Monday Bear

So we know I don’t ever like to bitch, but I have a serious problem with girls who work at Sonic.  (No offense, Holly or Matt’s cute friend Naomi.)  They are conniving, tricky bitches.  Let me explain.  This has all happened to us at at least one point in our lives:

You and a friend order some drinks and onion rings on a sweltering summer afternoon.  A girl in khaki shorts and a dumb visor carrying a tray walk close to you, but no luck.
Another one.  You examine the contents of the tray:  2 drinks and a box in a bag.  She walks past you.
Another one:  2 drinks and a box in a bag.  She walks toward your car.  She then looks at the receipt only to realize that she was walking the wrong way.
Another one: 2 drinks and a box in a bag.  You look at her and her tray with wild fried onion- craving eyes.  She looks back at you.  Your eyes meet.  It’s like you’re spiritually making love to this angel in the ponytail who is bringing you your nourishment.  Instant chemistry.  She keeps walking and gives your order to the middle aged guy in the red Camaro.
What a bitch.  She knew what she was doing the whole time.  She just wanted to toy with you.
Another one:  1 really big ass drink and 3 boxes in 3 bags.  She comes to your car.  It’s the wrong order, but you don’t fucking care.  You’ll never talk to another teenage girl wearing roller skates as long as you live. (more…)

So I haven’t gotten much sleep in the past few days. This should make for a nice delusional blogging experience.

howdah n A seat or covered pavilion on the back of an elephant or camel.

I’ve got to get me one of those. (more…)

So I have no views so far today. I hate you assholes.

And just to clear a few things up: The last blog, the Matt cheating on me with Holly one, it was fake. Matt thought it would be funny to see who would try to “move in.” Not in a crazy possessive boyfriend way, but more like a “hahaha, she’s mine you cant have her” kind of way.

Here are some bad/ unfortunate things that happened: (more…)

So lets just get this part out of the way. I don’t think I’m fat, and I’m no longer anorexic (Hell, did you see everything I ate last night?). However, it still sucks like mad when someone says something about my weight/ appearance repeatedly.
Every Sunday that we attend church, my mum says something about my clothes being too tight, looking pregnant, etc. I’m serious, every Sunday, every freaking Sunday, I change clothes at least once to please my mother. (The same mother, mind you, who called 8th grade 75 pound Liz a lardass. Thanks, mom.) So this morning, I had on this fabulous black dress that comes slightly above the knee. We were running about 5 minutes late (I had been dressed for fifteen minutes), and on the front porch, as we were leaving the house, she said, “You aren’t wearing a slip.” I ignored that. We are at the car. She looks at me with disgust.
“Liz…”
“What, spit it out. What’s wrong with my outfit.”
“Your dress is entirely too small for you. It’s riding up over your butt and makes you look horrible.”
“You know what? Fuck this. We’re already late. I’m not going. Leave without me.”
Childish? Yes. But one thing that Matt has taught me is that sometimes the whole, “I’m not going to stoop down to his/ her level” thing doesn’t work. Like with children. Like with Susan.

But on with the blogging. Steve.  Crazy old pansy boy Steve. I have at least 2 Steve bloggings about which to blog. These are the things to which I say, “I’m so blogging that.” Or in Steve’s case, “Are you so blogging that?”

So Steve and Holly were in a crowded mall, picking up his tux. He was telling her about how he lived with this guy in Alabama. “We bought those cheap ugly Wal Mart paintings of boats and lighthouses and things, you know, to make up feel manly.” Holly made fun of him for a wee bit, and Steve interjected, “What? It made us feel manly to have seamen all over the walls!”Everyone turned and looked. And laughed.
Bahaha! (That’s a Davo laugh.)
About this time last year, when I was recording with Shades of Reality (bahaha!) No, no, that was in February, because it was right after Metrofest. Anywho, they were making fun of me/ Davo, because apparently Davo was supposed to be some sort of stalker? (They were probably just jealous of his skillz. And the fact that he was handcuffed to me.) But anywho, they wrote “I < 3 David Waddell” on my hand. I thought that was funny.

Ugh. That reminded me of Kevin. He’s so gross. Not only is he an asshole, but he’s fat, too. And he called me fat. A fatass called me fat. Fatty.

So anywho, back to Steve. We ate at Patti’s last night, and of course, you know how those types of restaurants are, they have little giftshops in which to look around whilst you wait. And you know as well they most of those have Yankee candles and the like. Welp, this place had Yankee candles and soy candles. They also had those little soy beads. Steve grabs a box of soy beads, comes over toward me and says, “Hey Liz, you’re indie… what are these for?”

hahahha.Oh, that Steve.

I lost two pounds today. Go team Liz go.

There was a huge cock on the wall of Pattis. It kept staring at me while I was eating. Kind of like our waiter, Weezie. Our Ouisie. I didn’t axe. I didn’t really care. All that matters was that he liked my cleavage and took six cents off of our bill. I’m his little camel.
Toe.
Oh yeah, and he imagined Steve naked all night long. Mhm. Steve the milk man. Steve would be a milk man, but dammit, he just doesn’t want kids.

Today in the middle of my blog, Holly calls me and asks me to hang out with her and Steve. I was defuckinglighted. They make me so happy. They are so in love. They remind me of myself and Matt. They understand us and won’t judge us. You know how nice that is? Really nice.

