Friday, September 30, 2005

it's such a perfect day...

...i'm glad i spent it with you.

last night i ate falafel at a lebanese restaurant and smoked cigarettes even though it was a non smoking establishment. whatever. there was no one else there. it was byob. six miller lights and a tgi fridays single serving bottle of disgusting long island iced tea with such stellar ingredients as ALL NATURAL FLAVORS whatever that means. i was writing shit that people were saying down on a receipt and i'm looking at it now and here's what it says: post it it really resonates fiction it's not me.

then i went home and took a shower and went to a friend's house and read some italian movie it was SO FUCKING GOOD except i don't remember what it was called. then i woke up and all they had at their place was orange juice. i hate pulpy orange juice it's like someone shredded up a paper towel and threw it in there or something. then i broke a glass and cleaned it up and left.

now i'm taking my dogs to meet my future landlord's dogs and if they all get along i'm going to sign a lease and i will get so excited i will probably push mandy into a bush.

then i'm going to the lyrics born show that i fucking won free tickets to because i am awesome and i know the words to lots of songs and it turns out sometimes that can win you free shit like tickets to awesome shows that you were probably going to go to anyway and spend $15 on. i was so geeked about it that i think i asked everyone i talked to in the past week if they wanted to come with me. then i'm like fuck i can't pick, so i'm going with a random seventh person because that seems fair in my drunken mind.

best past 24 hours ever. except for the 20 minutes between the time i got home and left my house again because i almost decided i was too drunk to leave and then i almost fell asleep plus i am never home anymore so my apartment is pretty much filled with rotting food and cigarette butts that i'm saving so i can smoke them later when i'm poor.

i wonder if i'm bipolar. time to consult the dsm. too bad in the exorcism of emily rose the lawyer is like "the dsm is known as the bible of psychological blah blah blah" and i'm like WHAT??? nobody calls it THAT!

man that movie fucking sucked. give me a few hundred thousand dollars, i'll write direct and star in a better movie.


Thursday, September 29, 2005

watch me navigate

i had a mental break.

i was walking around and i thought i wasn't real.

i was walking fast and i could feel my knees and my hips absorbing the impact from my feet hitting the pavement and it felt unfamiliar. whose legs are these?

kill me.

i am totally fucked. i can see myself standing in an alley and there's a giant neon sign that says I AM FUCKED and i can't shut up like i can cover it with words like i can throw words over it like sheets and nobody will see it.

then i had a newspaper in my hand and i didn't know where it came from and then i didn't have a newspaper in my hand and i didn't know where it went.

this is what happens when i stop distracting myself.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

how many golf balls can you fit in your ass?

for some reason there are all these dumpsters at work today and also entire cubicles full of monitors and keyboards and phones and there are wires everwhere. pretty much all the shit you probably need to build a robot that can do my job.

i totally wish i had my camera so i could show you how hilarious ten thousand phones piled on top of each other look but i guess i have to say it with words instead. THERE IS A WHOLE CUBICLE PILED FOUR FEET HIGH WITH OFFICE TELEPHONES AND IT LOOKS CRAZY!!! get it? i am totally going to steal an office phone for my house so i can have conference calls and shit. i should get two so when people call for mandy i can be like hold please, while i transfer your call. except it will all be for fake because ha ha we won't have a landline.

i have a landline right now but nobody ever calls me on it because i don't give the number out because i would rather incur $400 in overage fees on my cellphone than have potentially crazy people calling my house. it's true, if you don't know my landline number it's because i think you are mental or annoying as hell.

if you can guess how many golf balls my brother thinks i can fit in my ass you will win the prize of knowing that you are a good guesser.

Monday, September 26, 2005

curtsy with your pants off

if any old people with dead daughters are reading this i will pretend to be your daughter. you can pay for my school just like you would be doing if your daughter wasn't dead and i probably kind of look like your daughter because i kind of look like everyone. i have brown hair. you can call me kathrine even though i hate that name and i will wear her sweater and come over for dinner on sundays.

i want to move into a giant loft in pilsen with a stage in it. a real stage with a red and gold curtain and everything. i'm going to do live soft core porn shows there. like with bad plots and bad dialouge and everything. has this been done yet?

i'm way better at coming up with schemes to make money than i am at actually making money. who wants to buy a shirt that says curtsy with your pants off on it?

