I turned back into a white girl at dawn

The Wu-Tangxperiment is finally over you guys! I didn't really think anything happened except you know, like, being angrier and stuff, but the weirdest thing happened this morning when I woke up.

Let me preface this by saying that I NEVER fall asleep in clothes. The last time I passed out in clothing that was not pajamas was also the last time I drank whiskey (it makes me tired), on Walker's 21st birthday, almost a year ago. That night alone qualified as a "bender." The sausage fest and I (seriously, am I the only girl you guys know?) had dinner at Yamashiro in the hills and when I say "dinner" I mean there was a bottle of Jameson circulating under the table. After sufficiently upsetting all the other patrons, we headed to Tiny's. Still, to this day, Tiny's is my favorite bar. It's small, filthy as sin and the jukebox is full of Black Sabbath and Slayer. Fuck yeah. To make a long story short(er), seven vodka redbulls later I was hiding from a really hot guy that asked me to do coke in the bathroom with him, chain smoking American Spirits in the photo booth and shrieking at Fitz that I was "too drunk to move." We had all gotten a hotel room somewhere on Highland (I think it was before Franklin?), so we could keep partying without pissing the neighbors off but I was done for and stomped back (easily13 blocks, it's kind of hard to tell because Highland stops having blocks and turns into bullshit right quick) only to pass out on my back (go figure), sequins and all. After about an hour I woke up, promptly called Adam Scott to scream at him for leaving me passed out on my back and thus susceptible to a John Bonham. He said he wanted to get to In-N-Out before they closed. Fair enough, I suppose. GOOD THING I DIDN'T DIE, ADAMSCOTT!

Oh man, I've been in VH1 Storytellers mode recently. Back to the real story...

I woke up in this pair of jeans that read "Apple Bottoms." Weird. I haven't worn anything besides black skinny jeans for probably two years, save for that one pathetic pair of slight bootcut Citizens. I was sweating like nobody's business and realized I was wearing wedge boots adorned with fur. Half my hair was in tiny braids and I found what looked like barbie hair with clips sewn on clipped onto the back of my head. I had these outrageously long acrylic fingernails with some strange design on them, it appeared to be...zebra print? Was I going to fully "turn" if I had another day left to go? Would there be any turning back?

I'm glad to be back from whatever Wu-Tang werewolf shit was going on there. What was the first song I listened to this morning? Lilly White, by Rocky Votolato. Yeah, I'm a total pussy. I could've gotten out of bed and slid around in my socks, Risky Business style to "Number of the Beast," but no. I go for a whiskey drinking sad guy with a guitar. Not as bad a trying to put the moves on a lady to Joanna Newsom. That shit don't work, probably because she SUCKS. Okay, playing the harp is kind of cool but her voice is a cross between an old asian woman and a child. Like if Bjork gargled a bunch of battery acid and turned eight. There are times you can tell she could have a normal, maybe even pretty voice. Why would you intentionally sing like that? It's not cute, there is nothing redeeming. OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE WHY DO PEOPLE THINK THIS SHIT IS COOL?

Back to stuff that I like, this is a video of Rocky playing at the Casbah, with a band. I've seen him with a band once and twice solo. I like the band better.

"Portland is Leaving:"


This is a video of him solo, doing a song that is kind of...solo. "Mixtapes/Cellmates:"


There is another video from the Casbah that you can hear Jenny K. and I yelling in but it is embarrassing as shit so I'm not posting it.


keepin' it real,

'stina

Human Interest: Texting, Slutty Knits and Eye Gouging.

Tonight is Monday, so we gonna get dirty at the Saloon. You know, Dirty Mondays. I don't even get off work until 10 p.m. so feel free to go earlier and get us a table.