Holly and Steve will never be at that point in their relationship where they can poop in front of each other, though. (Here come the poopin’, here come the poopin’.)� That’s sad. They just said it’s not gonna happen.

Let me talk about Holly’s mom’s bathroom for a minute.
The first thing I noticed was that it’s really big. No one fat lives in Holly’s house.
Have you ever noticed how fat people have small bathrooms? Why is that? Can you imagine a fat person taking a shower in Matt’s shower? I could hardly fit in there. I hit my ass against the wall several times. That makes for good leg shaving, though. However, it makes for horrible “bikini area” shaving, hence the whole Cactus vs. Penis, Lvl. 2 deal.
But I digress:
The next thing I noticed was that they had about 7 shower puffs in the shower. Only three females of shower puff- using age live there. I do realize that it is the 21st century, and many males use shower puffs, but Jimmy doesn’t seem like the shower puff- usin’ kind of guy. He seems like the spit- on- his- crotch- and- call- it- clean kind of guy. Mhm.
I asked why they had so many, and Holly really didn’t know, but all hell breaks loose when someone uses the wrong one.
“When I used to come visit back in our early dating days, I would just go through them one at a time.”
- Steve
He really didn’t.
I just can’t watch films with Jake Gyllenhaadsafhjka;.l;lll in them anymore. Damn you, three chord Vaughn, damn you to hell.
What kind of a name is Vaughn anyway? Six letters, one syllable. WTF, mate?

So Erick is growing up. He’s being a good brother. Not only is he coming to my performances, but he also asks if Matt is being good to me. And and and, he won’t take me to get a tattoo for my graduation present. Isn’t that sweet? He finally cares about me. I love him.

“I saw this in a porno one time…”

Mom and I just need some time apart. We’re going crazy.

Crazy like Holly’s tornado- humpin’ pug.� Just imagine me spinning whilst humping in Holly’s mom’s kitchen.
“You’re going to blog this, aren’t you?”
- Steve

So in conclusion, Jade looked incredibly hot last night, and my boyfriend is indeed not a porn star.� Remember when he was “MTSU boy”?

So why does the Prince (Erick) want Cinderella (Liz) and not the Stepsister (Michele)?

“Because she gives a good blog.”
- Michele
“She doesn’t have a gag reflex.”
- Erik

You know what’s really embarrassing? When you get hurt, and you want to whine, but everybody’s laughing. So you have to laugh, too. “Oh yeah, my eye’s bleeding! That’s funny! Ha! Yeah… yeah, I’m okay! Psht… just a little sharkbite. That never hurt anybody.”
What’s almost as bad is when you get hurt and everyone freaks out and stops what they’re doing. I like attention. I love attention. Everyone knows that. Just not that kind of attention. That happened to Zephyr, aka Joustin’ Jessica this weekend. She had a lovely time and got to pet a big lizard. A skank. I mean a skink.

I’d love to have some cookies right now, but gosh, I have a limited amount of time to blog. I don’t want to cheat you guys out of any good bloggin’, but I have to be finished by nine. Then mum wants to use the computer.
Ugh, I love cookies more than you guys. And by that, I mean I love cookies more than you guys love cookies. And also I love cookies more than I love you.

“Blog me, baby.”
- Matthew.

So Michael’s prom was last night. I had more fun than I anticipated. I mean before and after. The actual prom sucked, of course, but I had a GAY and merry time.
I felt kind of bad for leaving rehearsal at 1:15, but I guess in comparison, I did pretty well. The -only- reason I left that early was because Michael scheduled our photos for 3:30, and I had to take a shower and had no idea how I was going to wear muh hair. But some girls were leaving at 10 and 11 to get ready, and I’m sure their pictures were later than ours. Seriously, how long does it take to put a dress on and slap on some lipstick?

But I digress…

Our Glorified MegaVan was filled with fags and hags. And most of the fags and hags were wearing black and/ or red. We didn’t plan it. Isn’t that somethin’?
We ate at Olive Garden in Paducah. Olive Garden in Paducah is a family restaurant. I’m going to open a lonely people restaurant. No kids. No friends. Only old people and middle- aged men fresh out of divorces. There will only be tables that seat one person and one person only. If someone tries to sit two to a table, I’ll throw them out and say, “What the hell do you think this is, a family restaurant? Get the F out!” I have to use curse words. That’s the rules on a lonely people restaurant.

Oh yeah, you also can’t masturbate in Olive Garden. Not even under the table. But I can. And Sarah. Not Sarah Mahan. Married people don’t do that. They just coach each other in pooping. This is New Sarah. Or Sara. I just assumed it was Sarah. Let’s call her Sara to avoid confusion until further notice.

What kind of an idiot looks at soap? When I buy soap, I keep my eyes closed. “Irish Spring! yes!” It’s like Xmas, except without Jesus.
Caress. Dial. Lever 2000. Dove. Soft Soap. Zest.

Equate, for us poor folk.

We now have brand name peanut butter. All because of Matthew. Peter Pan. And you know what?

IT SUCKS.

Michael is a motorboatin’ son of a bitch.
“Hey Liz… I’m gay, too…”
- Tony

Just for clarification, that time that he told me he’s never seen boobies, he was joking. I was for sure he was serious. He’s a good actor. Or LIAR.

I’m so VAIN. VAIN VAIN VAIN. Vanity. Vanity is bullshit. So is variety.

