Sex and Balls

Spring Fever

2011-03-17T15:59:00.000-04:00

Spring makes people grab life by the balls!

Now is the time to assess what you want.
I read a really relevant quote today
on my friend, Tim Caldwells' FB wall:

“Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.” - Pope Paul VI

I took this to heart today!
I screamed Help! Help! Help!
and was reassured that the Universe is listening.

Death is just rebirth, and we are all dying.
Every single fucking miserable/wonderful day.

So this Spring.
Grab your life by the proverbial cock and balls
and
don't
let
go!

Adventures in Willamsburg-ing

2011-02-14T15:10:00.000-05:00

I've been coming to terms with the events of Friday night
all weekend long.

I don't go "out" much anymore,
and I'm fine with it.
I meet friends in bars, I go out to dinner, I visit people's abode.
I really like staying in Brooklyn.

When my girlfriend Maddy asked me to go out and see some live music on Friday night.
I said Maybe.
I say Maybe a lot, but it usually means I'm prolonging the "No"
But this was different, and Maddy felt it.
She knew I was actually considering this.
And I honestly was.
I thought, "Hell, why not?"
"I'm up for an adventure!" I told her.

Plus the fact that our friend Meghan was going
and this totally sweetened the deal.
When the 3 of us are together, it's like we're back in Sixth grade.
Even though we've known each other less than 10 years.
Just a natural and fun friendship.
I was totally in the mood for friends.

We hail gypsy cab to Williamsburg to see Javelin play.
I really like Javelin.
I am okay with Williamsburg.

We get there and there is NO ONE there.
Like, no one. Except the guy at the door and the bartenders.
Did I mention they had free wine from 9-10?
Thank. God.
(Which Meghan spilled all over the counter onto
some guys Blackberry by the by-hilarious if you
know Meghan.)

All of a sudden at about 10:30,
hipsters fill the joint.
Basically The early 90s are thriving amongst early 20 something posers and "fashionistas."
(What's the difference?)
To my right: Madonna/Jean Paul Gaultier inspired sequin frocks and recreated 20's hairdo's,
To my left: some dude who looks like the lead singer of The Spin Doctors.
Just Go Ahead, Now.

We realize we'd better find a "home base" to see the show.

Meghan is a fucking pro at sitting wherever the hell she wants at a concert.
She's beautiful and nice and extremely passive aggressively convincing.
(Blink, Blink)
A true gift.
When that doesn't work, her eagle eye broadens to scope out a coveted spot to claim as her own.
No matter how drunk she is :)
The Eagle Eye Certainly Broadened in this case. in. point.

One Flight up
directly above the stage
what looks like a V.I.P. area that is clearly
up. for. grabs!
(At least to Meghan anyway)
Meghan just goes and sits there.
No questions, no regrets.

In the meantime,
I'm holding a table a few feet away
that The Spin Doctor actually gave up to Meghan a few mins ago.
With one flip of his dreds, he was out of our life.
But the table remained.
I know, right?
Bitch is good.
We have 2 prime spots in a sea of a hundred or so hipsters.

A pudgy, Brittish Kurt Cobain is finishing up his set of whine rock.
I'm half entertained and half annoyed.
Which is sort of my general consensus about life at this point anyway.

Amy arrives.
First time I've met her. I like her immediately. She seems to be no Bullshit.
We all decided to huddle in Meghan's "VIP" spot.
I pay the table forward.

This is amazing! We have room to dance and no one is in front of us!
We can see the band.
and just enjoy ourselves.

Nope.
You know what they say about, "too good to be true?"

Meghan turns to me (she's a little tipsy-read; drunk) and says,
"I think I just got pushed."
I think she's just drunk and sort of staggery.
I say, "No."
But she looks serious.

"Are we going to get into a fight tonight?" -concerned Meghan
"No! Why would you even say that!" -disregarding self.
"But do you have my back?" -serious Meghan
"Of course." -still disregarding self.

A few minutes pass,
Then I see Meghan talking to the girl next to her
amidst the hum of the 'tragically hip' I hear;
"What's your problem? Why are you pushing?" f-lustered but confident Meghan
"blah blah blah was here first!" -pushing girl #1
"Well can't we both just share the space?" -peaceful Meghan
"That cute little voice isn't gonna work with me honey." -bitchy pushing girl #1

That started it. Unintentional Fire in my diaphragm.

"What cute little voice, honey?" -"I got your back" Tracey, coming right back at her.

Bitch turns away, into the her own little corner.
But I know this isn't over.
This is real, and Javelin hasn't even started playing yet.

Meghan is flustered. She doesn't want to deal with this. I don't blame her. Neither do I.
But something came over me. Something I have never felt.
Complete confidence in dealing with these entitled little C__ts.

So, I trade Meghan places.
I am now right next to that stupid bitch,
on guard.
I could still see clearly at this point.
In fact, I'm smiling. And I mean it.
This is so not me. But for this moment, it fully is.

As the concert progresses,
I am getting pushed
like a son of a bitch
by these two
asshole
bully
girls.

Which I knew was going to happen, because if they wanted to throw a punch,
they never would've retreated after mouthing off to Meghan.
Total Coward Bullies.
The worst kind.
Antagonizers with no action.
I've dealt with your kind before.
And won.

It would be so much easier to fight, but
this was set up to be a game of tolerance, patience, and stamina.
And ladies, I don't think you know who you're fucking with.
I have a lot of pent up aggression that I'm just waiting to take out on someone.
If given the opportunity.
Just Go Ahead, Now.

I grew up in a Steel Mill town in Southern Illinois.
A tough as nails town.
If I could make it out of High School without a fight,
we aren't ABOUT to have one here, pumpkin.
This might actually be fun.
The smile is growing.

"If you're not gonna dance, you guys should leave," -aggressive Fat Bitch
It immediately pulls me out of my daydream phase.
I realize my ass is clenched tight,
so tight I imagine it looks like as high as it did when I was 17 years old.
I just smile,
"Get out of my face." Bigger Smile, turn my head back to the band.
Just Go Ahead, Now.
I dare you.

Push after push, elbow after elbow, My psyche begins to slightly weaken.
We're talking 40 minutes here.
I look over and Maddy and Meghan are dancing.
I'm a ball of rage.
I cannot enjoy a minute of this concert.
I am on guard.
Something inside of me says,

"Hey, Trace. This is a moment of truth. You're strong enough to really piss these bitches off by not giving them an ounce of attention. You can do this. Breathe."
And I started laughing. I felt another wave of confidence.
I also started mentally preparing to take a hit so I could fucking go crazy on their asses.
It's at this point that I don't really remember seeing anything but this other girls mouth.

Bitch with the gap between her teeth grabs my hand and tries to dance with me.
I push it off, "Don't you fucking touch me."
She retreats a little looking shocked.
The guys they are with are weakly holding her back.
I say weakly because it is clear she has no intention of doing anything
but being annoying.

