incoherent intoxicity’s blog

she was/is insane and a total character in the sense that one of our regular customers (the head of the oceanography department at the u) typically defines as 'amongst the egomaniacal jackasses that comprise [any] department..'

we, the smart, were somehow bulldozed into taking a class, innocently labeled 'reform and revolution.'  force-fed primary text after primary text in which the american, french and russian revolutions were inscrutably analyzed and assigned consumption over the course of an eight-week trimester, which, since it was spring, would be crammed into six weeks, one of us finally exclaimed: 'why?' 

[do you recall those sci-fi movies where someone sets of an ultra-sound that explodes the opponent within, resulting in his eye-sockets bleeding before screaming for mercy upon his death? that's what it felt like attempting to digest this unbelievable shit]

"becauuzze.." .she responded ".....you're all very beauuutifulll now... " [?? it was a women's college and a dumping ground for misdirected southern belles whose grades/math scores wouldn't allow entry into a 'legitimate university' and a weigh station for rich kids awaiting a preferable option -- courtney cox spent a year there]  "but ullltimaattely, you'll have to surviviiivve.....  by your wittss allooonnne....."

this quote always bugged me. my father would customarily allude to people who 'lived by their wits' pejoritavely, the assumption being that those who survived on pure instinct were to be observed askance. entirely too late, i realized what he was talking about.

wits alone? what did she mean?

my son thinks it's funny to walk around naked like he's some kind of fat-fetish porn star, my job and manager suck and i regrettably killed my myspace account entirely because of an enraged post (or two) devoted entirely to his corpulence. i'm not gettin' any cyber-love from my poon-hunting cougar lovers like i was the weeks before our last encounter....

why does that fat fuck affect so much of what i do?? he's sitting over at the boat right now (i assume his girlfriend and he are temporarily broken up unless she has conveniently morphed his claustrophobic, seasick-inducing vessel into a million-dollar waterfront condo for the summer), enjoying the ongoing party that this weather and the boating community facilitate, and i'm without a myspace account because i told him off in a post and killed the whole thing in a moment of remorse. here's what he kills in a moment of remorse (that he hooked up with me, specifically): any further contact with me.  

whatever...

since the u.dub cafeteria has been shut down as of final commencement activities, our clientelle has been upgraded to tourist. people from places other than seattle can be described as follows: stupid hayseeds, overly fat, overly thin (anorexia is so 1975-88) and can't dress right. in the meantime, my manager's overly maternal instinct orchestrates the lousy hires and permissive work dynamic that is instructing the fact that i'll be working (entirely too hard) for the next 17 days. who's doing all the mothering?

it occured to me, in a moment where i was lacking confidence, that i should look at what i'm bringing to the table before flying out and investing in a place wily-nily: i have a job. in an emergency, i could capitalize on the sale of this house (how to take advantage of the demented: chapter one). my son goes to school here. things get kind of blurry after this. the school sent me an iep report that arrived in the mail today: it was for the wrong kid.

is there a theme i should take advantage of here?...

* sigh *

arrrgh... cramps.

THANK

GOD.

it's been a year and a half, and, after considering writing to every sexual advice columnist on the planet, having bored all of my friends to tears and being forced into considering that, within the constructs of our misogynist society, i'm expected to just write off the fact that 'i got played', i've finally decided to take jamie's advice and make him pay.

jamie's suggestions include: listing his boat on craigslist (which i will do), signing him up for every gay/old/creepy/perv online newsletter that exists, and mailing him cockroaches and/or fat/gay/chubby-chaser porn periodicals...periodically.

i have three points of contact for him. his physical address, his truck and an email address.

it's in my best interest, although dragging it out over the course of months would be sweet, to saturate-bomb his email contact as quickly and insidiously as possible. the boat listing should come in close proximity to signing him up for numerous porn sites because the second he gets wise, he kills his hotmail account.

which leaves me with two points of contact.

