The Stoner Chronicles

December 10, 2003

I wonder if Averie got her package yet...

December 08, 2003

My friend K-9 from Vegas sent me an email a couple of days ago, wishing me a well birthday and a package will be arriving in the mail, apparently in the honor of the 20th year of the Bison, which took place on the 6th of December, 2003.

I don't know what to think about being twenty, it's like very slowly all this shit is starting to make sense. I always wondered when driving through the local suburbs "what have they done to deserve such white snow?" Maybe it is all about the bomb birthday party, and the size of your chocolate bar, so I didn't have the money for a sizeable chocolate bar, but I did throw a relatively enjoyable birthday party, in my *very first bedroom* that I still ironically have to share with Birdman(move out of your mom's house, bison). There were 10 stoners packed into an 8'/12' room, and we played the Camel Toe song by Fanny Pack, and the song i downloaded while looking for the real Camel Toe, played to the tune of the Beach Boys Kokomoe (sp?)...

some stoner quotes:

"Shake the Meatballs"-Angelator
"(rather jubilantly) Everyone needs to go online and sign up to be my friend"
--Angelator

Okay, so maybe you had to be there for both of those, but, most of the people

(most of the people, bison?)

okay all of the people that read this were there, so...

Oh, and I figured out why I haven't been writing anything good... I don't have glasses! So, today, I went out and promptly purchased a pair of real writer looking glasses, so at least if never sell a poem in my life, I can always pose for some pictures at my desk for those plastic surgeon catalouges...

it's okay, i can do this...

Jonathan Brandis killed himself on November 11, 2003, I still can't get over this shit...

Other things I never got over:

4. my mother painting my bedroom purple and teal when i was 10
3. growing out of my rollerblades when I was 12
2. the Sabres "losing" the Stanley Cup when I was 15
1. finding out John Lennon was dead and I couldn't marry him...

Today I heard Instant Karma for the first time in a while, but I'm not going to mention what today is. Yoko wanted everyone to celebrate his birthday and his life, and what he did for us. If I didn't have John Lennon in my life at a crucial time, I would not be here right now, I would have succomb to everything that I am not, and I know I had to say something about him today, other than what everyone is talking about, and I thank you for that, john, at the least.

My mom and sister and dog have all been sick this week, throwing up and being really miserable, and I've been sleeping at Birdman's house a lot lately, so much so that his mom offered to buy me Lactaid milk while they were grocery shopping. I don't know why I don't feel comfortable in their house yet, I agreed to begin sleeping there because I didn't feel like cleaning my house and it was starting to smell really bad, and secondly because I didn't want to feel like the dragonlady because he was over my house every night, and they're a cell phone family and every ten seconds one of them would be calling him up like "Penny ate a plate of brownies what should we do!" or "the computer is making a weird noise, i don't know what to do" or "there are sticks in the yard and we can't mow the grass, we don't know what to do!" or "the garbage can fell, we don't know what to do!", which were really just desperate attempts to get him to spend more than five minutes in his house, other than to get his papers or lighter or KY. So, I thought to myself, it won't be that bad, he has a nice computer and there's lots of food, and I'll just stay out of his family's way and they can talk to him whenever they want in person, and he has a real bed and not a couch and i'll be fine.

So, a week ago, his mother has this heart to heart discussion with him, quite suprisingly not over the phone about my "behavior" at the house. Apparently i'm not talking to her enough, like I should make a plate of fresh baked cookies with the butter she bought and bring those and some cocoa into the living room and watch third watch tapes with her, and then maybe she could teach me how to play the flute.

I've never been good with talking to people, I just don't see the need to push a conversation that isn't there unless it involves money or sex. Maybe i'm a bad person for avoiding them on every possible occasion, especially his father because they have a lot of junk food, and I poop a lot in their house, and the only time I actually even see his dad, is the like, three times i've been in their fridge without birdman in sight, or i'm walking out of the bathroom after i've taken a hearty shit.

