Tuesday, May 30, 2006

here's a picture of me in detroit


Monday, May 29, 2006

saturday we couldn't find parking at the museum so we decided to go to detroit instead. here is how you get to detroit. follow the signs that say detroit.

i drank a lot of coffee and peed a lot. we almost got pulled over three times. i ate a big mac in the car.

sunday was funny because i was so fucked up. i think i started drinking at 10am. i ate an omlet with gravy on it at the motown grille. we walked to the festival and drank vodka out of water bottles. actually i think we were drinking vodka out of plastic hotel cups. i realized i was drunk and so i had some stimulants. i don't really remember like the next four hours. then at 3am i was sitting in some bar in detroit by myself and some girl told me i looked sad. and then a different girl asked me if i needed any pills. and then some guy asked me for the cellophane from my cigarettes and asked me when my birthday was. also there was a wheelchair guy getting carried up the stairs in his wheelchair.

also on sunday i wanted to hear mark grant but did i get to hear mark grant no i did not. luckily i had been drunk for seven hours by that time so i didn't actually care at all. also i found a binary star flyer and for some reason freaked out and called my brother and according to my phone i left a two minute message. what in the fuck could i have possibly been talking about for two minutes i have no idea.

our hotel smelled like pine sol like so much i felt like it was choking me. also there were condom wrappers on our beds. also everything in the entire room was lopsided or slanted or something. people were slip and sliding in the hallway.

now i need to take a shower because my one arm totally smells like the days in for some reason and it's freaking me out.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

dear diary

i am totally. beyond. completely. depressed right now.

Thursday, May 25, 2006


okay i am reading a really bad book right now really really bad. every body probably knows say it with me A HEARTBREAKING WORK OF STAGGERING GENIUS. reading this book is like watching dave eggers suck his own dick and call it god. can someone please explain to me why this book is good. i am serious.

watch me as i psychoanalyze dave eggers. he is so conflicted over his self worth that he can't go two pages without emphasizing his superiority over everyone else in a totally self deprecatory manner. i can totally relate to this which made it even more condescending like YEAH DAVE EGGERS I GET IT YOU ARE TOTALLY BRILLIANT AND AMAZING YET TOTALLY DULL AND AVERAGE ALL AT ONCE I'M GLAD YOU ARE SO ENAMORED WITH THIS REVELATION TOO BAD I HAD IT WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN. like he is so amazing that the epiphany that he is actually not so amazing is totally amazing. i used to think i was better then everyone else and now i realize i am average HOW MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE I MUST BE TO HAVE REALIZED THIS. i just summed up a totally asinine pulitzer prize nominated memoir in one sentece how awesome am i.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

i just rewrote the first 200 pages of that stupid dave eggers book in three paragraphs

who even knew he was still alive? this is the first thing i say, the first thing, when someone mentions the guy i used to work with at the gas station, or the guy i used to fuck in high school, or the guy i used to fuck four months ago. woah he is still alive? WHO KNEW. and of course he is still alive. he wasn't a meth addict, didn't suffer from terminal illness or a prediliction for drag racing or wicky sticks. except this is my story, life is my story. who knew these minor characters existed outside of it? didn't i create them? who knew that they went on breathing after i discarded them for becoming irrelevant to the plot? next someone is going to tell me that not only have they survived, they have formed new networks of new people that i am not aware of. the audacity of my supporting characters. writing their own stories.

obviously their stories aren't as brilliant as mine. their stories are overpriced novels with shiny covers purchased in airports by middle managers in cheap shoes flying business class. my story has a soft grainy cover, cream colored with black letters, my characters are younger, brighter, more beautiful. we love each other more and hate each other more we scream louder and fuck better and run faster. look at us we are alive. look at them they could never reach this level of intensity. my story is a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

when i was five years old i drew a picture. blurry dark figures with vermillion centers. people, dancing. dull gray skin with conflagrant hearts. i stopped looking at things this way when it became to much to bear.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

everything is different but the same

his mother approached her. 'he was afraid to come you know.' she said. 'he is afraid now. to see you.' 'tell him not to be afraid. he needs to. he needs to have his peace.' she is a greater person than i. i, standing outside. all of us. smoking cigarettes. looking at each other. look at us. we are still alive. look at us dressed up. in costumes. cheap and purchased hastily. for modesty. for dark colors. for mourning. look at him. i did. i stared. what are you doing here, i said silenty, how dare you. i went on. i know you can see me looking at you. look at me. look at me. i know you won't.

