GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING!

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.

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.
NWSFLASH LOS ANGELES: NOT ONLY MEXICANS UNDERSTAND SPANISH. STOP BEING SO FUCKING IGNORANT.

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!

LIFE OF MY OWN.

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.

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.

Thanks.

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.

xoxo

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:

GOOD DUDE, BACKED HARD.

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.

BRB, CHILLING ON AN ICEBERG.

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.