What's wrong with these pussy bullies?!
I'll tell you, they're just entitled little beasts who want the space.
These are girls that are so used to getting what they want that they can't deal with this.
I love it!
But this
Is getting exhausting!

Finally I turn to Amy who more or less says,
"We're not leaving. We will NOT let them win, just dance and go crazy."
Ahhh-ha!
What I heard was, "I got your back."
That's when it happened.

I fucking went insane crazy.
I kicked their asses....with dance.
haha! I know but it's the honest to God only way to describe what happened.
I was punching, and going absolutely crazy,
aimless yet poignant thrashing
like my high finally kicked it.
It did.
Adrenaline.
Those bitches backed up off of me.
I wish I had a videotape of the rage that came out
in form of 8 counts.
I imagine it looked exactly like this.....

Afterwards my stomach was in knots.
Aggressive little bitches.
I almost wish I would've just turned around and punched her in her gap toothed mouth.
But this was much more entertaining.

And after that
I totally felt like myself, again.

Oh Maddy!
An adventure indeed.
Just Go Ahead, Now.

Springfield, MO: Area code (417)

2011-02-11T16:44:00.003-05:00

Our friend Andy had this horrifically fantastical
and disgustingly unique
coffee table,
back in college.

Boasting many coats of primary green paint.
Sitting lower to the ground,
Where Feet rest atop and legs stretch below.

Painted on the surface are tiny sperm,
shooting out from the corners toward the center
where a single egg waits,
anticipating a winner.

The Sperm table.

On top of it sat a large ash tray
along with a stack of indivdual ashtrays.
Because we all smoked.
Marlboro Lights
Camel Lights
Camel Reds
No one smoked Parliaments.

Rolling Rock bottles.
The Boogie Nights Soundtrack playing in the CD Player:

"whoa, whoa,

You got the Best of My Love"

We are dancing.
Justin's painting of a woman hangs on the wall,
watching us.
Sort of like a Goddess.
Who has since retired up in Washington Heights.

The chance that
we have just gotten high
out of a bong
Is 100% probable.
I can see out of the patio door.
I'm sure it is snowing.

On the drive home from "Gay Manor,"
Doug and I opt to take the back route
down Oak Grove:

"Oak Grove."

Say it again.

"Oak Grove."

laughter.

Say it again.

"Oak Grove."

Light another cigarette,

Radio barely audible.

The sound of a senior citizen enjoying his AM transmissions.

We may have a test in the morning,
or a paper due?
but, I suggest we stop at the Amoco and get some beer.
Courtesy of the Petrillo Family gas card.
(sorry mom)
Yum! Funyons too.
Doug will pass on those.
But he'll take a Mountain Dew.
And another pack of Marlboro Lights
I owe him this,
because I've smoked all of his.
Again.

I can taste it.

Elm Street
Campbell
Battlefield Road
Sunshine
Glenstone
Catalpa...obscure.
Fine, National.
Mexican Villa is a blur in passing.
We arrive on Walnut Street.
The Big House
top floor
mid century modern furniture
and an orange ottoman.
The night continues.

We light another cigarette,
like it's our first
of the night.

I'm there.

It's 1999.

These memories make

My stomach feel empty.

and

I can't decipher if

I'm overjoyed

or in complete

and

utter dismay.

Because,

I am not There.

and

I will never be there again.

Not like this.

A college town
Continues pulsing
Continues breathing
Continues regenerating
without you
or your friends
or your history
like it
never
even
needed you.

The sperm table.

I wonder where the hell it ended up?

Pardon Me

2011-02-10T12:47:00.000-05:00

The phrase, "Not to be rude,"
usually ends with something you should keep to yourself.

"Not be rude, but I can't handle his essence as a human being." :)

"Not to be rude, but she is so ugly that I can't imagine her being able to glance in a mirror." :)

"Not to be rude, but he smells like expired veggie cream cheese." :)

"Not to be rude, but if I could stab you repeatedly until the blood splatters all over the wall and then I'll never have to talk with you again, I would. Fuck Prison, it's worth it." :)

Not to be rude, means I'm gonna be rude by saying whatever it is I want masked with a deflecting phrase that allows me to say whatever I want and still look like a decent person when I say it.

Not to be rude, but I am bored with this entry.

Words You May Not Know

2011-02-09T14:34:00.000-05:00

Chubes:
(noun) The little pieces of dry, balled up, gummy lip skin and food particles that gather in the corners of your mouth as the day progresses. They also may mysteriously appear when you wake up in the morning. They are commonly removed with the thumb and forefinger.

Use in a sentence:
Dude, smell my chubes. They are ripe!

Other Terms: (Chubage)

Stop Asking.

2011-02-08T10:30:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder where my innocence went.
Not like that, you turds, get your head out of the gutter.

Sometimes I wonder where my youth went.
No.

Sometimes I wonder where my spontaneity went.
Why is it being suppressed? Why am I letting it be suppressed.
Are women still suffrage-ing?

Sometimes I wonder if Donna Mills could come over and do my makeup.
Sometimes I step into the daylight wondering if she already somehow did.

Oh Donna.

Wait! I've got it!
Sometimes I wonder when I lost that little spark of naivety.
The lush, green, reckless abandon that brought forth such unintentional BALLS!
Ahhhh, yes my big ol' unaware gonads.

I got off of the train today and walked up the steps of the A train onto Eight Avenue.
I can remember feeling like, "I'm in fucking New York City, bitch."
Now I think, "I'm in fucking New York City? bitch!"
Other times I think, "I'm in! Fucking! New York City, Bitch!"
Okay, that last one was a stretch...but you see the emotional sliding scale that comes with living here.

I just recall in the days of yonder...
waking up and getting lost on my way to temp somewhere in lower manhattan.
I was always a little bit inappropriately dressed.
But looking prehhhhhhhhhtty cute.
Then I would go out for drinks, and get drunk, and dance, and my feet would hurt.
Because my shoes were also inappropriate for living in "fucking New York City, bitch!"

I saved up for LaDuca heels and Katrinawear unitards.
I frequented the performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center.
I dreamed of being able to afford an apartment in Midtown.
And I kept training to be better so that one day I could be on The B'way.
Did I ever really believe it. That that is what "it" was? That I could attain, "it?"
I have a hard time believing.
But I had fun.

I miss fun.
Where is the fun?
I have to find the fun!
Again.
I will.

I never realized at 23,24,25 that life was at it's peak of "easiness."
I didn't have to worry about if and when to have babies.
Being an indentured servant didn't bother me it was just a day job.
It didn't occur to me that I might not "make it."
That I probably would not make it.
But I have made it.
I'm still alive.

The point of the story is.
If you want to take a bite of The Big Apple.
Be prepared to endure a little bit of food poisoning.
Although, like all things.
It's bound to pass.
(emotionally and through your butthole.)

All Encompassing. Never Ending.

