DRUNK BLOG II: WTF, Mate?

wwwhhhyyyy issss itttt sssssoooo ffffffuuuuccckkkiinnnngggg cccccoollllldddd in ellllll fucccckkkkiiinnnggg AAAAAAYYYY innnn mmmmmmaaaaaayyyyy???? aallllll I wannnnt tttttooo dddddoooo issss ssssssmooookkkkkeee mmmmmyyyyy fffffuuuuuucccckkkkinnnnggg cccciiiiigggggarettttte bbbbbuuuttttt III cccccannnn'tttt bbbbeccccaaaauuussssse mmmmmyyyy ffffffuuuuccccckkkkinnnggggg haaannnnnddddsss arrrrrrre ffffffuuccckkkkinnnnnggggg shshshshshsaaaakkkkinnnngggg...
FFFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!

DRUNK BLOG!!!

Hey...did you know that Miller High Life is totally the champaigne of beersssssss? Well NOW YOU DO! DOUCHE! ok...now to the important shit...

Dear ERIC,

Ahhhhh....the number 38 has never looked so glorious. The way it hangs perfectly centered below your name on your hotter than hot back is pure Heaven. G-A-G-N-E spells LOVE. In a perfect world I could trick my dad into thinking that I went to law school for 3 years, and I would be able to put my mouth on yours whenever and wherever I wanted. Yes...it's true, I already can. BUT, I'm sure your lips are much more soft and supple than your 7-11 Bobble Head doll can ever represent. Oh youuuuuu....with your totally hot perscription sport glasses, which oh so conveniently latch on to your hotter than hot authentic Dodgers game hat. You complete me. Even though you're Canadian. The end. (Call me!)

Confessions

Dear Ray,

I'm sorry that I threw my coffe at you this morning when you told me I looked cute. I just didn't feel like being "cute" so when you told me that, I felt the need to retaliate. I know you were just being nice, and I'm sorry I made you cry.

I'm also sorry that I called your boyfriend a homo-erotic sexually frustrated yoga nazi. I just don't like the way his face looks, or the way his voice sounds. But I guess since I'm not the one in love with him, I could've kept that to myself. And I'm sorry that made you cry again.

I'm also sorry that Papadikulous and I offended the two douchebag--I mean, your friends at the restraunt by saying the F word too many times and too loud during dinner. We were just really excited that non-dairy-cashew-faux-cheese-spread could actually taste anything unlike bile. I'm really glad you didn't cry that time.

Please except my sincerest apologies. Lets stay friends. Pleeeeeeeeease......

-----------------------------------

Dear Douchebag Joe,

I'm sorry for calling you Douchebag Joe in front of your mom. Really. I am. I had no idea that was her.

I'm also sorry for asking to bum a cigarette and then throwing it at you after I realized it was a menthol. If you put vitamin e oil on the scab, it shouldn't scar. And guys with scars on their faces are hot anyway.

Thanks for your tax outline.

-----------------------------

Dear Fat Chick from Ethics,

You're just a bitch. I'm not sorry for anything, and I just wanted to tell you that you suck. T and I have tried to say hi to you like 95 times and all you do is look at us like we called you the Fat Chick from Ethics to your face. Which we so would never do. Unless you keep being a total bitch. Then we totally will and THEN you'll have a reason to bitch. But we haven't, so you don't. Stop it.

Blah

There are no words to properly state the level of hatred I have for the world at this moment. Yes, I know I said I wasn't writing anything because I have to study. But you know what, I don't fucking feel like it. I studied all goddamned day and you know what I accomplished? GUESS. So FUCK OFF and let me sit here and fester. Like the puss infected open wound on the ingrown toenail of existence that I have become. ALRIGHT? THANKS, ASSHOLE.


My brain is FUCKING fried. I have absolutly ZERO capacity for descision making. Even the thought of the most miniscule choices are painful to me right now. Don't ask me what I want to do, because I don't even want to make the effort to roll my poor overworked bloodshot eyebals over to where your sitting to acknowledge your existence. Because if I did, I'd have to trace through some sort of analysis as to what it is you're asking me, delve into my own psychee to access the appropriate emotion to envoke, and match said emotion to some string of words in an attempt to articulate some type of answer. And that process would lead me to a gaggle of options that I just cannot deal with, since I have never outlined, nor indexed, nor tabbed anything anywhere near that type of situation, and I'm sure nobody has anything from previous semesters that I could work off of.

