September 30, 2005
this birthday will last forever

*lounges naked in pile of giftcards, throwing them up in the air and watching them fall like pretty money filled snowflakes*

if i use these wisely, i will still be getting birthday presents in january! sweet!

here's the take so far (and i say so far because i am aware of at least three more gifts in transit):

one (1) amazon giftcard from the bootylicious chantel.

one (1) pair of argyle sneakers, in lime and apple green (woot!), from the blogless Squiggle. for shame, Squiggle! blog, blog, blog like you've never blogged before!

one (1) white tube shirt covered in tiny black jolly rodgers from vanessa, who i just met like last week but is clearly very cool.

one(1) really bad choice from senate, who probably also voted for spirit-crushing monotony.

one (1) gift certificate (from my obscenely wonderful and not at all boss-like bosses) for the happiest place on earth. which led to a spontaneous metamorphosis, where in i suddenly became this.

it was scary, but worth it.

one (1) gift box from beeb in connecticut, containing a scarf that was clearly intended to be mine from the day the polyesters sacrificed their lives in the yarn factory, as well as a pillow that is rather grass like (which though gifted to me, has been passed along to the reverend.) AND! there's more! smelly stuff (i think you edjimacated folks call it perfume) that i love and was perfectly timed because i just threw out all my old perfume (it smelled like working for the beast). so woot woot! and a random jar to be filled with apple rings! and matchbooks from her wedding because airport security TOOK MINE AWAY. mean mean mean mean mean!!!!

stuff from my parents is en route, and there's a rumor going around that kady's pet sent me (squeee!!!) a digital camera. too bad it's not already here, because then you would have pictures of all this junk. including the new shower curtain i just bought, which is very cool

Boy claims there is another package coming for me, but he has already given me a gift certificate to zappos because i only have like 25 pairs of shoes. which is not enough.

it's never enough.

he also had a bonsai delivered to my work, and the best part is it's a miniature wine grape tree, which means soon i will be making miniature wine. and getting miniature drunk.

which leads me to last night, when Boy took me out to tam o'shanter, and he wore a collared shirt and i almost kissed his face off on the way there because he was so handsome. we had drinks (someone needs to take me out drinking more often, because it's not right that i got a good buzz of just two vodka drinks.) and shrimp cocktail and filet mignon and prime rib... and he had yorkshire pudding and a trifle and bread pudding... and we went home and nearly exploded but it was so. good.

and so expensive! $130!!! we could eat at weinerschnitzel for a month-- and we would.

and then there was some, you know, "dessert." wink wink nudge nudge know what i mean know what i mean.

alllllll right.

September 29, 2005
la la la... birthday!

today is my birthday.

i do not feel like blogging, as i am much too busy spending gift cards.

i will tell you all about my day tomorrow.

if the hangover clears in time.

la la la. birthday!

September 28, 2005
happy happy joy joy




my laughter hides my pain.

so last night, after another wonderful and rewarding and not at all stressful day at work, the new landlord dropped off our new keys and we intended to take some stuff to our new place. we stuffed my car full of goodies, like here, and set off for what was sure to be smooth sailing.




i keep having to remind myself i live in los angeles because 35 minutes to go six miles seems outlandish to me. clearly i'm crazy. but then i remember it's part of why i'm moving closer to work. when we pull up to the building and get out of the car Boy looks at the tree beside us and points out that it covered in bugs. most noticeably, a black widow spider.




we go inside with a few items so that we can open all the doors and some windows, let some air in and prepare to unload the massive amounts of junk in my car. much to our dismay, the apartment does not appear to have been cleaned for our arrival. the floors are unswept, the counters covered in dust, the sinks are filthy. i was tempted to write a message in the 35 inches of dust that coated the back of the toilet. please note how i even made it look like i dragged my finger through a layer of dust, because people, it's this simple. i need encouragement.

and then before i could stop myself, for some unknown reason, i opened the fridge.

and there was food inside. most interestingly, a jar of mayonnaise. which i am allergic to, and so while i appreciate someone leaving us this gift, it is of no use to me.

since there was nothing i could use in the fridge, i figured we'd give the freezer a try. inside the freezer we found baking soda dated 8/2003, grey ice cubes, and about 25 dead ants.




so where did i leave that mayonnaise? because anaphylaxis sounds GREAT right about now.

