oh jesus

i just signed up for a 7 day juice fast and cleanse. i'm tripping just slightly after hearing about the things that come out of people during this thing. for example live parasites and crayons. yes, i said live parasites that could be seen moving in the toilet and crayons that people swallowed as children. good lord. i'll keep you posted.

oh and colonics are involved. they good news is that they offer private colonic rooms where you manage things yourself. there's no way i'm letting a stranger put a hose up my ass. the bad news is that there's still going to be a hose up my ass.

damn. let the healing begin.

thank god for the Three Revision Or We Charge You Extra policy

Dear Clients,

i know it seems crazy, but the best way to get a product designed exactly the way you want it is to GIVE SPECIFIC FEEDBACK.

some examples of non-helpful non-specific feedback are:

"we had a meeting and everyone agreed that the snowflakes should be more, i don't know, snowflakey?"

and

"this is close but it needs something, like, different. i can't put my finger on it."

and

"we want skulls, punk rock, young, sexy, modern, edgy." so you deliver these things and get "this is great but we don't want skulls in it. and it's too young. and we want edgy - like this - but not so edgy and young."

OH THANKS YOU ARE SO HELPFUL. i'll just continue to stab around in the dark until i hit something you can put your finger on.

and i've been on hold with adobe for 40 fucking minutes and this is really eating into my minutes.

and nice laundry pile.

*update* thanks to highwaisted the badass bitch for this video! fucking EXACTLY:

sadly missing mexico. missing the sun the beach the tequila the open air outside bathroom big enough to actually move around in. goodbye brown skin, hello winter coat. tear.

ELB

my ex is buying the car from me. i bought it for him because he was too pussy to work in NYC and he needed it to drive around jersey to his job. don't ask me why he was too intimidated to work as a assistant manager in a major restaurant chain in nyc. he was afraid of everything, including teeth brushing, sobriety, paying bills, telling the truth, and new york city.

anyway, now i'm going through the painful process of selling the car to him. actually, to his father, since his credit is too bad to even GET A FUCKING LOAN FOR A CAR. sorry for yelling. but what a fucking loser. what was i thinking?


he tells me he can't afford to help me pay the bills he walked away from (electricity, gas, insurance, amex, visa...literally thousands of dollars.) and that he "shouldn't have to" pay for that stuff (read: i'm a spoiled, selfish, Entitled Little Bitch who has never had to take care of a single responsibility in my entire life including a 7 year old illegitimate child oops did i say that out loud please god if you exist let his mother read this) yet didn't get any of the paperwork to his father's credit union in time for the payoff quote to still be active because he was on vacation in mexico. ON VACATION IN MEXICO. but too poor to pay for a single dollar of the thousands he walked away from. and this is not his only recent vacation - he also went to Germany a few months ago. you know, just a little trip around germany, no big deal. it certainly doesn't take any extra money to take a fucking trip to germany.

how the fuck are you going to tell me you can't afford to pay for shit but then tell me i have to send new paperwork for the car buyout because you missed the deadline due to A VACATION IN MEXICO?

jesus fuck am i pissed. fuck you, ELB.

that is all.


i hope the adorable sea turtle photos from happier days helped take the edge off the bitching. i'll post more later. sorry for losing my temper but it's either this or i go stanley kubrick style on this motherfucker.

dear mexican car rental company,

i knew you would probably try to rip me off. you are a mexican car rental company, after all. it's in your nature. but when the check engine light came on today and we jacked the car up to look at the undercarriage, i certainly didn't expect to see a ghetto patchwork of epoxy and plasticina holding the transmission case and oil pan together. i also didn't expect to see that the front tire was about to blow out at any moment due to it being completely bald with metal threads fraying from around a forming giant hole.

you could say i'm a little disappointed in you. i was hoping, at the very least, that i would get a car that was safe to drive and you'd try to rip me off by saying that i fucked it up somehow. instead, i got a fucking patchwork deathtrap that i now have to pay to exchange.

get ready for the AMEX and USAA battle of your lifetime, dear mexican alamo car rental company.

best wishes,

la dick

good lord mexico, i love you.

first day i've washed my hair since we got here. in the US that = DIRTOCHIO. in mexico, it just means that i had a vicious italiafro with the added excitement of dreadlocks. hair washing is highly overrated anyway and i only do it about once every four or five days as it is.

aaahhahahahahghghghgh i just ran outside JUST NOW because people were yelling and there was a pod of massive adorable dolphins frolicking in the ocean outside the house. so amazing. no words.


i'm feeling a little sad and weak today. last night we went for dinner at the yoga retreat up the street. it's basically a tripped out wonderland of beautiful young ex-pats high on mota at a five star resort. they have an american bulldog puppy named Bodhi (of COURSE they do) and little paths and bridges and palm tree islands all lit up leading out to a deck overlooking the ocean where they were playing Walk the Line with spanish subtitles. Idyllic much?

i had raw coconut pad thai which was off the hook but at 230 pesos it was a little more than the 40 peso tacos we usually get from Jannet up the street. (ya-neh).

walk the line made me sad. i cried during part, not sure which part or why i was crying, really. i don't cry usually. i could decide if i was pissed at walk the line or jealous of june and johnny's story or what the deal was, but when you are sitting at a gorgeous ocean retreat watching a movie overlooking the ocean, you should probably have a good reason to be crying.

