Complete Bitchassness
It’s not an easy task trying to navigate the streets of San Francisco late at night… especially when you have a half dead drunkard in your back seat moaning, doing everything he can not to soil your leather. Never before have I been so close to murdering Dustin as I was last night. They wouldn’t have found his body In a dumpster, I promise you that… they’d have found it in several dumpsters.
After what must have been a rigorous night of drinking for my friend, I received a phone call. Slurred words and panting as Dustin barely managed propose the idea that I come pick him up in San Francisco. He kept saying “the bastards threw me out man, they threw me out”. I could hear the tension in his voice and I knew that this was going to be a worthwhile car ride despite being a four hour turnaround at one in the morning. This is no time for reluctance, I thought. Too many stories to hear and I knew they would be good. Nothing creates a good story like filling Dustin with booze and releasing him into the wild of the big city. Tornadoes are known to cause less havoc.
It took four shots of Jagermeister to get my friend on the stage with the strippers at the Lusty Lady and only one bouncer to get him off and into the gutter outside, but not before knocking over three tables and a palm tree on the way out, causing several hundred dollars of damage. No doubt he followed some ugly girl into the Lusty in a fruitless attempt to eat something that shouldn’t be eaten.
It will be a long time before I pick him up again though. No doubt there. His life is not worth the gas it costs. As far as I’m concerned, Dustin isn’t a real person.
-Lisa
Dustin got drunk in SF and I had to go
Dustin got drunk in SF and I had to go pick him up because they wouldn’t let him on the bus. I haven’t managed to get the story out of him… no doubt I will tomorrow. I took this picture while driving home on the freeway.
-Lisa
Lotte and Health Food
Chinese restaurants have a remarkable way of telling us astounding truths… and I don’t mean those stale-ass fortune cookies. When the waiter walked up with our food, it was obvious which one of us was a complete pig… and I can say with a certain amount of pride, it’s me. I think I’ve managed to out-pig Dustin finally.
We sat in a circle around the large table, each of us digging in to the large thanksgiving dinner-like pile of food that we ordered. While Eric and Lotte sat calmly eating their meals, Dustin and I began racing to finish an order of Mongolian Beef, General Chicken, two orders of fried rice, ten fried wontons, and an order of chicken Chow Mein… and in what I consider to be a show of utter bitchassness, Dustin refused to put Sriracha, or cock sauce as some of you call it, on any of his food. Apparently he’s a little whiner and can’t do spicy food. After the end of the ordeal, and after the five foot radius of crumbs, rice and spilled sauce was picked up, I had eaten twice as much. I have new reason to feel pride (as I need it, right?). Eric, of course, had nothing to do with us because he’s a little bitch. He sat there with his Kung Pow Chicken and tried to ignore us.
With that in mind, I would like to say that Lotte is the only one of us that actually bothers to eat healthy, balanced meals. I say that because Dustin, Eric and I tend to live on Taco Bell and Cocoa Puffs. In fact, she’s actually trying to be vegan, which I support but simply can’t do; I enjoy the taste of death way too much. Besides, it’s bad enough living with my mother and her obsessive desire to keep Kosher.
Interestingly, in her endeavors to go vegan, Lotte has found a new blog recently that she follows and tries to mimic. Basically this girl is going Vegan for a whole year and posting everything she eats. I’m amazed by this fact, but I actually want to try some of the stuff she makes. Lotte also says she’s really pretty too but I haven’t seen the pictures so I don’t know.
The blog is on tumblr. It’s called “The BEAUTY Sickness”. Here’s a link if you’re interested. It’s rather interesting- http://the-beauty-sickness.tumblr.com/
Also, fuck everyone. I’ll kill you all. :)
-Lisa
Guns and Psilocybin Mushrooms
I received an interesting phone call. The voice on the other end was the familiar brash tone of my former gym coach. This is a man whose idea of a good time is yelling at unsuspecting high school kids all day and then going home to watch Cops reruns and drink vodka until he passes out around 7:30, then get up in the morning and do it all again. He knows me better than I wish he did… not because I mind other people knowing things about me… no, it’s because it means I had to spend long gyms periods discussing things that don’t matter with a man who’s completely insane.
More unfortunate is the fact that what he had to offer is very tempting. The ROTC program in conjunction with local army recruitment office was going to be conducting a field demonstration of all manner of guns and weapons and things that explode in an attempt to sucker a few bored high school kids into joining the army… and in the interest of convincing horny boys, they asked me to help with the demonstration. I’ve never been one to condemn the armed forces or their motives, nor am I one to ignore an offer to light things on fire, but what he described sounds far too much like work for my liking. I love blowing things up, I thought… they’re going to let me shoot guns and flamethrowers… but I have to spend some time getting a weapons certification, and I can’t let them know about the illegal .44 magnum I have under my bed… the one I woke up with after an unexpected mushroom trip.