Liz: Because variety is the fucking spice of life.
Sara: Bullshit.
Liz and Sara: Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Variety is bullshit. bullshit. bullshit. Variety? Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. BFF. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
That’s every rap song.

Oh yeah, speaking of, I was introduced to new music last night. I had heard -of- the Laughy Taffy song. But I had never actually heard it. I finally did. Finally, after Tony made it happen. And you know what? It’s dirty.
My very favourite one was this one:

Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Rockin’ everywhere. Rockin’ everywhere.

That song means alot to me. I want it played at my funeral. My funeral party with a DJ and Cheetos. We’ve already blogged about this. I’m just reminding you.

Girl, I wanna get all up in yo’ crevices.

Afterward, we went to Huddle House where they have Icelandic Fish Sammidges, and *cough* Two Fisted Sandwiches. You have to use… both fists…

I’m just gonna walk away from that one.

Jared came by. I miss him. He’s been going through alot of. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. lately, and he says my blogs have helped him. Man, I really must give a good blog.

But I really am proud of you, Jared. My little Avant Garde cat.

Something that bothers me: Stoner Mike across the street and down two houses has said several things about me. Has he ever said anything to me? Ever? No. He even came to CATS. (A stoner came to CATS. How appropriate.)
So back to Promage. That’s like Fromage, except with a P.
Afterward, Sara and I went streaking in the Teenage Rebellion area. I just gave it that name a few hours ago. I call it the teenage rebellion area, because that’s where both tagging and streaking have occurred for me. Maybe if I ever decide to do drugs, I’ll do it there. As long as I’m still a teenager.
It’s that area between the railroad track and Cafe’ on Main… you know, the cornerish of Main St. and First St.
But now I can’t streak there anymore, because it’s on myspace. Next time, there will be a stalker/ rapist/ killer waiting for me, and I’ll get to be on the news like all those other girls.

Then I went home.

Today I had rehearsal, and I got a great moneyshot of both Michele and Delinda. I was very highly pleased with Michele’s musicality. You’re just like a real ballerina. Except better. You have multiple legwarmer.s.

Then I went to Bobbie’s. It used to be Billie, Bobbie, and Jamie’s way back in the day. Jamie was my hero when I was a young Liz. You know how every little girl has her teenage girl who she looks up to and wanted to be just like. Jamie was mine. She had big boobs and let me wear her makeup. Oh, and she was a cheerleader.
But we went over there, because Jamie is in from Cali. We caught up on alot of stuff, and funtimes were had. Lisa, the cat with no tail, is still kickin’. She’s almost as old as I am. And that’s old.

The other day, my brother Erick was over here and he was looking at my pictures on my dresser. He picked up my prom group picture from last year, the one with just girls in it, and he said, “Man, look at all those boobies.”
Ha.

Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere.

It’s 9:15 now, but mum hasn’t come in here to make me stop muh bloggin’.

Dammit, Linda.

So I was thinking: Short names are good when it comes to spelling and casual conversation, but long names are better for meaningful or formal conversation because they’re prettier. That’s why it’s good to have a “Duel Name,” as I just started calling it, just now when I typed that, such as Elizabeth, Matthew, Daniel, Ezekiel, Rebekah, Michael, or Richard. But especially Richard.

So in conclusion, I’m three inches smaller than I was this time last year, according to Sacchi. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s Sacchi.

So yesterday, I hung out with Zephyr in Jackson. This was the only Good Friday that I hung out with her in Jackson that I -didn’t- have a wreck.
We went to Gunther Tootie’s a ’50’s diner where they have cool uniforms and funny potties. Now tell me this:

What’swith the little hump/lump/indention on the back of the seat? I don’t understand.
However, that photograph was taken immediately after I peed there… and flushed.
But please please, tell me… what’s with the hump?

Liz: Trixie’s been humping things lately.
Zephyr: Jackin’ off.

Then we read dirty novels aloud at BooksaMillion.
That was fun. Check out the title of thisun:

That’s right… “I Thirst For You.” It was right next to a book called “I Hunger For You.”
They were by the same author, of course. In the same series, no doubt. They were about vampires, but I didn’t know that until I got to the part where
“he drew his fangs upon her erect nipple, taking it into his mouth and suckling.” Here’s a selection:

Can you believe it said “cock”? Yeah, it said cock. It wasn’t a pornographic novel, just a “Romance” novel.
I read romance novels like crazy when I was thirteen, and never once did I -come- across one that said “cock”.

Garlic: It hurts so good.

Hey, that’s kind of like my acidic cavity. It burns so good.

Oh, and just for kicks:

Beaver… *teeheehee*

So we were in the bathroom at the Jackson mall, and it was disgusting.
Jackson is a dirty dirty place. Not as dirty as Hickman, KY. Jelly. Not as pretty as Nashville.
Anywho, as I was tinkling, I looked down and saw a withered frenchfry.

Then some large women came in, and Zephyr and I stayed in there for a bit to listen to their conversation.
One informed the rest that she was “strugglin’.” We left then, to avoid laughing too loudly and embarrassing them.
Everybody struggles sometimes. Except me. I’m like lightnin’, baby. Like when I poop.
It seriously takes me a minute or less to poop. I’m a fast pooper. Most of the time, I pee longer than I poop.
It’s crazy. So I can poop at anyone’s house and they won’t know it. I probably have pooped at your house, because I poop twice a day.
Sometimes thrice; it depends on what I’ve eaten.

