old about thebackpiece he wants or someones dad about his biker tattoos...unless the dad is hot and has lots of money he wants to spend on me.
There were two women behind me talking about my tattos in spanish.

In short today I learned the following: pay your regestration on time, obey the law, always carry 7 dollars on you just in case, the 110 is horrible, brush your teeth, don't blog on the freeway, pms isn't all that bad and mind your business.

Here's to hoping I don't get fired today!

Friday, June 13, 2008


Whenever I work with Rachael, there's a good chance that we'll be listening to Age Of Quarrel for the entire (or big majority of) shift. This causes some slight out of control happenings, like yelling or grapefruiting (as much grapefruiting that you can do to the Cro Mags) and emmulating John Joseph 's vocals as much as possible. Do you ever notice how listening to Cro Mags will make you do crazy things? Like speed or jump on things or I don't know...maul a small tiger.

I am hoping that one day, a pair of musically inclined 6'4' babes with shaved heads come into my store and start talking to me and rachael about NYHC. I will then
Use my wit and charms to make at least one of them love me. A dude after my own heart, finally. Hopefuly he'll take me on my caribbean cruise or at least buy me my island in the middle of nowhere.

This morning a group of white trash valley bottom dwellers came into my store. I was all by myself, and one of them asked me is we got any new Circas in, and another had grimey black and grey sleeves and was holding a tissue to his hand. The other two were meandering around the store, presumably looking for something to steal. Grimey sleeves asked me for a band-aid and then the group ran into the mall aka the custody of the LAPD. LOL at you, bottom dwellers. Must suck to be arrested for shoplifting from Target for stealing mp3 players. Not only that but apparently all the entrances to the mall were blocked off and they brought out the ghetto bird. Great job, Los Angeles!

Also, I want shoes that cost $825 dollars. Fuck you, Christian Louboutin for making the best shoes ever.

This is what happens when work is so unbelievably slow you want to cry.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

an open letter

Dear Jarred,

First of all, disappear. Second of all, fuck you. You've got some balls. Remember when you made fun of me every single day of the one year I went to school with you? You said the music I listened to was crap. You said I looked like a loser and I dress stupid. You never had anything nice to say. You're a dumb surfer bro jock and I want you to disappear. Please, never walk into my store again and try to talk to me about music. Your face when I called you out on making fun of me for liking Poison The Well was fucking hilarious. You were speechless. You had nothing to say except "oh sorry". I even did it in a nice way! Do not ever come into my store and ask me to borrow anything. Do not ever try to talk to me about hardcore. Do not ever try to talk to anyone about anything relating to the past, present or future state of hardcore, 90s metalcore, current metalcore..anything. Do not talk to anyone about "The 'Chord" and how much you like them because you're a fucking tool for calling them "The 'Chord." and they suck anyway. Don't bother talking to me about Bury Your Dead's new album, don't bother talking to me about how you've seen Poison The Well 11 times. Don't fucking talk to me at all. You are what everyone who plays in the bands you listen to hates. You are a dumb ignorant bro rich kid. Never talk to me ever again.


Dear Encino Man,

You are a disgrace. You are everything that anyone could ever hate in a person. First of all, you look like the Geico Caveman so stop thinking you're a hotty boombalottie. Its a wonder you even get laid, your personality is that of a dead snail. You're a rich kid with a big mouth and a little back bone. You made fun of me in high school too but it's really funny now to see you at h2o shows and talking about how you love Verse. Guess what, you're a bandwagon jumper and I want you to disappear too. I can't wait for the next wave of cool to ride through so you can hop on your trendboard and surf that wave. It's really great that you talk shit on message boards about hardworking local bands but you'll never show your face at a local show you big fucking vagine. Remember when you got your brand new BMW and you drove it to the Calabasas Teen Center and you came out and your Drive-Thru Mobile had gum under the door handles? Yeah, I'm responsible for that. Keep looking like a coward, I hear that's cool this year.

Dear All Girls Looking To Be My Friend So They Can Fuck My Dudefriends,

Keep it up. It keeps my dudes happy. Just don't expect me to be a good secret keeper, or to hang out with me that much cause I already know what you're all about. I definitely don't wanna hear you vent or complain about anyone either. Also, the best advice I can give you is send n00dz.


Friday, May 30, 2008

Real Talk: Creepy Dudes

I really suck at dudes. I'm also a very nice person, and I don't like to say no (to certain things). This poses a problem.

For those of you Tiggles blog readers who don't know, I work in a mall skate shop. Its a fun atmosphere and I like almost everyone I work with (sans the n00b who thinks that minor threat and bad brains didn't influence one single band in current music...we'll save him for another blog.) For the most part, our customers are largely males (no duh) thus making my end of the job fairly easy. All I have to do is take off my hoodie to expose my tattoos, smile, give my opinion on whatever-it-is, and we're good to go. But sometimes, the sale will end with this:

"oh, so uhm, you forgot to give me your phone number..."