Just leave me the fuck alone. I'm sure I'll eventually fall asleep/pass out in a heap/starve to death on my own. Then all you need to do is wake me up/insert an IV/alert my parents when you stumble across me in the morning. Or kick me. That would be fine. Because I wouldn't have to think about reacting to that. I just would. You know, curl up into a ball, hugging my wasted body towards my gut, choking on air, or heave the atrocities I've been ingesting all week into a pile of colorful play-doh on the carpet, and writhe in pain...whatever. At least it'd be some kind of reacton to an outside stimulus. You know, I think I understand now why people cut themselves. They just can't deal. And they don't have to if they're suddenly bleeding. Your body just takes over, which would be a welcome change from the vast expanse of DEATH inhabiting my entire existence right now. Now don't go geting your panties all in a bunch, dear friends. There's no need to worry about your good pal, Al. I not only lack the attention span and motivation to follow through with such a devious plan, but just the idea of having to chose a proper tool from a drawer FILLED with at least 10 different types of utensils of all shapes and sizes terrifies me. THAT's how unmotivated, insane, and detached from reality I am. You know what I feel like? Brad Pitt in True Romance. Except without the funny banter, or honey-bear bong. Just a waste of space laying on a couch, oblivious to everything around me. Fuck that was a great movie. I should watch a movie. Too bad my precious douchebag comerades are wasting perfectly good drinking time taking a practice exam. Ha. Ooh, they're going to get pissed that I called them douchebags. yeah, but look at them, all fucking typing their bullshit and going through their notes trying to find the right answers in a "simulated testing environment". THAT's crazier than I am right now. I'm not the crazy one, they are. Fucking bitches. ...Wait, I'm just kidding, you're the only friends I have left, don't get mad...wait, where are you going!?! I SAID I'M SORRY!!! UG! Fucking BITCHES. Shit. NOW who's going to kick me in the morning...ug....

ERROR MESSAGE

NOTICE: SITE TEMPORARILY CLOSED DUE TO SERIOUS NEED TO STOP FUCKING AROUND AND GET SOME ACTUAL WORK DONE IN THE T-84 HOURS TO FINALS, YOU STUPID STUPID MORON.

In the meantime-in-between time, please take this opportunity to paruse the similarly intellectually void and equally time consuming sites listed below.

Thank you for your patronage. You douche.


www.ebaumsworld.com
www.sinikian.blogspot.com
www.1540theticket.com(Petros Papadakis, weekdays from go find out yourself, lazy ass A.M. to do I have to do everything for you? P.M....okay, 12-2pm.)
http://www.1540theticket.com/petros_songs/
www.gofugyourself.com
www.tshirthell.com
www.gogortiloz.com

Oh, you want more...???

Dear fans (read: Mom, VSOP, and Sev. Angel you don't count because you're a slave driver and only read to make sure I wrote what you screamed in my ear during ethics class),

I am sorry to inform you that, because I am a completly insane and masochistic nutjob who voluntarily scheduled an absolutly unnecccisary interview for 9AM in Burbank on the first day of WWF Crampfest 2005, thereby forcing my sluggish and Orca-fied ass to wake up at the hairy asscrack of dawn (aka: 6AM) on a day I don't even have any classes,and should be in bed drinking hot chocolate,watching old movies and eating anything and everything I can find and/or buy, I shall not be penning anything today which would relegate a "Genius. Fucking Genius." response from the guy with the "Brief History of Pharmacutecals" blog and the picture of the FUCKED UP cat. So sorry to disappoint. But you see, this pre-finals madness, mixed with the self imposed sleep depravation, and wonderful rollercoater of womanly emotions, has placed me in this otherworldly dimention, wherein I do nothing but stare at my wall, somehow rationalize away the necessity for painkillers for the apparent CIVIL WAR taking place somewhere deep inside my body, and semi-lucidly imagine myself becoming that much nobler by sitting here, sufering through said RAGING FIRE IN MY LOINS brought on by my monthly lack of babyfiedness, a la Mrs. Spearderline. I have no idea why I don't just get up and throw a handfull of the advils that are resting peacfully in plain view on my bathroom countertop--probably surrounded by some heavenly aura, complete with the faintest sound of a joyful chior coming from deep inside its ibiprofined goodness by now--down my throat to quash the RAGING INFERNO in my belly. But probably for the same reason that I've powered through law school for the past two years. And by powered I mean sleep. Power sleep. or slept. WHATEVER. Becaaaaaauuuuuse...I hate myself and feel good when I'm being punnished. plain and simple. Hence the self imposed 6AM wakeup call and the refusal to accept solid medical treatment for horridly horrified pain like the good Christian Scientology Cultist I am not. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO........my point to all of this? I hate you all. The end.