and then the other ants, the ones that are still alive, start crawling in and out of the squishy liner part that cushions the door of the freezer from slamming... which just added to the tragedy because slamming doors seemed a good course of action. better than sitting down on the floor and crying, though not as good as going home (to the apartment we were leaving because of the ants) and getting drunk. on rum. which wasn't even on the ballot, but worked nicely.

the good news is that now we know who else voted for continuing spirit-crushing monotony, because clearly the ants are reading my fucking blog. i bet the second they read i was moving they started heading on over. seeing as there is one half-day of shopping left till we wish me a happy birthday (unless "we" are dr. mack'n, who already wished me one because she is awesome), may i suggest an anteater? i will begin making him this sweater immediately.

i went to bed and hoped silently that i would wake up to somthing at least marginally more pleasant.

this morning my whole neighborhood (including the interior of my apartment) smelled like burnt skunk.

when i left for work and turned on to the next street i found him. he looked sort of like this

but a little more dead, with his guts oozing out one side and tire marks coming out the other.

maybe i should have hoped outloud.

September 27, 2005
21% percent of you hate me

if the voting (as of 12:30 pm pst) is any kind of indication, vodka is in the lead. which means whiskey will be the new president, at least 32 days a year, barring further "emergencies" at the ranch.

and which of you (besides Boy) voted for continuing spirit-crushing monotony????? what is wrong with you people? i mean, i knew he would vote that way, mostly because drunkeness on my part leads to requests for semi-nudity* on his, and also because once my spirit is broken it's more likely that i will finally agree to marry him. because he asks me like everyday.

but you guys... you have no excuse. you're just plain judasy. making you all judases. or, um, jud-i.

i bet moocow voted for that one. well, now we're feuding. and all this just because you say peep and i say peep.

wars have been waged for less, you know. just ask president whiskey over there. no, no. not that one.

*break out the banana-hammock! it's party-time!

September 26, 2005
mondays are stoopid

i had a good weekend. i went to a dodgers game (they played the pirates, and though externally i was all *yay, Here!* in my heart of hearts i was so "arrrr, matey!") i ate lots of stuff (dodger dog(s), pretzel, cracker jack, frozen lemonade) all of which can be viewed currently residing on my hips.

last night i watched "young adam" and saw ewan mcgregor's red states. (ooooooh, sassy!)

unfortunately i will be moving this week/weekend, so i may get to a point wherein i will not be in possession of the required braincells with which to form coherent sentences. unlike that hot little number there. due warning.

only two more shopping days till my birthday. i am anticipating the wonder of a mid-move birthday like i am anticipating coming back here tomorrow.

which reminds me. today i am bitter and angry.

and i'm not even wearing anything all that cute.

ok, that's a lie. i'm totally cute. but still very bitter.

and very angry.

so, in the spirit of not getting dooced, i will stop typing now.

and not resume typing till i have either (a) loosened my fists sufficiently enough to pry my fingernails from my bloody palms, or (b) have gotten good and liquored up.

and since i was wise enough to give myself options, i vote liquor. because every one likes to get licked.

p. diddy says vote or die!

continuing spirit-crushing monotony

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September 23, 2005
fridays are stoopid good

this morning when i got to work i dropped my tupperware full of lunch on the ground and it shattered.

my tupperware full of balsamic-dressed spinach salad. stinky.

alas, i was lunchless. but miracle of miracles the lack of lunch was corrected by an unexpected free lunch for all employees! woot!

later, the whole school went on a field trip to see king tut today. he's still dead.

and my spirits were lifted by the introduction of a new song to faculty choir. (yes, i am in the faculty choir. i sing like an angel. a very very naughty angel.)

*sings and tries to control urge to shimmy shake* this thing called love... i just can't handle it... this thing called love... i must get around to it... i ain't ready (empahsis on ready) for the crazy little thing called love.

*opens jeweled capelet, bows and half sneers* thank you-- thank you very much.

we are also singing leonard cohen's hallelujah, some hebrew round (you'd think being all jew-like i would be more interested, but meh), and the theme from peter gunn. you are totally jealous.

and then came the following interaction:
me: um, your excellency? supreme and all powerful ChoirLeader? it appears that i have misplaced my sheet music. i fear i may have left it at home. *meek voice* do you have one i could borrow? please don't smite me.

