Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Die Mummy! Die!

Ciao fuckers!

Happy hump day! I am tweaking the blogesphere from one of Los Angeles Public Libraries...yah you remember those things? Those big buildings with books, matronly women with cat eye glasses that incite fear if you even think about talking? The same place where you can browse free magazines, DVDS and is abundant with resources? Yep, that's where I am.

I have to say it's refreshing not to be holed up in some coffee shop listening to other assholes talk about what pilot they booked, or how that Roth IRA is looking good, or even the jerk who can afford that second latte. Fie upon them! I curse you able bodied adults with your good credit scores, savings accounts, lego castles for your children, and organic pork chops.

Do you know what its like holding your womb hostage? All I keep thinking is "well maybe I can have a kid, give it away and when it's old enough to drive, it can come back to live with me.  Well, maybe not live with me...but it can pick me up from the pub after a few rounds." See, the fact that I'm calling a child "it" is probably indication that I have no business bringing life into the world.

But lets be honest.  Don't you wanna punch some of these women. I mean don't get me wrong, babies are cute---blessings blah blah. But when I'm in the aisles of the grocery store (shoplifting) they piss me off when they come sauntering by with their cute new born swaddled in a bjorn whilst picking organic English peas from the pod. Because they're gonna go home and mash the peas for the baby.  Ever follow one of these people? Do it. Follow a person that looks like they have good credit.  They eat Kashi cereal, and buy bottled milk--IN GLASS! They drive Subaru's and Volvo's---their grocery bills are like $168.00 and then to top it off, they drop money into the Save a Starving Kid in The Desert Fund. Then they go home and stick the kid in one of those 3 wheeled strollers and go for a run. A run! With a child! Who are these assholes?

They live in Hancock Park, Oak Park, Hyde Park, Park Slope and any other stupid fucking "park" you can think of. Well, I grew up in a park too. Washington Park.  But don't even get me started. The only thing in Washington Park is WIC, Sec 8 and cob webbed Harold Washington For Mayor signs.

What am I babbling about are you wondering? Well, I suppose its my feelings of inadequacy. My fears of never getting beyond the bullshit of robbing Peter to pay Paul.  I mean I'm all for eating less and living simply...but you only get so far off eating cereal and Jameson to trick your appetite. I've worked hard in my short life--but to be honest, I'm done with this bullshit. The only cotton I wanna pick, is from the Aspirin bottle to cure my hangover from Veuve Cliquot.

I see mothafucking college dweebs doing better than me.  And I keep thinking "how are these people doing it? Did I miss the block club party, when the devil was there handing out favors?"

Maybe I'm being a spoiled brat.  No...I think I'm just misanthropic. I don't like people very much---and it's only because I feel like a failure somedays for not "making it" yet.  But then, I have the reminder that although I may not have 0% APR, a car that can go in reverse, or health insurance...I do have integrity.  I chose to be an artist, no one forced me.  I could have chosen a different path.  In a parallel universe I could have 3.5 kids, 2 dogs and a fat cat husband living in some quaint little town.  But then I couldn't smoke pot and go traipsing around town living my faux-fab life. And I wouldn't be stuck at the public library watching this mothafucka next to me lick his arm.  

Still haven't found a new place to live. But I have a feeling that twixt you and the're conspiring for my happiness and well being. Good looking out fucker!

ciao for now~


1 comment:

C2 said...

"The only cotton I wanna pick, is from the Aspirin bottle to cure my hangover from Veuve Cliquot." fcuking priceless.