Matt’s a fast pooper, too. That’s why we fell in love.
That’s the only reason. I think he said something about writing a book about our fast pooping relationship.
Like, everything in our relationship will be based on pooping quickly in this book.
Quick poopin’ skills. We can go to dinner parties and poop together, and nobody would know.
They would probably think we left for a quickie. But no, quite the opposite.
No, the opposite of a quickie is a longie.
When I say quickie, I mean it in the sexual way. Not in the poopin’ way.
But no, we’d actually be going to poop.
Then when we came back 2- 3 minutes later (depends on the size of the house), they would be like,
“Oh, they didn’t have sex, they just peed or had a short talk.” But little did they know, we pooped.
We probably had a short talk, too. Depends on how close the toilets were to each other.
I think married people’s bathrooms should have 2 toilets in them.
Because isn’t it a special thing when two people are pooping at the same time?
Especially when they’re phone poopin’.
“Hey guess what I’m doing?”
“Masturbating?”
“No! I’m pooping!”
“OMG, Me too!”
“OMG! This is crazy!”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Little Bear.”

Just for the record, Little Bear is what Steve calls Holly. Gah, my friends are so weird.

…

But when I went to Matt’s house, I pooped like, 4 times.
And I think when he was over here I only pooped a couple times. I was nervous the first time he was over here.
It’s just hard for some people to poop away from home. I guess 4 times poopin’ in one week is pretty healthy.
My mom would kill to poop 4 times in one week. Sometimes when I go somewhere, I poop more than usual.
Like when I stay with Aunt Reenie in Omaha, I poop alot. Not alot of poop, just more often.

I think I’m finished talking about poopin’.

Oh, no I’m not. I meant to put this up where I was talking about Matthew’s poopin’ habits.
Once, before we were dating, we were talking online, and he said, “I’m going to the bathroom and I’m going to take you with me.”
When he said “going to the bathroom,” I didn’t know if he meant relieving himself or just oging to do other bathroom activities.
And if he meant relieving himself, was he pooping or peeing? But then I found out he was pooping,
because he said that the computer was too hot and it was burning his legs.
Then he said, “okay, I’m back,” and that’s how I found out he was a fast pooper, too.
That’s when I knew I loved him.

Not really, but wouldn’t that be a good falling in love story?
I won’t tell the real story to you folks in blogform… it will take away from my hxc image, don’t you think?

But that is when we decided to write the pooping romance book.
Get it, but, butt?

Bird?

You can’t hide ordinary.

So tonight I hung out with Jade. We had sex.

And by sex, I mean conversation and cake.

I wrote on her wall with a permenant marker. She invited me to. This is what I wrote:

That’s an inside joke between me and Jade. You don’t get it. But I bet you still think it’s funny.

All of my friends are so much hotter than I am. I mean most of my friends.
Jade and Zephyr are. Holly is. Probably more are.

Jade made me a dress out of crepe paper. Next weekend, we’re going to make each other dresses out of crepe paper and wear them out on the town.
To Applebee’s. That’s where The Ross works.

We played with green “Travel PlayDough.” It doesn’t stick. She made and elephant.
I made a penis. Naturally.

I started to make an uncircumcised one, because it would be funny, but it was too -hard-, because I’ve never seen one in real life.
On an adult. I’ve seen plenty on babies. Usually one per baby. Usually on the boys though.

Are you a character from a romantic poem?

Somehow the other night, Matt thought that I said something about if we have children,
I wouldn’t want the boys to be circumcised. That’s crazy. I would never say that.
Like I said, I’ve never seen an uncircumcised peepee on a big boy, but the pictures scared me.
They kind of look like egg rolls. Except gross.
So now whenever I eat egg rolls, I think about uncircumcised peepees. I usually just think about the circumcised ones.
One. Just not when I’m eating Chinese. Except that time I ate Chinese with Matt on Steve’s couchbedcouch.

When my friends and I get together, we lick things. They’re usually sexual. Like the above beaver.

When I finished playing with my Play Dough penis, I threw it at Jade. She then bit part of it off.
I would post that picture, but I’m afraid it is too graphic. So I’ll post this one instead:

Remember when the boys used to do stuff like this in the 5th grade? Yeah.

While we’re on the subject, Hog had sex. With her boyfriend.

But then we went downstairs and ate a cake right off the platter. With forks.
We fed each other. It was romantic. Then she shoved a banana in my mouth.
Then we found this stuff that her mom bought, and we found it hilarious:

Bunny Corn! Isn’t it funny? It’s alot funnier when you say it like someone from Rutherford, TN.
“Bunneh Coan.” It sounds like what people would call rabbit poop. We threw some on the floor.
“Look at all that bunneh coan on the flo’. Looks like some bunnehs been through here.”
“Hey daddeh! Daddeh! You wont some bunneh coan?”
(Notice the price on the bag) “What’s the price uh this coan?”