Psilocybin is a powerful drug. It can make a chair turn into leopard and can make a linebacker into a cowering lump in the corner, shivering and crying as his friends laugh and drink beer. For me, it was a very unexpected experience.
Dustin’s and Eric’s neighbor Dave has done every drug imaginable. Everything from weed to pills with names I can’t pronounce. I’ve borrowed his vacuum cleaner and found him in a bathrobe on the couch with model glue under his nose… his eyes never left my boobs that day, which would bother me except I like the compliment. So when he and Dustin decided to cook up a batch of spaghetti sauce with magic mushrooms in it then leave the apartment to get beer, I tried the sauce. Innocence. Just sauce, I thought. It smelled good enough, though it tasted a bit odd, something I attributed to the fact that maybe Lotte made it. She is, after all, the worst cook I’ve ever met. What followed was a horrific scene, though I only remember bits and pieces… the fruit, the prolonged staring contest with the old fortune cookie under the fridge, wondering just what secrets it held, and finally waking up in the kitchen, completely naked except for a tiny pair of orange panties, pacing back and forth with a loaded .44 magnum I had never seen before, with no explanation of how I got it, only knowing that it was the only thing that would stop them from giving me the electric chair.
I’m considering doing the demonstration though. It might be fun… I know high school boys staring at my ass always does a good job of stroking my ego. To get to blow things up on top of it sounds very much worth the trouble. We’ll see.
-Lisa
Weddings
So, it would seem that Dustin, Eric and I have been invited to a wedding. Apparently Eric’s cousin is getting married. I haven’t met her but from what I’m told, this wedding is happening because she got pregnant and doesn’t want her family to know… somehow I get the feeling they know, seeing as how Eric and Dustin both know.
I really don’t like weddings very much. It’s not the romance that bothers me, or having to be nice to people you don’t know or the shitty music (I fucking hate wedding music!). It’s not even the damn dress code. I mean, shit… I look fucking cute as hell in a dress. My problem is that my mother’s little deli does catering and so I end up helping and I’ve been to more weddings than I can count… easily over 150. They’re all the same. Always a paranoid mother of the bride, always a wedding coordinator who’s a self-important bitch, and a drunken usher who grabs my ass while I’m serving food. I grant you, it’s nice to not have to work, but I doubt this is going to be any fun. I hate dancing. I hate wedding music… did I say that already? Worst of all, I have a feeling I’ll be dragging Dustin’s ass out to the car in a drunken stupor.
I think maybe what I SHOULD do is get really shitfaced, or try to jack a bunch of booze from the bar when they’re not looking. Either way, I don’t plan on leaving empty handed. It’s all about making the best of what you have, as my dad always says.
-Lisa
Fuck everyone! :)
Googling My Name
I don’t know why I’m awake at 3:30 on a Sunday night. I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked that I find nothing when I google my own name. I get nothing but pictures of Adam Sandler thanks to my sharing his last name. Personally, I think he should change it so I can stop getting his face when I ego search myself.
…actually, scratch that. I do get a few newspaper articles in which I was mentioned. Some call them “police reports” but regardless, I was in the paper. I have them taped to my headboard.
You know, despite my greatness, nobody has bothered to photoshop my face onto a pornstar yet. If you pricks don’t get with the program, I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands and “accidentally” release a sex tape or something.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about right now. I hate everyone. Life is unchanged.
-Lisa
Nana
Do you ever get stuck behind some guy who’s driving so slow you want to get out of the car and beat him with a chair until he’s no longer breathing… but you’re so tired from yelling at the inside of your windshield that you don’t even have the energy to lift the chair and swing it anymore?
My Nana Ruth is completely bat-shit crazy. She drives slow just like these people. Before we picked her up in Miami and brought her back to Pitmore, she had a car and a licence… she actually drove around. All you saw was knuckles and a big coif of silver hair. She’s every geriatric Jewish woman you’ve ever met. There are dents in her bumper that I am willing to bet are from shin bones. I want to draw ten little crossing men down the side of the fins of her 1971 Cadillac, as if she’s made double ace. She’d never know because she’s too busy listening to Dr. Maggie’s radio program, trying to figure out why she’s coughing up chucks of lung everywhere. Nana, it’s because you’ve smoked 2 packs a day for 38 years. What do you expect?
I do not know why my mother had to make her move in with us. Thank God I can hang out at Eric and Dustin’s. I would have killed her or myself long ago.
-Lisa
