Monthly Archive for August, 2001

rock me joseph alberto santiago

Soundtrack of the past few days: The Pixies’ rough diamonds & surfer rosa & come on pilgrim, Afroman’s the good times, Jimmy Page and the Black Crowes’ love at the greek, American HiFi, Everything’s people are moving, The Distillers, The Jayhawks’ im gonna make you love me, deicide’s insineratehymn, Stereo MC’s deep down and dirty, A Break from the Beats, Rival School’s united by fate, Great White’s radio bites, The Cranberries’ To the Faithful Departed (?!), & Suicidal Tendencies’s friends and family.

So for the past day or two I’ve been in Burtonsville, MD. We did this promotion there where a listener won a party by us. We showed with the kegs of beer, the band and the morning show. They supplied the pool and house. Pretty good exachange. Especially when it turns out the winner’s house was owned by a fucking crack dealer with two helicoptors and two landing pads. Yes, major sketch. All the grass was maybe 1-2 month old sod. And everything else was fresh money. Just major weird. And all his 300+ friends that came were all too weird and sketch. SKETCH! That was the word of the day. Yeah.

Needless to say, I had a relatively good time. It’s pretty easy these days. Getting out of the studio these days is few and far between. I got pretty schlossed. I downed a few beers down and got pretty woooooooozie. I havent gotten that drunk in a long time. I am such a lightweight. I still cant fathom those people who drink like 12 beers in one night. Where does it fit in your tummy. Fucking blows my mind away. I love my liver man! So anyways. Yeah, the party was pretty lame. Afroman played which was actually pretty cool once he brought his guitar out and stopped talking about pussy or pot. I think that happened for 4.5 seconds during one break. What a wonderful state the music industry is in. So basically after the Afroman played, most people left. And that was my cue to enter the pool. It was nice to get in there. It was too cold for me, so i didnt last long in there.

We eventually decided it was time to sleep. Since our tent situation failed, we decided to rough it even more in the back of our cargo van. After a little hinting, it was Korinne, “the Part-Timer”, and me. We slept like a “T”. Korinne taking the top of the T. And “the Part-Timer” and myself as the body of the T. I felt like quite the dirty old man smelling her hair. But damn she looked really really good last night. And nothing is better than girls who smell good. Nothing. Hips like cinderella. And she actually talked a lot too, telling scary bizzare stories from her haunted house when she was a child. Fun stuff. I noticed she rolls a lot of her words off when she talks quietly. It’s just really frustrating,that I am so attracted (which never happens these days) and she is so not interested and nothing will ever happen, and that hope is just null and void. It’s the story of my life. Too much negative and too much nervousness from myself around her. It could kill someone. But it’s still cute i guess, right? So the fun part was outside out van. As a few of the other part-timers were trying to put together a tent. Little did they know that being incredibly drunk doesnt help. So needless to say they didnt get the tent set up. However it was funny as hell hearing Jeremiah yell, “Mat, do you have another pole? Mat- we need your pole!” Damn that shit was funny. Korinne’s laugh also seared right through my ear. I am sure “the Part-timer” loved it.

And again, we all fell asleep. Until 2 mins later an other part-timer came by, banging on our van and screaming “Rob is hooking up with Melissa!!!” Oooops. That is a big no no at the station. So they hooked up and ended up in her car. Brooke supposedly went to their car to get her stuff that was stashed there and found out Melissa was topless and boobies were everywhere! Regardless to say, the morning show had a field day with that. I feel bad for both of the parties involved. Anyways. At least someone got some kissy-face last night!

Now it’s 6.30pm or so and I recall finally falling asleep at 4.30am. I got to wake up at 5.30am. So yeah, I got home from work around 3pm. And i totally hit the bed. I put on Eno’s APOLLO. That shit totally fucked with my head. I was hearing shit that wasnt coming from the speakers. And i saw shit. I was totally out there. Very fucked. Fucked up shit. I need sleep. Tomorrow is Dave Navarro. We supposedly got VIP shite. I just want a photopass. I hate meeting people. Just leave me alone. Who are you to think I actually want to meet these people. How presumptuous. I am delerious and prolly be sleeping instead.

secret cities of abraham

He Sent Me Flowers From the Freeway

When I was younger I had skinned knees and I had a pink and purple hairbrush that when used, caused my straight hair to fly out silky full of static. And I thought I’d have straight white hair forever and I was very wrong.

Once I called a boy an “asshole” just because I liked the way the forbidden word sounded. And, because he was a boy, and he deserved it. I also hid from the neighborhood bully. She was a more deserving asshole, but I never called her that because she was a girl.

I was scared of the dogs that yipped in high-pitched noises. The smaller ones were scarier, like Chihuahuas. I was in a talent show and I recited a poem in costume, and all the mothers thought I was precious and I thought I was a dork, because what I really wanted to do was a lip sync with the popular girls. My friend’s mom drove a maroon Volvo and I thought it was ugly and now I live in my own maroon Volvo.

My grandmother had very soft upper arms and always had a scarf in her purse for protecting her hairdo and I was amazed. The dresser drawer of photos at my parent’s house still smells like my grandmother even though she was killed 17 years ago.