I love this picture. She has Bunny Corn at her nipples… but you can’t see it, so it just looks like she’s tweaking them.
She has to tweak her own nipples. She doesn’t have her own private nipple tweaker like I do…
: )

So the funniest thing happened at the grocery store. I was buying things to make cookies,
and I saw a girl and her mom in line in front of me. This girl was about 12 or 13, and she was dressed like a slut.
Short shorts, lots of makeup. This caught my attention, because when I was that age, I was the same way.
Kind of like that girl in CATS. To go to the grocery store. I noticed that her mom had a box of Monistat.
No big deal. Most women will have a yeast infection at some point in her life… it could have been the mom,
it could have been the daughter. But I just found it funny that the only two items they were buying were cheese and Monistat.
Cheese. And Monistat. That’s funny in itself. But like any preteen girl would be
, the daughter was mortified that her mom was buying this, especially with the young blonde cashier, Lance.
Lance used to stalk Jessica Jones, by the way. So the daughter made the mom buy the Monistat
and walk out of the store before the girl bought the cheese seperately and walked out of the store.
I found this hilarious, because I would have done the same thing at that age.
When I worked at Jillian’s, before I got FIRED, I bought Jill a pregnancy test at that same grocery store.
That’s pretty f’ed up if you axe me, but I wasn’t embarrassed. Bradley Hutchinson helped me find it.
That was a hoot. I just thought it was funny that out of all those women who worked there,
they make the seventeen year old high school girl get it.

I wish when Holly Tittle fired me, she would have done the Donald Trump thing and said,
“You’re Fired!” instead of crossing her arms and saying, “I just think it’s best that you are no longer employed here.”
Then I would have laughed instead of cried. Well, I still would have cried, just not as much.
And I would have laughed while crying. Like Jessica Jones.

But just for the record, while we’re talking about yeast infections
(a couple paragraphs ago), this is NOT the correct way to get rid of a yeast infection:

That’s Jade’s dad’s pellet gun. That’s my vag. ina. Dan.

I just wrote Dan’s name there, because he doesn’t like it when I say “vag.” Neither does Alley Jo,
but the reason I wrote Dan’s name was because when I write a new blog, he does Ctrl F and types in his name.
If it doesn’t come up, he only reads the first paragraph or two of the blog. Or so he says.
But seriously, who could resist my bloggy deliciousness?

So in conclusion, Leah useta be bad, ’til her mama done be knowin’ what she been doin’.
Now she good.

Whatever you do, -DO NOT- smell the crotch of Michele’s unitard.  Her name is spelled with one L.  And an E.  It’s like Micheal, but feminine.  Welp… he… you know.

Papa just called me.  I talked to him for almost an hour the other day when Matt was here.  He cracks me up:

“Georgia might be coming down here in a couple weeks… or she says so.  You can never trust them mountain people.  They always lie to you.”

I almost died within the past few days.  You ladies should know how this is.  It isn’t really menstrual, but just femanine.  You have a bad couple days and then something itty bitty happens, and BAM.  You FREAK THE FUCK OUT.  That’s what I did.  I’m talking crying, shaking, bitching, etc.  “I need to be sedated!  Somebody fucking sedate me!  Now!”  (please, no cheesey Ramones jokes here.  Save them for when I get my teenage labotomy).  I needed drugs.  All I had was a sedative that was prescribed to me about a year ago, so I took three.  I didn’t feel much better.

And Caitlin, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.  I just really don’t like to be touched sometimes whenever I’m freaking out.  I was thinking about that, and it would have upset me if someone did that to me.

We’re having a Monkey Mama Party at my dad’s house sometime soon to initiate Caitlin, Rachel, and Kaylie.  Other Caitlin, Sarah, and Brenda, your time will come.  We haven’t had MMFP in about 2 years.  More than that.  Closer to three.  Sure, we may have grown up a bit, but geez, can’t we still do bizarre hazing rituals to our friends?

Speaking of rituals, it’s confirmed that Steve and Holly do -not-, I repeat, do NOT do the Swahili thing.  I was wrong, you were right.

Matthew came over this weekend.  Fun times were had by all.  Especially him and me.  But also Steve, Holly, mum, etc.  Oh, and The Ross.  The Ross used to work at Olive Garden in Memphis (or Memphrica, as the “emo” boys with badly bleached hair and big butts say).  Can you believe that?  I wonder if his penis ever hit anybody in the monocle.

Matt kind of fixed my computer and he kind of fixed my potty.  He just doesn’t like noises.  I forgot to give him that cardboard.  Whoops.  He’ll have to come back and get it.  And by it, I mean cardboard.  Perverts.

When Steve gets sleepy, he becomes insanely weird.  Not cracker weird, I’m talking Liz and Holly weird.  Holly was trying to make Matt talk by saying singular words and making Matt tell a story having to do with the word.  This was going well, and Holly said, “Pickle.”  Matt began, but Steve interrupted with, “When your art attacks you… Run with it.”  We looked at him confusedly.  He continued, “You know, when you’re painting and your canvas falls on you.”  We told him to wait his turn and not to confuse the poor boy.  Matthew told a story about this kid in one of his classes snorting pickle juice, and then Steve continued with, “When your art attacks you.”  After we had a good laugh about that, he explained, “Maybe I was snorting the wrong pickle.”

Despite what Holly and Steve think, Matt does indeed like them.  They gave us something to laugh about.

Then Holly and her HUGE House Party 3 shirt.

You know, sometimes -you- talk about the same thing over and over and over.  That gets boring.  It wouldn’t be so bad if you talked about the same thing a little bit and said other things, or nothing at all even, but you talk more than you breathe, and you breathe your singular topic.  It didn’t used to be that way.

And -you-.  Give it a rest.  I’m just not interested.  You’re like an overly persistant telemarketer/ door-to-door salesperson.  I can’t stand it.  Just stop.  It won’t happen.  Especially not now.