ChoirLeader: sure, cool. here you go. (he's so agreeable! i could just squish him!)

me: i'm really sorry. it's just so early, i forgot. sooooo early. y'all are lucky i remembered to put clothes on.

male coworker who reads my blog: hehehe. *looks around mischeivously*

me: you can say it. i worked in a restaurant. nothing you could say will bother me.

male coworker: i mean it in a flattering way.

me: *blush* this will so be on the internet later...

when i realized this coworker reads my blog there was a brief moment wherein i was a little concerned that i might embarrass myself, but then i remembered i have no shame, and all was well again.

besides, it's not like i write anything i might not want my coworkers to see.

have a good weekend! only 5 more shopping days till my birthday!

and still no digital camera...

September 22, 2005
the shiny

all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane. all work and no play makes miss kendra go insane.

September 21, 2005
today has been disappointing (thus far)

still not married to uncle jesse.
(which reminds me. what the hell is rebecca romijn thinking? seriously. who picks andrew clements over uncle jesse? that's crazy talk.)

arrived at work to hugenormous pile of ShitToDo. have done very little.

still hauling 10 extra pounds. (p.s. i'm writing this as i eat a bread bowl full of low-carb soup. shut up.)

no sign of that rotary tiller.

thought flo was gone, but ooooh baby. the bitch is back. (thus the bread bowl, judgy mcjudgypants.)

i still haven't called my parents, which i have been meaning to do since august. and now i can't call because it will seem like i'm only calling to talk about what i want for my birthday.

what i want for my birthday is for them to forget the $700 i owe them, because that is a practical and valuable gift. but i want plants and curtains, remember? and sequined pants.

still no digital camera.

one of the gnomes stowed away in my purse and he's running amok. there is no end to this madness in sight.

i bought salmon to make for dinner tonight but i really don't want to eat it. i am dreading dinner, and that's just wrong.

there is absolutely nothing on ebay that i have desire to buy right now. we have hit a new low. i think i might cry.


September 20, 2005
when gnomes attack

i know you think it's unlikely, what with all the pro-gnome propaganda floating around these days, but let me assure you. it doesn't take much.

for a long time the gnomes and i led peacefully symbiotic lives; they did the "landscaping" and in return i protected them from encroaching smurf armies. they came regularly with their tweezers and blades and bowls of hot wax, pulling and ripping and cutting every hair as it surfaced. those gnomes are industrious fellas.

and it's not their fault that the work environment became so unpleasant. for some reason, which i have not yet discovered, my hair will sometimes grow back having undergone a minor mutation... wherein it is no longer hair, but something like this. meaning i get a violently red and angry ingrown or two. or 5269347897412560958. any where i have skin.

right now i'm nursing one the size of a grape. that's too much information isn't it? yeah. that was too much.

anyway, to deal with the increasing stress of their work, the gnomes turned to drugs. and it wasn't long before i could see the signs.

some of the better educated gnomes formed a union, demanding higher wages and full benefits. they asked for paid vacation and orthodontic coverage. then they asked for sundays off, but there's no way i can have hairy legs on a sunday. how would i fully appreciate clean sheet day? it can't be done, people. no way, no how.

so i told them *i* don't even have benefits, and clearly it wasn't what they wanted to hear.

they started picketing, marching around in little lines outside my bathroom door, totings their signs and chanting. sometimes it got so loud the neighbors called to complain about all the moaning gnomey chatter.

when i brushed their demands aside they began to hide in the covers and kick me while i was sleeping. still i remained strong. and then they started doing voodoo with the hairs they had taken from me over the years, the hairs they had been saving right from the very beginning.

that's when i knew they were crazy.

and it's from a long history of trying to deal with crazy people that i gleaned the knowledge:
there is no way to deal with crazy people.
i assume this goes from crazy gnomes too.

so i gave them the orthodontia thing, because seriously, some of those kids had snaggleteeth, and we called it a day. unfortunately i also had to start covering rehab what with all the pcp, but in the long run i think it will be worth it.

just as soon as they get the rotary tiller up in here to out grow this motherfucking ingrown.

