Tag Archive for 'Elle'

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mat: i have absolutely no photos/images, nor a desire to look for any, rescue me please

FIRST: The bored, hurt, stupid, and ashamed list

5 Bands People Should Give a Listen:
01. rachel’s
02. tin hat trio (says a new friend)
03. wilco (yes, I like alt country, I cant help it all you punkers out there rolling your black, black eyes)
04. george thorogood
05. chamberlain

5 Things That Turn You On About People:
01. eyes; and the way you hold a pen
02. humor; and the way you finish my sentences
03. intelligence; and the way you grill chicken
04. knowledge; and the way you get flustered and stammer
05. kindness; and your unmanageable hair

5 Movies You Watch All of the Time:
01. john cusack things
02. I BARELY OWN A TELEVISION
03. east by east
04. and sometimes Sig forces me to watch
05. Star Wars

5 Discs on Your Stereo Right Now:
01. a tribe called quest, midnight marauders
02. dismemberment plan, emergency & i
03. the pixies, doolittle
04. massive attack, singles 90/98
05. dismem-berr-ment plan and juno split 7″

5 Things People Should Know About You:
01. I own 16 black shirts
02. trying to stop biting my nails: attempt #2,031
03. secretly mocking you
04. I sit on my potential
05. Nice. Nice nice nice.

5 Things You Say the Most:
01. “Eff.”
02. “hi baby hi”
03. *grunt*
04. “clearly!” (DUMB K. I GOT THAT FOM YOU)
05. “not a problem” (when it most definitely is a problem)

5 Possessions That Have Meaning To You:
01. letters from Justin
02. caffeine
03. warm things made of down; ie, comforter
04. my head
05. escape routes/plane tickets.

SECOND: A Quick Update

So, I feel all sorts of queasy and I can’t turn my head at all, and I’d pay good goddamn money for a shot of muscle relaxant right into the back of my neck, and I’m just OD’ing on exquisite, exquisite pain.

A Poem:

If you know me and read the above,
you might mistake this for some crappy metaphor for love.
The truth is, I’ve hurt my neck. Again. BADLY.
I’m a mofuckin wreck; sadly.

Remember when the cheerleader hurt her neck? Well, it’s happened again.

THIRD: We Should All Kill Jarod!

You know what I wish?

I wish I had just 15 minutes in a room full of FOJ’s. That’s all I need.

http://www.subway.com/society/foj/friends/foj.stm

IMAGE-FREE AND UNAPOLOGETIC!!!

Last Night

Last night I drove to Shan’s new place. It was cold, threatingly rainy looking, and I was wearing flip-flops. Also, 40 or so Army recruits were running. I chased them all the way down Wilson Boulevard, and then got a little creeped as I noticed the pack was all running to SHAN’s house! Actually, they were just meeting a van in her parking lot. Military.

We went to Vienna, and drank someone else’s Miller Lite, and talked to old college faces. We were shown the sign on the refrigerator. (Kegorator instructions: 1. Pull down tap. Wait .5 seconds. 2. If you do not wait .5 seconds, this will result in a up full of foam, both embarrassing and tragic!) We sat in the back yard and one of the trees was shedding white flowers, which made it look like snow in May. We left.

After I dropped Shan off, I went home and watched 48 Hours, ate some Maple Brown Sugar oatmeal (as if there is any other kind worth consuming!)

B. called. We had a 2 hour heart to heart. AmeriCorps has him in Maine right now (Quote: Everyone I work with is crazy, they’ve driven me to chain smoking and I am considering learning to speak squirrel so I don�t have to talk to them) We sat, hundreds of miles away, him chain smoking and me unraveling pajama-bottom hems. We talked about� everything and nothing and pizza and love and I told him how happy I was, and he told me he was happy I was happy.

And I told him I was happy he was happy I was happy.

Anyways, it was great to talk to him, and we are on good terms and offer each other all we really have, which happens to be calling cards and smiles that travel over phone lines.

I love being friends. Also, we came up with good porn names for ourselves should we decide to change careers, but that is neither here nor there.

How Do You Want to Die?

I also spent last night re-reading Generation X. For those of you who haven’t read this book: you know that it’s, like, you and only one other person who have never read it, right? Anyways, they talk about how they want to die, and for years I’ve stolen a passage from another Coupland book (Shampoo Planet) as my own answer. Driving in a sports car naked, 110 mph with the windows down, somewhere in a desert, while listening to German industrial, crashing into a huge fireball. I’m still kind of down with this idea, it sounds exactly like the way MattWithTwoT’s would want to go. But I’m thinking of other ways too.

For years I’ve had these weird little dream-like things I haven’t told anyone about. I honestly think it stems from a past life, but who knows about things like that. I have never been to Mexico. The idea of Mexico both frightens and intrigues me. I think I’d like the country, but the mere mention of it kind of scares me. Other countries do not get this reaction.

I think I once died in Mexico.

And, I decided, I think I want to go that way again. In Mexico. Jumping off a cliff. Because I think I can fly. And everything is orange and brown and hot.

PS: Ben Brown of web fame is now working for The Man. Welcome to the party, Ben! Sit back, grab a cocktail or two (Molotov or otherwise) and we’ll chat. No fear, I’ve got the clearance.

Pray for us.

booty

he yous daddy Continuing on with my ever-present boredom, today we have a game!

Something invented by a dear friend and taken to all new levels by moi.

**WHO’S YOUR BASTARD FATHER?**

Goes a little something like this:

Essentially, it consists of rearranging your lineage, with the supposition that you don’t know who is really your Daddy, and figuring out via character traits and appearance who it ought to be. Using mostly celebrities, of course. Here are some of the hypotheses I have come up with.

1. Me: I haven’t decided yet.
2. Mat: Frank Zappa
3. Al and Zac: Mr. Bean
4. Daniel: Tony Soprano
5. Emily: someone cute and, for some reason, possibly British (?) Dudley Moore? Maybe.
6. Beb: Bill Bryson. I don’t really know why.

Etc. Okay, I’m not really good at this game. It’s easy with people you know well. Harder for people you are only acquainted with. I can’t think of anyone for Allison except a Muppet. Gah.

So, who’s My Bastard Father? Who’s YOUR Bastard Father?

D: your bastard father is Denis Leary. Don’t deny it