i thought of one today: decopageing his truck with pages from a gay-fat-porn periodical. unfortch, i couldn't find a gay bookstore in the gayest neighborhood in town and hit a nasty pothole on the way home....i'm hoping the dirty stores on aurora have gay sections. the sweetness of this maneuver could never be underestimated: i coat his entire truck the night before he has to commute to his job....at a construction site. a misogynist, homophobic construction site. the least they'd do is exclaim: 'dude! who the fuck'd you piss off ?' ..the most they'd do...

unfortunately, the keystone cops patrolling the area outside of work make the execution of said maneuver extremely problematic: i couldn't do it in under four minutes and getting my gluey pyrex and the remaining pages and my sorry ass back to my car in attempt to quickly exit...

i'm not willing to go to jail for this fat fuck.

any suggestions are greatly appreciated.

happy father's day.

naked (except for socks), bare titties and bear flesh, recumbent, in a chris-craft.

consider my streak officially broken....

i've notice certain rhythms to cyber-communication and they're usually work-week related. most people blog at the office, taking time off on the weekends. those of us who are too busy at our jobs or work opposing schedules find ourselves in a hit-n-miss with our correspondents which creates a kind of unsettling communication delay. it takes a little getting used to...

i've found that with myslut account, thursday/friday are hot days. lots of goofing around in the cubicle, updating sites and anticipating maybe some ng ch-ka now now on the horizon for the weekend. conveniently, this also happens to be the time when i'm most busy with work and incommunicado in the cyber realm. i have elected to spend the latter half of the week teasing it along, keeping my 'suitors' at arm's length while managing to simultaneously solicit yet another lap dance (i used to carpool with a retired stripper -- she was a wealth of useful information), knowing i'll be at work by friday night when the frenzy is at its peak, unable to break until sunday or tuesday if i don't pick up an additional shift. by then, they'll all be burned out on communicating, at church or ready to go back into work mode.

pure genius. 232 views, and i just picked up a 27-year-old cougar hunter from kansas.

...for myself. the beast wouldn't go to school today. plus i'm really struggling with the idea that i'd have to shell out five hundred bones a month just to moor a boat close to work. that seems like a lot of money to part with just so i can be tied up to a slip, floating on water. anyway, that's my latest campaign: finding a p.o.s. chris-craft or taking out a loan to purchase a floating home.

erst has got this new boyfriend who's going through an acrimonious divorce. erst has been thrilled to take on her new role as court papers composer/editor, surrogate mom (she's pretty cool -- she used to have an art school/studio so she has all these fun ideas and isn't a jaded parent herself) and advocate for men's rights. she's been through the whole custody nightmare before with friends/a former boyfriend and they find themselves rivaling jerry springer.

it occurred to me today when i was feeling particularly nasty about how/where to house my special needs child on a limited budget with no financial help in a town where rent costs are 8% above the national average, that 'good kids' who live in the suburbs and participate in a million activities and get themselves up for school on time and love the new nanny are created at a tremendous price to the adults around them. there are currently three adults orbiting the household of the perfect children of erst's new boyfriend. the bitter soon-to-be ex wife who abandoned them, the soon-to-be ex husband who has taken time off of work to compensate for the loss of this resource so he can be there for the kids, and mary poppins, who's being run ragged shuttling back and forth between two towns to sneak in some time with her beau and be a presence for the kids while diplomatically ducking out of pick up and drop-offs so as not to seem ubiquitous, to say nothing of the twenty-three hours she spent helping him compose a court-issued rebuttal to the ex's ridiculous claims.

divorce, 1973 style: father leaves family to pursue other 'ambitions'. this is supposed to be a temporary arrangement. issues sporadic financial support over the course of about a year, and then it just magically dries up. mother decides that, rather than risking losing the house and/or the kids in an ugly court battle for which she may not be prepared financially or otherwise (said fathers are either businessmen or lawyers), chooses to graciously accept the financial  terms of a severance that he has provided or just be content with keeping the house and having total control over her offspring. the kids all get jobs if they want to eat. occasionally the kids are forced to contribute to the house's finances; universally they are left to their own devices to fill the parenting vacuum that has been created.

