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[04 Dec 2009|11:50pm] |
I want to live in Mark Twain's house.
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[08 Sep 2008|12:43am] |
One of the few good memories I have about my ex-boyfriend John, revolves around a book written by Art Pepper called "The Straight Life". I'll spare you the gory details involving our relationship, but let's just say it was a pretty awful two years of my life. The only thing I cherish about my time with him is the fact that he exposed me to this autobiography.
I packed this book away almost four years ago, and started reading it again for the sixth time tonight. It is one of the best memoirs I've ever read because it was written by an actual degenerate petty thief junky with no pretension. His wife helped him write the book near the end of his life, and at no point does any of his story seem forced. You almost feel like you are sitting down with the guy having a beer while he tells you about his thoroughly fucked up life. I suppose I'm a bit biased since most of his story takes place in Los Angeles when it was still FAAAAAAAAR OUT. I guess I have a soft spot for stories based on the old Southern California.
You should check it out.
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[21 Aug 2008|12:28am] |
An hour ago a tweeker pulled his bike up to the curb in front of our house. Daniel and I were smoking cigarettes on our front porch. He asked us the following questions:
"Did the people who lived here before die"?
"Was the girl pregnant"?
"Wanna come help me burn down my brother's house"?
Our dogs were barking and growling through the front screen door like maniacs. The tweeker said:
"Hey, those are nice dogs, are they mean"?
"You have a really nice place".
"I wish everyone was dead".
"I know you have some cans I can recycle".
We told him to have a good night and went inside. I got the chills from the tweeker. I told Daniel I thought he was casing our house. Daniel walked to the end of the driveway and the tweeker was on his bike in front of our house staring at our front door. Once he saw Daniel he sped down the street.
I called the cops and asked them to send a patrol car out. By the time they had arrived, the tweeker was riding his bike down the street with an equally scummy dude.
I assume they had 93592750235 warrants out between them.
How was your Wednesday night?
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| Notes from the Union Station bus terminal, Los Angeles 2007 |
[29 Jun 2008|08:16pm] |
Obese middle-aged woman in tight red sweatpants and a filthy white t-shirt is sifting through her belongings in a dozen or so plastic bags. She pulls out a Happy Meal toy and exclaims to no one in particular that it's from "Everybody Loves Raymond". She then sings "The Heat is On" over and over again for the next half hour.
A woman with stringy, dishwater blond hair is slumped into a terminal chair gently pushing a crying baby back and forth in a stroller piled with backpacks, trash and a transistor radio. The woman looks like she just fled her Winnebago in Barstow because her skin is dry and sun drenched - like she'd been holed up in the desert for the past ten years. It seems like she'd been sitting in the terminal since last night. My guess is she can only afford a one way ticket on Greyhound. She has that look of desperation. If she wasn't in a tank top and shorts she'd look a bit like a woman Dorthea Lange would've photographed during The Great Depression.
A roughneck ex-con covered in shitty prison tattoos chain smokes Pall Malls next to the drinking fountain in a gangsta Bugs Bunny t-shirt. His eyes are bugging out of his head, and probably everything he owns is stuffed into a laundry bag. His nose is black and blue and crumpled up against his cheek. I want to ask him if it's from a fight in the joint, but he looks pretty agitated so it's probably not a good idea.
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| DOG POST |
[05 Apr 2008|01:28pm] |
PEARL
DINK
CHESTER
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| Lady Wino |
[08 Mar 2008|06:54am] |
After work last night I went to the Trader Joe's in Santa Monica to buy orange juice, cheese and bread. What should have been a five minute trip took thirty minutes as I had to push my way through a throng of uppity Westside soccer moms and their bratty offspring. Every aisle was clogged with these women. They blocked shopping carts with their SUV sized strollers and cackled on their cell phones as their children destroyed displays. I just wanted to get home and watch "Bone Detectives", and these assholes were standing in my way.
By the time I reached the check-out I was in a seriously foul mood. The line was six customers deep. I considered walking out until I noticed a milk crate on wheels filled with Christmas tree ornaments, empty soda cans, old newspapers and PUPPETS in front of me. None of the other customers seemed to notice that this was a sign that somewhere in the store an absolute nutcase was grabbing a last minute item before they returned to the line. I totally forgot how miserable this Trader Joe's had made me, and anxiously waited for the milk crate's owner to return.