meanwhile his mother said that every day she feared that this would happen to her son. this. you selfish cunt. this will never happen to your son. or it will. it will happen to your son but it will happen differently. did you know that he was there that day?

none of us talked to him. standing outside. smoking cigarettes. looking at each other. i don't want to go back in there. out here it is like a bad movie. look at us. watch us come of age before your very eyes. in our cheaply made and hastily purchased skirts that don't fit quite right. look at us wearing ties. out here it is like a bad movie but in there, in there there is a dead body with a bad haircut and even if you try not to look it is in your periphery, out of focus and blurred as you look at pictures of him running down the street holding onto his beer, pictures of him eating hamburgers. even in the distance you can see that his skin is orange. pancake makeup, maybe. out here i can smoke cigarettes and rip the kleenex i stuffed into my purse into little balls, twist them up between my fingers and throw them on the ground, out here i can be a complete wreck without shame while everyone in there smiles as the procession shuffles past them. i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry. he's in a better place now. i'm so sorry. and so it goes.

and i could write forever. i don't know how this is supposed to end. maybe it isn't. death is one of the only events in life that is predictable. that is certain. maybe it's ironic because certainty should be comfortable should be comforting. maybe if i believed in god. maybe if i believed in god a man in black could lie at my funeral about how i walked with jesus. funny, i didn't know this movie was a comedy. maybe it is a black comedy. he always liked dark humor. i will write it that way next time.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

what am i doing tonight? probably just chilling with clyde--oops i think my phone just dropped your call.

i already knew my cellphone barely works inside my apartment which is actually awesome because when i get sick of talking to people i just hang up on them because duh my cellphone barely works inside my apartment. anyway apparently it barely works outside my apartment either like on the porch or in the general vicinity of my house which i decided is because the place is like seven hundred years old and it's like 'i'm old there is no way i'm letting someone use that new shit inside of me especially when that new shit is a cellphone that is called a RAZR and looks like it came from the future OH HELL NO!'

i like how i give human properties like old fashioned fussbudgetry to inanimate objects like my apartment. i forget what that is called but i'm pretty sure it's a product of pre-rational thought. probably i should just give my apartment a name and start talking out loud to it.

clyde, i would say, i think you really need to step into the new millenium dude. all this resistance to modern technology is really very silly. and then my cellphone would magically work and i could go back to ignoring my calls because i am too busy chilling with clyde the magical appartment. great use of the word magical two times in one sentence. note to self: LEARN MORE ADJECTIVES.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

people even less cool then me

i have to build this stupid test on the computer and i don't know how. except i am pretending like i do because apparently i built some tests last year. oh yeah now i remember. not. luckily i have a manual. and the manual is showing my how to build a test using the fictional test case GANDALF TEST. what a fucking shock that the person who wrote a manual on a test writing program was a total geek.

also on elimidate yesterday this girl said she liked dorks which seemed pretty normal until she made the dude put on her glasses and started talking about how the hottest sex ever was when she made her ex boyfriend draw a lightning bolt on his head and put on a harry potter cape. that really happened.

also the girl that won said that she did not like to read or rather that she only read cool shit like peoples magazine. that is not a typo she actually said peoples or people's magazine. and then she called everyone else nerds and made fun of them because they liked to read. also she had huge tits but at the same time looked like a man. it reminded me of that one aphex twin cd.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

what me work?

i was reading this message board i totally lurk around on and never post today and fucking jana made the message board what the fuck YOU SO FAMOUS.

i am reading a heartbreaking work of staggering genius right now. i like it okay but i think i am supposed to pretend like i don't or something because isn't dave eggers supposed to be some kind of pretentious hipster extroidonaire? apparently this book was a pulitzer prize finalist. when i write a book i am not going to have a sticker on the cover proclaiming my lack of pulitzer prize CLOSE ONLY COUNTS IN HORSESHOES AND HAND GRENADES DAVE EGGERS. usually when i read books that win awards it makes me think i should write books and win awards.

all you have to do to be able to write is to be totally self absorbed and remember every single thing that ever happens to you and then write about it like it happened to other people but make it come out better and make it like meaningful or something instead of stupid and boring.