I am really really happy.  I know, I’m always happy, but… I’m such a girl.  I can’t help it.  We’ve already had our first child.  Jethro.  You saw him in a below blog.

I apologize for not blogging lately.  It’s just that Matthew was in, and I like him more than I like blogging for you assholes.  But don’t you worry your pretty little heads… there -will- be more semi- erotic fictional short stories to come.  (Get it?)  And you’ll actually be allowed to read some of them.

By the way, Yes, I educated the younguns.  But hell, think about when you were their age.  Think about what you talked about with your friends.  Emily and I talked about that stuff in like, 7th grade.  Anywho, they didn’t judge me, and if they didn’t judge me, I -certainly- don’t expect my friends to judge me, even if they are much older than I.  Once again, you and I both know what you did when you were my age.

Sometimes having friends older than I am sucks.  I only need one set of parents.  I’m good after that, I promise.

Everyone, come to CATS.  I know T.S. Eliot was an idiot, but it’s going to kick ass.  I mean, the $15 is worth just seeing me in a unitard.

Beth fucking sucks, and everyone thinks so.  She shows up late, sometimes doesn’t even dance, and nobody says anything to her.  She’s not the fucking star.  Did you see what she did after dress rehearsal?  Yeah, real cute.  I did that in the 7th grade.  And it wasn’t after a dress rehearsal with an audience.

Did you know that grapefruit can get your pregnant?  That’s right.  It’s not just semen that carries that virus.

I would tell a really horrible joke here, but I won’t for fear of burning.  I’ll let Mark or Matthew say it.

Mrs. Dollie told me to use “rubbers”.  And yes, she meant condoms.  She’s 86.

Mrs. Macintosh told me that my grandmother was sleeping with her son- in- law.  Then she said that an RN was and called her a “two- bit- whore.”  We then put her to bed.

I feel goofy in my tummy.  That’s not pregnancy, that’s luuuuurve.

So in conclusion, those girls at the show were -sooo- last season Liz.

The bad news is that I lost it the hard way.  No, not through diet and exercise, the other hard way.  Through vomit and starvation.  No, not like 9th grade Liz.  Like sick Liz.  Holy Gah, was I sick.  I finally managed to keep down some Ramen noodles last night.  (pronounced RAYmen, you idiot.  This is ‘marica.)  I was soooo sick.  Almost as sick as I was that one time when my mum found me passed out in the bathroom.  That was funny.  Well, not at the time, we thought I was dying.  But it’s funny looking back at it.  Kind of like Viet Nam.

I had a dream that I killed a Zombie with my bare hands.

I should blog this before I forget.  This happened about 2 weeks ago, but let’s pretend this was recent:

So I was at work earlier today, and I looked really freaking hot.  I was wearing my Dom boots, and these really hot jeans.  I went to write something down on the board in the colour room, and I did some rearranging in there (okay, my jeans were kind of tight… and I bet everyone rearranges in the color room).  Suddenly, I felt a breeze.  I looked down, and, alas.  I had an inch-long rip in the crotch of my pants.  When I was getting ready, something told me I should have worn underwear.  I was mildly embarrassed.  I shuffled (nice descriptive verb) to the bathroom to safetypin my crotch together.  From the inside.  And all I had were those big safetypins.  Not only was it cold on my noonie, it was pokey.  And not in the pleasurable sense.  I was sweeping, and one came undone.  It hurt.  I repinned it and was good for the night.  I don’t think anyone saw, though, because I’m sure they would have told me.  I would tell you if your crotch was showing.  Especially if you weren’t wearing panties.

I should have learned from that time at Paducah in the mosh pit.  At least I was wearing cute panties that time.

I had a really good proposition one time, one that I had waited for my whole sexual life, but didn’t take it up, because I was wearing ugly panties.  I guess I could have gone into the bathroom and taken them off.

Dammit, Liz.  Now you think of it.  2 years later.

So Thursday night.  What a night.  More dudes showed up than expected, but that was okay.  We played Battle of the Sexes, and I won.  I kicked ass.  Does that mean I’m a lesbian?  I hope not.  I like boys too much.

mmm… sid vicious… mmm…

Anywho, after the boys left, we watched Wedding Crashers for a bit.  The weird boy in that movie was hot.  What’s his name?

We went outside.  I peed in the front yard.  It’s really liberating to be naked in public.  I wasn’t really naked.  I had a fig leaf.  An ivy leaf, but I called it my biblical underwear.

Then I called Jim from Beth’s laundry basket.  What a trip.

Then I woke up in time for work.  Karma is a bitch.

Speaking of, that chick wrote me again.  I haven’t written her back, though.  She seemed really apologetic, though.

I painted a germ with teeth.  Mine and Matthew’s first child.

When my aunt was 15, she peed on a boy at the beach.  He never called her back.

What was your favourite cartoon as a child?  Mine was Captain Planet.  Who’d have thunk?  I’ve always been a tree hugger.  I had the lunchbox, the valentines, the underwear (yes, they were made for boys), the teeshirt, etc.  People made fun of me.  Kids can be so cruel.

I got Strawberry Shortcake valentines this year.  I look like Strawberry Shortcake, all grown up.  And what the hell is with the jeans?  Strawberry shortcake doesn’t wear jeans!  She wears green and while leggings.  Geez.

Same thing with My Little Ponies, Carebears, and TMNT.  What the hell.

WTF, mate?