Sunday, September 25, 2005

chet riley is my boyfriend

not only is chet riley my boyfriend

he is the hot shit

and is making me a murder shirt that says i eat hipsters for breakfast and has some blood on it.

and if you go here and vote for his design he will buy me something.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

slum city

yes. i lived in a slum.

when we moved in there was burger king in our fire place. me and dan got there first. it was like 5am and we were zombies. i'm standing in the doorway squinting at some whoppers rotting in our fireplace and i hear dan's mumble echoing like he's in a cave so i follow it into the bathroom and he's INSIDE a giant hole in the bathroom wall. woah, what the fuck, why is there a secret tunnel behind a fucking propped up peice of plywood in our bathroom??? a secret tunnel that is fucking loaded with secret live wires and i'm falling on the floor laughing yelling THIS IS SABATOGE while dan's banging his head on pipes trying to get the fuck out after he electrocuted the shit out of himself on a live wire which started sparking and jumping all around burning a hole in a pipe and completely flooding our whole entire house.

of course et is walking around documenting everything in a clipboard or some shit. type it save it print it sign it send it. dear paul saucer, why in the fuck is there a fucking landmine in our bathroom? thank you very much signed erin erin and dan. i'm seizing from electricity coursing through my body like EEEE TEEEE, MY FUCKING OUTLET IS ELECTROCUTING ME, WRITE THIS SHIT DOOOOOWN! i love getting electrocuted it feels scary and awesome at the same time. adrenaline loaded numbness. me and dan were like super electro-men after that walking around shocking the shit out of each other with our magic electro-loaded fingers.

there were no covers on the outlets or the light switches and wires were everywhere, twisted together, overtaking our walls like robot ivy. our refrigerator was alive and it crawled and grunted and pissed all over our floor.

living in a slum with five other people is fucking awesome. wait, six other people. i forgot we had a fucking hippie living on our couch for three months. seven other people. he found a friend. a friend with some warrants and an alias and it was hot as hell and we all ate ecstacy and took turns taking showers all day long except for et who sat in her room writing poetry and asking herself how she ended up living with five deviants. WHY ME???

i love living in a slum with a boarded up window and mold all over the walls. especially when i'm on drugs all the time. it's like living in a rave cave. it's like after you sit in a van in a parking lot on the beach and do glass until 6:00 in the morning you can go home to a fucking cave and pretend to be a vampire or something instead of going home to some sterile non slum that makes you realize you are a drug addled reject from society.

when you live in a slum you can ash your cigarettes all over the floor and cremate your hedgehog in the parking lot and it all seems normal. when you live in a slum and you have crazy upstairs neighbors that crash into your apartment in the middle of the night yelling because why lock your doors who cares if every surface of your apartment is covered in drugs and scales and baggies, you live in a slum, it all seems totally normal. when you live in a slum. when you live in a slum and everything is crawling with ants and mildew who cares if in a drug induced haze a wrong turn is made and someone pisses all over et's carpet who cares if dan eats shrimp and throws the tails all over the floor who cares if everybody can hear each other fucking all the time who cares if we all have fleas.

if you live in a slum it seems totally normal that your friends would take fistfulls of pharmies to come down from their three day cocaine binge and when they realized it was 9am on monday and they were still up they might as well go to class. and when they came back early because one of them vomited all over his desk it's hilarious in a way it might not have been if your carpet wasn't dotted with cigarette burns and if your appliances were white instead of mustard and if your malfunctioning garbage disposal wasn't clogged with rotting food. if there wasn't a tube sock hanging over the fireplace that said fuck christmas on it.

et was the last holdout. she scrubbed mold off the walls and swept broken glass off the floors while everyone else drank heinekins and watched. she hung up garlands and holly in december trying to give the apartment some sembelence of normality probalby hoping it would rub off on all of us. one day she couldn't take it anymore. she lit the tube sock on fire.

welcome home.

Friday, September 23, 2005

but what about richard speck?

i went to some fucking crepe place and got a giant crepe and then i went to some shitty bar that jeffrey dahmer and john wayne gacy used to hang out at. JEFFERY DAHMER AND JOHN WAYNE GACY. me and jason sat on some barstools under a dirty blue light and pretended we were killers. and i drank four pabst blue ribbons.

