Thursday, October 31, 2002 I've been neglecting this poor infant blog so severely because I've been in a certain small southern city with heavy ties to the tobacco industry. Oddly enough, it's not my home town, which also matches that description. It's the new home of the Hawaiian, my mate's best friend from retard college. She's a stripper now.
She's already getting a following, even though she's only been at the club a couple of months. The other strippers are jealous, and suspicious, too. They've had problems with narcs in the past, and since the Hawaiian has neither children nor a crystal meth habit, they're not about to just befriend her. They sometimes do small, vicious things like steal her curling wand.
She's a beautiful girl, and she really can work a crowd, but she's too goofy to be a really hot stripper. Like, she'll climb to the top of the pole and then not really be able to get down and just kind of be stuck there til she gradually slips. I'd never been to a "show club" before, but I'd never had a friend in show business before either. Also, I'm 21 now, and even though I don't really want to go buy beer or what have you, I do want to enjoy new priveleges. Maybe they would have let me in if I was over 18, but I'd like to think not. Also, no cover charge for ladies! You get to go and watch a friend gyrate, and better still, you get to watch the doofuses who go intothose places. And you get to stare. All I want to do in life is stare at people.
I'm not a voyeur. That place was about as sexy as a coin laundry, and probably contained about the same cross section of people. But I could have stared for hours. I did, actually, as did the mate. We were both particular impressed by this one girl who looked like she was about 12 years old and bored as shit. She did some ninja shit on the pole. She's slingshot around it by her legs and then slide down head-first. Ridiculous shit.
No one really danced, per se. It was more about wiggling.
More happened this week, but maybe I'll post more later. I've put a couple of my underlings (how fucking penny ante are you if you're *my* underling, by the way?) in charge of fixing typos, and I'm afraid that they're going to put beans up their noses or choke on a penny or something if I leave them alone too long. posted by Frenzy Lohan | 10/31/2002 03:16:00 AM
0 comments
Thursday, October 24, 2002 Right now, and for most of the past two days, I've had "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers stuck in my head. Specifically I have the mate's cover of said song stuck in there. I think I should be getting SSI for this kind of thing. Not a lot. Just like, $10 a month for being just a little bit incompetent.
I still covet sleep. I would steal it from the more rest-wealthy if I could. I figure, though, that I'll go to bed in a few hours, and see if I can't stay down for the night. I'll try reading some astronomy first, which should do it. Get it??? textbooks R boring!!!!!!!! Whoa!
posted by Frenzy Lohan | 10/24/2002 09:37:00 PM
0 comments
Wednesday, October 23, 2002 So it's 10 AM, and I've been up since 6:45. The major-brand mattress logo with the contented oblate head lounging on its flippers looks like porn to me. Today is Wednesday, which means that tonight I have to put out the Elm, my college's newspaper.
When they were trying to fill the job last Spring, I applied to edit it for a joke. I'd never worked on it, and didn't really have much interest in it. It was the sucky little weekly paper, filled with boring crap. I much preferred the marginally better monthly news magazine, which runs hard-hitting articles by bored, affluent college kids about items one can buy at the local dollar store.
The magazine has degenerated over the past few years. Now a plucky junior from Texas is in charge. She's really peppy, but extremely beleagured, because all her work for the young republicans really bites into her schedule. She tried to teach my friend Leah and I line dancing one time, but I wasn't very good.
Of course, this was when I had a drinking hobby, but I suspicion that I'm just clumsy.
Anyway, this plucky Texan is alienating her staff these days by cutting the naught parts out of their articles. I try to tell them to come over to my paper, because I'll print anything to fill space, but my paper is the dork paper, and the magazine writers are all made of art. That is to say, they're kind of affected and dumb, and far too cool to turn their shit in on time, much less write about mundane crap.
I don't mean that ironically. By and large, all there is to report is mundane crap. If I had my druthers it would be a faculty scandal sheet where various department heads made snide little comments about one another's field, and everybody teamed up to hate the administration. The faculty are articulate, and tell urbane little anecdotes. I don't think that's too much to ask of a human being.
Unfortunately, I'm not usually able to get them to talk their shit if they think it's going into print, so that means more articles on whatever sort of drive or -athon team goody-goody is doing to defeat cancer or poverty or whatever.
It makes me want to go lie down. Since today is my birthday, and I'm older and feebler now, I think I will. I turn 21 today (hence the blog, a present from my sister). That means I can go into bars and give people dissapproving looks over the rim of my Shirley Temple glass, I suppose.
posted by Frenzy Lohan | 10/23/2002 10:43:00 AM
0 comments
Monday, October 21, 2002 One of the mixed blessings of being really funny-looking is that strangers assume that you're fair game to come and start befriending.
On Saturday, after a long day at the spy museum and a nice dinner, the mate and I were waiting for the metro, and the character described in my first post came up and attached himself to us. He wanted to know where "any goth clubs that [were]n't retarded" were.
We were like...uh...maybe in Shangri-la, dude. He decided, based on our failure to actually hit him, that we were all friends now. He rode past his stop so that he could keep jawing with us. I was afraid he was going to follow us home.
Realistically, he was more interested in the mate than he was in me, so I could have ducked into the shadows and escaped, but that seemed like poor form.
Beyond that, I was kind of fascinated with this ogre that had decided we were buddies. Kid was about 6'5" with that sort of mal-formed, rangy look people get sometimes when they're too tall for perfect functioning without teh addition of a hind-brain near their tails. He had some kind of godawful speech impediment, and he was wearing a black wool trench coat.
During the course of the interaction he disclosed several things:
He had joined the Navy, partially because (here he gestured around the crowded train car) "I want to protect these people. That's right, ma'am. I want to protect YOU!" after 9/11. Also, prior to signing up to join his fellow man, he'd just quit his job at the Men's Warehouse without notice, because his boss yelled at him.
"They got some nice suits there," the mate said.
"Yeah, but they're kind of pricey. You might be better off going to TJ Maxx...I mean, if you really know how to shop," said the friendly mutant.
He also told us he was in training to be in charge of nuclear submarines. The top secret ones.
He told us that the other kids in the Navy were Ok. "They're cool, you know. I mean, they're a lot like me," he said.
After we finally shook him, we decided that maybe somebody had just told him he was in the Navy as a way of getting someone to perform menial tasks for them. ("See this? It's a *nuclear* broom. Now get sweepin', you mongrel.")
Donald Duck always got stuck peeling potatoes, and they let this rogue out to fraternize. Ay yi yi yi yi.
posted by Frenzy Lohan | 10/21/2002 07:45:00 PM
0 comments
Inaugural Bloggeral Doggerel
There once was a navy man, Vincent
who, he disclosed, had a penchant
for nuclear subs and gothic nightclubs.
The poor lisping fuck wasn't sentient.
posted by Frenzy Lohan | 10/21/2002 10:12:00 AM
0 comments
|