So in conclusion, you should all download google talk.  It’s sooooo much better than MSN messenger.  When all of the people who I care about get google talk, I’m uninstalling MSN.  It is the suck.

Currently watching:  A big fucking snake.

So last week, Holly and I were planning on doing something with Steve last weekend.  She calls me Saturday day and asks if I would go to the movies with them, and I comply.  She says, “Good, because X is coming with us.”  WHOA.  X is a guy with whom she used to be friends, until he fell in love with her.  Actually, X is how she met Steve.  Anywho, when Holly has her cell phone open, it doesn’t ring.  It just picks up when someone calls.  Apparently.  (Like, Oh my gosh, somebody killed my parents).  But Holly and Steve were talking about going to a movie with me when X called.  They heard something coming from her phone, and she picked up and he said, “Oh!  I want to go!”  So of course, they had to let him go.  And called me.  As soon as she told me he was going with, I called her a bitch.  I love her.  So we went out, and Holly painted me a painting that says, “Let Art Commence!”  HahahAHA.  That’s just so funny.  No, it isn’t an inside joke.  It’s just funny.

Before he got to Steve’s, I told Steve and Holly (Heve) that I am NOT sitting by X in the theatre.  We will sit Liz Holly X Steve or Liz Steve Holly X or anything that does not involve his sitting beside me.  When we got there, and the only seats there were in sets of two… no way was I sitting next to him.  So we went to Fulton to get some wine and drove back to Martin to see the 9:00 show.  You know in what fucking order we were sitting?  Steve, Holly, Liz, X.  WTF, mate?  So we made Steve and X go get us some M&Ms, and I sat in Steve’s seat, hoping X wouldn’t notice.  He did.

So after the movie, at which I cried, and Holly said, “Oh, Liz, you really are a girl!”, I saw Hurt and Stover, some kids whom I haven’t seen in like 2 years.

My cat is sitting on the bed, purring.  Karen brought her cat to rehearsal today.  Delinda said, “Like we haven’t seen a fucking cat before.”  I like her, but I think she’s bitter with the world.

So when we got back to Steve’s apartment, we had Pinot Noir and played Scrabble.  I’ll admit, I drank a little too much.  I just really really like Pinot Noir.    However, I won Scrabble.  Steve is an English majour and I was a little drunk, and I won Scrabble.  *gloat*

Speaking of majour, I got a few points with the word “labia.”  Then Steve and I began to talk about labia majoura and labia minora.  Wouldn’t it be cool if you could majour in labia?  I should, since I’m going to be an Ob/Gyn.  Screw Premed.  Labia all the way.  You know what?  Not only will I majour in labia, but I’ll also minor in it.  I just love labia.  Majour in labia, minor in labia, and hell, all of my extra- curriculars:  Labia.

Amniotic fluid, amniotic fluid.

But Holly is always trying to get me to make out with someone, and when X was in the bathroom, she asked if I would make out with him.  Of course, I yelled, “No!  He looks like a turtle!”  He then became embarrassed and left.  I didn’t know why he left unil Monday.

But yeah, of course, I spent the night on Steve’s couchbedcouch.  In Holly’s Jammies.  Her jammies had little chicks on the pants, and the t shirt she gave me was something about cheerleaders.  She used to be a cheerleader.  Dave : )

But I asked if I could sleep with them, and they said no.  Last time I slept on the couchbedcouch, I was naked.  Steve hasn’t unfolded the couchbedcouch since.  But they did let me have the llove llama.  I wonder if they take the llove llama off the bed before they do it.  I wouldn’t.

I woke up at 5 something the next morning.  I thought it was almost 9 for some reason.  Weird, huh?  Yeah.  Too much Pinot Noir.  I was nauseated.  I guess 4 glasses is too much for Liz.  I had Heve take me home.

Do you have any raisins?

Tony complained about my lack of blogging.  Blog blog blog.

“Dammit, Linda!”
- Jared.

She always gets in the way of Wade’s ass.  Always.  Her and her pink jogging pants.  Damn you, Linda.

Cats is going to be spectacular.  JR complimented me earlier today.  (Okay, JR will compliment anything with T and A, but that’s beside the point.)  I’m going to gloat a little.  Prep yourself:  JR told me that he can tell I’m working hard, and that I’m “carrying the show” and that I’m “emovite.”  I just really like being appreciated.  I had to deal with Nancy, and you loyal bloggers know how I am with her.  She makes me feel like I don’t exist.  She looks over me.  She doesn’t even notice me.  How does someone not notice me?  I’m not being pretentious, but hell, I’m noticable!

I had alot to talk about last night, but I was too sleepy.  I hung out with Alley Jo this weekend.  She has 2 names.

OH!  Miss Dolly!

You know, I visit her at the nursing home.  We tease her about Ernesto, the physical therapist.  He’s semi- attractive, and all of the old ladies have a crush on him, esp. Miss Dolly.  Well, she doesn’t always remember that her husband is dead, so one day, we were talking about her having an affair with Ernesto, and Hog said, “There’s nothing wrong with having one on the side.”  Miss Dolly replied, “There’s nothing wrong with having one on top, either!”  What a dirty old lady : )  And then another time we were teasing her about it, and she said, “That used to be a sin!”  I said, “Miss Dolly, it still is.”  She said, “Well, I’m Church of Christ.  I don’t sin.”  Hahaha, she’s -so- cute.