notably, i thought we were the only family who was victim to such a dysfunctional severance until i went out into the world of work and ran into dozens of ex-kids who had endured the same scenario.

while i, as a product of the 'not any that i know about!!' (response to the query 'do you have any kids?') era, where post-sexual revolution men universally boasted their irresponsible entitlements of conquest, championed the universal mandate of child support, i realize what a mess the whole institution became when given real-world applications. but more significantly, i find that the whole idea of kids holding so many hard-working adults hostage so they can continue to be busy, comfortable, well adjusted going-places members of the population categorically absurd.

maybe erst's beau and his ex and erst and the kids will realize that divorcing means keeping the house at the expense of the car and all the activities it engenders, or a contiuously filled refrigerator, or appliances that work, or new socks.... 

yeah, probably not.... 

i had a couple rapid-fire exchanges with a couple of my new myspace friends over the course of the weekend, but they now seem to be done. one of them, i'm sure, is a cop who tried to get me to incriminate myself for being a whore (see occupation: whore) because he was way too up front with all the 'don't you want to hook up? don't you want to exchange numbers? stuff, and the other is this insurance agent who seemed to freak out when i divulged my actual occupation to him.

so there you have it. myspace friends last exactly two days.

peace, voxers... 

so i open a new myspace account. no big deal, tom butchered one of my posts from a prior account so i killed it in a drunken huff.

last week i open a new account, piggybacking it with a note to ryan about possibly selling me his wireless agreement. needless to say, he's the only one aware of my new account's existence, and my profile views seem roughly to correspond with his latest check-ins. during the week's postings i expose previously undisclosed family matters, he gets outed for having a darling girlfriend and i refer to his treatment of me as contemptuous. all of these revelations take place in the context of blog entries and friends' comments and collectively comprise your typical round of passive-aggressive seattle chess-play.

in a recent development, my profile views suddenly go from 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 to 11, 22, 43 and 70 and i'm inundated with friend requests. a 29 year old from pittsburgh who has more slutty 20-something friends in his favorites than i've seen this side of a porn shoot, some random lipless 47-year-old seattle administrator with a passel of frumpy neighbors and a chocohottie from lubbock, tx who wants me to link his aol account so i can check out his 'wares', suddenly grace my inbox.

i'm continually changing my profile: bisexual married swinger, single looking for serious relationships, 'average' body type -- it's all horseshit and fun. my picture, however, is legit as are my place of origin and age, so i'm assuming that i either got broadcast as a 'cool new myspacer' or the fact that i penciled in 'whore' as my occupation has garnered me quite a bit of attention.

vive la internet.

i'm not changing my occupation.

better respond to that 36-year-old married man who's eager to eat new pussy before he loses interest. nothing worse than cold tongue.......

as much as tonight sucked, and by 'sucked' i mean: i could have bailed early due to no business, making my bartender happy at the prospect of making big bucks rather than forcing the servers to be subjected to incessant whining for medicinals that we might provide (?); i could have guaged my customers that i might better predict who had no intention of leaving for the purpose of keeping me at the restaurant 'til closing; i could have chosen not to delude myself into thinking ryan's little visit last night would have any bearing on tonight's itinerary. it would have been easier to not hit the three hour mark in that state of mind with no truck in sight as i smoothed over erst's and scam's tiff as to who shouldn't take the two-top that showed up at 8:15. it's fun to work while others argue. it muffles the deafening crack of my heart snapping in two.

arriving home and invoking my cyber-stalker, i hit my myspace, my vox, my hotmail, his myspace.... a new neighbor submits a comment ironing out some plans for next weekend: "let's hit chateau st. michelle (musician boyfriend appears to be playing one of the winery's myriad venues) the weekend of the 24th!  i hope to see you there! you and your lovely kelly are more than welcome! oh my gaish - you two make such a cute couple!"

oh, my gaish

being a mistress just got a whole lot more interesting