2011-02-06T16:19:00.000-05:00

Wants.
Weird but necessary.
Want.
I want it.
I don't want it.
Or
do
I?

I have a very hard time defining what I want.
Because, I want it all.
Everything.
I want it.

Sometimes I lie about what I want,
or "not knowing" what I want but the truth is simple.
I want it all.
Is that so bad?
I want a rock solid career and recognition as a performer.
I want to have kids and a house.
I want to be my own boss.
I want to get up whenever the shit I want.

The whole time,
LOOKING
AMAZING.

I want everything I want to no longer be "want."

I don't want you to tell me that having all of this simultaneously is impossible.

It isn't.
It is not.
I will prove you wrong.
As soon as I prove it to myself that it's insanely possible.
Because it is.
And I'm about to get up on top of that shit!

As soon as I get up off the couch.

But hey, it's what I want to do right now.
So eat shit.
Or don't.
If you don't want to.

Process of the Platform to the Prize of the Performance

2011-02-05T13:16:00.000-05:00

I'm officially working on a solo show.
It's really helping me tame the voices within.
It's so much more psychological than I ever could've imagined.
In fact, it's therapy.

My process in discovering these characters is something I learned about through an amazing Solo Show Class here in New York City with Matt Hoverman (www.createyourownsoloshow.com) cheesy name, brilliant man. Sort of pricey, but not really. If you are interested in creating one, TAKE HIS CLASS.

There is no doubt what I wanted to do was less personal and more theatrical.
Shocking.
Me? Want to entertain? Go figgggguh!

FOCUS, Tracey.
Back to the Process! (See why it's hard for me to write?)
This is from an article Eric Bogosian wrote about how he creates,
I stole it and modified it for myself.
I take a digital voice recorder and walk around as the character speaking.
THEN I write out everything I have said that I found useful (up to when I'm taking a breath.)
THEN I must erase all excess bullshit afterwards so I don't go revisit and get muddled in my intentions.
(Again, which as you can see can be very choppy and all over the place!)

So, In the midst of this talky-talkiness walking around like a former (present?) diva of the stage,
I dropped in.
Hard.
I found her.
She is a part of me disguised as an old woman.
She is me.
I snap out of it.
Here's what I said directly after I broke.....(laughing)

"I am schizophrenic, definitely. Oh, (realizing) yeah. (sigh) Is this what they think crazy people are like? Am I crazy? (realizing) yeahhh."

Therapy.
I should be charging myself.

Vintage Blog....

2011-01-11T16:13:00.001-05:00

This is from my old Blog on Friendster. I totally remember this!
Cutting and pasting at it's finest, too.

Upstate Acting Exercise

This past weekend I attended an acting workshop in Chelsea.
I know, you picture a bunch of film hopefuls sitting around a black box theatre weeping through a scene of “Agnes of God.” Methodically digging up personal skeletons of rape, abandonment, and lack of parental love of the past in order to really get in touch with character. Ah, the drama. Let me tell you that it was NOTHING like this. It was actually incredible, but that’s really beside the point. Allow me to introduce you to Danny.

Upon entering the bright acting studio (and I’m nervous mind you, I totally fear the unknown. Do not get this confused with unable to accept the unknown.) it’s painted all white, and is actually covered in windows whose view entails a lovely church, I see something that startles me. In the corner, a tall and lanky slender, older man stands.
In all black and grey
In dress slacks and shoes
In a calf length black leather jacket
Boasting a killer orange self tan.

“Hi I’m Danny, what’s your name?” (shit he’s one of those)
“I’m Tracey” (in an octave higher than my normal spoken tone)
“Do you live here in the city?” (Is this guy my equal in the class or is he an assistant?? I’m confused.)
“yeah, in midtown.” (help)
“Oh I’m from upstate and the city makes me nervous. Good for you, TRACE.” (Its official, I’m done.)

I proceed to hear him chat with everyone in the class as they enter. Its mostly about upstate and how he lives off highway such and such. I don’t know where that is. I can barely distinguish the state of new york on a blank map of the U.S. I jot down in my notebook “OH MY GOD. WHO IS THIS GUY?” I figure I’ve got 2 days with him, so I should sit as far away from his as possible. Done, good job Trace–the high road.

Sande (our instructor) starts handing out scenes. Now mind you, I was instructed to bring a Female/Female scene which I did. Legally Blonde. Funny. But before I know it she’s paired everyone and my brain is working overtime and I come to the chilling conclusion….
I’m paired with Dan the Tan Man??? The answer to my jotted down question became “He’s your partner, you bitch.” OH SHIT!!!

It only gets worse, “Go sit with your partners.” I cringe. He motions for me to come over and I (being me) shake my head and say, “why don’t you come over here.” The whole while he’s callling me TRACE. TRACE. Now, I love to be called Trace. By anyone but this guy. As the workshop goes on I supress his retardation of clapping after scenes, telling me good job when I sit down from my monologue help, and telling me he’s sorry when he flubs a line. I pretty much ignore him and answer in one word sentences. ie

“Ok”
“Sure”
“Uh, yeah.”

Then, I start thinking. He’s probably a lonely old man who is still looking for himself at 60. Its probably a huge step for him to come to the city and do something like this. His idiosyncrocies are just a way of dealing with anxiety. In a positive way. Positively annoying. But positively.

I start to smile and reached for a sip of water. As I lowered the bottle from my mouth I notice that something tastes sweet. I’m totally confused. Until I look down and see a mirror replica POLAND SPRINGS bottle to my left right by my bag, the same type I’m holding in my hand right now. It hits me. This is Danny’s water-bottle and the sweet taste has to be DAN THE TAN MANS self tan!!! I tasted the tanning lotion from his fucking lips. I’m gagging. I’m trying to breathe.

I put down the infected bottle and grab my own.

I swish and swallow.

I scrub at my lips.

I started laughing.

t was that or vomit and that’s too messy.

Jesus, Danny.

I wanna size you up! Tic Toc Ya Don't Stop.

2010-12-23T14:51:00.000-05:00

Have you ever hated someone without really knowing them.
Or speaking to them.
Or even ever been in their presence?

I do.

Well, hate is a strong word.
It's more like,
extreme disdain.

Because in case you didn't know, I'm psychic.

In case
you didn't
know.

(Some people call it judgemental, but I know the truth, it's psychic ability)

I'm pretty good at sizing up a human existence/spirit in a series of pictures.
Facebook has only added fuel to my judgemental, er, psychic fire.

I may not like someone for a number of reasons!
1. Weird face*
2. The essence of stupidity
3. We're nothing alike
4. We're too much alike
5. I know who you are just by seeing how you pose for photos.
6. You dress like a whore
7. You dress like a turd
8. You are a whore
9. You are a turd
10. You are a whorey turd

*was that really my #1 reason??

But I am usually pretty right about people.
I need to stop being so vague.
Another day.
Maybe next year.