Then, as though she'd escaped from a drunk tank at the Central Jail and wandered into the store, an elderly lady wino wobbled back and forth in front of the Chuck Shaw display next to the entrance. She was holding a bottle of vegetable oil she'd wrapped in saran wrap. I watched her sneer at a woman and her child exiting the store before she slowly lifted a case of merlot off the shelf. She hobbled towards me, dropped the case of wine and peeled her filthy green trenchcoat off to reveal an entire clown costume, torn and covered with dried vomit, cigarette burns and grass stains. By now, I had completely forgotten about how miserable I'd felt and anxiously waited for an outburst - especially since the nearby customers were pretending not to notice how bad she smelled.
She finally reached the cashier and pulled a man's wallet out of her milk crate. It took her a few minutes to sort through all of the credit cards until she found a Bank of America ATM card with middle aged man's photo on it. She paid for the wine, but became frustrated when she realized that she wouldn't receive any cash back, so the cashier had to return the case, refund the total to the card, and process it again as a debit to give her $50. By now she had been at the register for twenty minutes, and the customers behind me were making those obnoxious my-time-is-precious sounds like, sighing loudly and stomping their feet like big babies. I could've stood there for a week watching her. Plus, I loved the fact that she seemed to be making everyone else uncomfortable.
After I paid for my groceries I walked out to the parking lot and saw her collect her filthy, arthritic toy poodle wearing a miniature clown costume JUST LIKE HERS. They got into a tan 70's station wagon with expired tags that was filled with junk. By the time I finished loading my bags into my car she was sitting in the drivers seat drinking the merlot out of the bottle while her dog slept on the dashboard.
Since I don't have a photo of her, if you combine these pictures, you'll get an idea of what she looked like:
 
 
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[08 Mar 2007|03:40pm] |
Last night we’re at the HMS Bounty. It’s still early in the evening, and there’s a few local alcoholics scattered along the bar – all in various stages of intoxication. To the left of us on the opposite end a cluster of old men are trading dirty jokes with a hard faced woman who cackles maniacally at each punch line. To our right is some blowhard in a tweed professor’s jacket spouting off about his political affiliations, or something equally obnoxious, to two obviously shitfaced baby boomer friends.
In the middle of all this is Daniel and I, and a thoroughly soused cirrhosis case who must’ve been nursing his thirtieth vodka & tonic. If it hadn’t been for the events that eventually unfolded, all of the patrons at the Bounty would’ve paid their bill at the end of the night with no concern for the well being of said cirrhosis case blowing his SSI check on a bender. He would’ve put away his final drink by 9:00, staggered to the nearest bush, and passed out underneath it until a cop jarred him awake with his baton. This sort of thing happens every night.
Unfortunately, that’s not exactly how things worked out. The man nursing his thirtieth vodka and tonic slid off his barstool onto the floor, and a dozen people came to his “rescue”. He moaned for a bit, and then spat out a string of fuck-this-motherfucking-shit-you-asshole to one of the amateur EMTs trying to press a towel filled with ice to his head. The blowhard in the tweed jacket decides he’s going to check his pulse, and loudly proclaims that he “Knows about these things”, and has “Been trained”. His cronies obediently nod their heads in agreement, which eggs the blowhard on further. Now he’s announcing to the crowd that the drunk’s “Blood pressure is really low”, and instructs the bartender to call 911. The bartender is completely confused so she begins to scream in broken english at the drunk, asking him if she wants him to call an ambulance. The drunk is completely irritated at this point and is plainly asking all of the wannabe boy scouts to put him back on the stool and “Leave him the fuck alone”. None of them listen. They continue to talk about his rapidly failing health and need for medical attention. The drunk clearly just wants another drink.
After about 15 minutes of this Daniel finally says to the group that he’s a “Grown man” and that they should probably “Let him decide what he wants to do with the rest of his evening”. Indignant, they slowly start to move back to their original seats. The drunk is back up on his stool weaving a bit, but drinking a glass of water the bartender poured for him.
Next an overbearing, loud-mouthed woman with a hyperactive mothering instinct is in the drunk’s ear chattering away about how he should be careful, and they’re just looking out for him, and would you like a coffee, and does your head hurt - ad infinitum. The drunk is looking at us like “Who the fuck is this bitch”? We both shrug.
She’s talking to him like a five year old: “WHERE DO YOU LIVE, SWEETIE”? “SHOULD WE DRIVE YOU BACK TO YOUR APARTMENT SO YOU CAN GO TO BED”? He’s completely tuned her out.