also if i ever write a book i am not going to have some ugly cover art on it. i am so shallow that i judge a book by its cover. like literally. like now that memoirs of a geisha is a movie that pretty much determines that i will never ever read it because hello, if someone on the train saw me reading a book with ziyi zhang on the cover? and it says NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE? uh no not going to happen.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

what the fuck happened to music

yesterday i heard a tool song. vicarious. because i was listening to the radio because i do that sometimes in case they play something i could like on there which they never do. and then tool came on and i almost threw up on my steering wheel and then i remembered wait that's ignorant i've never even heard tool before. then i convinced myself wait what if i could actually like tool. now i can tell you with absolute certainty that after vicarious that whisper song sounded fucking good as hell. like when a fat ugly girl has a skinny friend that is actually also fairly hideous but somehow looks hot next to the fat one. that is what happens when the yin yang twins stand next to tool. suddenly i want to bone the yin yang twins. this is what happens when i try to be open minded. now my standards for music have been lowered to the point that a song consisting of a dude whispering sounds good to me.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

my dog is seriously fucking cute as hell

oh my god the dog is just like me. how she sprawls around the house all day with the most tragic fucking look on her face.

please testify to my dog being fucking adorable so i can win a thousand dollars VOTE 10!.

here is what is in it for you. if i win i will fly to california and get drunk with sabrina. i will drink myself so retarded i will qualify for government assistance. or i will drink myself so retarded i end up trampled by horses and a quadrapalegic and i will qualify for government assistance. either way i will document it.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

aren't we all lesbians deep down?

i'm supposed to be writing papers right now but instead i'm taking a what kind of lesbian are you quiz oh i'm sorry what kindA lesbian are you oh my god people that write kinda are so cute NOT. apparently i am a LOUD lesbian totally proud of my gayness and giving all the straight girls dirty looks because they are TOTALLY MISSING OUT.

that is awesome except i am not a lesbian so i guess i am LOUD AND STR8. haha str8 and lowd omg lolz.

too bad being totally proud of my straightness and giving all the lesbos dirty looks because they are TOTALLY MISSING OUT ON THE COCK makes me sound like a raging homophobe nympho. wow. i'm glad people don't like persecute me because of who i like to fuck otherwise i would have to be proud of my sexuality and shit like in order to balance out all the hatred bestowed upon me by like the 70 percent of our nation. because being proud of who you want to bang makes seriously no sense. maybe one day in our fine nation people will be able to bang whoever they want without having to think all deeply about it and shit. probably not.

hi my name is erin i have a final exam in the morning time to think deeply about lesbians.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006


Monday, May 08, 2006

things that are fucked up

i just don't show up for work anymore and nobody notices so i stay home to study but then somehow it is dark outside and i have no idea what i did all day and people call me on the phone and ask me what i'm doing and i'm like 'nothing' and they're like 'how can you be doing nothing' and i'm like i don't know but i feel like i just woke up even though i've been awake for twelve hours WHERE DID MY TWELVE HOURS GO?

and then i have all this shit piling up on me because for some reason paying $30 for six months of aol i don't use seems better than canceling it oh my god calling these people on the phone and like talking to them COMPLETELY OVERWHELMING.

and now i have to berate myself in order to get anything done like today i made a list of things to do including TAKING A SHOWER because like i could remember to take a shower if i didn't write it down and no i am not kidding. and then in the morning i would totally be like I AM WAY TO DIRTY TO GO TO WORK TODAY TIME TO SIT ON THE PORCH LIKE A SEVENTY YEAR OLD WOMAN AND WASTE MY LIFE. and i can't just write 'take a shower' no i have to write a fucking diatribe to myself TAKE A SHOWER YOU DIRTY BITCH YOU HAVE FLEAS SERIOUSLY TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER ALREADY! i have to write it like that or i will not do it. and i know as soon as i get home i am going to check my email so i have to email myself like GOD YOU STUPID WHORE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING ON THE COMPUTER YOU ARE SO FUCKING LAZY LAZIER THAN THAT GUY SLEEPING ON THE BENCH YES LOOK OUTSIDE THERE HE IS HAHA YOU ARE SO PREDICTABLE!

it's pretty much like time travel. like during the rare moments i am actually displaying like sense or something i have to go into the future and tell my apathetic future self what to do. i should teach others about this fantastic technique of only demonstrating sense like ten percent of the time as long as you use that time to go into the future and boss your stupid senseless self around.