My Life as a Douchebag Imposter

Douchebag: Hey, have you finished your paper?

Douchebagette: No, but it's not even due for like 2 more days. I have plenty of time.

Douchebag: ARE YOU CRAZY, DUDE, YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO FINISH? IT TAKES FOREVVVVVER!

Douchebagette: Um, it's just a paper, it shouldn't be that bad...how long did you spend writing it?

Douchebag: Dude, it took me 5 days straight. Just straight writing. Seriously. Like the endnotes take like a whole day to write if you just do that and NOTHING else.

Douchebagette: Are you serious???

Douchebag: Yeah! You SERIOUSLY haven't started yet? That is ALL I did this weekend.

Douchebagette: yeah, well, I worked on it this weekend, but it didn't seem that bad. You think I'm really that wrong? you think I'm really screwed? shit, did I just screw myself? I need a good grade in that class! Shit, really, you think it's bad?

Douchebag: Yeah, man. I would NOT want to be you right now, HA! GOOD LUCK!

Douchebagette: Shit. Shit. Hey, Al, you're not finished yet, right?

Al: Yeah, totally finished. I was done like a month ago.

Douchebag: WHAT?

Douchebagette: Yeah right....you didn't even know what we were supposed to be writing about a month ago...come onnnnnnnnn......

Al: Yeah, I totally went in early and asked for the topic to get it over with.

Douchebag: So you're totally done with it? Wow. That's...cool I guess. So what, you're just studying for finals now?

Al: no.

Douchebagette: what do you mean no, then what are you doing?

Al: nothing. Just lounging.

Douchebag: JUST LOUNGING? WHAT THE FUCK?

Al: Jeez, chill out man. You really need to breathe, this kind of stress isn't healthy, you know.

Douchebag: What the hell are you talking about? You're done with your paper and you're not studying for finals? what are you doing?

Al: Just lounging. Hanging out.

Douchebag: COME ON. THAT'S REDICULOUS. YOU CAN'T BE JUST HANGING OUT THE WEEK BEFORE FINALS.

Douchebagette: She's just messing with us...why are you even taking her seriously...she's just kidding...right...?

Al: no. I'm totally serious. I'm done with my paper and I wrapped up all my studying last week. I'm just hanging out waiting for finals now. I wish they were tomorrow. I am SO ready for them. It's actually fun strategizing, you know...planning out my answers in my head and stuff...it's like a game.

Douchebag: YOU ARE FUCKING CRAZY. YOU'RE A FUCKING LIAR.

Al: don't get mad at me just because you slacked off, man. Seriously, dude, you need to go outside and like, appreciate nature and shit. You're going to turn into a nazi.

Douchebag: A NAZI???? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?????

Douchebagette: Come on, let's go, she's just tring to get you all freaked out.

Douchebag: IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE DOING? YOU'RE TRYING TO FREAK ME OUT SO YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN ME? THAT'S FUCKING SHITTY, MAN! YOU'RE A DICK.

Douchebagette: Come ON, lets just go...plus, I don't have time for this, I need to work on my paper...you really think it's that bad...? am I totally going to fail that class...??? Holy crap, I can't fail that class...oh man...oh shit...

Douchebag: Yeah, man, I told you, you should've been working on it a long time ago...you might be screwed.

Douchebagette: shit...oh man...shit....