The bartender called him a cab. The driver arrives, and the busboy is trying to drag him out of the bar – he’s grabbed him by the arm, and the drunk won’t budge. I hold out my hand, his jaundiced eyes light up, and I steady him against me out of the bar onto Wilshire. Just as he’s about to collapse into the backseat, he brushes his liver spotted hand against my cheek and says “Thanks, gorgeous – I don’t know what those people are thinking”.
But here’s my point to all of this:
If an elderly man, who has probably been drinking heavily most of his life wants to drink himself to death, at least have the decency to let him go out with a little self respect. I understand the desire to want to help those in distress, but the minute an old alcoholic tells me to fuck off after I attempt put an ice pack on his head, I’ll leave him in peace. All of this showboating about having medical knowledge, and crowding around him, and talking to him like an infant is totally unnecessary. Throw a glass of water in his face, help him back up on the barstool, and go back to your own fucking cocktail. He knew what he was getting into the minute he opened his tab that night.
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| 8 occupations I would like to have, weighed. |
[26 Dec 2006|11:54am] |
1. Blimp operator
Pros: This job is bananas! I can show up to work every day wearing tap shoes, a barrel held up with suspenders, and a snorkel mask without being sent home by my boss to change.
Cons: I get terrible vertigo in a plane, so I can’t imagine a blimp would present less of an obstacle. When I tell strangers about my job at cocktail parties, they’d privately have a laugh at my expense. It seems like operating a blimp would hold the same stature as one of those dudes that paints themselves silver and acts like a robot on Venice Beach. On top of all that, I’d constantly worry about another Hindenburg incident.
2. Snake charmer
Pros: I'd finally have an excuse to learn how to play the flute without looking like a fruit. No enemy would dare cross my path since I’d carry a real live cobra around with me at all times in a knapsack.
Cons: I’d have to sit in a dusty bazaar all day in extreme heat, and probably wouldn’t do my job well since I’d be too distracted by goats roaming past the vendors. No medical insurance.
3. One of those doo wop singers with an ultra low voice that only sings a sentence in a song because his voice is so scary and weird.
Pros: If I needed an extra paycheck I could do voice over work as a demon, or stand-in for James Earl Jones. Women would assume my deep voice = a higher level of testosterone, and would be so turned on that they’d throw their panties at me on the street.
Cons: Never getting the chance to complete a crank call without being caught. Becoming a convincing transvestite would be totally out of the question.
4. Soda jerk
Pros: I’d love to make egg creams all day and wear a tiny paper hat.
Cons: Listening to Bill Haley & the Comets all day would eventually make me snap.
5. Train porter
Pros: Riding a train for a living would be an ideal existence. Again, I’d get to wear an official train employee hat, which greatly appeals to me.
Cons: Carrying rich peoples’ luggage around. There’s also a possibility that I’d witness a murder in one of the cabins and have to worry about becoming the next victim.
6. Competitive eater
Pros: All the hotdogs I could eat without having to pay. Giving myself a nickname like Bitten “The gurgitator” Williams, or “The Mouth”.
Cons: Morbid obesity, diabetes, uncontrollable vomiting, and esophageal tearing.
7. Trash barge captain
Pros: I’d never have to take another bath since I’d smell like an open grave all the time. I’d also never have to develop any new social skills since my daily interaction with anything living would be limited to grunting and spitting.
Cons: I can’t really think of any cons.
8. Bridge troll
Pros: My only job requirements would be baking pies and guarding pots of gold coins tucked away in my cottage made of gumdrops and dead villagers’ bones. I’d also get to live out my fantasy of being surrounded by wild goats with no real contact with the outside world.
Cons: I’d be low on the mythical creature scale, so I wouldn’t be taken seriously by many and would probably be clowned by local teenaged villagers who would throw rocks at my cottage when they passed over my bridge.
So that’s my list. If any of you know a bridge troll or a trash barge captain please let me know. I’d be interested in an apprenticeship. I think the other positions I could acquire based on sheer determination.
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[15 Nov 2006|09:17pm] |
New York
I'm trying to keep these photos in chronological order, but I can't remember when we found the trunk.
In this photo, Courtney and I are demonstrating how great cigarettes are.
Here are two reasons Chris Garcia is great:
Fig. A
Fig. B
And then Erick is great for other reasons:
It was a gay ol' time!