Tracey vs Alice

2010-12-08T12:00:00.001-05:00

I am at war with myself.
Constantly.
Constantly.
My knee-jerk reactions are being suppressed by this new "adult" consciousness living inside of me.
I call her Alice.
I hate her. But, I respect the fact that she keeps it civil.
Confused?

EXAMPLE: Walking onto the train at rush hour, I see a woman with dried out, fried, frizzy hair and a pock marked nose running for the last seat. She is hunched and scowling with no regard for anyone else around her. Scowling, Running, Pushing for the only open seat.

Tracey says: Jesus! This old witch, with an ate up nose needs to chill the fuck out, rude. Rude!
Alice says: Tracey, (she uses my name), She can't help that. Take it easy. Take a breath. Who cares, anyway? You didn't even want that seat. You're getting off at the next stop.

They say that artists are prone to schizophrenia.

EXAMPLE #2: Two people are speaking another language, loudly, at a rapid rate.

Tracey Says: wa wa wa wa, dat dat dat dat dat dat, SHUT UP!
Alice Says: Tracey, They are merely communicating in the language with which they feel comfortable! Just because you don't understand it, doesn't mean that you have a right to judge it. Take it easy. Take a Breath. Who cares, anyway? Are they REALLY bothering you? You've got headphones, use them.

I'm beginning to hate Alice.
I'm beginning to believe she's trying to tame the beast in me.
I'm beginning to wonder if now is the time in my life that this said beast requires taming?
What a pickle.

EXAMPLE #3: Now.

Tracey says: Fuck New York. My life is crazy. Sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or sob. Or kill. Maybe I just wanna have kids and be "normal" do something where I'm my own boss. Give up trying to BE something, someone, anyone!
Alice Says: Tracey, whoa. You'd be much more unhappy by accepting unhappiness and giving up on what you want. Take it easy. Take a Breath. Who cares, anyway? You're doing just fine. Now pour yourself a glass of wine, watch some of the amazing videos you've done with Candy Slice, or go out to dinner with your husband, or with your friends. You've got options, kid. You've still got options.

Then again,
Sometimes I'm glad Alice is around.
Thank You.

Don't do that!

2010-10-26T14:44:00.000-04:00

The voices in my head are getting louder.
And
more
outwardly
vocal.

An Open Letter to Vocal Men

2010-05-14T16:19:00.002-04:00

Dear Can't Keep it to Yourselves,

As a woman, I do not need you to deliver God's Blessings to me.

If I wanted them, I'd go to Church.

I do not need you to twirk your neck when I walk by so you can see my ass.

If I wanted that I'd bend over for you.

I do not need you to tell me I'm beautiful.

If I wanted that I'd ask a gentleman who isn't wearing a wife-beater and a bandana.

I do not need you to make cat-like/animal-type hissing noise at me to get my attention.

If I wanted that I'd be in the "furries" scene.

Keep it to yourself.

Save it for your own girlfriend(s).

Or be prepared to:

Buy me everything I want

Take me to the BEST restaurants in the city

Take my verbal abuse when I turn into a bitch

Consistently listen to my long stories and "new characters"

Be willing to drop everything you're doing for ME ME ME ME ME!

and

STOP CAT-CALLING OTHER WOMEN!

And fuck you for making me have to worry about what I wear each day because I don't feel like getting fake-hit on. douche.

Sincerely,

Tracey Petrillo

The Troll Under the Stairs

2010-05-13T10:39:00.000-04:00

I don't know if you know this, but there's a Troll living in our basement,
The Troll Under the Stairs!

Allow me to set the scene:
I am dreaming of four sets of shoes being placed in a quad cubby by our "dream" front door.
As I put the fourth pair in, ankle boots, I hear knocking.
Pounding.
1,2,3,4....1,2,3,4....1,2,3,4....1,2,3.
Repeat.
I can't get the ankle boots in the cubby fast enough!
The shoes begin to fade into a slow, fuzzy, hypnosis like swirl and everything becomes black.
I open my eyes. The pounding? Was that real? I glance at my phone and it's 8:16 am.
Surely, the Troll has nothing to say to me this early?
Yet I know.
I know, the rhythm of the rapid, anxious, poundings, produced only by
The Troll Under the Stairs

A little backstory:
Our apartment building is for sale.
A sign was hastily placed in front of our house, or is it in front of the abandoned building next door?
Yesterday, I had an afternoon visit from The Troll saying realtors would be coming by to show my apartment, followed by the troll-speak "you be here 4 o'clock?"
Oh you tricky little Troll!
Guess who else is tricky?
"What realtors?" I asked. Coyness is a blessing of mine when used for good and not evil (or improv)
"For deee house! Dey Comeen tomoddow." screamed Troll as she waved her arms and slapped the sides of her hips, as she often punctuates her sentences.
So at least then I had answers.

UNDERSTAND THIS: The Troll Under the Stairs can be offhandedly nice at times. Sometimes she even smiles. It's like spinning the Wheel of fortune with each interaction. But the congeniality is a rarity. A rarity, indeed. One I believe to be induced only with the proper medication.

Present day:
We last left Tracey laying in bed, anxiety rising faster than smoke from a fire.
I look over at Lewie, he's asleep. Damn. Typical.
I roll over and breathe deep. I even start a visualization exercise to calm the demons of craziness.
I'm almost there, one voice sealed, two voices sealed, quiet, heaviness, subconscious visions......
1,2,3,4....1,2,3,4....1,2,3,4....1,2,3.
It's 8:30 am.
Mother. Fuck.

(In my head) "I've already told that Troll that people can see the place at 4pm! I will not allow this!"
(What came out) "Lewie, did you hear knocking"
Coy. I told you.
Lewie: Yeah. I'm not getting up though.
Me (outloud): Yeah.
(In my head) : I'm freaking out and need to get up to see if there's a note on the door, which is a very common weekly occurence here.

We can't go back to sleep and it's inevitable that the knocking pattern will continue.
We rise at 8:52 am, anticipating the heavy tread of The Troll Under the Stairs.
Similar to menstruating each month, you know it's going to happen, and you just have to wait it out.

I pee. 9:02 am.
Just as I'm about to flush,
1,2,3,4....1,2,3,4...1,2-
I throw open our front door.
"What is it?" I ask standing in my pink robe, sleep still in my eyes, ready to fight.
I am face to face with the Troll.
Orange bowl cut hair in disarray, black eyes beaming, robust nostrils flaring,
"Listen to me, (which is always perfectly comprehendable) I get up and is all over dee basement. Gonna calla dee plumba. Catsheet. You are deee on a leee one. All over dee basemeh. Catsheet."
My heart is racing like I've just done 3 lines of blow followed by a pot of coffee and a redbull, sugarfree.

It is then I notice she is holding large, white putty knife.
On the putty knife, is a mess of greyish matter.
This is starting to make sense.
There is shit all over the basement, her coven, and she thinks it's from our cat??!!

