i have the standard earlobe piercings, one per ear. got them when i was in third grade, i haven’t really worn earrings on a regular basis since fifth grade, but whenever they seal up i can usually punch back through. i stretched them second half of my junior/first half of my senior years of high…
Did you know Anthony Green has f-holes on his back? He got them in the style of the old Man Ray photo. I fucking love him, and think that sounds beautiful. I’ll dig up a picture.
Swear to god, I’ve had this headache since like 7pm Monday and it’s come and gone. Now it’s at full-blown fuck you portion of events, which is perfect timing really. Golf-clapping all the way, motherfucker, how lovely of you to get to the puking stage when I should be sleeping. Tbh maybe this is where all that anxiety was coming from. I haven’t felt ok all week, and it’s been weirding me out out. Trying to play ~which came first: the anxiety or the migraine is a fruitless fucking endeavor, but I can’t tell if I get anxious because of the migraine or if the anxiety gives me migraines.
Whatever, man. I watched all of Dead Set tonight because it’s fucking Halloween. So good. I have to work this afternoon, and then I’ll finish all the backlog of shit I haven’t done. People who are expecting emails, expect one tonight but don’t hate me if I fail to deliver - I am Empires-level behind on communication.
And in summation, Michael Pitt is a really epic gangster. Thanks to N’well for finding this gif which I will now wear out.
Two-thirds of my facebook friends are blocked from my newsfeed — not because I don’t like them but because friends from their other social circles are either idiots, douchebags, political ignoramusses, obsessed mommies, farmville/quiz whores or expecting me to give a shit about their fucking cats.
In many ways, the Marie Claire blog piece about how fat people should stay out of sight, out of mind, is no surprise. It is, as Cleolinda pointed out, what we (and by we, I mean the obese) fear people think about us anyway. It’s what we KNOW women’s magazines, or at least these types of…
I haven't been on Tumblr all day until like 15 minutes ago.
Pretty sure I just set some kind of record for being at home all day and not really on the internet.
I did spend a long-ass time fretting and also trying to learn advanced lighting techniques. Neither venture got me anywhere. I still hate my job, and it was a bad day to try to photograph a nervous golden retriever in shitty fall drizzle.
Still owe people emails, am still out of touch with bros, still out of sorts, still haven’t started that writing prompt journal. Slacketty-ass motherfucker… Tomorrow I will do everything on my to-do list and my photos will be fucking soigne.
Yes. I really did just use soigne. I’m gonna go read or try to sleep, maybe.
Ps, ILY Weenie. Thanks for the pep-talk. You help more than you’ll ever know.
Dad: What are you doing? Me: Painting over stuff. Dad: The future takes a second to be close your eyes and feel what is happening, wow that’s deep. Me: Shut up. Dad: You need to fill this room with something great. Instead of all this indie photography and indie band bullshit. And stop with…
That’s adorable; I laughed and then felt bad because Tom doesn’t realize his entire life is a Kurt Cobain cosplay yet. <3 Hope things are better with you!
Wait wait. The Parkway is jammed because there is glare from the sun?!
This weekend was stupid awesome, but I’m so congested I can’t breathe right now.
Worked Saturday/Sunday. We were stupid busy Saturday and stupid slow Sunday. But I got to hang out with Ween which is always the best. But then my entire mouth swelled up because I came in contact with something that had nuts in it. I don’t know what it could have possibly been, which is even crazier.
I owe people emails. Sorry for the epic delay, I’ve had like no time all weekend.
I also have no energy to finish this post, because I feel like I’m drowning right now. Time to take cold meds and go lie down.
this is actually really depressing for me because i can’t vote this year because we move to arkansas before the election but we can’t vote IN arkansas because to register you have to be a resident and the registration was a month ago and obv we aren’t even residents now
but y’know you all should watch it
and then vote
You can cast an absentee ballot in your home state at least. That’s really sad. =/
This post is stolen from my old deadjournal (lol), and is like 5 years old. We obviously think we're funnier than we are.
fright farm. in a word? stank-ass. okay, maybe that’s two words, but still… this year’s theme was The Sound & The Fury. We figured out the fury part (Ween was furious through most of it) but the sound part is still completely lost on us because, sadly, our most-assailed sense was smell.
when we got there (after getting lost in some of the creepiest farm country ever), it was around 9pm and we had to climb the big hill on foot to get to the station and get on the scary, tractor-pulled flatbed… the fx were really lame on the tractor drive through the woods and the honor of biggest scare is tied between the drunken whores to my left and the tractor backfire that made everyone scream. the jackasses with chainsaws running out of the woods were nowhere near as scary, and the fireball in my mouth was in no danger of being choked upon, as i had feared, even though someone lovingly removed it for me when it got too hot. (yay you).
up next was the maze. lame. beej insisted on bailing and turning down weird alleys so she could jump out and scare us when we walked past. there was much scooby doo action- i.e., heads poking around corners, tip-toe walking, and zoinks! but then i got bored, used my keen directional instincts, and found the way out.
so we get to the smaller house (there’s like three buildings total) and there’s a couple of good moments, including a guy suspended from the ceiling all lunging for people. since i was already in crouching biz fighting stance (duck-walking with my face pressed into the back of someone else’s hoodie), he barely registered on my radar, but ween almost had a depends-worthy moment for shiz.
