"Your love for another person has to be bigger than your need for another person."

Syd Straw-- "CBGB's"

i dreamt some friends and i took a guided tour of a "stately home". towards the end of the tour i realized with panic and some confusion that i had left my coat somewhere. the confusion stemmed from the fact that i didn't recall taking my coat off at any point during the tour-- it was as if i was wearing it one second, and the next it was gone. i told the tour guide that i needed to backtrack and look for my coat. she said she was sorry, but the house was supposedly haunted and the ghosts wouldn't like it very much if i went poking around on my own. "fuck the ghosts! it's like a $200 coat," i replied. after some persuasion she allowed me to go off looking for it. she sent along these two dippy high school girls from the tour to help me, and a golf cart to navigate the house. i told my friends i'd catch up with them shortly, and we set off.

we went from room to room, searching through old closets, cupboards, under beds. all the while i couldn't get over the weirdness of my coat just disappearing off my back. i began to suspect foul play and supernatural forces at work. meanwhile the girls kept turning up goulish things, like momento mori, books about executions, archaic medical instruments. with each discovery they got more creeped out and scared. i tried explaining that there was nothing to be worried about; that it was just an old house and the Victorians were just really fucked-up people. but they started to cry and said the ghosts were coming to get us. i was losing patience.

one of the house staff came to tell me that there was someone here to see me. i followed them into a room where my ex-boyfriend was waiting. "what the fuck is your punk-ass doing here?" i exclaimed. "i was just wondering how you were, so i just dropped by," he said, adding that he'd done "a lot of soul-searching" and he was sorry we had such a horrible violent relationship, and he was sorry he tried to strangle me, and he wanted to be friends. i wasn't interested. finally he convinced me to just sit down next to him for a minute. "let's just talk; i want us to be cool," he said. i figured whatever. i saw no harm in just talking.

so i poured my heart out to him. "i lost my fucking coat, and i can't find my way around this goddamn house, and these two girls, they squeal like babies at their own fucking shadow, and i'm like this close to losing it." we sit in front of a roaring fireplace, he listens sympathetically for a while, but we get into a nasty swearing argument anyway, rehashing our whole doomed relationship. eventually i persuade him to calm down; i tell him i really don't need this right now, i'm so over it anyway-- and my coat is still missing. we call a truce. i ask him if he will leave me alone from this point forward, and stay out of my life forever, and he agrees. then i show him the door.

"well, rot in hell," he says amicably as he shakes my hand at the door. "fuck off and die!" i call cheerfully, smiling. "psycho cunt!" he waves goodbye as he turns away and i slam the door.

(end of transmission)

the dos and don'ts of romancing a Pisces. apparently i don't treat my Pisces boyfriend very well at all. i even laughed at him when he cried at the end of the Matrix Reloaded.

just another reason to NEVER get pregnant, ever.

i feel faint. this is almost as scary as mucormycosis. (i can't even link directly to that, it's so scary.)

Michael Jackson loves Taco Bell. he's also kind of weird.

my god, people, can we show some maturity for like, one second? why such violence? yeah, we've all wanted to slam some unruly brat in the face with a brick at some point or another.. um, i guess-- but there's just no excuse for any adult to act this way. and last i checked, 18 = adult.

if it happened to me, i'd be pissed-- but, recognizing that a four-year-old lacks sufficient faculties and fundamental motor skills, i would simply locate the parent or guardian and calmly say, "excuse me, madam, but i'm afraid your errant crib-lizard has damaged some of my property. i demand recompense." and in a perfect world the lady would immediately fumble in her purse and say, "of course; please accept my sincere apology for your inconvenience. let us trade contact information, so that you may bill me for the dry cleaning or a suitable replacement." but more likely with today's parents the response would be "fuck off and die; my child is perfect, he shits solid gold." oh well. then maybe i would just key their car or something.

interesting discussion about pot on FARK. do women like it more than men? some people love it, some people don't get it, some people don't like it, some people are cool with it either way-- and then there are some people who say we should just grow up and get a life. because, you know, real grown-ups go out and get trashed on alcohol, pick fights, smack the wife around, kill other innocent drivers and wake up on the bathroom floor in a pool of their own vomit. good times.

find something that makes you feel good, but don't forget what's important. that's just my $0.02.

saw the Matrix Reloaded this weekend, mostly to check out this Monica Bellucci chick that everyone's waxing poetic about.

she's not that hot, people. kind of average, really. i think it's just that people aren't used to seeing real tits and ass in the movies anymore, so they go crazy. (in fact i'm surprised some jackass hasn't come out talking about how "fat" she is.) of course i wouldn't kick it out of the bed-- but let's try to give more credit where credit is really due.

Kris was talking about farting. (it's not like that's all she talks about, so if you don't read her already you should be.) in public, people should keep their farts to themselves. at home, i think people should fart when they want to. but you should warn your loved ones, so they don't get blindsided. anything less is just betrayal. in the event that circumstances are beyond your control and a warning would be too little, too late, a simple "excuse me" would suffice.

if my boyfriend and i are sitting on the sofa watching TV or lying in bed, and one of us has to fart, we say "i'm gonna fart, so hold your breath ok." unfortunately we are very immature people and the aftermath almost certainly leads to giggles, laughter and a raft of further juvenile acts.

THIS IS WHAT THE FUCK WE'RE DOING.

the Belhaven Memorial Museum. "The Belhaven Memorial Museum is in many ways indistinguishable from its countless local museum brethren. It has no money. It has no air conditioning. It's staffed by a nice senior citizen lady who would like to retire, but can't find anyone to take her place.

"What makes Belhaven remarkable is that it holds the collections of Mrs. Eva Blount Way, a seriously disturbed woman who simply couldn't throw anything away."

like a flea bride and groom! fucking brilliant.

more crazy museums: How I Spent My Christmas Vacation; aka Hey, Look at the Giant Colon!