September 19, 2005
this post was written in human blood

yeah... so that "six month supply" of contact lenses i ordered?

three years ago?

good news is there's still one pair left!

but since i ordered them a year after my insurance had ended, through the magic of the worldwidewebby thing, (i heart you, canadia, for checking the prescription after my eyes had shipped) they are maybe not as much help as one would think. they give me headaches, which they should, because only stupid people wear prescriptions that are four and a half years old. sometimes i think i can outsmart the headaches by wearing my glasses, but due to some governmental (probably republican) conspiracy, they are the exact same prescription as the contacts.

usually wearing the glasses helps, (while also making me look like a sexy librarian) but unfortunately there are some places where bookish allure just doesn't make much sense. like in the shower.


let's just say i do not recommend shaving one's legs in this situation without the benefit of a guide dog.

note that i am positioned much like a well trained yogi, my face parallel to the tibia, so that i can make out the subtle differences between the wall and my own skin, as well as be conveniently close enough to suck my own toes.

and the reason i would continually risk this massive blood loss? it's simple, really. i am a product of good genes. behold the family tree.

so i have a mild hair problem. and by mild i mean the gnomes that used to pluck my eyebrows (etc.) have now unionized to demand hazard pay. uppity gnomes.

tommorow: when gnomes attack.

September 16, 2005
send vodka or i will die

it has recently come to my attention that in a mere thirteen days, an ephemeral 313 hours, an approximate two and one half boxes of cheerios, i will be turning twenty five. yes, i measure time in cheerios. i might have to eat them for dinner a few times just to luxuriate in this last bit of twentyfour.

theoretically, i knew that i would be getting older. i mean it happens about this time every year. but this one kind of crept up on me, all sneaky like. it's not like twentyfour was so grand either. i moved away from all of my friends and family, which was hard. well, the friends part anyway. (just kidding mom! tell dad to send money!)

this year was the first year of my life that i was not in school. i had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. i'm one of those people who gets more done when i have more to get done. if there's only one thing on my to do list, you should pretty much forget it. unless it's make out with Boy, or say inappropriate things, because those are things i really try to do on a daily basis anyway. the only reasonable thing to do in this situation was to go work at a school, which of course i did, becoming an upstanding member of the community, and a good example for all.

i can hear you laughing from here.

this was also the year i worked for TheBeast*, who was a fifty-something woman that looked like this:

really. and i chose that background because she would love it.
you are seeing her in her natural environment.
do not feed her... she might bite.

the strangest thing to me might be that when i realize what i thought i would be doing at twentyfive, i also realize that i was way the fuck off. i am not driving around in my convertible car (with leopard print seats), hair perfectly blowing in the breeze. i don't have an airy loft-style apartment and a friendly maternal-figure maid to clean my bathtub and do my laundry. i am not a model/psychiatrist/best-selling author. and most appalling of all, i am not married to uncle jessie.

i drive a mazda. my apartment, well, we've covered that. my towels are pilly and my living room smells like pickles. i don't even have any health insurance.

when my mom was my age, i was already born.

what. the. fuck.

i've heard that people give you crap on your birthday so i should probably ask for money to you know, pay off my soul-crushing debts, or buy pretty things like plants, and um, curtains, in order to make my apartment more appealing. but we all know i'm just gonna spend it on those crack-coated apple rings. (exhibit a: number 17.)

instead i have provided a list of some acceptable birthday gifts here. it's the only way i'll make it.

*i no longer work for The Beast, though i am permanently scarred from being in her presence.

September 15, 2005
today we talk about my ass

the day has come to discuss my ass. at length. in full. without reservation.

although my ass *is* now taking reservations for parties of six or more.

i have no idea what i just said. sometimes my mouth just goes and goes and i wonder if it will ever come back.

so warning: this post contains the word "ass."

anyway. the thing about my ass is that it's not great. hard to believe, i know, but i assure you, the boobs are better. i'm ordering a t-shirt that says so. the booty isn't bad, really, it's just a little smaller, a little less bubbly than it used to be. there will never be a mass-marketing campaign for faux-kendra butt (a la the vivid girls). and though i tend to think it looks better naked, which i may or may not photographically prove for your benefit at some point in the near future (all signs point to yes!), really it's nothing to write home about.

which leads me to the issue at hand. men look at asses. it's. what. they. do. i'm okay with that, i accept it. sometimes i even give it a little extra shake when i know they're looking (and by "they" i clearly mean Boy and only Boy.)

that said, there is something to be said for subtlety. you know, that thing where maybe you pretend you're not explicitly staring, even though i totally know you are, just so that the world can keep on spinning in peace and perfect ass-related harmony.

where i live, Here, there are many drooly bug eyed creeps who exercise their god-given eyes on my behind. it could give a less seasoned ass stage fright.

on my street alone there is a gang of old men. at any given time at least one of them is guaranteed to be wearing a sweat stained beater and smoking foul cigars. these men like to jibber jabber outside my windows and play chess and stare at me as i walk by. all the time. every time. until i yell at them, which makes me feel bad, because only bitches and old ladies yell at old men.

so i have drawn up blueprints for a new invention, tentatively titled "haha perverts, i told you to stop looking, now you'll have to wear eye patches and that's not really a look that works for many people." or something like that. it features a high powered laser beam triggered by unwanted stares that burns the offender's eyes out.

and kills then them dead.

voila! the side view!

i will be taking orders as soon as i figure out how to you know, make lasers.

in a convenient ass-compatible size.