"What is that?" (coy)
She comes closer. With the gunk.
"Catsheet. You dee only one dat hassa cat. You clogga toyleh. You no flush it! Nesstime you gonna pay for dee plumber." One arm flailing, smaking the outer hip while the other holds the mess.
I'm about to lose it.
"No," I say (in my head)
"No," I yell (outloud)
We don't flush kitty litter, and don't sit here and accuse us*
(*To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure this was comprehendable. All I could hear was the pulsing in my head. She spoke in Troll code and I continued to respond, totally comprehendable and calm I'm certain.)
The Troll started in again, "I not gonna pay for dees again, No cat. No more cat again."

Then I did something I've been wanting to do since the day this horrible Troll wouldn't assist me with my cable needs,
I shut. The door.
The screaming heightened.
"No close ah dee door! Growl, drool, thud, ROAR!"
Followed by a fading thud, thud, thud, thud, thud. SLAM!

I stood up to the Troll. For the first time.
I looked at Lewie, shaking with rage, and I started crying:

1. Because I hate confrontation and the release of conflict, no matter who "wins" evokes this reaction
2. Because I hadn't had coffee yet- not a drop
and most importantly
3. Because I knew she'd be back, eventually.

Just like your monthly period.

13 strangers living under 1 roof...Gotta Be Big Brother!

2009-07-10T12:54:00.003-04:00

Tis that time of year!

Big Brother, Big Brother!!!

It officially marks the beginning of summer.

If you don't watch this show, you are REALLY missing out.

Especially if you watch bullshit like, The Hills, and Dancing with the Fat Ass.

It is an amazing reality show involving strategy and skill.

I could never do it.

I would freak out about who is talking about me

and hoping that people wouldn't find out what I said about them.

So it's a lot like high school.

The producers are even using that as a "twist" this season.

It's so beyond worth it to watch!

Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.

That's right....3X a week.

They even have a 24 hour live feed.

Its a voyeur's wet dream!!

check it out.

Seasons Change.....

2009-07-09T02:13:00.005-04:00

Summer clothing never ceases to amaze me!

Seriously.

Butt cheeks, muffin tops, and camel toe.

Now that's what I call independence,

Poor fashion sense.

Independence.

Aren't they semi-kind-of-almost-sincerely

one in the same?

check that one off the list!

2009-05-26T10:40:00.002-04:00

No No No

Yes Yes Yes

I do not care

Heading back to the NYC tonight.

So excited and surprisingly sad.

I was surrounded by complete and utter love this last weekend.

People always say that you don't have fun at your own wedding.

Contraire, Mon Frair....(spelled as sounds)

My only regret is that my bra pushed my boobs up a little too much.

But, I guess that's not so bad.

I can't wait to see everyone's pics.

I'm dying to see everyone's pics!!!

Fragments....everywhere in my head.

So happy

So thankful

tired!!!

NYC here we come.

Then it's Jamaica, mon......

Hindsight is 20/20?

2009-05-13T20:51:00.010-04:00

Today Oprah, after 3 years, apologized to James Frey.

(The author she VERY publicy RUINED.)

To Oprah I say:

"Go eat Gayle's Pussy."

The Ballad of Unemployment

2009-05-12T17:50:00.001-04:00

This is what I'm NOT missing about being in New York.

All You Need is....

2009-05-12T16:45:00.005-04:00

I'm fascinated at how unaware of themselves people are.

I realize I'm not without flaw, either.

However, I can see the effects that my words and actions and intentions have on others.

My first reaction is to react.

Grind my teeth and sling shit!

But, upon my arrival home to the midwest, my dad instilled a 5 second rule.

When something happens....breathe for 5 whole seconds.

Sounds simple, but when my gut is burning it's the

hardest thing

in the world

to do!

The bottom line is people are who they are,

but I'm old enough and *wise* enough now to know where my limitations lie with them.

I'm so thankful to have love in my life.

At the end of the day it is

EVERYTHING.

Not even of a sexual nature, but of a

real

primal

heart swelling

unselfish

love.

Of friends.

Of family,

and I just happened to be blessed enough to have the "other" kind too.

But I know it was given to me because I know what love is.

If you don't know what it is,

you cannot be open enough to receive it

because you wouldn't recognize it

if it whipped out it's dick

and slapped you in the mouth.

(Deep Breath)

Five seconds later....I feel much better.

Regis

2009-05-11T20:09:00.003-04:00

And just when I thought I could handle it no more.....

The heavens opened up and God said,

"Bitch, get over yourself."

So I did.

I do.

I am trying to.

I got my hair cut at the mall today.

Regis to be exact.

$33.00, what a bargain!

I tried to throw the "I'm from New York" card around

Erin, as I read on her card with the "Regis" letterhead, was thoroughly

PRESSED!

After the 3rd time I mentioned it she said "Oh, do you live there?"

I was like,

"shit."

But seriously, come on! Then I remembered.....

For around 3 years I begged my mom to get my hair cut at the mall

and NOT

in an independent place in and or around my home town.

I got my first "bob" at the mall

I got my first "shag" at the mall

I got my first "period" at the mall

actually, it was Sam's Club in O'Fallon, IL right down the road.

Either way. I'm shedding an ugly skele-tor skeleton right now.

With an ascot wreaking of pretention.

I left St. Clair Square with a kick in my step

mainly because the girl that cut my hair

refused to give into my ego.

Wow, I just realized that this trip home is me getting back to myself.

That should be my one woman show title, huh?

"Me Getting Back to Myself."

Oh shit.

There's the EGO.....

again!

This might take more than the 20 days I have alotted.....

As Time Goes By

2009-05-07T21:15:00.003-04:00

I'm driving in my car, what was once my car, now belongs to my parents,

through the town I grew up in.

To visit my grandparents, by the park I smoked my first cigarette in.

Windows are down and a sense of nostalgia fills the interior of the '98 Dodge Neon.

I suddenly feel ridiculously young, and simultaneously old.

Past the high school, past the car wash, past Gitcho's Gas,

who's slogan is "Gitcho Gas at Gitcho's."

Kit Gitcho is the owner and he lived 2 doors down from me growing up.

He was a dog killer, a white man with a tight afro.

The trees are gorgeous! People here probably don't think twice about them.

Out of town.

To the mall. The mall I once worked in.

Dillards and 5-7-9 to be exact.

The smell of each mall is strikingly similar and yet distinctively different.

I feel incredibly cool and simultaneously completely out of sorts.

At least there's a Starbucks there.

Who doesn't feel cool when they're holding a Starbucks cup?

Check the time.

Check in with the folks.

Promise to be home by 5:30

because that's when dinner will be ready.

It would be disrespectful not to.

Driving back.

To a house.

Where, after dinner,

I have

nothing

do.

That's when I realize how long it's been,

since I've lived here.