I think listening only to Wu-Tang is kind of like having a drug problem, there are a lot of ups and downs. With anger comes depression. I'm so gay for Spencer Krug that I have a picture that I took at the Wolf Parade show set as my background on my phone and it breaks what is left of my blackened icy heart every time I open my phone that I can't put on a bandanna and yell along with the accordion in "For the Pier" while I am tearing into the parking lot at school. I have to put on that bandanna and my hoops and quietly mutter "Shame on a Nigga." The flip side to crying jelly bean tears over Sunset Rubdown is that I've been even more intolerant of other people than I usually am. My theory professor is a serious nerd and kind of looks like Falkor, he has managed to go four for four and mention Star Wars in every single lecture thus far. I understand that it's hard to listen and stuff when it's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra and he drones on about how much it sucks to arrange for American Idol because they want you to double sharp triads or some shit but HOLY FUCK PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY. I got stuck next to this mouth-breather that would alternate between sleeping and texting his probably fat girlfriend, in front of this dumb cum dumpster who kept putting her dirty feet on the back of my chair LIKE I COULDN'T FEEL IT and behind this girl that (was probably raped as a little girl) wears crop tops every goddamn day and is constantly turning around looking for the approval of others. Bitch looks at me like she's Ursula and she's trying to steal my voice to keep in her seashell necklace, but in her case it's a tribal tramp stamp plopped between her freakish back dimples. No, you can't have my approval to keep in your tramp stamp. FUCK ME SATAN. Days like today make me wish I could shape shift into hawk form and fly around the room, scratching people's eyes out. I know I sound like a total sociopath right now but I don't really care, just don't freak out because I said that chick wears slutty shirts because she was probably raped, because I'm probably right. She's at least some kind of a psycho hose beast. I listened to a lot of loveline growing up. I'm pretty much a doctor.

Anyways, I gotta go stick my nails on so I can go to work and stuff but enjoy yet another round of videos I can't watch. This time it's Drive Like Jehu.

"Do You Compute?"


"If It Kills You"


"Hand Over Fist"


Pony Girls buck wild with the trigger,

'stina.

Bitch, hold my hoops so I can beat your ass

I decided sometime last week it would be really funny if I listened to nothing but The Wu-Tang Clan for a week and documented what happened. It was a really bad idea. I already had an ethnic crisis in high school when I decided I wanted to time travel to the 70's and be in the Black Panther Party. What the fuck did my parents do to me? Jesus.

So, I'm on the tail end of day three right now. I have naturally curly hair but I straighten it because I like to whip my silky mane around in people's faces, especially if I am dancing. Today I woke up and decided not only did I not feel like bathing, but I wanted really fucking huge curly hair. By the time I got to work and had three back-to-back appointments I was in no mood for sass. Recently (seriously, only in the last week) people have been doing this thing where they raise their arm and flick the air with their index fingers as if they were scratching another mark onto an invisible snooty tally keeping track of god knows what- basically the most offensive way you could get a waiter/waitresses' attention. Mind you, I am not a waitress and will not be treated as such. I'm not rude to guests, by any means, but bitch please what do you think this shit is? Chili's? No, I will not take your goddamn order and in fact I am going to go spin around in a salon chair a few times and clean my brushes. I suddenly felt drunk with power. The Wu-Tang enabled me to not allow myself to be treated like a doormat! Throughout the day, I noticed a few more things that were out of character for me, like saying things along the lines of "janky-ass weave" and "trick-ass-lyin'-ass-bitch." I haven't really done anything else weird except do a double take walking past a package of spinning faux-chrome hubcaps but I'm pretty sure I would have done that without the Wu. Maybe. Come on, it's not like I'm doing the Wu-Tang dance every time I have to take a shit or something. For fuck's sake, you guys.

I'm a little bummed about the Wu-Tangxperiment right now because I kind of wanted to come home and harmonize some cadences to Pavement because I'm stuck in the 90's.

You guys enjoy these Pavement videos while I go wrap my hair into my headscarf for sleepin'.

Spit On A Stranger:


Cut Your Hair:


Shady Lane:


and dedicated to Jenni, Summer Babe (live):




Pony Girl Club ain't nothin' to fuck with,

'stina.