(ass ass ass!!!!)

September 14, 2005
charly commando

*open on a darkened stage. red velvet curtains, saturated with red, the color of red velvet cake. mmmm cake. there is only a spotlight, aimed at the center, and the sultry beginnings of music... low drums, an upright bass, and then horns as the curtains open.*

now just a minute. when i say horns i mean horns. i want to see cheeks like grapefruits, people. i'll wait.

much better.

so there i am, miss charly commando, a shimmy shakin, light reflecting off eight jabillion sparkles on my petal white skin, twirling my giant feather fans and generally being well, pretty fucking awesome.

like this, but better.

well, maybe more like this. cause i have you know, a few tattoos.

about a year and a half ago i saw the suicide girls tour, which is now coming to dvd and is being advertised on every bus bench i see. all that cheekiness (look ma! double entendre!) just reinforced my desire to be like bettie and lili and mae. because all the world loves a scantily clad broad with big boobs and a bigger mouth.

i crave the glamour, the fashion, the crazy horny music. (horny!) and fsm knows i adore all the sparkles and sequins and feathers. but i really love-- really really love-- the naked bits and all the shaking.

when sg came to town i just about peed myself. and you people know i would. aside from there being *way* too many people there (of which many were the kind of pasty white you can only get from sitting in your basement and abusing yourself... no i am not the pot in this situation. *i* abuse myself in the bedroom like a proper lady.) and the whole "pasties and g-strings rule," it was a good time. except for one major thing.

i realized i am just not mean enough to be a suicide girl.

sure i'm sexy, but i have no underlying desire to kill people. not much anyway. so i'm not welcome.

they were throwing their breasts around with power, angrily raising their booties in the air like they were just hoping, just about praying for someone to reach out e.t. style with a glowing red fingertip and the urge to um, "phone home." (i just made up my own euphamism! see, dad? my edumacation was soooo worth it.) then they could turn around, rip said extra terrestrial's arm off and then tear the rest of him to pieces, chewing at his flesh and letting his blood run down their spectacular boobies.

but instead they just poured beer and chocolate syrup all over themselves and each other, and the audience actually, which i didn't realize until i got home and found some chocolate in my purse. sure, it was hot but it also kind of made me feel bad for who ever had to clean it up. because i'm nice that way.

i'm sure not all of the suicide girls are so angry, but most of them seem that way to me. i'm sure some of them are secretly off baking lasagnas for their adorable ex-gangmember tattoo artists. or answering tattoo guy's girl questions. because girls who do that are inherently swellerific. woot!

some of the girls i'm sure take it very seriously, like dita, who is quite lovely (if a little too skinny) but not at all fun. in any way. i'm sorry dita, but you are far too busy being creepy with your equally high-maintenance "man" to be fun and you are hardly, dare i say, (shout out!)sassy.

where for art thou, burlesque? where has all the laughter gone? because if i just want to see naked chicks i can go to cheetah's, or the spearmint rhino, or the ever classy jumbo's clown room. courtney love used to strip there, so you know it's good. if all i wanted was skin and gyration and vacant eyes i would watch "one night in paris". again.

so i have decided that one way or another, i am going to live my life as a burlesque queen. i'm going to be loud (um, louder?) and bawdy and outrageous and curvaceous. and like i said, pretty fucking awesome. except because i don't want to frighten any children, i'll probably keep my clothes on.


September 13, 2005

i'm really sorry. i'm trying right now to convince the current landlord that he can let us out of our lease one week early so that we can move into the new place and not be completely broke and living in refrigerator boxes.

it's one week. i think he can manage.

i am working on a very important post though, so tomorrow you should have plenty of stuff to do at work.

when you're not working.

because that's what you do there, 100% of the time, i'm sure.

here's a teaser... who might this be? (i warholized her. i can press buttons on this computer and they do things!)

oh! oh! and i added two new links under *worldwideweb* that are, um, pages i made to just put more links on. which i haven't done yet... so never mind.