Homecoming

2009-05-05T12:51:00.003-04:00

Getting Married makes me wanna die.

REPHRASE...

Planning a wedding is like dying a slow death,

only to be resuscitated at the end.

I hope I pull through.

The good thing about the wedding is that I'm home in this dirty little Steel Mill Town called,

Granite City, IL. Here, the meth flows like water and the homeroom's in the High School are meant for throwing baby showers.

Breathe.

It.

In.

Sitting on my parents screened in porch, drugged within an inch of my life on Clairitin-D, I realize something.

I .

Am.

Bored.

And now you are too......

Fake is the newest Real

2009-02-19T12:26:00.004-05:00

The Real Housewives of Orange County make me Real Real (really) mad.

I don't know how many people actually watch the show, but it's worth it.

It's no RHO Atlanta....(sung: There's a Tightro-ohhhhpe,) but it's a beast all unto itself.

I don't know why I feel obligated to blog about it, but I mean shit.

It makes me want money.

There I said it.

I don't want to be one of these bitchy, soul-less zombies, but I want their money.

Is that so bad?

I would do more with it.

I would still shop at the Salvation Army and look for the 50% off tags.

I would still look for the cheapest thing on the menu so I could drink more.

I would still use my grocery store savings card.

In addition to this:

I would finally get to carry a designer bag that isn't 2nd-hand

I would sit in my beautiful house on my outdoor entertainment area and write, write, write

I would be able to allow myself to buy JUST ONE Betsey Johnson dress

I would still have a job but one I've always WANTED, like owning a Vintage store where I could help girls who can't afford it have an amazing prom!

However...

I would never be able to leave the house because if those women represented on the show were the people I would have to associate with, I might just turn into one of them.

Now,

that

aint

too

rich.

I think I'll stay poor and happy.

Flesh Tones

2009-02-05T12:58:00.004-05:00

Flesh, skin, dermis, epidermis.

The rubbery substance that covers our internal organs and skeleton.

It's fucking weird if you break it down like that.

I was riding the train "late night" last night when I realized.

Ew. Our skin is crazy.

That's awfully vague.

Crazy= Outer layer that is completely randomly shaped according to your parents skin and where your cartilage lies.

I mean whoa.

I know this is so remedial but I thought about it for a good 2o minutes, just staring at the faces of strangers. I'm thankful for where my cartilage lies. (PS I had to spellcheck that word.) I thought it was cartiledge. Nope. Oh but here's the point.

We have the ability to really fuck with our skin!

I mean facelifts, nose jobs, boob jobs :)

I want to tell all those crazy aped face 60 year old bitches with the liver spotted hands and smooth, shiny face skin that their organs are still old. Their bones are STILL old. Their minds are the oldest they have ever been, and...

You don't look young.

You look like Dr. Zais.

On a side note....

2009-02-03T14:50:00.005-05:00

I want a perfectly decorated apartment and a keener sense of style.

I want a social life that is more demanding than it is now, but less demanding than it is now.

I don't want my lips to be chapped.

I don't want to be sick on this gorge-mahorgeony snowy day!

I want to get my nails done

I don't want to pay for that.

I want to be rich.

I don't want to "work" for it.

I want to eat cheese without guilt.

I don't want constipation.

I want to drink at least a bottle of wine a day.

I don't want to be an alcoholic.

I want my biological clock to stand still for one goddamn moment. (Im STILL not ready!)

I don't want the pressures of 'keeping up with the Joneses.'

I want to say if it's a lip synch...it isn't a live performance.

I want to accomplish an accomplishment.

I want to stop getting pit stains in my white shirts.

I want to eat whatever I want and NEVER GET FAT!

I want to kill Cathy from the Cathy comics. (mmmm chocolate. ew.)

I want to stop procrastinating.

Other than that....I think all is well.

Cat Hair in my Coffee

2009-01-26T11:52:00.003-05:00

Well, after much ado about everything my psychosis lost and my instincts took over. Yesterday, we brought home our first "child." His name is Jake and he is a blue ragdoll cat. He's adorable and scared. I was ecstatic. I still am. The pro's are I love him and he's so cute and loving. The cons are that there was a cat hair in my coffee this morning. I thought to myself, "holy shit! This is the choice I've made for at least 10 years." There will be cat hair in my life-line until I no longer have a cat. My psychosomatic symptoms are taking over and making me ask "am I allergic to this new family member because my chest is tight? Or is it from getting wasted the night before." Remind me not to get that wasted again for at least another week. Will that ever change?? Having a "child" makes you think of these things, and yes I'm being dramatic. I can't be anything else no matter how hard I try. Still. I sit. I think. ALL day. EVERY day. At least now there is someone here to listen and instead of telling me I'm crazy (which I am well aware of) he will look up at me with big blue eyes, purr, and head back to his hiding space.

If you're reading this.....

2009-01-09T17:50:00.003-05:00

Just do yourself a favor and check out the band M83. I can't say enough good things about them! They're my favorite band, officially, right now. Right this second. Start with the album Saturdays=Youth, easily, with track #2 "Kim and Jessie." Or just buy it and sit and close your eyes or drive and listen to it all the way through. It will tell you a story, a different one with each playing. If you hate it, don't tell me.

Who am I to say?

2009-01-08T20:15:00.004-05:00

I don't believe laziness should be rewarded. At all. Sloth is one of the 7 deadly sins. I think the false presentation of oneself should be the 8th sin, but I guess it's superficially ( no pun intended )

to all 7 anywhooo. I suppose all things eventually right themselves, especially the wrongs. So vague, and not always easily seen, the universe does have an uncanny way of "righting" itself. It's just a shame we can't always see it, although I wouldn't want people up in my business seeing the universe come down on me when I've been unintentionally asking for it.

I'm drifting.

The point is, It's not my place to right the wrongs of douchebags, or the equivalent of douchebag behavior. I want to. However, my father put it best when I was growing up.

"Dad," I would say "I want that!" he'd say to me "Well kid, in the words of the Stones, 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.' " He was right. I'm not going to stop trying though.

2009 + 30= ch,ch,ch,ch-changes!

2009-01-06T13:16:00.005-05:00

Ah, the changes a year brings. " I'll change for no one!" She shouts as she falls over a crack in the sidewalk. But, the bitch gets up. The next year re-states to the universe, "I will change for no one!" as she runs into an innocent bystander on the street. This year she mutters "I will change for no one?" a drop of rain falls in her eye and she is temporarily blinded, blinded I say!

Then she stops and thinks....shit, I guess I don't really have a choice, eh? (She's Canadian)

I'll tell you about 30. I don't fell or (really) look any older, but there are certain noticable and uncomfortable things happening. One, my body aches like a bitch! All those miles have definitely caught up with me. (Who's with me, dancers?) The other, and probably the most alarming, is my sudden light-speed hair growth.....Not the hair on my head. EVERYWHERE ELSE!!