Healthcare Financing and Organization Law

Class Notes:

Bla bla bla bla physician assisted suicide. (drool...how many tiles are in this celing anyway? because if there's like 900 holes in each tile and like...oh...65 tiles...that's like...a billion...?) bla bla bla bla, lethal injection, bla bla suicide? Bla bla Washington State AND New York bla bla. (my feet are really cold. Maybe I should've worn sox. But I hate sox. They make my feet sweat...wait...isn't sox spelled socs..?) bla bla court of appeals bla bla bla. bla nazi germany bla. Coalitions of Patients and Doctors bla bla VERY IMPORTANT FOR THE TEST bla. (SHIT) Bla People have a bla to control their personal bla and you have a RIGHT to bla bla Derek Humphries bla bla rifle to your head. (wait...WHAT?? SHIT.) BUUUUUUUT BLA bla bla very closely bla bla decisions bla cases bla unanimously supreme court, slippery slope bla. (okay. wake up, bitch, this is important shit. take some NOTES) OK..ahem...you have to draw some bright line and this is as bright of a line that exists even though souter said I wish there was a brighter line down the slope, but there ISNT. It's sort of overprotective (ooh, like Brittany...)(AH, SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT, PAY ATTENTION!) Oregon can allow it and can probably go further bla. Bla bla..hahah...haven't done any lethal drug taking today? hahaha? Bring them to class if you do! Hahaha! (um...ok, I just remembered now why I don't pay attention in here.) Okay! Questions on the test? Q: "what's the test going to be like?" A: "HAHAHA, I'm SUUUUUUUURE You'd LOOOOOOOVE to know that, Huh??? Wow, if I just TOLD you That'd make your life EASY, wouldn't it??? HAHAHAHA. Yeah. Okay...ahhhhhhhh.....next question...." Q: No, seriously, what's it goign to be like, I mean, multiple choice? Essay? Both? Time limits? A: AHAHAHAH! YEAHHHHHHHH......let me just tell you what issues to study, TOO! HAHAHA...you guys are FUNNY! Okay, class is done, good luck with your FINALS! HAHAHAAHA."

The Anals of the Law...

So.....yeah...my book's been open to the same page for two hours. I think I've read all of 3 sentences. And you know what's sad? Tomorrow's issue is probably the most provocative topic I'll ever study in law school...our unalienable fundamental right to practice homosexual sodomy. Yeah, seriously. Lawrence v. Texas. Let me read you a selected paragraph....ahem...:

In Houston, Texas, oficers of the Harris County Police Department were dispatched to a private residence in response to a reported weapons disturbance. (yeah right) They entered an apartment where one of the petitioners, John Geddes Lawrence, resided. The officers observed Lawrence and another man, Tyron Garner, engaging in a sexual act. The two petitioners were arrested, held in custody overnight (I can only assume in seperate cells) and charged and convicted before a justice of the peace.
The complaints described their crime as "deviate sexual intercourse...with a member of the same sex (man)". The question before the court is the validity of this Texas statute, making it a crime for two persons of the same sex to engage in certain intimate sexual conduct.

Hot. Now if that can't get me interested in learning the law, there is no hope left for anything in this world. You know what I'm doing instead? Talkig to my friends online about what a tragedy it is that we don't have the requisite self restraint nor respect to develop eating disorders, and instead eat and allow ourselves to digest such delicacies as an ENTIRE large cheese pizza followed by a 2 liter bottle of diet coke. Yeah, I did that. All on my own. Sick. In one fell swoop I just negated every yoga class I've ever been to. Wonderful. I'm sure my mom's so proud of me. Ug. Fuck this, I'm going to bed.

Ahhhh...brothers...

How the HELL Can They be Twins? (see previous posting)

Horrid techno music blasting from bad bad speakers.

(Incomming Call: little brother...we'll call him...John)

John: Yo.

Al: Hey.

John: Hey. I'm lost.

Al: Where are you?

John: I got off at Highlands.

Al: Where are you going?

John: Universal Amphitheatre.

Al: You got off too early. You need to get back on and go about two more exits.

John: Oh yeah. I forgot.

Al: Cool.

John: Cool. Thanks.

Al: Your welcome. Call me if you get lost again.

John: Well, I actually wasn't lost. I just got off too early.

Al: Ok...well if it happens again, give me a call.

John: Ok.

Al: Ok. Bye.

John: HEY.

Al: Yeah.