I should have known.

Top Five

Movie Cliches, Right Now

1. Big-boobied girls running too slow from a killer
2. Really bad sports team faces hardships, wins the championship at the end
3. Business-minded executive realizes there is more to life, like family
4. Men involved with dirty money always Italian
5. Over/Underweight Sidekicks

Songs Involving Some Sort of Substance Abuse, Right Now

1. White Rabbit- Jefferson Airplane
2. One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer- George Thorogood and the Destroyers
3. Mamas and Papas- The Mamas and Papas (Papa’s started drinking/And mama’s got to thinking…)
4. Anything by Cypress Hill
5. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds- Beatles; and early beatnik-jazz

Thoughts, Right Now

1. I want to move to Tahiti
2. Cranberry Juice
3. Pedicure
4. Buy Stuff
5. Money money money
6. No email from him he might be dead dead dead so much attention he
needs I don’t have the energy dead in a gutter dead dead no
sympathy dead dead dead save him dead no email in a week

Yesterday

I went to Starbucks and I recognized someone, he was a friend of a roommate of a friend back in Harrisonburg days, now working in his green apron. He was flirting with another guy who looked nothing like his type, an ugly guy with an annoying voice and dumb jokes. and I wanted to sit his cute flamboyant pierced-nose ass down and look into his eyes and say “you can do so much better than that. You are a vibrant young nubile homosexual. Be true to yourself.” But maybe he couldn’t, or maybe the unattractive guy he was flirting with was a really really nice guy, and I like unattractive nice people scoring with good-looking people. So I got my caramel frappucino and waved and left.

Last Night

Last night I was trying to compare my platonic friendships with males to Sig Other’s platonic friendships (and when I say platonic I mean PLATONIC, not even touching, uncomfortable hugging, etc.) with females and then we both realized he has at least tried to kiss all of them. Even if he wasn’t always successful.

And he said when I finally explode, and leave him, and I go through Relationship Divorce Proceedings he just KNOWS I will try to squeeze him for all he’s worth. Oh, and I laughed and laughed and laughed til tears came, because I was lying on his bed and looking around his room. What I’d get from him is:

* a CD rack that doesn’t stand up on it’s own, so it’s bolted to the wall,
* a Darth Vader phone that talks and spins it’s head and flashes red light eyes instead of ringing,
* a hollow lamp filled with action figures,
* a disco bike helmet and a subscription to CMJ,
* a teeshirt that says “Black to the Future” and with a caricature of Darrell Green on the front
* a home-made entertainment center
* a poster of the Simpsons

All he would take from me is my fish. And that would be mean and horrible, he would not allow visitation. I let him know they usually give custody to the mother. He let me know, not usually in cases where the mother is fucked up in the head.

That is his material worth. If I did ever Divorce him, I would be hollow and an empty shell of a woman, but I still might take his Darth Vader phone. And definitely the tee shirt If I had wanted expensive stuff, I would have hooked up with a Finance major who drives a mustang and gels his hair and wears tight black tee shirts.

A lot of times, words just don’t make sense in my head. Sometimes posts like this happen as a result. Crack tastes like strawberry chalk, I’m pretty sure. Only one “fuck” used this whole entry!

…that boy, that boy, he was following me around like a virgin at a rodeo…

joe camel says school is cool

kiss my purple shirt, lowly underclass peonI wrote most of this a long time ago, and I have nothing much to say today. So I edited and inserted and posted it here. You might not find anything relevant in this text, but the few friends I know that read my shit might think it’s kind of funny. And if not, I promise a better post later. Pinky swear.

Back to School Special Issue! Confessions of An Enemy: I Was Your College RA

Oh, that’s right. You heard me. For 3 out of four years spent gracing the prestigious James Madison University, I worked for the Office of Residence Life. I was a RA. And after I was a RA, I was a Hall Director, the RA’s boss.

I can hear your teeth gnashing now, for I was…I am… your enemy. I took away your alcohol and your pot. I fined you for breaking things and being too loud. I made you come to Hall Meetings with Free Refreshments! You hated me. No fear, I kind of hated me too.

Where do I begin? Perhaps I should start at the beginning, when I was a freshman and became MY RA’s secret mistress. And when it ended, the best revenge I could think of was to become a RA myself, so he (and his girlfriend) would have to work with me the next year. Also, it seemed like the only way to pay for my car and insurance. Also, if my RA could get some ass from a resident (me), than I could too! I was on the prowl for booty. And, I could have power over said booty. What a deal.

Perhaps I should start in the middle, where I made a few friends in the same miserable boat I was, RAs who were tired of being hated. So, as a small group we turned our lives into hellish substance-fueled binges, teetering on the edge of failing out of school altogether (or at least losing our RA jobs.) Shit, one of us even ended up in med school, I’m still trying to puzzle out how that happened.