Everywhere

I suddenly believe in the theory of evolution. It's a very plausible concept. My tweezers and razor have become my best friend. I can't leave home without them, just in case. My fiance tried to brush a hair from my chin yesterday only to find that it had been rooted and blossomed in my epidermis. What. the. fuck? Thank God he's going through this too, only...differently. It's a funny and endearing thing to find hairs on eachother that don't brush off. Well, with him a it's a little different, but that's another blog!

I'm terrified for swimsuit season, I have a honeymoon coming up and I'm afraid we're going to have to go to Iceland! At least Bjork will be there to sing sweet and pingy lulla-bye 's to us as we flap our hairy bodies together with the hopes of creating a young cub. Now that's a hyperballad.

*DISCLAIMER: I'm NOT trying to conceive on my honeymoon.

It's more about...

2008-12-15T04:32:00.005-05:00

What a wonderful world.

If you're not my friend. I don't care to follow your life.

That's it.

I'm not upset with you. I'm not concerned with you.

I have to be able to give focus to the people that deserve it.

The people who have shown me what it is to be a friend.

A Good. Human. Being.

Seriously, you can figure it all out. You can be as glamour-puss as you want, I know I will! But don't expect me to follow along if there isn't a mutual love, respect, and understanding.

MUTUAL

what a funny and poignant word, huh?

It just doesn't matter any more. There are other things to think about before time runs out.

And it does.

It's the one thing we all can be sure of.

So, if we agree to disagree, it's fair.

Not because I say it is. That's not fair at all, but because it's MUTUAL.

Life's too short.

Live Bitches, live!!!!

(Ahhhh that felt good.)

Little Miss Mitzi Gaynor

2008-12-05T19:13:00.004-05:00

Do yourself a favor and get into this bitch!

I'm not sure where to start

2008-11-30T23:10:00.003-05:00

So on the eve of the 2008 VMA's Britney allowed a video crew to tape her every move in order to "stage" a comeback. From 10pm (est) until 11:10pm (est, of course) I was re-introduced to the megastar that is Britney Spears. The difference is that her eyes are filled with sadness. That spunky little sexpot is officially scarred. Now mine you, I love a comeback as much as I love a demise and I am routing for Britney. I couldn't take my eyes off of the TV!

However, history has certainly shown us how these stories end. I don't want to say Marilyn Monroe but I guess I just did.

Everyone should check out this MTV original "documentary." Paid for of course by Ms. Spears with the help of her 2 fragrances, "desperation," and "redemption" or whatever they are called.

There's a special segment w/ Madonna who is also a hot mess. You should see her face all planet of the apes-like. She looks like all of the "ladies who lunch" before the matinees in the Theatre District. It's like the blind leading the blind, really.

I will say that the footage of the paparazzi is TERRIFYING. I don't know how anyone can live like this...they can't. Remember Marilyn?

Sad eyes turn the other way I don't want to see you cry. Oh Sad eyes you knew there'd come a day when we would have to say goodbye.

But for now...on with the show, and what a CIRCUS it is.

My Thanksgiving Gobligations

2008-11-29T20:11:00.003-05:00

After no blog, I blog.

Thankful for freedom of speech.

Thankful for gorging myself in vices.

Thankful that I don't have to write a full sentence in order to end with a period.

Not the bloody kind.

But that too.

I was alarmingly pleased to see Rick Astley in the Macy's Day Parade.

I'm NEVER gonna give you up, Rick.

This thanksgiving was one for the books. Really, really, really good turkey.

People were actually passing out at the party. That's how fulfilling it was.

This is exactly how I like a party.

I hope everyone else's day was as delightful as mine.

If not...sorry?

Free style writing..can it be a sketch??

2008-10-21T13:40:00.005-04:00

Goddamn it's hard to sit and try to write 2-3 minutes of pure funny. Maybe I'm missing the point. I'm in a sketch comedy writing class and I can't seem to hit the nail on the head, aka start writing something that doesn't suck balls. Maybe my humor is too dark or maybe I want to do too much too quickly but something's gotta give. It will, as God is my witness it will!! It's finding a happy medium of doing enough without doing too much and vise versa. Sound confusing...imagine how my brain is reacting to it, and as you may or may not know I have an abnormally small head. It's like in the movie Beetlejuice when he gets sprinkled with dust and the head shrinks. That's me. At least I have a pretty face? (She asks in desperation.) Interestingly enough I feel a sketch coming on....

Tonight, tonight.....

2008-10-18T11:31:00.004-04:00

I'm revisiting a classic, and this time, with a room full of virgins!!!!

Life doesn't get much better than that.

Pet Peeve #113

2008-10-16T21:06:00.002-04:00

A Note to Actors: If you are going to pick up a goddamn styrofoam coffee cup at least pretend there is liquid in it. PUT LIQUID IN IT. There is nothing that takes me out of a show quicker than someone picking up an empty cup and then drinking out of it. It's called acting...pretend.

I'm especially talking to the cast of Grey's Anatomy. You're show has become suck-tastic as it is, you could use all the realism you could get.

This is just one of many pet peeve entries to come...

Gotcha!

2008-10-15T19:56:00.003-04:00

Karma is a funky thing.

I mean everyone thinks they are doing the "right thing" so it all comes right back atcha positively. Guess what? What we think is positive karma isn't quite that.

If you gave the bum a dollar but you huffed at a lady getting off the train.

BAD KARMA. If you left an extra few bucks on the table for the waitress but called your friend a day late on her birthday-BAD KARMA. If you saved an old lady from getting hit by a bus but raped a baby the night before-BAD KARMA. It's the things we think are good karma that actually aren't doing SHIT for us, contrarily it's our habitual selfishness that we might not even know exists that really bites us in the ass. The people who think they are the "best hearted" are actually black holes so watch out!!

What's the point? Lewie, I'm sorry I lost your headphones. Bad, bad, karma on my part.

A New Year

2008-10-13T12:12:00.002-04:00

I pledge

to do everything I've ever wanted to

within reason.

I will not rape or steal or kill

but everything else is free game.

Oh so Wise!

2008-10-12T19:25:00.003-04:00

I have some serious hairy moles.

Seriously.

They're almost alarming, and they grow so fast.

The Chinesers say it's a sign of wisdom to have hairy moles.

I couldn't agree more.

Beauty=wisdom and youth.

I can say that of all of those elements...

at least I have hairy melanoma.

Cheers!

Tyra Put it in the Banks

2008-10-08T23:31:00.003-04:00

Who does Tyra think she is? A model turned money grubber who knows SHIT! Tryin' to be the next Oprah Winfrey, huh? There can only be one Oprah and she's busy being a philanthropist, NOT training reality stars who's pictures will be posted on Cover Girl in the biggest bullshit corporation in the states. American Idol is just training reality stars, not actual STARS. I saw Ace Young in Grease and it's painful. Why hire a baby to do a pedophile's job? Seriously!

