Unrequited Everything

I have created a new blog solely because of the large number of letters I have been writing lately that I will never deliver to the people that they were intended for.

It is here:

http://yougotthewronggirl.blogspot.com

Go look at it, follow it, comment on the stupid things that I can't say to people. Whatever, whatever, do what you want.

Happy Fuck Shit Up Monday!

Do your thing. =]

Plaid Dress Fishnets

I miss Miss Blacksmeared and Technicolored

I miss Captain SingMeAwake

I miss his golden god brother

I miss little Wide-Eyed Thingnapper

I miss the Homoerotic Homes that made me panic

over spilled bottles down betraying throats

I miss Mademoiselle DressUp Doll with the Eyes

I miss Señorita SHUTTHEFUCKUP&DOWHATISAY

I miss the smallest the tallest the pretty one

I miss Fosters barecabinets and bananas

I miss the Whore On The Hill Town Legend that made me

proud and hateful

I miss Mister LoveYouForWhoYouUsedToBe

I miss CrazyChosen strumming away

I miss Sisters Love Cherry and Quick

I miss the Sourpatch Animal with the vampire kiss

I miss not being torn

through not a goddamn piece

of meat raw on

a porcelain plate

I miss being tasted carefully

and gracefully but mostly

gratefully

I miss not being left out

over night to draw flies

not being picked over

or forgotten like last

week’s suppertime special

I miss the reputation

and the thrills

but mostly

the Respect

¿

I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I am spiraling into a deep depression...

Recently, I have been noticing the number of people with the magnificent ability to grow facial hair, and I have been quite agitated by the large percentage of these people who do not utilize this fantastic gift.  Why the fuck are their not more people with handlebar moustaches? Or mutton chops? Or chin strap beards? Or fu manchus? 

I am both saddened and bewildered.

I have spent the last few days daydreaming of what it would be like to have a nice handlebar moustache, one that's thick and luxurious that curls up at the ends.  I would wax it every morning, and when I was thinking of something particularly mischievous, I would twirl the ends of one side between my thumb and index finger.  I would shampoo and condition my moustache every time I bathed, and I would blow dry it afterwards.  Also, I would brush it 100 times every single night before bed.  Sometimes, when I was feeling fancy, I might even put little bows in my moustache.  If I wanted to spunky or I felt like having a change, I might dye it blue or just do some nice purple tips.  Perhaps I would put blonde highlights in it the summer.  Of course the weekly hot oil treatment would get rid of any damage from styling, so my moustache would always be the smoothest and softest around.  Everyone else would be jealous. People I have never met before would ask me if it would be alright if they could touch it. (It certainly would be alright, touching stimulates the hair follicles, which makes for thick, healthy fast-growing moustaches!)  Strangers on the street would whistle at me and call out, "That is one fine moustache you have there!" To which I would reply, "Thanks!" as I continued on my merry way.

Anyway...  Enough about what I would do if I had a moustache because the fact of the matter is, I will never be able to grow a moustache.  And this is why I am spiraling into a deep depression.  I fear that I will never recover from this...

If only I could someday grow a moustache half as good as this man...

How to diffuse a potentially violent situation

I was walking down in the French Quarter with some friends one night, when we found ourselves caught between two groups of angry men.  To one side, we had these large black men screaming profane statements, and to the other side, there was a group of large white men, one of them wearing a kilt, yelling racial slurs. It seemed that punches were about to be thrown until my friend Chad suddenly interjected, "Sometimes I cry when I ejaculate."

All parties stopped what they were doing, forgot what they were yelling, and turned to my friend. Someone said, "That's fucked up, man." 

Someone else said, "You should see a doctor or something."

Then, all of the large men just went on their merry ways. There was no more yelling of profanities or racial slurs or threats of punches being thrown. Everyone forgot about all of that and walked away. 

And so the day was saved thanks to one man's case of depressive ejaculation.

Hidden Talents

I saw a poster for a talent show, and then I was really sad for a second because I realized that I have no talents.  I can't sing. I'm not good at playing instruments. I can't dance. I have never tried to twirl batons, but I probably can't do that. Also, I am not an acrobat. After some thinking, I realized that I shouldn't be sad about not being able to be in the talent show, and I came up with this list of these talents that I do have:

• I can make clothing (usually short cocktail-esque dresses) out of materials that are not typically used to make clothes. For example: caution tape, 
  

wrapping paper, giant leaves,

cookies (not the most practical, I couldn't walk around in that one), Mardi Gras beads, etc. I think tonight I will make a multi-colored duct tape ensemble of some sort. I am not sure on that one yet. 

• I can tie a cigarette into a knot without breaking it, untie it, and it will still be smokable. This may be a parlor trick more than a talent. I am not interested in splitting hairs at this point. See? Untie, and it is wrinkly, but still smokable. =]
  
  
• The talent of wasting time. I am so good at this that it could almost be considered a super power. I don't have a picture of this, really, but here is a picture of my friend Hal. He's a gay mime! =D

I am not sure how I would be able to perform any of these talents in a talent show. I will have to continue to ponder this...