Instantly, I'm put on the spot. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? With a boldfaced lie? Sure, I could tell the dude I'm married. Or have a boyfriend. But I'm sure the look on my face will give it away that I am lying through my teeth. I am a horrible liar. So I end up giving them my fucking cell phone number, only to have them text me 10 minutes later with things like "Thank you for taking so long to ring me up. I couldn't help but stare at your beautiful face."

wap wap wap....HOW. CHEESY. IS. THAT. I only took so long because our registers are ancient. I'm also new and have no fucking clue how to use them so don't flatter yourself muchacho.

Now, I won't call or text this person ever. They can call and text and leave messages all they want, but it's more than likely never going to happen. For the past 2 weeks, I've been getting texts (including the one above) and phone calls from some dude I met last week who I'm sure is a really nice, fun guy, but I have ZERO interest in him or any other dude right now. (If you only knew the drama that has unfolded in my life over the past 6 months...) Also, I am probably 2 inches taller than him and I love to wear 4" heels so he's out by default. I won't compromise my amazonian tendencies for anyone.

Anyway, I got word that two days ago, he came into my work LOOKING FOR ME. come the fuck on. If I have not returned your texts or phone calls, something should be telling you that I don't want to hang out with you. Why do guys do this? Why must you come into my place of employment and look for me? This makes me mad. I feel like I'm trying to break up with a creepy obsessive boyfriend. Dudes need to also learn that if they want a girl to hang out with them, it's probably not the best idea to continuously attempt to get in contact with them. The same night the dude came into my work, HE CALLED ME. AGAIN. WHY.

which brings me to my next dude-qualm...

By birthing default, I'm Jewish. I wasn't raised Jewish, but my grandmothers certainly were, and they know how to lay the Jewish Guilt on like no one's bizz. So much so, that I've basically become immune to it. So tell me why anytime I do something a dude doesn't like, he has to make sure to try to make me feel guilty? I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your sister. I'm not your mama. There is no reason why I need a 3 page text from anyone on this planet (maybe uranus..lololz) telling me why I'm an asshole and a bad person for not hanging out last week/not going to their show/not walking their dog/not buying you a milkshake/not traveling to mars/etc...I am just trying to life my life for myself BY MYSELF and I am still plagued by guilt soaked conversations from people with penises. I thought I was supposed to be the one giving guilt trips? I'm the one with a vagina here. There is no sand in mine, so maybe you should take a shower to rinse it out of your mangina. And believe me, I will not hesitate to set you straight. I lived with it for a year and walked away from it scott (or danny) free, and it doesn't take much to place someone on the "do not answer" list in my phone.

So, dudefriends, please refrain from being a pesky ex-non-boyfriend. I enjoy hanging out but one day I'm going to throw my sidekick at a wall, and when it breaks, I will make the person who sent that text message/called me one too many times buy me a BB Curve. and then I will block their number.

EVERYONE GO TO THIS TONIGHT! I modified the flyer for everyone who was too lazy to do so. I feel that my flyer is better than the original:

Saturday, May 24, 2008


my dad is the best dude ever. never lets me down, always keeps promises and knows how to have a good time. tonight i went to a dodgers game with him, and by the 7th inning, dodgers hadn't even scored a home run. he turns to me and says, "hey, this sucks. lets go to yankee doodles and play pool." on the way home from the bar, i played air guitar to panama and breakin' the law while he sang and played air keyboard. rules.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008


yesterday morning i woke up at 8:30am with a stuffy nose and one goal in mind: to get my back as tan as my stomach.
naturally i'm porcelain white. transparent. totally see-thru. but the sun and the so cal weather + my genes have been pretty kind to me lately, and now i'm a nice cafe au late. i can't complain.

i drove into the valley to pick up essa and jayme from the chateau, and emily had just woken up and was getting ready.i reminded everyone to bring sunscreen even though it was going to be overcast. we got in my car and drove through death canyon aka topanga canyon listening to kid dynamite and laughing about things that hardcore girls laugh about when they are in a group.

when we got through the canyon, it was disgustingly overcast and cold, so we made a pitstop at subway for $5.00 footlongs aka 6" sandwiches on weird bread. while eating, i noticed a store called "millionaire mutts" right next door, so we decided after we were done eating, we'd go in there to see if they had puppies. and they did. cute fat little baby bulldogs. a frenchie and an old english. the old english waved at me, and we contemplated taking the puppies and running.

finally we arrived at glorious zuma 7, and the fun began.

