Thursday, August 18, 2005



Last night, I went out with some friends for my friend Grandpa's birthday. Grandpa's not really a Grandpa - he's only turning 26, but he has a fondness for many things that usually only appeal to the geriatric set, so... he's Grandpa.
Anyway, if this proves my point at all, after dinner, he wanted to go down to the Cozy Inn, since it is the only L.A. bar (at least that I know of) that has a shuffleboard table. Now, I don't know if you're familiar with the rules of shuffleboard. Basically, you attempt to throw a puck down the length of the table as far as you can without sliding right off the far end.
So, as it turns out, I suck at shuffleboard. No matter how slowly and carefully I thought I was tossing my puck, I just sent it sailing right off the end. My shuffleboard partner, the boy I'm in love with, was getting a bit annoyed, until I discovered my secret shuffleboard genius - i'm amazingly good at hauling off and smashing my puck into other people's and sending them flying right off the board. The boy I'm in love with even began to refer to me as "Smasher". So, we won by a lot, even though I didn't really score a single point of my own, just stole other people's away. And I was happy, but then I was thinking that how I play shuffleboard is like how I am in life. I'm not so hot at making good things happen for myself, but man oh man, can I destroy the good things other people are trying for.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005



So, for some reason, the boy I'm in love with thinks we're just friends. It makes me sad. A few days ago, we were drunk and high, and he punched me. Hard enough to bruise. So, I've been showing it to anyone who'll look. People have had bad reactions to it, oddly enough. Last night, I went out drinking with a nice boy I used to stalk/date. I showed him my bruise and he was all disapproving, so I decided to talk to the boy I'm in love with about it. I said, "Hey, Alex thinks you're gross for hitting girls." He responded that it didn't count, since I'm not a girl. I think I hate it more when he says shit like this, that casually proves he doesn't love me back, than I do when he's outright mean to me. It makes me want to scream and throw things at him. But instead, I just answered "Except I really am." And he was all, "No you're not. Not really." And I didn't have the heart to argue anymore, so I changed the subject.



I had a long phone discussion with the boy I'm in love with yesterday on the topic of whether or not I'm crazy.
His answer: that I am crazy, but that he doesn't think that I really think I'm crazy, and that I just ask him things like that to get his attention, even though I really am, and should be worried about that, instead of getting his attention.
Then he put me on hold to answer another call, and that made me cry, so I hung up on him. I think maybe I'm equal parts crazy and trying to get his attention.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005



I just realized how stupidly I named my blog. I was originally going to call it just, since I'm a scary stalker, and I thought truth in advertising would be good. But, that name was already taken, so I added a z for my last name. Now I realize it looks like I'm trying to be all hiphop circa 1992 like "Boyz N The Hood" style. My first day blogging and I've already made a critical error. Awesome.


Happy Birthday Crackhead

So, my friend Crackhead said that what he wanted from me for his birthday was for me to write a blog. Don't ask me why - he's got this like formula for blogwriters that indicates I would be good at it. I don't necessarily agree, but it'll make him happy on his birthday. And it's free, which is important because somehow, even though I make more than twice as much as I've ever made before in my life, I have less than $150 in my checking account to carry me until my next payday. So, Happy Birthday Crackhead. Here's my present; it's a blog. Do you see the lengths I will go to for you?

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