*hands in pockets, hunched shoulders... slinks away*

September 12, 2005
the land down under

just so you know, my red dots are nearly gone. which means i have far better luck than our dog, who once again, less than a month later, is back on the 'roids. i'm beginning to think he has a problem. and still rivers cuomo could kick his ass.

we have decided that since his skin problems have no seasonality, it must be a food allergy. i mean, it's that or all the crack he's been smoking. anyway, he has another two week course of pills and now the food trials begin. friends suggested we try a rice based diet, because it works for them. the internet wants me to try a raw diet, like chicken carcasses and pigs feet, and was very vocal about this being a great course of action in the case of a pregnant bitch. but seeing as pickles has had trouble conceiving (that damn penis!), we aren't sure about that one.

the vet suggested either pre-digested proteins, like in specialty foods, so that they won't be big enough to trigger his immune system. because those proteins, they are just huge. unfortunately, only people like paris and paris can afford to feed their dogs this way for extended periods of time, partly because they are richer than god (seriously. he always wears that same robe! and it's so last season!), but mostly because they wouldn't stand for this shit and would trade in for a more luis vuitton compatible model.

or, says the vet, we could try a protein he's never been exposed to. that way there would be no potential for allergy. she suggested ducks.

and also kangaroos. * gasp *

i don't know about you people, but there is no way my dog is eating a kangaroo. i'll let him poop on the kitchen floor (which i did, last night, because he was still sedated from the vet and i felt bad trying to make him walk outside) and i will hand feed him, and i would probably let him gnaw on a duck. but only the ones that don't have green heads, because dammit those green heads are cute.

i suspect i would let him eat people before i would feed him a kangaroo. only some people, (*cough* bush *cough*) but still. i also suspect that this makes me a bad person, but i think that's established fact at this point.

p.s. i think we may have found a new apartment! and i think it might be insect/mold/vermin free! cross your fingers and pray to the man in the retro robes for me! or you know, many armed lady with all the jewelry. you know what i mean.

September 11, 2005
sunday is bittersweet

today, four years ago, the way we live our lives changed. i was not directly affected, but a friend of mine lost her father and today, she is taking up every space in my heart.

every space not taken by my sister, my little sister bee, whose birth i watched nineteen years ago today, and who i was first to hold.

i'm sorry we can't get past our lives to find a middle ground. i love you.

* samantha *

we exist together only in these photographs, static

and two-dimensional. i love you out of habit.
strange little chrysalis, small and unripe

in my mind forever. i have not known your process or life,
you, who may also have my mother’s hands—

i haven’t seen them lately, i would not know. i can’t
escape thoughts of you thinking of me.

i fear in this exact moment you are feeling like an only
child. sometimes i have to remind myself that you are

real… for more than half your life we have lived apart
and i have missed everything, each word we should have shared,

but then i would not have picked them as carefully. now there
is so much lost in the endless sky between where i am and

las vegas. do you keep me in the back of your mind,
sister—do your memories, like mine, deceive?

or do you listen close at night, to see if you can hear me breathe?

September 09, 2005
reasons i should not work here, part one

i wear hooker makeup because i like it! this pink eyeshadow makes me look strung out, which is totally sexy!

i have lots of piercings and tattoos and make no effort to conceal them from the impressionable young girls here at school! the tattoos? got one when i was your age. the piercings? if only you knew! of course it didn't hurt! of course i didn't have my parents' permission! of course i will go in the bathroom and show you how to decorate your own body parts with safety pins and bics!

i pee my pants and write about it on the internet!

i say completely inappropriate things to anyone and everyone! i told my boss (who is a proper lady) that my favorite food is like crack! crack!

all that and i cannot fucking control my goddam sailor mouth!

mwa hahahahaha!

p.s. i'm not wearing underwear!

September 08, 2005
the plague

i have come down with some sort of disease. my torso is covered in hives. like so. if i had a digital camera i could post a recent picture, instead of having to draw little red dots on this other lady who does not even begin to compare to my immeasurable levels of hotness. so send calamine and digital cameras, or i will be forced to demonstrate my pain further.

like this.

i am itchy and still at work.

pity me.