i ran out of SPF4, so i put SPF15 on the ditches of my knees and thought nothing of it. everyone else was busy applying their SPF15 or 50. i was almost confident i wouldn't get that burnt since i'm already tan. we laid in the sand and listened to the same french song on a loop, until we went to get ice cream from FOOD and emily asked the guy (who was nice to only me because of my tattoos) if he had any "bob marley music".
we saw dolphins, lurked on people and discussed blackout moments from posi numbers, sound and fury and other random shows and made fun of essa's english. we were all convinced we had not gotten any color, but kept asking each other if we were red. finally, it was getting cold, so we asked a couple of boys who were sitting in front of us if they could take some photos.

i gave the kid sitting in the background some lessons on being a creep because as you can see, he clearly doesn't know how to be "that guy" in the background of pictures. you can also see FOOD in that picture.

we packed up and left zuma 7, and stopped for gas.$8.00 bought me two gallons. talk about rape! when i got out to get gas, everyone gasped in horror. "OH MY GOD, YOUR LEGS ARE BRIGHT RED!" and then i felt it. I got back in the car, and we drove home listening to lots of slipknot and korn. i am very comfortable with myself.

when we got back to the chateau, we actually examined our sunburns. we all look like we are wearing diapers. imagine if someone slapped you in the same spot underneath your butt with a pingpong paddle for 5 hours and thats what this feels like. i'm more than positive i won't be wearing pants or attending any beach or daytime pool parties for the next two weeks.

in this picture, you can see where i ran out of SPF. there's an actual splatter mark. also, i know that i am not the skinniest person alive, and this is not the best face i have ever made. yeah yeah, crack kills.

i went home and procrastinated showering for at least 2 hours because i knew how painful it would be. i ended up taking a luke warm bath which was okay, and then i applied this aloe spray we have in my household. aloe spray is working wonders. it's an instant fix and it feels incredible when spraying it on. my only qualm is that it is a little sticky.
i went to dinner with my grandma and then hung out with luis and hector. by this time, i was feeling not so great. i came home, popped some benedry allergy, applied more aloe spray, and went to bed propped up on 2 pillows.

this morning i woke up feeling extra crispy, and decided i'm not doing anything today because i look like this:

at least that gnarly sunburn will turn into a bodacious tan. and then i will have to even out my stomach and chest to match. no thanks.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

what do you say to this?

Today I am waiting in line at coffee bean for my Ultimate Ice Blended Mocha with no whip, while furiously twittering my thumbs on the old SK id (most likely talking shit to BCC). I'm wearing a white halter top, black tube top underneath and cut off jean shorts that are a reasonable length. There's a nerdy older dude standing next to me with a target bag full of "health food", and he is very obviously burning a hole into my body with his 4eyes. I'm obviously pretending not to notice, so I don't look up. Who wants to have a conversation about dia de los muerto skulls at 10am? Not me. I actually never want to have a conversation about them.

"Sorry for staring", says nerdy dude.

At least he apologized.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

viva la mexico!

my memory is that of an old person. it goes in and out. mostly i forget the good things that happen, so i'm writing them all down while i still can.

terror did a string of CA dates one weekend before going to Mexico. Brooke and i had this brilliant idea (again with the brilliant ideas) to go down to tijuana with big zack and dre. the car ride was a long one with cameos by cock sparrer and guns n roses, and a rest stop in dana point to pee.
we parked the escape at the border of America, went to the duty free store for i don't remember what (probably diet coke and the biggest bottle of Bacardi they had) , and crossed the border to enter what might be one of the sketchiest nights of my life.

we hailed a cab and the driver was a young dude playing some terrible rap music. i remember looking at Brooke and holding on for dear life and thinking to myself "i am not going to make it out alive tonight."
we arrived at the venue, which was right next to a liquor store. in Mexico, 19 is old enough to buy alcohol, so fuck yea. i bought a bottle of oso negro which broke my bank at a whopping $8.00 (and may i add..shit was like, the grey goose of Mexico) and a sprite. Brooke bought a large sol which tasted identical to blood. we sat outside the venue and drank for a long time. andy appeared randomly. we made phone calls on our cell phones (internationally), sang a song about the sketchy black bag, zack put nick jett and Brooke on his shoulders, and before we knew it, terror went on.

now, i don't remember ANYTHING during terror. but after terror, i peed on the sidewalk around a corner and everyone took turns trying to wipe my drawn on eyebrows off. if my memory suits me, i was asking people FOR A SHARPIE. when in Mexico, do as the Mexicans do.

some stuff happened between then and the time we got to the hong kong bar, but I'm not really sure. Tijuana is loud and dirty and smells like ghetto dogs. man, fuck onions. they're so gross. i remember alot of hookers standing in doorways. i especially remember alot of sol being drank at the hong kong bar. i think someone successfully wiped off my eyebrows, so i went upstairs and used an AIDS eyeliner from a stripper/hooker to draw my brows back on. of course i sharpened it first. what are ya, stupid or somethin'?