jason went to the bathroom and some guy was jerking off in there and he like leaned back from the urinal so jason could see it. it was NOT HOT. or so i heard. during that time some kid came up to me and said hi or whatever and i said did you know jeffery dahmer used to sit on this very barstool? anyway i guess this kid goes to film school at columbia and he had a class with this guy who was dating a friend of a friend who i was in his film and i had to wear plastic gloves and put lipstick on my friend and then i had like a super exasperated monolouge or whatever. wow i met a kid at a bar who saw me in my friends friends friends movie. shit it's like i'm famous. anyway this kid is making a movie too because isn't everybody making a movie? anyway i get to be in it if i want but i only want to be in it if i get to act crazy because last time my friend got to act crazy and all i got to act was irritated while she got to smear lipstick all over her face and stare into space like an idiot. it was all very whatever happened to baby jane and i was JEALOUS. so i guess i'm going to be in this kids movie but only if i get to be insane in it.

jason is having a pussmitzvah party and he made the awesomest ever flier for it with some black iris georgia okeefe vagina thing on it with our lady of guadalupe shooting out of it. it is fantastic. we are also forming a fake country band called ai oh squares and we're making a flier for it with squares on it and shit and we're going to post them all over campus.

me and jason have special love for each other.

in order to hang out we had to pretend we weren't hanging out and then make plans with secret sign language so every idiot in the room wouldn't be like SHIT YES YOU ARE GOING TO A BAR THAT WAS FREQUENTED BY JEFFEREY DAHMER AND JOHN WAYNE GACY??? because you know they all would have been like that. i especially didn't want mike to come because i think in class today he might have said something about hating black people and i might have said whatever TRUST FUND.

i must have been pretty drunk last night because i threw my fucking pants i wear to work on the floor and now they have dog hair all over them and also i stole toilet paper from the bar.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

come and show me another city

i could fly to paris on october eighteenth. one way on british airlines. i have a window seat. i could rent an apartment with a tiny refrigerator and grated french doors that lead to nowhere. in a city that radiates out, starlike.

i walked to the arab on the corner and bought vodka and pear juice and bottled water and nectarines and camembert and took the rec out of issey to walk around and bum cigarettes after all the tabacs were closed. all around the conversations were beautiful if only because i couldn't understand them. romanticized inanity.

if i could fly i would i'd fly away from here.

i once fled. i put on my hoodie and i emptied out my backpack tearing out scraps of paper and empty water bottles and shook it until the torrents of pens and pencils and melted chapsticks and quarters gave way to drizzles of celophane wrappers and bits of foil and tobacco.

i stopped at decrepit filling stations that made my feet dusty and i bought out of state lottery tickets.

are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet

someone asked me what i was looking for but i wasn't looking for anything.

chicago is built on a grid, a net, a seive.

i came home with a different kind of dirt on my feet. smooth instead of gritty. brown instead of black. sepia. it washed off easily.

i love you chicago, city of big shoulders. i can never completey cleanse msyelf of you.

Monday, September 19, 2005

you can't come home and lay in your bed and cry and eat your cereal and wash your dish and cry when you live with me.

i will make you stop crying by saying something asinine or sarcastic.

i will be like oh god you are such a hot bitch when you're sad and i will take pictures of you.

or i will sing a song and i will put your name in it. probably that rolling stones song angie. mandy mandy when will those clouds all disappear? mandy mandy where will it lead us from here?

i will take you on top of a building and we can both scream at the top of our lungs and break bottles on the street below.

i will buy you special chocolate.

if someone made you cry i will make you a claymation video of me ripping their arm off and beating them to death with it.

i will not hug you though. unless you are so drunk it is necessary for you to stand or something. then i will.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

i am boring

yesterday i found an apartment. my dog is going to eat the downstairs neighbors kids and then i am going to go to prison.

i drove to elgin. traffic was terrible. road rage. i ate a chimichanga aka deep fried jabba the hut.

i looked at a fire and talked about seinfeld and horse fucking.

i drove from some place i didn't know where it was to some other place i didn't know where it was and my navigator passed out so i had to be like caravaned there.

then i had to wake squeeze his face and be like WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP wehavetogetoutofthecarRIGHTNOW. or else i was going to wake up in a car on the street and maybe even waking up in a car on the street dead like michael jordan's father because that is what happens. yes.

then in the morning i jumped out of the window.

i just brushed my teeth and drooled toothpaste all over the floor.

i'm probably going to fall asleep right now and then i won't be able to sleep at night and then i will play my violin and my neighbors will be like what the fuck doesn't she play anything besides various movements of vivaldi's concerto in a minor? and i will be like no, i don't.

tell me something good to write about and i will write about it and if it's boring i can blame you and then i won't have to feel like i want to kill myself because i can't even write a blog. i will want to kill you instead and then i will go to prison.