On an unrelated note, take a look at these dirtballs I found on Craigslist. Blecch!
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| This afternoon I almost died |
[13 Aug 2006|08:23pm] |
It's true. I came inches from death. If not death then definitely a hospitalization involving me in a full body cast drinking my lunch out of a straw and peeing through a catheter. The accident was caused by an involuntary space-out on my bike. I caught an Audi failing to stop at a yellow light so I hit my brakes hard and flew over my handlebars onto the hood and then tumbled to the ground. I landed on my back, realized I was still conscious, free of broken bones, and not bleeding! Honestly, I don't know if it was plain dumb luck or I landed the right way, but I'm beginning to think my calling in life is that of a stunt double (Or a stunt man - don't stunt doubles just stand in for actors when they have to show their dicks or boobs or whatever)?
Anyway, a small crowd gathered. The driver asked me if he should call an ambulance and offered me a bottle of water. Some lady on a mountain bike with a cyborg helmet and hairy legs offered to give me a lift back to my place. Yeah. Like I'm really going to ride on this bitch's handlebars back to my apartment. Who did they think they were dealing with? A wimp? As you can probably tell, when I fall down I react ANGRILY and want to be left alone. I shrugged off the collision and told everyone I was fine. I gathered up my grocery bags and hobbled over to the curb where I smoked a cigarette and wondered how I didn't wind up a Terri Schiavo. Since I'm a bit of a fatalist I've convinced myself that there's some big cosmic plan for me. The problem is I don't know what the fuck it could be. I don't excel at any one thing. Maybe I'm meant to do something as seemingly insignificant as smile at some down on his luck lush sitting at the end of a bar which then prompts him to change his mind about blowing up the house of the boss that fired him on Friday. Everyone has a destiny I suppose. It'll be a riot to find out what mine is one day.
On a completely non morbid note this move to New York isn't exactly what I thought it would be. It's been six months and I still haven't adjusted to the East Coast. Spending most of my life in Southern California has something to do with it I'm sure, but really - the people out here drive me up the fucking wall. I know a lot of people would say "New York is REAL" or "That's just how New Yorkers do things". Fuck that. Give me the trashy opulence of Hollywood and the gayer than gay West L.A. I miss the Bloods and the Crips. I'm desperate to ride the City bus to downtown and walk around skid row with a tall boy. I miss the taco trucks and gridlock. The delusional starlets and attention seeking movie extras. I miss LAPD beatings and freeway chases on the six o'clock news. Even the homeless people are better, and there are miles and miles of them if you head East towards Union Station. I guess what I'm trying he to say is, although good things have come out of this move, I'm ready to immerse myself again in all of the things that once frayed my nerves.
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| Musical Survey! |
[01 Dec 2005|05:11pm] |
Survey!
1. Of all the bands/artists in your cd/record collection, which one do you own the most albums by?
THREE SIX MAFIA
2. What was the last song you listened to??
I listened to a Dr. Demento tape this morning before work because I thought it would put me in a good mood and pump me up for my 9-5. It actually just bummed me out because I thought, ‘Dr. Demento is a total loser and no one likes him at all but me’
3. What's in your CD player right now?
THREE SIX MAFIA
THREE SIX MAFIA
Carole King - Tapestry
4. What song would you say sums you up?
Gangsta Gangsta
5. What's your favorite local band/group?
EXTREME ELVIS
6. What was the last show you attended?
This show at the smell where a bunch of kids stood around and looked disinterested. Some girl was wearing a rat trap in her hair, and there were a bunch of 19 year old dudes hanging out that looked like they had never thrown a baseball
7. What was the greatest show you've ever been to?
When I was 8 I went to see Neil Diamond with my GRANDMA and he had this full on David Copperfield act with pyrotechnics and smoke machines and a giant lazer eagle flew into the crowd.
I also saw Tom Jones at the Ventura County Fair and a gaggle of senior citizen ladies threw their underwear onstage
And another time my mom took me to see X when I was 4 and I fell asleep at the bar with my Shirley temple while my mom totally thrashed
And of course, there’s always this show:
8. What's the shittiest show you've ever been to?
Probably an Earth Crisis show because I was the only girl there and all of the dudes smelled really bad and looked like they were about to start crying
9. What band do you love musically but hate the members of?
The Pope
10. What's the most musically involved you have ever been ?
Fucking drum circles dude
11. What show are you looking forward to?
I want to go to a booty bass show in Atlanta, but that will probably never happen so right now I’m not looking forward to any shows.