John: um...I love you. Call me if you need me too.

Al: aw...thanks J. I love you too.

John: Cool.

Al: Cool.

John: Bye.

Al: Bye. Click.

Ahhh...sisters....

Ring Ring. (well, actually: Horrid techno music begins playing on a bad bad speaker)
[Incomming Call from (Little Sister...we'll call her....Nick)]

Sis: Hiiiiiiii Allllllllllsssssssssssss

Allllllsssssss: Hey Nick

Sis: Hey. You like the Dodgers, right?

Allllllsssssss: Yeah, why, you got tickets?

Sis: Yeah! Awesome, huh???

Allllllsssssss: Yeah! That IS awesome, baseball's the perfect escape...I can just taste the beer.....Dodger dogs....Eric Gagne's lips...mmmmmmm.......

Sis: ALS...HEY...

Als: Oh, sorry...Yeah. So when are the tickets for???

Sis: Right now! I'm on my way with Ashley! Her dad gave us tickets! Cool, huh???

Als: Oh. Yeah. Awesome.

Sis: I KNOW! Soooooooooooooo......howdowegetthere.

Als: Where are you?

Sis: Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm.........I don't knoooooooowwwww......ummmmmmmmmmm.......Hey Ash...EW! DON'T DO THAT! HE'S GRRRRRRRROOOOOOOSSSSSSS EWWWWWWWWWWWW I AM NOT TALKING TO HIM! EWWWWWWWW ASSSHHHHLEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Als: Nick.

Sis: AHHHHHHH!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! OH MY GOD, ASHLLLLLEEEEEYYYY!!!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

Als: Sigh....Nick.

Sis: (unintelligible shreiking for 20 seconds)

Als: NIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sis: OH! SORRRRRRYYYYYYYYY ALLLLLLS! HAHAHA...ok....um...we just got on the freeway. Ohmygod, Als, Ashelyjuststartedtalkingtogheseguysinahondanexttous,
GROSSALS!AHONDA!andshewaslike,heywhatsgoingon,weretotallygoingtotheDodgergame
youshouldfollowusandhangoutwithusand--

Als: NICK! STOP!

Sis: --andiwaslikeallOMYGOD!AHSLEYSTOPTALKINGTOTHEMTHEYARESOGROSS
IAMNOTHANIGINGOUTWITHTHEM--huh? What?

Als: STOP. Man...ok, you need directions, or what?

Sis: Oh, yeah.

Als: Ok...stay on the 605 and go to the fiv--

Sis: OH!ALS!

Als: what.

Sis: you're totally coming this weekend to see me off for prom right?

Als: Um...shit...I don't know, nick, it's the weekend right before finals..

Sis: WHAT!IT'SMYFUCKINGSENIORPROM!ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS???? OHMYGOD,THATTOTALLYSUCKS!

Als: I'M IN LAW SCHOOL! I HAVE LAW SCHOOL FINALS!

Sis: FINE,FUCKSTOPYELLINGATMEI'MJUSTFUCKIGNASKING
BLABLABLBLABLABLABLALBALBWAAAAAYOUDONTHAVETOYELL
SHITSOMETIMESYOUREJUSTLIKEMOM,IDONTKNOWWHYYOUHAVE
TOYELLATMEIDIDNTEVENDOANYTHINGSHITBLABLABLBLABLBL
BABLABLA--

Als: ME!!??!! YOU'RETHEONETHATSTARTEDYELLINGFIRST!
I'MJUSTTRYINGTOTELLYOUTHATIHAVEFINALSOFCOURSEIWANT
TOBETHEREWHATSWRONGWITHYOU--

Sis: OH!!NOOOOOOOWAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYIWASTOTALLYLIKE
HEYAREYOUCOMINGTOPROMANDYOUTOTALLYSTARTEDYELLINGAT
MEABOUTBEINGINLAWSCHOOLANDSHITANDIDIDNTEVENDOANYTHING
EXCEPTASKYOUIFYOUREGOINGTOBETHEREOKAY--

Al: SHIT,FINE,FUCK,WHOCARESITDOESNTEVENMATTERJUST
STOPYELLINGALREADY,SHIT,THISISSOFCUKINGANNOYING!!!