Whitney is the fakest top model winner in shizzz-tory. Really? She was the best and it had nothing to do with the fact that a "big girl" hadn't won top model in the past? I would get it if she were up against Cycle 9 winner Salisha (boo hisssssss horrible winner!!) but she was up against Anya who was the shit!!

Tyra if you want us to believe you don't do things for rating you need to heed your own advice about convincing people of finding your strengths and expanding on them. If you claim to be so real then BE REAL. I don't think you're that capable though, I think you're just ready for your next dollar. This is not Dr. Phil bitch!

Don't expect me to stop watching though. I'm firmly tuned into this peice of shit.

FEAR

2008-10-08T14:08:00.003-04:00

To be afraid or feel anxious or apprehensive about a possible or probable situation or event.

Spitter McSpackle

2008-10-05T17:00:00.004-04:00

I hate loogies.

They are the nastiest shit around.

Worse than human excrement, at least SHIT is funny.

There is NOTHING funny about spit.

Hawkers.

Hak Hak patooey.

Get yourself a gentlemanly hanky.

When I step in spit a baby dies.

Remember that next time you have to do this in public.

I'm keeping count starting now.

Eventually you will see me on TV.

Save the polar bears? Save the South African children? NO! Save the babies who died from Spitter McSpakle disease.

Details to follow....

"Here's some acid for your face....motherfucker"

2008-10-04T22:34:00.006-04:00

The above is a quote from Edith Massey, aka the beloved egg lady from John Waters films. However I just finished watching a doucumentary called CRAZY LOVE about a real heroine who got acid tossed in her face in 1959. Her name, Linda Riss and she's my new moderate obsession. Here's the sitch, and mind you this is a piece of real american history. Linda was gorge-majorge...beautiful by all standards. Fast forward to the meeting of a man named Burt Pugach, a dirty ugly poop head who wined and dined her and flew her around in his goddamn jet! Like all too good to be true cassanova's, Burt ended up married and had a hell of problems. He tells Linda he's filed for divorce but he made the mistake of showing her the paperwork and she researched it only to find out they were FAKE! She calls it off, ends up engaged to another man named "Schwartz" and all is well with the world.

Nope, I lied...Burt goes bazonkers and hires two black men to deliver an engagement present. When she answers the door, thinking it's an expensive gift, she got a dose

Of ACID TO THE EYES!!! Blinded her.

So he goes to jail long story short and she went to Europe (had a blast but never got laid PS) but Burt wrote her tons of letters talking about how much he still loved her. BLAH BLAH BLAH...acid, bitch, does not fare well with most women. Linda AINT MOST WOMEN.

According to her friends she was feelin' a little lonely and spinster-like (she was 35 after all) and Burt just made parole. Yippee! So she agrees to a meeting. Guess what? They've been married ever since. Guess what else? He was also on trial again for stalking some Asian bitch!

Now, although seemingly weak, Ms. Linda is quite the opposite. She has a flare for theatrics and a mad fashion sense. Plus she didn't let Acid get her down. And hers was the worst trip EVER! She is alive and residing with Burt in Rego Park, Queens!!

I would say check out the documentary, but I've already told you all you need to know. Or have I.....

While the door remains shut...

2008-10-03T20:24:00.002-04:00

My fiancee enlightened me today on how boys shit.

This may seem naive, but it was a fascinating thing to really dive into for me,

seeing I've never had a penis but wondered what it would be like to have it for a day!

They poop and pee at the same time like us girls!!

Their junk just hangs in the space between the seat and the water.

What if your willy is so long it brushes your shit?

Is that infectious?

I'm willing to say that it is.

But for now, I have to paint my nails.

Grrrrrrrr

2008-10-01T11:32:00.003-04:00

Please don't make me explain to you why I hate this picture.

Fine, I will.

There's going to be a rubber taste in my bacon now.

Thanks pretentious piggy.

Happy Goddamn Roshashana

2008-09-30T00:15:00.003-04:00

And thanks for the day off!

This is how it feels to plan a wedding......

2008-09-29T17:13:00.002-04:00

Trees and Tribulations

2008-09-29T13:18:00.004-04:00

What a beautiful fall day! Not too hot, Not too cold and yet seemingly appropriate to pull out my blue pashmena. Yes, Pashmena. Astoria is always great in the fall because of all the trees just lining the streets. Up ahead in the distance, I see one stark raving mad child pushing an empty stroller. I think, God, that kid is kind of cute. He proceeded to get closer. Then abruptly, and without reason or remores SLAMS into my g.d. shins. Mom or Grandma (who can tell) with her hispanic accent and orange curly hair is smiling like a goon, like it's the cutest thing she's ever seen. She says to me "Sorry," with a shit eating grin. I yelled back "It's okay, but you might wanna get a handle on that situation." She didn't even look back and that diablo pequeno continued to push that empty stroller. It became clear to me that this is a losing battle, and I'll let the girl he ends up impregnating deal with his bullshit.

Happy Fall!

WHY WHY WHY!!!!

2008-09-25T13:28:00.005-04:00

Dearest funny ass Kristen Wiig,

Why did you go and chop your nose?

A funny lady faux of paux.

Is Kathy Griffith who you wanna be,

a chopped up Joan River type celebrity.

What's done is done I always say,

and part of your funny has gone away.

I'll still support you but one thing is fact,

you can never have your old nose back.

love,

Miss Petrillo

PS if you did this for a deviated septum I take it all back.

Stars of Tomorrow

2008-09-25T13:01:00.004-04:00

Hell is many things to many people.

Burning rivers of flames.

Brimstone and hellfire.

Not being able to drink anymore due to addiction....

and a new vision has been lain before my eyes,

Open Mic night at the Waltz-Astoria.

Song is the owner and she let it be known before the "artists" graced the stage that she trained in classical piano for years, did the whole "conservatory thing," and just CHOSE not to be a performer. She NEVER wanted to be a performer...but she respects it. Song as you may have guessed by the name, is Asian.

A slew of acoustic, self-depricating, oppression laced tunes echoed the 2 HOUR open mic night as Aaron and I continued to get more and more wasted off the delicious $6 sangria. Digging the fruit out of the bottom of the glass chopstick style was the most interesting part of my evening.

They had a 16 year old boy/girl comedian who stole all his material from comedy central and ended his set with a rousing rendition of a barely audible "What I Got," by Sublime. A duo that loved to harmonize but couldn't, a "sassy bastard" guitar player that was dull strull, and ended the evening with a nasally Jewel wannabe. She sang "Foolish Games" and her own creation "County Road 99."

I wanted to slit my wrists.

I didn't.

I have too much to live for.

Like next week's open mic night.

A Simple Inquiry

2008-09-21T22:01:00.000-04:00

God Save me!

So like when conjoined twins masturbate do they kiss?

Does this make them gay?

Or incestious?

Or just "normal?"

That's for you to ponder, and me to whack off to.