September 07, 2005
she's not crass, she's my brother

well that title didn't work out quite as well as i had hoped. oh well. being a good brother, i'm sure she'll forgive me. she being crass personality. who did a meme thingie called 7x7, and requested that i do the same. she specifically asked me. ergo (ergo!) i am special. woot!

unfortunately, i am widely known for my inability to answer a question briefly. it is my nature to explain. because i need to make you understand. it might also be because i am both jewish and neurotic, and also a little bit loud.
exhibit a: last night at the tattoo shop Miyagi and Boy were discussing a certain celebrity's appearance, as boys are known to do. and i was listening in, as i am known to do. the verdict was that she was maybe a little funny looking, but certainly "fuckable." which left me no choice but to interject very loudly and publicly,

"i'm pretty sure anything with a pussy is fuckable."

i. had. no. choice.

this really had nothing to do with the meme thingie other than to demonstrate how i often say inappropriate things so that people in kansas can hear me. and that i really do have a sailor mouth. which i'm trying to establish early on here so when the meme goes wildly out of control, you cannot say you weren't warned.
so. *ahem.*

seven things i want to do before i die

1) have a nude portrait done. drawn, painted or photographed. this probably boils down to me wanting to be comfortable and proud of my body, but spectators kind of make that stuff more fun. besides, then i have witnesses and proof! and i can post it on my blog!

2) learn to ride a bicycle. it’s true. i don’t know how. i think it would come in handy Here, and also then I could rub it in Boy’s face. sucka!

3) go to japan.

4) publish a book that people will read. fiction, memoir, poetry? i have no idea. at this point i’m thinking i may have to start writing textbooks for dental hygenists. it’s my only hope.

5) get married. this is the one i’m most uncomfortable writing here. but it’s also one of the most important to me. for those of you who know me personally, you know i have a questionable background. for those of you who don’t, well, we’ll go over that eventually. either way, it’s incredibly important to me to find people that i love, and that love me back, and then keep them. forever. in tiny bite size packages.)

6) have a song or poem written about me. this is pretty selfish, i think. I should say “cure cancer” or something, but whatever. it’s my meme and i want flattery, dammit!

7) live some more.

seven things i can do

1) eat a whole box of animal crackers and still want more. send more.

2) make people laugh in just about any situation. tactics sometimes include use of the word “boobs.” use of actual boobs only in dire circumstances.

3) organize the hell out of ANYTHING. fo’ real.

4) be brutally honest without being too brutal.

5) tap dance.

6) sing the soundtracks to “the little mermaid,” “aladdin,” and “newsies.”

7) parallel park. i may not be a great driver (shut it, Boy), but i can park up a storm.

seven things i cannot do


2) eat an omelet.

3) go more than 24 hours without ingesting caffiene.

4) stay mad. although i really, really, try.

5) sleep if i am aware of a spider in my home.

6) fly.

7) that’s it. i can do everything else. *yes i can.*

seven things that attract me to the opposite sex

1) good personal hygiene is very important. but apparently, sometimes too much to ask.

2) red hair. i’m a sucker for it.

3) laughs at my jokes. not at me.

4) can teach me something about something. need more input! input input input!*

5) doesn’t take crap from nobody.

6) tall.

7) i like men. not boys, not pretty men. manly men. lumberjacks.

seven things i say most often

1) clearly but clearly that’s only because I am trying to get you people to see what i am talking about.

2) you don’t even like me. Boy, atleast I’m honest.

3) i know.

4) i have to pee.

5) africa hot.

6) wanna make out?

7) pickles! stop peeing!

seven celebrity crushes**
1) clive owen. humminah humminah humminah! but it’s ok. Boy likes him too. because he’s manly, and doesn’t take no crap from nobody, and in one movie was a lumberjack and in another called julia roberts a slag. he’s dreamie.

2) brad pitt, but only circa fight club/snatch. you know. when he was all cut and mean and not a dirty rotten adulterer.

3) dave grohl. *swoon*

4) adam sandler. a nice jewish boy.

5) heather b. armstrong. my hero.

6) oprah noodlemantra. because though he is far prettier than i, and completely un-lumberjacky, you cannot deny the power. it’s just too strong.

7) pat morita. all i can say is that this is not a romantic crush. beyond that, i cannot explain my love.

*gold star if you know what the hell i’m talking about here.

**this is hard!

September 06, 2005
color by numbers

presenting labor day weekend 2005, a not entirely unpleasant extravaganza!

401985320984609318617834: number of ants in my cabinets upon my return home from work on friday.