being in love with an addict was a little glorified in walk the line. (of course it was.) it is not glorious. it is not heartwrenchingly beautiful. it is disgusting, horrible, sickening, annoying. love does not conquer all. being in love with an addict is cleaning puke off the walls on a tuesday afternoon and being the scapegoat for everything that is wrong. it's being a mother to a grown man you are also supposed to have sex with which makes your love life either 0% happening or totally incestuous. addicts by definition are narcissistic and needy, and loving one is exhausting because they often have no love for themselves. or at least no self respect. (and i'm speaking from my personal experience, not making generalizations.)


but at the same time, there is something so desirable about the doglike loyalty of june and johnny. it makes me LONG for that kind of love and also makes me scared that i'm too independent to actually give it - or, even harder, receive it. i don't like to depend on my partner. i don't like my man to need me. it makes me feel smothered and annoyed and i start to pull away. love doesn't have to equal NEED, does it? i always feel that once i get past a certain level of closeness with a dude, i stop desiring to be around him. it turns out that my favorite part of a relationship is when i am independently being me, and the lover is independently being him, and there's still some distance between us. once we become a "unit" and begin operating together, i freak out. i don't like it. and time and time again i forget how much i dislike it, and end up getting close to someone, hurting them, and breaking free to run away and feel like myself again.


in other news, this week i have seen dolphins jumping out of the ocean, driven through a tarantula covered guava plantation to get around a fallen powerline in the road which won't be fixed until the mexican government can get some dudes out to fix it (will be never), taken a horseback ride on the beach and conquered my fear of horses, surfed at La Salidita and got totally humbled by the gorgeous ocean, seen sea turtle nests and eggs, rescued approximately 47 crabs from the pool, and eaten more tacos than in all my life put together. this evening i will do "restorative yoga" (it's "really chill, so awesome" says CJ, the gorgeous yoga instructor with the puppy) on a wooden platform overlooking the beach. not so bad.

and mexican salt is fantastic.

the end.

i'm in troncones bitch

mexico is fucking great. we are in a tiny village with no tourists and my view from the bedroom is a vast expanse of crashing green pacific waves. the atlantic can STEP. brown cold waves, jersey douchbags, and creepy jelly fish? no me gusto.

also, i should have told you all to buy stock in hornitos before i left. dear lord, send me to rehab.

travel necessities. missing: xanax, stephen marley, and method man.

recording the important details of the flight. captain's log, stardate cheeziest joke attempt ever.

airport underwear. fucking gross. dudes respond to gross marketing i guess.

i recorded a video for ya'll but the connection here is so slow that i will be back in the states before it finishes uploading. we are off to buy more tequila, i'll be back later to upload the greatest drunken ninja photo shoot of all time. hasta luego, vaqueros.

xx

stand up and rise

so i just hooked up the mobile blogging on my blackberry so i could make my bitchy comments and social commentaries on the go, but for some reason none of the drunken posts i emailed to blogger last night actually appeared on the blog. which is probably a good thing since most of them were things like "you know times is tough when you are begging for some T-Pain."

a warning.

ladies: if you are having a shower and halfway through you run out of your normal dr. bronners baby soap but still need to wash parts of your body including most importantly your vajay, do not substitute your Jason Organics Tea Tree Oil shampoo and think everything will be okay because soap and shampoo are basically the same thing. they are not the same thing. Fire Crotch no longer just means Lindsay Lohan.

biggie smalls is the illest

don't fuck with biggie when a rotten apple he found outside is involved.

this gave me the major sads

the goddess is a woman...
any woman...
every woman.

Dating Montage
Uploaded by smithy00101. - Arts and animation videos.

no fatties.

fire breathing dragons

the quote possibilites are so endless i don't even know where to start.

fucking DUH

(click picture to see larger methface)

dear adderall,

you are a super fun thing to do once in a while since alcohol is boring, coke is pointless and frustrating, and xanax is for sleepytime and hangovers, but you seriously fucked up lindsay's face. she used to be pretty hot, but the meth grimace is getting old. please break up with her.

your faithful once-in-a-great-while-partaker,

la dick

have you seen this site? fucking hilarious.
http://emailsfromcrazypeople.com/

also, it's gingerbread latte season and i'm all over it.

lately i have been in this weird, completely out of characteristic girly mode where i can't concentrate on work because i'm too busy searching kandee johnson youtube videos on teeth whitening and watching lady gaga videos. i added a justin timberlake station to my pandora. (i KNOW. but honestly, timbaland does all his beats, so how can you NOT be down?) and about lady gaga...i just can't help it, i like her. i was super surprised to hear her speak for the first time. i thought for sure she would be a brit. america just doesn't turn out characters like her. and have you seen photos of her before she was a crazy blond characature? just not the same. she's just like every other tanned italian bitch. but add some structured platinum hair, hook up the nose job, and remove the pants forever, and you have a lovable pop star creature. awesome. and yes, i know lady gaga is i tired and worn out subject.

hot:

but not the same as:


jesus, who am i? lady gaga is so last season yet here i am typing away about her.

also, coming soon, my "adventures in Methland" post. just call me The Cleaner.