there is pretty much no way around me going to prison eventually.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

it's only like two months from now

what am i going to be on halloween?

weiner dog?

if xan is going to be baby from house of 1000 corpses and nick is going to be otis should i be their victim that is dressed as a doll and i can put blood and dirt all over myself and they can smack the shit out of me and i can scream all night?

or should mandy be gwen stefani and i'll be fergie but we'll draw bullet holes on our heads wear nooses around our necks and have blood coming out of our mouths, and everything will be right in the world?

maybe i will be raymi. i can go around topless and act impossibly cool.

tell me what to be and i'll be it.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

im'a get get get get you drunk

me and mandy went to the beach and drank two for four dollars boone's farm and heard the best fucking song ever.

my hump. my lovely lady lump.

im'a get get get get you drunk. get you love drunk off my humps.

we also had a fabulous conversation of yelling at each other from the kitchen where she was making brownies to the bathroom where i was bikini waxing.

besides all dj funk all the time no pants parties and faux lesbian foxfire and girl town viewings we are also going to dress up as fergie and gwen stefani and battle each other to the death.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

i love you i love you not

i fucking love blogs LOVE THEM SO MUCH I WANT TO MARRY THEM.

blogs are fucking awesome. how awesome? show your tits to old men in convenience stores awesome and that's AWESOME and makes me want them to come sleep on my couch and climb a water tower in a cemetary with me and mash avocados all over our faces and lick them off. AWESOME.

so fucking awesome they make me cry tears all over my keyboard and short circuit it and i want to marry them at gas stations and have a wet white wedding dress contest where they spray me with gasoline and we draw rings on our fingers with pens and THAT'S AWESOME.

myspace is not awesome i hate it HATE IT SO MUCH I WANT TO MURDER IT.

people on myspace are not geniuses. they are not geniuses at all.

people on myspace are retards and whores. and retarded whores. retards with no friends and whores with no friends. and really what kind of whore has no friends because doesn't everyone love a whore?

myspace people will write you poems and send you topless pictures of themselves and invite you for discreet fun or coffee and it is fucking sick and pathetic.

wow. you like bret easton ellis and so do i wow. that's really wow. crazy. you think i'm beautiful. crazy. you think i'm beautiful in a picture where you can't see my face because the flash is reflecting all over the place. wow. you think i'm intelligent and kind hearted. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I'M INTELLIGENT AND KINDHEARTED BASED ON A PICTURE OF MY HEAD AND SOME WORDS THAT SAY SHIT LIKE "I LIKE TAXI DRIVER AND MF DOOM"???

can someone please make myspace into some kind of interactive role play game so i can grab a virtual sawed off shotgun and put on my murder suit and go on a myspace rtk spree? please? iggy can you do this for me?

you are now exiting lame city. if i forget to delete my myspace profile when i get home you can call me a retarded whore at my funeral after i commit suicide for hating myself so bad. bye.


Friday, September 09, 2005

he gives me some knowledge i buy him some shoes

today i went to max's and got two hot dogs. they were a dollar eighty two each and the total was four dollars which means i just paid ten percent tax on food. what the fuck city of chicago! i swear food tax used to be one percent. please stop raping me in the mouth now.

my hot dog was fucking good. it had a pickle on it and some onions and lettuce and tomato and shit like that. what it did not have on it was ketchup because it was a chicago style hot dog and not an everywhere else where people like disgusting ketchup on their hotdog style hot dog.

i gave the other hot dog to this guy i see every day sitting against this fenced in construction site right by my work with a sign that says "i'm hungry" on it. one time i was on the phone while i was walking past it and there were super loud jackhammer noises that sounded like machine guns and i yelled "OH MY GOD I'M WALKING INTO AN AMBUSH!" and the guy laughed super hard. i liked that. if i was homeless and some dumb girl walked past yelling asinine shit into her cell phone i would probably want to stab her in the gut with a rusty shiv.

anyway his eyes were closed and his head was bowed over so i squatted down there like "hi, are you asleep?" probably it's not a good idea to sneak up on homeless people like that because last time someone sneaked up on them it was probably to steal their shoes. luckily he didn't throttle me. i'm like "i got you a hot dog." so he was pretty excited about that and he told me he had just been praying for something to eat.

that's fucked because now i have to wonder if i have free will or if that guy controlled jesus into making me buy him a hot dog. next i am going to make that guy a shirt that says "jesus is my middle man" on it.