Or, maybe I’ll start now, years out of college and running into a girl at the Pete Yorn concert, where with a small but perfectly friendly smirk she introduces me to her friends as “my RA.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Like I said, I got into it for all the wrong reasons, but what were the right ones? I dunno. I do know that once you got in you couldn’t get out. These people, these cheerleaders of Harrisonburg VA society, these RAs, were SUPER-SCHOOL ACTIVE! They wore purple and gold (the school colors) pom-poms in their hair. They led dorm field trips (by the way, don’t call it a “dorm,” because that’s not PC) They hung out in the Residence Life offices after hours. They named their dogs and subsequent children Madison, which makes me nauseous. They donate hundreds, thousands of dollars to the alumni association even now, like a tithe. They have never said a rude thing about anyone in their lives, don’t know what drugs even look like, and quietly drink one imported beer every 2 weeks when they “get crazy.” I won’t even get into Homecoming. These people, they suck you in. I started becoming… one of them? Okay, never really one of them, I have a small phobia about dressing up for football games. I was an art major. Fuck the Establishment! I was alternative and hip and had good taste in music. Like watching gorillas in the Congo, I considered it a type of science/research experiment. I did get close to their world. Almost too close. (Cue diabolical music HERE.)

I’m trying hard not to put my fellow RAs down. Too many others put them down for me. They are the nicest, nicest people you will never meet. Cliquish, you bet. Snobby? Sure. But always with a smile, and I do kind of respect that a little. I have to, one of them will eventually be vice-president of the United States, and wear red-white-and-blue fake tattoos on their cheeks, instead of purple and gold. Never President, because none of these people have the scandalous nature necessary, and some are too smart. USA #1!!!!!

Anyway. I realized after my first year on the job that it wasn’t nightmarishly bad. I worked in a dorm of mostly guys. They scared me sometimes. Okay, a lot. I hated being the cop and “busting” people, like the football team. It made me nervous. I hated going to parties off campus and seeing residents of my building there, who in turn would get spooked and drop their beers, or avoid eye contact (hi. I didn’t care.) But I mostly just ignored problems, which made for great stories down the road (still told today over and over again by The Brians, KA frat boys extreme who were my residents; not bright men but you can’t help but love and laugh a little. They’re so harmless.) I made some good friends, and they in turn looked after me. I was lucky- I was the only nice RA in the whole building, and I was female. So I didn’t have to try to hard to be liked, which is half the game. And, this was the year I met Sig Other, so I was mostly in the clear. I was happy. Other RAs spent a majority of their time in a panicked state, trying desperately to Set Rules and Be Liked. Guess what? Fucking impossible.

The one mistake I made was after having a good first year in this job, making friends, being able to blame things on Higher Authority (“just dump the beer out, that way I won’t get in trouble with the boss, and I won’t say a word”) I decided to BECOME the boss.

And that’s when the trouble started.

Always go out on top, my friends. Never push it.

By then, I was an upperclassmen, already had my own friends, so it didn’t bother me much that I was a hated woman in Wayland Hall. The people living there were probably very nice, but since I was The Boss they avoided me and pretty much wished me dead. I was fucked up so much that year it probably didn’t matter. The only classes I remember taking were Painting, Figure Drawing, and Middle Eastern History, which I went to only twice but somehow got a B.

Some of you reading this never went to college, so you have no idea what I’m talking about. Some of you are there now, and you are friends with your RA or making it with them already, a la Elle. Some of you are heading to college soon, and will have an RA you will want to string up by their toenails. Please give them a chance. They may have gotten into it for the wrong reasons, and yes, many of them are bastards that love the power trip they can pull on underclassmen. Some are just trying to pay their way through school or their car insurance. Some of them actually like people (hell there is a GRADUATE PROGRAM for RAs at JMU.) For the most part, the job sucks, and at my university you had to wear purple shirts, pretty much upping the ridicule. Keep this in mind- the RAs biggest fear is that some ridiculous freshman will drink himself to death with NATTY LIGHT (a tragedy in itself) on their watch, in their building. And then shit hits the fan, my friends. Hello, Mr. Lawsuit.

So as you move into your dorm this year, or next year, remember these helpful hints:

1. Make friends with people who live off campus and get ripped there. This way, you don’t have to worry about cramming 30 people in a dorm room the size of a closet, which is fucking stupid anyway. (OMG! Rager in Room 537! Yeah! We snuck a keg up! We are so cool! Yeah!)
2. You are not cool.
3. If you are going to do that, keep a sense of humor when you get caught. Also, offer your RA a beer and she will probably let you go (if her name is Elle)
4. Don’t pee in washing machines, vending machines, your roommates bed. Don’t hook up in stairwells, especially if you plan on falling asleep with your boobs hanging out for all the world to see bright and early Saturday morning.
5. Your RA, when she is in her twenties and been on her own for several years and has a real job and friends and pays rent and bills and has a life, does not want to be introduced as your RA. Get over it.
6. You are not cool.
7. Also not cool: Puff Daddy’s “Mo Money Mo Problems” on repeat, school colors, dorm programs that involve coloring books and Disney movies, beer cans taped to an RAs door along with the note “you didn’t catch us” (I didn’t know, but apparently they are letting three year olds attend college now)
8. 7. School colors. Did I say that already?

Happy back to school week. I hope all your #2’s are sharpened and your vinyl Barbie backpacks ready and waiting.