So Birdman tells this to me, and now I feel bad, so I actually waved at his mother while I was walking down the stairs, which is a really awkward way of greeting your boyfriend's mother when you're 4 feet away from her in her own house. So she gives me this look, like "why are you waving at me", so i put my hand down really quickly and ran down the stairs and into the car.

Apparently, after a long day of browsing the internet and taking several official medical surveys, I have realized that I have a condition known as "social anxiety disorder". For so long, I wondered why I couldn't go to a crowded bar or talk to anyone that didn't look like one of my family members, I always thought I was a genius, but I guess this is not the case...

December 05, 2003

The best birthday present i've ever gotten! woo-hoo, thank you Birdman!

The stoners want helter skelter by july, i'll be lucky if my fingers don't bleed off tonight....

December 03, 2003

Today I had a lot of shit to do.

Today was my shit day, the day I set out every couple of weeks, where I wake up and make breakfast and get up early and do shit. So, I went to work, grabbed my tips and headed to the post office to begin the shit day.

I had to mail some coffee to Averie, because she is going to be famous, but having been to the post office a total of about 2 1/2 times in my life, all of which before the age of reason, i had no fuckity clue what I was doing. I stood in line with Birdman and all these pounds of coffee, all clueless and sober, and then I started looking around (my dog just farted on my lap) and everyone else had packages that were seriously wrapped in serious tape and serious boxes. I'm usually not like anyone else, I like to be moderately different, enough to not get my ass bitch slapped down the subway stairs ,but enough to where I could be asked by a sales associate at Kaufmann's if I needed any help. So, you could imagine my non chalant attitude towards what everyone else was doing at the time, I mean, when in the history of the world has the common populus been right about something? I get up to the counter and say "Hello, i need to mail these pounds of coffee", and the woman, visibly frazzled from the busy morning she must have had said "I need a new job (pausing) you need to go over THERE, and package your item BEFORE you come to me" or something to that devastating effect, and it was then that I realized the massive fucking sign from the postmaster (who i could just see, sitting there with a quill and two large black poodles standing stoicly on either side of his red velvet chair in a room filled with fancy packages with giant yellow bows on them, writing this such masterpiece of a customer service request) that politely asked us to have our mail "marked and packaged appropriately" before we got into the line. So, fuck my baby sister, I was wrong afterall. I eventually figured out the whole mess, and headed to the Apple store to get my laptop fixed.

I don't know if you're legally allowed to say "Minga" unless you're over 40 or in the Mafia, but this was the word of choice for Gary the computer tech. at the apple store in the galleria after having first seen the condition of my keyboard, that is clotted with food and weed, and my power adaptor that's been fecally attacked by two small dogs, and stomped on by many a stoner since it's inception into our household. All I could think to myself was, If there's was ever a hell existing such as a Starbucks repair shop, where if drinks weren't prepared properly, or not to the customers satisfaction (there really is a difference, people put on their "motherfucking retard hat" when they leave the house and they have a spare one in their SUV's if they happen to forget it while giving their children their daily pound of candy before they leave the house to come to our store) they could take it back to us to fix, I might not be suprised to see, say, damaged drinks, so why on earth would gary the computer tech at apple treat me like I was supposed to be bringing in some fresh baked brownies and a greeting card and a LISA in perfect condition for him to jerk off to? So, two hours later, my power adaptor and new keyboard and tech job is covered under my insurance.

I go home to find my new puppy has pissed and shit all over the house. My boyfriend calls just minutes later to inform me i will be reporting to work at 7am instead of 2pm, and my washer is broken so I'll be going there stinky and tired with a smile.

This is my shit day, and It hasn't ended in 19 years, and I don't expect it to slow down any time soon...

December 02, 2003

Yet that monumental idiot, Peter Jackson, in his arrogance, has seen fit to completely ignore MY advice and put to screen one of the most halfwitted interpretations of Tolkien's works so far seen. The whole fabric of Middle-Earth is destroyed by this act of callous ignorance.


whoa...