Thursday, May 04, 2006

check out this message i just got on myspace

subject: read me, read me


so yeah.

i'm at work and I'm bored. i feel like harassing you. you're my favorite harrassee. but it's neither late, nor am I drunk, so this message will be on the boring and mildly retarded side. the absurdity level of my myspace messages varies from mild retardation all the way up to the-gibberish-that-comes-out-of-those-bums-in-the-back-of-the-el. alcohol is the determining factor.

speaking of bums and the el: a bum seriously took a dump on the el's red line yesterday. i have witnesses. he just squatted down and when the train stopped, he went. no joke. everyone went running off that car in horror. but i stayed. i couldn't move. i was paralyzed by laughter. he told me to shut up. but i didn't. i just stood there. i was just so shocked that a human being could possess that level of shamelessness. it was the most fucked up thing i have seen in a long time. and it smelled. god bless the red line. but enough of this potty talk.

we should figure out logistics for our date next tuesday. (did he seriously just use the word dateohhhh noooo he did notttt!) you're going! fuck school. where has the niu erin g. gone? did you ever go to a single morning class that semester? the answer is no.

why are you still in school? what are you getting your next degree in? you have to be halfway to your doctorate by now. (actually, i am quite jealous. i really am. i wish i could still go to school. i hate work. but they all expelled me and put lifetime bans on me. stupid northern, u of I, and wah-wah-tech).

sigur rós is a cool band you will like them. it's not one of my psycho industrial bands. i listen to a lot of stuff nowadays and this is definitely towards the kindler-gentler-side. but i think you already know who they are. otherwise you would have just ignored me (like you normally, and rightfully should, do).

but enough rambling and diverging. logistics. here is my *special* phone number, it rings all the phones i own, everywhere, (work, cell, home, concentration camp guard's room, etc., etc.): XXX-XXX-XXXX. give me a call this weekend or on monday. i can either pick you up or we can meet at the civic opera house. it's at 7. either way is cool with me. but i would prefer to pick you up. that way i know where you live and i can stalk you outside of just myspace. i am planning on walking or taking the orange line (from the roosevelt stop where i live) if we go separately. actually, if i pick you up i was just planning on parking at my place and walking or taking the el anyway. i can't justify spending $20 to park in the loop when it is so close and easily assessable by the el. i'm jewish like that. does that turn you on? does it? does it?

bei mir bist du shayn! yiddish, yo! i'm fluent. (no i'm not. i totally googled that). but yiddish is sexy. talk yiddish to me in bed baby. Promise me you will!!! Promise!!

ok, someday, i seriously will stop poking fun at your peoples. but i had no clue who your peoples were until very recently. i have to catch up.

zie ga zink,

BTWi fully intend on seducing you someday. but i haven't quite figured out how yet. and next tuesday is not the place. so you're safe. (or are you?) plus, word is you *really are* married. (getting back to the potty talk, i do have to admit that I "rubbed a few off" in the *community* stevenson hall men's showers with you as my masterbatory mantra way back in the day. i bet you're glad i told you that. your life would not have been complete without hearing that. it's complete now.


Tuesday, May 02, 2006

uhaul time machine home hobos

driving in a uhaul everything feels like a country road because even though the thing is like a colassol steel rhino-bot it is like the princess and the pea where every time you go over a cigarette butt in the road the whole thing starts shaking like it's about to fall to peices. also the radio never comes like all the way in so the whole time you're waiting for the shadow to come on or something. THE SHADOW KNOWS. you can go back in time all the way to when it was cool to drink out of your flask while driving because duh you're in a uhaul time machine anything goes until the fine young cannibals comes on and you're like shit we are in at least 1987 WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED. driving in a uhaul everything is hilarious. despite the vauge sensation that you are about to die. because of it. next time i get in a uhaul i probably should not get out of it. i am going to buy six uhauls and make impromptu parking lot zoos. i will put some driftwood in there and a bowl of water and some meat and fill them with vagrants. ERIN'S FAMOUS TRAVELING PEOPLE ZOO. everybody will want to come to my zoo except they will never know where it is going to be that is called scarcity and that is what i am going to use to make people be all up on my traveling people zoo's dick. also the media will be all hating on me like that is not art that is slavery what a DISGRACE!!! and then everyone will want to come see it so they can talk about it. like that painting of the virgin mary made out of cow dung. and i know some retard is going to be like wow this is a real social commentary for our times TRUE GENIUS! god i really do have all the best ideas.

Monday, May 01, 2006

lost in america

can't go to school cause i don't have a gun. ain't got a gun cause i ain't got a job. ain't got a job cause i can't go to school. and so it goes.


can't get a gun cause i don't have my sanity.


gave serious thought to fucking for money today. the thing about fucking for money is that i like fucking but i don't think i would like fucking for money. seriously though i don't think i would like it any less than i like the job i have now. there's a bumper sticker i haven't seen yet. I'D RATHER BE FUCKING FOR MONEY. if someone wants to make that up for me i will put it on my cubicle. MIGHT AS WELL BE FUCKING FOR MONEY. MIGHT AS WELL LIE DOWN IN A HOLE AND WAIT FOR EROSION TO BURY ME ALIVE.
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