12. What is your favorite band t-shirt?
Born Against shirt with golden shower Tom of Finland illustration on it
13. What musician would you like to hang out with for a day?
Bushwick Bill or David Lee Roth because I would just ask him to do air splits all day
15. What was your coolest "rock star" moment?
Having sex with Led Zeppelin
16. Do you like rap concerts?
Yes, I like rap concerts
17. Who is one musician or group do you wish would make a comeback?
ODB for real. Like crawl out of his grave a scare the shit out of motherfuckers
18. Who is one band/artist you've never seen live but always wanted to:
The Residents
19. Name 6 of your favorite songs of all time:
MONSTER MASH
MONSTER MASH
MONSTER MASH
MONSTER MASH
The Thong Song
Living Colour is my favorite black metal band
20. Name 4 flawless albums
That’s easy
Anal Cunt - Top 40 Hits
Bushwick Bill - Little Big Man
Dee Dee Ramone’s rap album
Dr. Demento – Hits from Outer Space
22. What was the greatest decade for music?
1930’s
23. How many music related videos/DVDs do you own?
The only one that really matter is Steve Vai groupie
24. How many concerts/shows have you been to, total?
If I could reclaim every minute wasted at a shitty Ventura County show I would have a year of free time on my hands
25. Who have you seen the most live?
Elvis Costello
26. What is your favorite movie soundtrack??
Suspiria
And the Thrashin soundtrack is pretty sweet too.
27. What was your last musical "phase" before you wisened up?
Well right now I’m going through a Dr. Demento “phase” and I hope I never wise up
28. What music is your "guilty pleasure" music that you don't often admit to liking?
Michael McDonald, but I tell everyone about it. I’m not ashamed.
29. What album have you purchased the most copies of in your lifetime?
This survey is getting boring
30. Who is your favorite musician?
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[25 Sep 2005|05:06pm] |
This is an entry about my trip to Tokyo. I procrastinated too much and now I can't remember half of what happened, so I guess the main reason I'm doing this is to refer back to it once I'm an old lady with no memory. Plus it includes pictures of monkeys and I know how much you dudes like them.
Have I told you how much I hate flying overseas? I know I sound like a wimp, and I probably shouldn't complain because plenty of people go through an entire lifetime without leaving the town they live in so it seems a little trite. Anyway, I really get cranky on planes so I took like three xanax before the flight with hopes that I would just pass out and wake up in Tokyo. Not exactly what happened. Instead some drunk Australian dude in front of me reclined his seat back completely so I couldn't feel my legs. Also, this creepy teenaged Japanese kid sitting next to me was reading manga porn and mouth breathing and probably getting tons of boners so that distracted me. I put on an eye mask and the plane headphones and put on the soundscapes channel which is like, birds chirping and waves crashing and shit. No use. So I'm zonked out of my mind on xanax, but it's not putting me to sleep. I wind up finishing my book about exorcisms and I start wondering if anyone is possessed on the plane and start freaking myself out. After that I watched The Sisterhood of Traveling Pants. THE SISTERHOOD OF TRAVELING PANTS. Bad news right? Even I wanted to point at myself and laugh.
( Read more... )
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| Fatal Familial Insomnia |
[24 Aug 2005|05:06pm] |
Fatal familial insomnia is a genetic disorder. It manifests itself by many symptoms due to the degeneration of a certain part of the brain, the thalamus. The disease also results in the formation of amyloid plaques. This is the build up of a waxy substance made of proteins associated with polysaccharides. The disease is a result of a mutation of a normal protein that is associated with brain tissue. This is the prion protein. In the case of fatal familial insomnia, the mutation occurs 178 amino acids into the normal protein. Were an asparagine should be, an aspartic acid is instead. This disease is an autosomal dominant, which means that both sexes are affected and there are no carriers. If an individual inherits the mutant gene, that individual will at some point suffer the disease.