Miss Georgie is getting alot better.  I think I’m the only one who listens to her and pays attention.  She’s stuttering alot less, and she smiles more.  She makes me laugh.  She wants to run away with me, I think.  She’s always undressing her dolls.  She’s a sweet lady.  I love her.  I’ll be upset when she dies.

So in conclusion, Dustyn is a nice kid.  He’s not mormon.

Last night, I had the filthiest dream.� I know, nothing new, but I really did not like this one.

Hillary Duff and Hunter (no idea why it was them) got me into the pornography business.� Not just softcore type Playboy stuff, but hardcore porn.� Nasty type stuff.� Like Missy Monroe. -shudders-.� (no milk was involved).� I became a leader in the business, and I was -proud- of myself!� Wtf, mate?� I realized that this was only a dream when I was dreaming, but I couldn’t get myself to snap out of it.� I woke up disgusted with myself and took a shower.

But you see… whenever I haev nightmares, real ones, like someone’s cutting me up into little pieces, or someone has skinned Pete and hung him up in the laundry room, or my brother is eaten alive by clowns, I don’t realize it’s a dream.� I think it’s real, and it scares the fuck out of me.� I don’t think there is any way out, because, geez, if someone had you chained down and is chopping you up, piece by piece, wouldn’t you give up?� Alot of the time, I don’t realize it was a dream until minutes after I wake up.

In September, when Jade and I were just planning our trip to New York, I dreamt that my mum bought us tickets to see Spamalot… and they were only $4 each.� I woke up, went to school, and all day, I told people of my great news.� I went to work and told people.� I came home, hugged my mum, and thanked her.� “For what?”� It was then that I realized it was a dream.� I felt like such a rube.

There are so many other instances that prove that I can’t differentiate between fiction and reality, but for some reason, I could last night.

But before I forget, one of my friends had a really weird dream, but he wouldn’t tell me before I told him “the most fucked up dream I’ve ever had.”� I told him about when I went to the family reunion, and my mum ran away from me, screaming, because my forehead was bleeding in the shape of a cross…

…

…But anywho, this friend of mine– let’s call him…Snoopy….–� dreamt that he had sex with his sister.� Not only did he dream that he had sex with her, but he said that it was the most graphic sexual dream he’s ever had.� No, folks, he’s -not- from Tennessee.� He’s Canadian.

Some stuff at the hospital fell through, and I won’t start working with Dr.�Norsworthy until next week, so I went to the nursing home with Hogg and Sarah.
This is what Miss Dolly told me:
1.� I look pregnant.
2.� I look 30.
3.� I look 11.
4.� Her vagina hurts.
5.� Her hemerroids are bleeding.
She also asked me what it was like to have sex with Ernesto, her hot physical therapist, because, apparently, I’m sleeping with him.� I’m sure Hog told her that.� Thanks, Hog.� Oh, and she told me I was a bitch for calling Hog Hog.� Actually, Sarah and I were mean to Hog yesterday, but we’re always mean to her.� She’s little and we pick on her, but only because we love her.

She was in my bathroom yesterday reloading and Sarah and I kept openning the door.� Ah, friendship.

Also, at Beth’s party, we were watching unfaithful (a very dirty movie… I like it) and we were talking through the whole thing.� However, Hog whispered something to Beth at the end of the movie, and I yelled, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, HOG!”

Icky sent me some of his music.� I’m quite impressed.

Oh yeah, old people.� Miss Zelma told me that she loved me and asked me to be her lover.� She kept hugging me and patting my ass.� Miss Georgie, who has severe Alzheimers with Parkinsons, was playing with her dolls, making them kiss (nakedly, of course) was playing with this pillowcase for an hour, trying to get it straight across her little table.� That reminded me of myself, to an extent.� She stuttered so much that one can’t really understand what she was saying, but they told me that she�doesn’t know�what she’s saying, either.� I helped her wrap her baby up in the pillowcase.� When Sarah tried to help, she hit Sarah with her doll, and said, “No, Daddy!”� I did all I could to keep from pissing myself.
“I don’t wannna play no damn bingo!� Now get the hell out of here!”
-� Some mean fat lady, who isn’t even old.� She’s just in the Nursing Home because she’s too fat to live by herself.

I really like Franz Ferdinand : )

“You need to order me some more of that hemrroid medicine, you good lookin’ thang, you!”
-� Miss Dolly

Last night, Jade came over.� We went to eat Chinese, then we went to Blockbuster.� Justin, the guy from the documentary, isn’t half as cute as he used to be.� I don’t quite understand that.� Well we got 2 movies, which we have never heard of:� May and Madhouse.
Madhouse made me think… I bed the people in Sanitoriums get worse because they are in there… they’re expected to act crazy.� The nymphomaniac, Crystal… I’m sure before she was put in there, she didn’t masturbate in her doorway, full frontal like that.� She’s just doing it because she’s expected to, and she can.� I mean, if it was socially acceptible to drop your pants anywhere, wouldn’t you?

Then we watched May.� That was quite interesting.� A weird girl who nobody liked made her own friends.

“So many good parts, but no good wholes.”

Pete and Trixie are spooning each other at my feet.

At midnight, Alley Jo came over.� She overanalyzes everything.� Like I always told Coach Suiter, you can’t have the word “analyze” without the word “anal.”

Oh, and I like my car present, Mark : )

I’m going to hang out with Steve and Holly.