Sis: ANDIDONTEVEN...sorry...imjusttryingtogotothe
dodgergamewithashleybecauseherdadcouldntgobecause
hesdepressedandhegaveustheticketsbecausewedoalot
forhimandhelikesusandhelikeswhenihangoutwithashley
becauseimagoodinfluencebecauseihaveagoodcarandajob
anditakecareofstuffandimtotallyresponsibleand---what? Oh, it's your dad? Does he know how to get there? Ok, Cool. We got direeeeections, Alllllllllllllssssssss......thanks anywaaaaaaaayyyyyy! See you this weeeeeeeeekeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnd for my seeeeeeennnnnniooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrr prooooooooommmmm! my laaaaaaassssssssttttttt oneeee evvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrr. BYE! EW!ASHLEY!STOOOOP!!!!!! click.

My New Best Friend

I have a neighbor. I don't know his name, I don't know what he does, I don't even know which apartment he lives in, even though there are only 5 apartments in my entire complex. And I'm sure I'll never speak to him again. But I love him. I love him like I've never loved any man before. Just the though of his existence makes me feel so warm and happy inside. If I was the Queen, I would knight him. He'd be Sir Dartagnion Best Man In The World, Who's Actually Pretty Cute Too, but I Think His Live-In Girlfriend Would Kill Me If She Heard Me Saying That Because She Looks Really Mean, De Santa Montegue. I didn't think much of his existence at all prior to five minutes ago, to be honest. But now...he flummoxes me. What ever did he do to procure so much gushing adoration, you ask? Well...as he came to check his mailbox, stationed approx. a foot outside of my open door--a task which he's successuflly accomplished ever day without incident for the past 9 months--he turned to me and asked "what are you studying?" while rifling through his pennysaver, gas bill, and other various and sundry items...I took a deep breath, tore myself from the beauty that are the section 162 Buisness Deductions, and muttered..."Federal Income Tax laws." He froze. He chuckled. He looked up..."Are you serious?" "Oh yeaaaaaahhhhh..." I replied. "And tomorrow, I'll be doing Constitutional Individual Rights, followed by a full day of Healthcare Organization law. Hot. I know." And do you know what this heaven-sent cherub of a man did? He guffawed. Laughed nearly uncontrollably and said "WOW. I'm SO Fucking glad I'm NOT in school! WOW! HA..." and shuffled his flip floped toesmobiles back, I can only assume, to whichever fluffy cloud he spends lounging his beautiful soul on. Siiiiiiiiiigggghhhhhhh.......
I can only hope that one day all of you out there feel the amazing glee and satisfaction that comes with somebody realizing that their life is SO MUCH better than yours, and giving you credit for the shithole that yours has become withought either condescending, offering mindless advice, or suddenly turning into Mr. Drummond, telling you to "Just stick with it, Champ" as if that actually means something. I love him. And I will never forget our 30 seconds together. It was sooooooooo beautiful.

Al Orders a Pizza

12:28pm. Al orders a pizza.


Pizza guy #1: Pissssa by de Eslice, khold plis.

Al: wha..?(CLICK. Dialtone.)

Al: ugggg...

ring....ring....

Pizza guy #1: Piiiiissssssaaaaa by de Eslice, khan I khelp ju?

Al: Yeah. Can I have a pizza delivered?

PG#1: Khooov Cours. Khwat kint?

Al: Large cheese, please. And a bottle of Diet Coke.

PG#1: Khoookayyyyy. Khow many cops?

Al: Just one.

PG#1: Jost wan? Ju chure? khoookay...Khwit ice?

Al: Yeah. Thanks.

PG#1: Chure. Jur name?

Al: Al.

PG#1: HAL?

Al: Yeah. Al.

PG#1: Heees chort for somteeen, no? Ju are girl, jes?

Al: Yeah. It's short for Aligator.

PG#1: ALIGAT...AHHHHHH.....chu are the foooooneeeeeeyyyyy....Khokay
HAL, ees comin in one khalf khour.

Al: Thanks.


One Khalf Khour later.

knock knock. Pizza dude shields his eyes as he tries to look into Al's window which she's sitting less than a foot away from on the other side. He sees her looking at him like the twerp he is. He scares himself, gets embarassed.

she opens the door.