In the case of fatal familial insomnia, the affected area of the brain is the area responsible for sleep, the thalamus. The thalamus is the center which communications from the brain to the body and the body to the brain pass through for proper directions to where a signal should be received. When sleep takes place, it is thought that the thalamus becomes less efficient at this signal transfer function allowing for the vegetative state of sleep to come over an individual. Consequently, the symptoms of fatal familial insomnia are directly related to the malfunction of the responsibilities of the thalamus, namely sleep. Sleep, blood pressure, heart rate, body core temperature and hormone flow are all affected by the interruption of the body's circadian rhythms which is a direct result of the degeneration of the thalamus in this disease. Other symptoms of this disease include the inability to produce tears or feel pain as well as poor reflexes and dementia. The lack of sleep leads to other problems such as hallucinations and coma. This is a clear demonstration of a pleiotropic disease, a disease with many phenotypic expressions. That is, this disease is the result of one mutant gene yielding one mutant protein, yet causes many physical abnormalities such as skin blotches, lack of tears, etc.
In the case study of an Italian family where of 288 relatives over 6 generations, 29 are affected by the disorder. The average age of onset of the disease is 49, but this may vary with the individual as with one female who was 61 years of age. Her disease lasted 18 months and followed the following pattern of the disease.
There are four stages of the disease before an individual's life ends. The first stage is progressive insomnia, the trade mark of fatal familial insomnia. The first stage develops over approximately four months and includes a collection of psychiatric problems such as panic attacks and bizarre phobias. The second stage includes hallucinations, panic, agitation and sweating and lasts about five months. The third stage lasts about three months and is total insomnia with weight loss. The individual at this point looks much older and may experience incontinence. The fourth stage is around six months long and is recognized as dementia, total insomnia and sudden death after becoming mute.
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[19 Aug 2005|03:59pm] |
Possibly the greatest person alive, (him, not me)...
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[17 Aug 2005|03:35pm] |
THINGS THAT SCARE ME:
MILLIPEDES
LADY ELAINE
EELS
JOCELYN WILDENSTEIN
THIS SCENE IN THE DARK CYSTAL
NOW IT'S YOUR TURN
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[14 Oct 2004|02:59pm] |
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In Marseilles in 1720, the abundance of plague victims was so great bodies were thrown into huge piles with those at the bottom bursting and oozing infection into the street.
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[28 Sep 2004|04:18pm] |
According to the L.A. County Coroner's toxicology report, the following drugs were found in Rick James blood at the time of his autopsy:
Xanax
Valium
Wellbutrin
Celexa
Vicodin
Digoxin
Chlorpheniramine (an antihistamine, I had to look this one up)
Methamphetamine
Cocaine
Alcohol
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[25 Sep 2004|02:32pm] |
I've been riding the L.A. County busses the past two weeks and it has been truly inspirational.
Anti-social fake businessman in a dirty thrift store suit carrying a briefcase that we all know isn't filled with important corporate documents, because you definitely don't have a job. It's doubtful you even have a room in a flophouse. More than likely that briefcase is filled with notebooks detailing the government's constant surveillance on you throughout the past fifteen years, along with your own toenail clippings and dead birds you pick up off the street.
Sun Ra look alike that may be a woman due to the shape of breasts underneath your traditional African cloak, but you have a full beard so go figure? When you pulled the small leather satchel out of your boot, removed a jolly rancher and put it in your mouth I was shocked that the bag didn't contain magic dust or rubies and diamonds. I almost asked you to read my palm but then you pulled out a dog eared copy of the Celestine Prophecy. That's the moment I knew you were just a sham.
Schizophrenic black man with one giant dreadlock who shit his pants a week ago but has yet to find another pair. Please don't ever stop singing rock around the clock and asking me for directions to Montgomery Alabama. I sware to you the conversation I had with you on the bus was more intelligent than all of the conversations I've had with all of my co-workers in the year that I've worked with them.
And finally, large print Readers Digest lady that says a little prayer every time the bus hits a nasty bump. Even though you give me dirty looks because I look like a harlot I appreciate the fact that you have probably never had one moment of joy your entire life. Also, you probably don't even have a vagina.
Can I please have my fucking car back now, PLEASE?
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[23 Sep 2004|04:39pm] |
THIS WEEK
A dwarf Mexican wearing a pair of rooster jammer pants and a perm poked his boner into my thigh on the bus
I fell down a flight of stairs in front of the Hill Street courthouse and a 100 year old homeless woman wrapped in paper bags pushing a stroller filled with newspapers and dirty blankets helped me to my feet
I watched my neighbor across the alley jerk off to internet porn through his half shut venetian blinds and wipe up the mess with an oven mitt
I lost my job and my car is not running
Did I break a mirror or walk under a ladder or something?
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chainsawprom's journal