401985320984609318617834: number of dead ants in my cabinets after use of AncientChineseRecipe (a.k.a. sweet relief). but don't tell the feds cause it's totally illegal. and oh! the sight of those ants falling over, all dead like (see also: asleep, belly up, bloodless, blooey, breathless, buried, cadaverous, checked out, cold, cut off, deceased, defunct, departed, done for, erased, expired, extinct, gone, inanimate, inert, kicked the bucket, late, lifeless, liquidated, mortified, no more, not existing, offed, passed away, perished, pushing up daisies, reposing, rubbed out, six feet under (hi tel! woot woot!), snuffed out, spiritless, stiff, unanimated, washed up, wasted), well all that death, it was just plain beautiful.

8: number of hours worked on saturday.

23: approximate number of times uttered the phrase, "elected the
ppo-es, dmo-ec, ebam-es, hca 500 and dca 2500 annual, with remainder redirected to payroll at a 50% reduction." with minor variations.

104: pages faxed, on fax machine from 1982. i'll let you know when i'm done.

5922356969232923993648756923847569834725693792362578: number of times per day applied lotion to horrible mess of itchy burny flesh that used to be TheUglyThing.

6: number of hours where i really was asleep, and not simply waiting for the pain to stop. because the pain. it hurts. ow.

61: number of apartments for rent in our desired area, as seen on sunday afternoon.

8: number of apartments for rent in our desired area, as seen on sunday afternoon, that are not being pimped out by the clear channel of los angeles real estate "westside rentals."

1: number of freshly broken bones (right middle toe, smashed into bed*) causing me to have to wear totally uncute shoes to work today.

35: number of minutes waited for shitty food at trendy restaurant. (steak sandwich for him, veggie wrap for her. and fyi- the veggies in question were apparently lettuce. because that's all i got for my $8.95)

15: approximate weight in pounds of fat-assed fish in trendy restaurant's koi pond. which, incidentally, was its only redeeming characteristic. unless you count all the refugee skinny faux-tanned ultrahip people in cages. oh, but wait! those were the booths! ha! i thought this was some kind of creepy museum of Here
aside: by the way, hip people... those "unisex, layered, mod-style" haircuts you've all got? freakin' mullets. you look ridiculous.

7: number of piles of pee wiped up, of which only four came from my dog. progress, pickles! gold star! (the other pee belonged to dottie, who is just learning, so is excused. the poops were hers too. those are inexcusable.)

4: number of episodes "filthy rich: cattle drive" watched on cable (cable!!!!). from which i learned: fabian is a tool and if i could find him, i have a couple of dogs who'd like to pee all over him. and we all know they would.

5: number of cuddly animals i pet sat sunday night, in the house where Boy (that sexy beast) and i made out and sat close on the couch while the furry creatures found lap room we didn't know we had.

infinity: number of times looked at Boy and thought, "we should have a house to fill with furry creatures and make out in."

2.5: number of hours uninterrupted sleep that night due to attention whoring furry creatures. dear dottie. you are small. i can fit your head in my mouth. be quiet. love, kendra.

well, that's the basics. there was also my laundry and um, vacuuming, and... dishes? it was fairly mundane.

but only after all the midget** strippers had packed up their flaming batons and gone home!

*Boy couldn't believe i had broken my toe on the bed. but then he looked at my foot (for apparently the first time ever), pointed out my "spindly little toes" and was immediately impressed by the fact that i can walk at all.

**sorry... i know it's really "little people," but that just doesn't sound as good. and you can't argue with that logic.

September 02, 2005
28 days and counting

i realize it's not like i have rotting corpses floating by the wreckage of my home/neighborhood/life, and not that i am not completely distraught over the misery those poor poor people are enduring even with out the jerks that keep looting and raping and making it generally worse for everyone, but can i be a little selfish for a minute and just say


i cannot deal with their tiny little legs crawling all over my furniture and food and probably my face at night while i'm sleeping.

new mantra. tomorrow will be better.

September 01, 2005
stop the world-- i want to get off

he thinks i am being open and honest, but really i say these things so we won't talk about other ones.

i don’t tell him that i know what kind and how many to take. i don't tell him sometimes i cry when i wake up because, fuck all... i woke up. i don’t tell why my arm is black and blue when he asks, because how do you explain to someone normal what it’s like to be so empty inside that you feel like you’re just skin? to be so wilted that you bash your own arm against the dresser again and again and again because you feel like you have no bones, because you need to see if you will break?

don't worry, lonely reader. that's from something i wrote a long time ago. but i'm feeling rather worthless today.

tomorrow will be better.

golden state