Brooke and i were sitting with a stripper (i think), when all of a sudden a sketchy blurry faced man with a Polaroid in hand comes up behind us and said "hey, can i take a picture of you guys?"
i turned around and pointed to dre and zack and said "HEY! GO ASK THEM!"
apparently an altercation happened where this man asked zack if he could purchase me and Brooke. "how much for your girls?" he asked. zack's (obvious) reply: "they're not for sale."
I've heard a few versions of this story. one has him and his posse threatening with a knife. one has him and his posse threatening with a gun. one has him threatening to come back with his posse and then he comes back with his posse and flashes a gun and asks zack again how much it would be to purchase us. either way, this dude fucking tried to purchase us and that is wild.

oh i should mention that somewhere in this, Luis got naked with not one but two strippers in shaving cream and there is a Polaroid of it. Brooke also had a conversation in spanish with another stripper and rumor has it, put her face in her vagina. i do not believe that for one second.

we left hong kong bar after Brooke and Luis slow danced and Brooke asked me for a hairtye. i couldn't walk anymore; i was officially Ralph status. for those of you who don't know Ralph, i was blacked out. i probably did a bunch of jump twirls, talked alot of shit and probably almost got someone beaten up.

when we got to the border, i was so afraid i wouldn't get back across to America. i remember that i rehearsed in my head how to say "the united states of America" over and over. of course, when the guard asked me, there was absolutely no doubt that my stupid idiot drunk ass was from the USA.

on the way home (which i am assuming was around 4am), i asked Brooke for mcdonalds. once we got it, i vomited. so much for the fucking fries or hashbrowns or whatever the fuck it was. i passed out all the way home and felt like a royal dick head the entire day. i will never go to Tijuana again unless a large man i am friends with (that i know will take care of me) comes with.

hangovers suck. hong kong bar, on the other hand, does not.

brooke shit on a rock!

brooke and i are leaving warped tour 2006 at the Ventura country fairgrounds. we stayed and hung out at the after party, so we had had a few drinks. i don't really know who let us leave, but someone did. we're walking back to my car, and Brooke lets me know she has to shit.

"well, can you wait til we get home?"
"no i have to fucking go now."
"where are you gonna shit?"
"right here...on this fucking rock!"
"what are you gonna wipe your ass with?"

you know that shitty shrubbery thats outside like, doctors offices and malls? the really succulent leaf bushes. yeah, she wiped her ass with one of those leaves.

i don't remember getting home that night. all i know is that we got home, and nothing that stupid will ever happen again.

Friday, May 9, 2008

attack of the cholas

i worked for MAC Cosmetics for 2 years. i'd say about 98% of our customers were hispanic women. most of them were ignorant as fuck. most of them did not speak any english. i'd say i've learned more spanish in my time working at MAC than i did in Spanish I or II in high school.

a girl named M who used to work at my counter went up to a chola shopping for a brown lipliner. in her hand, she held 'teddy' eyeliner which is a dark shimmery brown color. eyeliners are not recommended for the lip area because there is an ingredient in them that may be harmful if ingested.

m: "hey hun did you need some help?"
chola: "i'm looking for a dark brown lip liner"
m: "well, thats an eyeliner. it's not safe for the lip area. if you ingest it, it might make you sick."
chola: "so, my stomach knows whats for my eyes?"

what am i REALLY doing?

i am the first person to poke fun of myself. after like, 9 years of having a livejournal, i'm gonna wear my big girl pants and jump on the bandwagon that is blogging @ blogspot.
ever get annoyed when girls you're friends with say "oh, my life!" well, i'm one of those girls. sometimes shit happens and i can't fucking believe it. so, i'm going to document these things.

my grandmother is the worst. my mom's mom. i'll probably talk about her a whole lot. if i prayed, i'd pray to god i am not like her when i get old. she's 67, grouchy, self centered, naggy, embarassing and most of all she is ALONE. as in, divorced. as of 3 years ago. who gets divorced when they're old? dying alone doesn't sound like too much fun. don't get me wrong. i love grandma but she is only cool to hang out with for maybe 5 hours tops. thank god she lives in florida so i don't have to see her too often.

anyway, when i was 15 years old, i went christmas shopping with her (yes, jews celebrate christmas) at the promanade mall. i'm very observant, so i pointed out this very happy go lucky asian man walking across the street. "grandma, look how happy that guy looks!" i said to her. she turned to me, looked me dead in the eyes and said "WHO GIVES A SHIT?!" my jaw dropped.

imagine if marge simpson's mother had a perma-cold and a jersey accent.