from there, we had to travel through what basically amounted to a fucking bog. and by bog, i mean one long muddy trail where our shoes got sucked in up to our ankles and our pants got soaked and caked with thick black mud. so preoccupied were we with our shoes and pants (weenie breifly lost her shoe in one particularly nasty patch) that we forgot to be scared when the random zombie crawled out of the faux-graveyard to try and frighten us. normally, i’d have been a screaming lunatic, but i can’t be afraid of some idiot with fake blood on his face when my cute baby blue and black vans are being ruined. the conversation went like this:
Zombie: ugggrrrghhhhhhhh (makes vague threatening motions and lurches toward us) Weenie: do you have a garden hose we can use? Biz: maybe a towel? Weenie: there’s mud in my socks, man! Zombie: Brainnnnnsssss? Weenie: no. towels. Biz: or hip waders. Zombie: No brains. (shuffles off)
So yeah. then, we actually got inside the main house… a place weenie and i have rechristened Stankonia. For some unknown reason (maybe it was the random live goat in a pen in one of the rooms), the place smelled like a cross between burning acetone and cat piss, leading ween to proclaim “This place smells poor!” Breathing through our mouths became our only option. For a moment, i wondered if it smelled like that because the upcoming scenes were so horrifically good that people just peed themselves constantly. I soon found out I was wrong. However, we knew we were in a truly whatthefuck scenario when we rounded the corner to see random pictures of hitler and osama bin laden on the walls. There was nothing tying them to that particular room. One one side was a girl in a ‘hot devil’ costume, and on the other, there were these two pictures. I don’t know if they were just there for ambience, or if they were trying to rile up the rednecks that live that close to the west virginia border, or if some planner was like “you know what’d *really* scare people? The cover of Time magazine! ooooooooh”. At any rate, the point was totally lost on us. What the fuck do hitler or bin laden have to do with sound *or* fury?! I mean, hitler never released a dance record, and osama spends his time hiding in a cave like a little bitch. Maybe it was supposed to be The Sound & The Furor. We know, we’re funny. We wanted to write ‘Reagan Youth’ across bin laden’s forehead, but at this point, a young-ish girl freaked out and they had to let her out the emergency exit. maybe the pictures worked. maybe the smell did her in. or maybe it was simply the whiny female characters lurking around every corner, ready to shriek something dumb like “where’s myyyyy baaaaabbbby?” or “letmeoutpleasehe’sgonnakillme!” at ear-shattering decibels? Our money’s on the latter.
So we stumble outside (where the smell doesn’t lessen at all) and there’s a fountain and some gore and a moron in a Hanes sweatsuit with gargoyle wings and a gargoyle mask, chilling on a stone bench. when he sees us, he jumps up and goes “uh grrrr” but by then, any hope of scaring me was pretty much done because you have to be ‘in the mood’ to be scared and this date was tanking fast. Was the grey sweatsuit supposed to look like a stone sweatsuit, we wondered? And if so, why hadn’t Diddy or Jay-Z caught on to the hype-ness of a stone sweatsuit yet?
So finally, after what seems like elevendy-seven years, we get to the cornfield that is supposed to take us back to where we parked, but there’s another guy in some white pancake makeup barring the path and yakking on about how this is where the souls of all beheaded vampires reside and blah blah. we’re toward the back of the group and at this point, i just want to fucking walk my tired, cheated, muddy ass back up the hill, find a sheetz, go pee and get some gas station crappuccino because it’s freezing in the middle of nowhere, and it’s started to drizzle. But noooo… captain jackass has to continue blabbing on. Some redneck boys come up behind us and, in between spitting out their chew juice, ask us what’s going on.
Biz: we don’t fucking know. blah blah undead blah blah vampires. Blah blah fucking retarded. Weenie: Blah blah beheaded blah blah eternal damnation and hellfire. Fucking mud in my socks. Redneck Skoal Boy: What?! Hey, y’all, maybe we should pay attention…
So finally, Lestat steps aside so we can trudge up the cornstalk row where we are confronted with a complete lack of the following: a)dead vampires b)undead vampires c)anything but cornstalks.
There was, however, a total abundance of mud. So we got back to the car, took our shoes off, and listened to shitty music on the drive home, each pondering our own thoughts, beej playing Mario on my DS. And the silence was golden. Until Kelly Clarkson came on and we had to scream along. Then, it was platinum.
In summation… Gas to drive to the middle of nowhere: $26. Tickets to second-rate haunted house? $15 each. Gas station Crappuccino: $1.35. Hearing Weenie ask a rubber chicken-wielding ghoul with a west-virginia twang if he has any watermelon juice?
There are some things money can’t buy. Thankfully, though, it buys new shoes.
So we’re going here tonight: it’s been a tradition for like 10 years. Sorry this was long and tl;dr, but I can’t cut it because it never works.
Thanks but can you delete? I try to be careful about what I say because people get upset when I’m honest sometimes and then it turns into a big thing, so I reworked most of it. I doubt that bitch who must not be named checks my Tumblr, but I don’t like talking her up. I was just blowing off steam, but often when that happens things get ugly <3