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.