"The very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. Instead of altering their views to fit the facts, they alter the facts to fit their views-- which can be very uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering."

-- Dr. Who and The Face of Evil, 1977

BF and i decided to embark on a worldwide backpacking adventure. we bummed around Europe for a bit before someone suggested we try India. "oh, i've never been to India, and Alanis Morissette says it's great," i replied. so we went. when we got there India was deserted. not a soul around. we couldn't find our lodgings so we ended up at a college dorm. we couldn't find the light switches. in the morning we discovered that everyone was at this competition which was sort of like a live version of Am I Hot or Not. i figured there was nothing else to do but join in and enter. i found a sink and mirror in which to do my hair and makeup but unfortunately it was right across the hall from these two snotty Indian girls' dorm room and they looked at me and talked in their language, but i knew they were saying, "look at that chick, she thinks she's so hot or something." i went "pfft!" at them and they slammed their door.

at the competition i had to wait until my name was called and then stand up on stage so the judges could look at me. they were the judges from American Idol. they made me twirl around a few times and then Simon said, "i don't know; the unibrow is just not doing it for me." dammit i thought. i should have shaved it before i left the house. but then the other guy-- what's his name-- Randy? said i had a nice body. so because he and Paula liked me i was entered for the second round. i stepped off stage and went to wait with a crowd of other people. i sat down next to this kid who was depressed because the judges dissed him because he was fat and gay. i hugged him and told him not to sweat it. finally i got tired of waiting and said, "i'm bored. this is lame. i'm ditching it." we both got up and left.

BF was waiting outside. "did you win anything?" "they didn't like my unibrow," i explained. the three of us started to walk back to the dorm. "i'm hungry, let's go to Scotland," i suggested. BF, Gay Fat Kid and i all agreed this was an excellent idea. "i think you would dig Scotland," i told Gay Fat Kid. "i'm going to get a steak pie." "i don't think we'll get to Scotland in time for dinner, so we might as well eat here," BF said.

i got all pissed, crossing my arms and walking with my head down. fuck you, Alanis Morissette, i thought. "what's wrong?" asked Gay Fat Kid. "um, it's just that i keep thinking i could be in Scotland right now, you know, where there's shit going on," i replied. "right on, man," said Gay Fat Kid and high-fived me.

(end of transmission)

"Daydream in Blue" by I Monster is still an excellent fucking tune.

Tips for Ordering a Pizza; most notably, try not to be drunk/stoned/high. dude-- if i'm going to pay $15 to eat a large disk of gluten smothered with eight different kinds of pressed meat product and a half a pound of processed cheese that God knows how many people handled, i'd better freaking be stoned out of my gourd.

i'm really excited now because they're going to show Tipping the Velvet on BBC America. Tipping the Velvet is a mini-series all about dykes in Victorian England. Boog showed it to me in London last year and told me the lesbians keep sex-slaves and shit. he's so dirty, hee. BBCA is usually pretty good about not censoring stuff. i popped out today to get the book, and a beautiful gay guy helped me find their very last copy. "oh goody!" i said and he laughed. so, thank you gorgeous sweet gay guy with a lip ring.

apparently there's a dildo involved. go figure.

BF's mom called from Vancouver today. his parents are getting a summer house there. everyone says i should marry him. but i told you, i'm not getting married because i don't want to get divorced.

last night i woke up to a weird noise, and BF was sleeping right at the very edge of the bed, looking like he was just about to tumble off. i started pulling him and said, "scoot over! you're about to fall off the bed!" he woke up and said, "oh, i was dreaming we were at the beach, and there was this cliff, and i was standing at the edge breathing really hard and getting ready to fly." what a psycho.

let's get over it now, ok people? for God's sake, she was a teacher from Modesto, not Eva Peron. i never met her, didn't remotely know her, and neither did YOU. and of course, now that she is officially a Saint, history will never record that she was just as likely to mow you down with her Pottery Barn SUV stroller in the food court as she was to help you with your homework.

what business on earth do you have attending a memorial service for a woman you DID NOT KNOW and had never heard of before she died so hideously? and who the fuck would bring a toddler to a dead woman's house to lay flowers and teddy bears for an unborn child they will never meet? people who have their priorities completely screwed. and media whores.

if you are this broken up over someone you never even met, maybe you should be focusing a bit more on your own life. seriously. what happened was unjustifiable, but the sad fact is that this sort of thing happens everywhere, everyday-- except their parents don't have six figures to post as reward for their safe return, so they can just go rot in a ditch i guess-- and i frankly can't understand wasting my precious emotional energy on what boils down to some California broad who was vacant enough to stay with an abusive man and ultimately got the short end of that decision.

this is almost as disgusting as the Princess Diana fiasco-- but at least everyone knew who Princess Diana was before she died and was possibly touched by her presence.

The crowd overflowed the huge church, and many of the mourners ended up watching the service on closed-circuit television. Mourners said they were glad they attended.
"My daughter just had a baby. I can imagine what the family is going through," said Lisa Maldonado, who drove from San Jose with her husband and two children. "It's made me feel better that I came."

that's right, they drove 40 miles to attend a memorial service for SOMEONE THEY DIDN'T KNOW. this is called issues, people.

Michael Kerew and his wife, Grace, drove from Los Angeles to attend the service. The couple live in the Philippines and were visiting family in California over the weekend.
Grace Kerew just had the couple's third child in January.
"My wife just felt a connection with Laci because their babies were supposed to have been born around the same time," Michael Kerew said. "We had to be here."

and when your babies are old enough, you can tell them about how you took time out of your last vacation ever to fan over some dead woman whose name you can't quite recall at the moment.