hey lady nice muumuu

i've had 13 roommates. they all know i like to wear sweatpants rolled up all LL cool J style and pace around the apartment and eat over the sink and that in the winter i turn the heat up to tropical levels so i can walk around in underwear and knee socks.

mandy will find out too.

i hope we live by a good mexican place and maybe a hot dog stand or maybe there will be a little old guy who pushes a hot dog cart past our apartment on a regular basis. i hope we live by a cheap convenince store that is open 24 hours.

i hope one day we are hungover and become blood brothers. i hope she likes to dress up because everything is more interesting when you're wearing a wig or angel wings. i hope she is not appalled by my superfluous disclosure policy.

man, she is going to hate it when i come sliding out of my room risky business style in an outfit that is more socks than anything else and am like hey lady nice muumuu won't you dance with me?


Tuesday, September 06, 2005

the balance beam is a cold mother

i love the taste of my own blood.

how come when you rip the palms of your hands the skin peels off white and not pink? i used to tear the rips off with my teeth and lick the blood off my palms. it tasted like iron and chalk and the wood of the uneven bars.

i kept on going until my blood was smeared all over the bars smeared all over the lower bar smeared into the chalk i could feel the air on new skin before it smacked the upper bar, catching it, stinging. hurt me. i love you.

i didn't love the balance beam. the balance beam. what a fucking bitch. there was nothing to wrap your palms around and curl your fingers over there was nothing to hold on to. i couldn't fly on the balance beam.

hand over hand foot over foot. going backwards is easy. throw my head back and watch my hands fall tuck my chin and see my feet. hand hand foot foot. front handsprings were harder. i can't see my feet i have no idea where my feet are where the fuck are my feet.

when i was nine years old i split the beam. hand hand foot foot. hand hand i'm off the beam right foot i'm on it, on the edge of it, a blunt edge sending sparks through my nerves and my other foot, where the fuck was my other foot, my legs splayed out and my other foot i don't even know where it went. to the other side of the beam. i slammed down hard legs dangling on either side and i slumped over the beam, my forehead against the cool roughness of the balance beam, that bitch.

my heart belonged to the uneven bars but it was the balance beam that popped my cherry.

little girls rip their hands and chalk back up and keep going but nobody wants to think about a little girl's bleeding vagina so i either got to sit on the edge of the trampoline totally useless or walk home gingerly and bow legged as if i'd fucked a horse. i stopped at dominicks and got some lemonheads. when my mom came to pick me up i wasn't there but i was home when she got home, watching tv, miserable with a bunch of toilet paper wadded up between my legs.

i told her i hurt myself. she didn't believe me. she thought i got my period. oh that's so cute, little erin got her period. little nine year old erin got her period four years early probably due to the fucking growth hormones in all the milk she drinks, how fucking cute. my brother came in my room and said so i heard you got your period. I DID NOT! i was in pain and furious.

what an insult. i was a wounded veteran. not a childbearing woman. not a fucking childbearing woman! i cried like only a nine year old girl can. hot and furious with clenched teeth. like a nine year old gymnast that tasted failure and was accused of growing up.

Monday, September 05, 2005

i don't hate you anymore

what do you do when someone you hate walks in to the backyard at the party you're at? and says erin fucking mastermind! and squeezes you, picks you up and tells you you look beautiful, you look radiant. you hold on.

you remember what you need to remember and you forget what you need to forget.

he says he promised himself if you ever spoke he would never bring up what happened but he does and his pupils look like pinpricks but he's clear and coherent and you laugh and then you get trashed playing beirut and go to taco burrito king for steak burritos with avocado and orchata.

and your friends are like god, it's an illness. but if you're holding onto a grudge with two hands it's hard to light your cigarette.

Friday, September 02, 2005

bang bang shoot shoot

i wish i didn't break my fucking camera by vodka and cranberry leaking all over it in dan's backpack while we were having sex in some strangers' front yard because then i could just put some pictures of myself in my underwear on here instead of actually writing something. blah blah blah.

also if my camera wasn't broken i could have taken a picture of the fucking guy i saw walking down the street wearing a fucking strap of BULLETS across his chest. i need some of those. or just a little gun i can wear on my thigh, with little short skirts. then when people stood too close to me on the train i could lean into them and whisper "i'm armed to the teeth."

cameras and guns. they should invent a gun with little cameras that take a picture of you while you're shooting while simultaneously taking a picture of your victim. so you can see how fucking crazy you look while you're blowing away someone super freaked out looking. a souvenir.

i would totally make an ultra violent screen scaver slide show.
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