Pizza Guy #2: Hey...You...uh..."Al"?

Al: Yeah.

PG#2: HA! REALLY?!?

Al: Yeah. What the hell?

PG#2: Oh, dude, I was totally expecting like a hairy lumberjack, not like
a 21 year old chick.

Al: I'm not 21. And I could totall be a hairy lumberjack for all you
know.

PG#2: Uh, Yeah RIGHT. You weigh like 100 lbs! and I don't see any
mustache or anything, dude.

Al: Ug. Can I have my pizza.

PG#2: Sure. Dude, you know our store is like across the street from you, right?

Al: Yeah.

PG#2: So like, why would you order a pizza that takes a half an hour to get here, when you can walk across the street and get one in like 5 minutes?

Al: Because I don't like being outside. It's much more convenient this way.

PG#2: WHAT? Dude...what kind of a thing is that to say, man?

Al: I just don't like being outside. What's the big deal.

PG#2: Dude...you're like a Nazi.

Al: A Nazi?!? What the hell are you talking about.

PG#2: Yeah, dude. They hated the outside. It was too unstructred.
That's why they wanted to take over the world. So they could pour
cement on everything and impose their crazy rules.

Al: (Sigh)...ok. Can I have my pizza.

PG#2: Dude! Don't you even care that you're totally acting like one of
them??? Dude, come here, take a look around, it's so beautiful!
Check it out!

Al: No thanks. Can I have my pizza.

PG#2: Come ON! The trees! The plants! The flowers, dude! Come
here! Come on! Come here! Check it out!

Al: No thanks. Can I please have my pizza.

PG#2: No WAY man! Are you SERIOUS? Just come out here for ONE second!
Check out what a beautiful place you live in! The sun is OUT!
Listen to the birds, man! It's NATURE!

Al: Give me my pizza.

PG#2: DUDE! You are CRAZY! It's BEAUTIFUL out here! And you don't even
need this thing, man, Pizza's baaaaaaad for you! Dude, look at you,
you look great, but if you want to stay that way you gotta eat some
good shit, man! And dude, you're all by yourself...you're going
to eat this whole thing, and sit inside like a big fat Nazi, man!
That's not healthy! Come outside for like a second, dude!

Al: GIVE ME MY PIZZA!!!!

PG#2: WOAH! DUDE! ALRIGHT! HERE! But, MAN! you have some SERIOUS
issues! You NEED to get out! This is not HEALTHY! Dude...here's
my card, man...I teach surfing lessons. Seriously, give me a call,
man. I'll show you how much you're missing.
I am seriously going to pray to the wind for you, dude.

Al: GREAAAAAAAAAT. THAAAAAAANKS. (Door SLAMS)

Pizza Guy 2 walks off muttering something about fat Nazis. Al sits on the floor, rips open box with right hand, burns mouth, hand and lips on cheezy deliciousness, fumbles with coke bottle with greasy left hand.

(End of Scene)

Maybe one day if I'm lucky enough...

So, if hell freezes over and I actually pass all of my finals, the bar, and get a job practicing law in our wonderful court system, this is what I have to look forward to turning into. THIS is what I'm working towards...

These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.



Q: Are you sexually active?

A: No, I just lie there.

__________________________________



Q: What is your date of birth?

A: July 15th.

Q: What year?

A: Every year.

______________________________________



Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the
impact?

A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

______________________________________



Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your
memory at all?

A: Yes.

Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?

A: I forget.

Q: You forget? Can you give us an example of
something that you've forgotten?

_______________________________________



Q: How old is your son, the one living with you?

A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember
which.

Q: How long has he lived with you?

A: Forty-five years.

_____________________________________



Q: What was the first thing your husband said to
you when he woke up that morning?

A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"

Q: And why did that upset you?

A: My name is Susan.

______________________________________



Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been
involved in voodoo or the occult?

A: We both do.

Q: Voodoo?

A: We do.

Q: You do?

A: Yes, voodoo.

______________________________________



Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person
dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the
next morning?

A: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

___________________________________



Q: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old
is he?

_____________________________________



Q: Were you present when your picture was taken?

______________________________________



Q: So the date of conception (of the baby) was
August 8th?

A: Yes.

Q: And what were you doing at that time?

______________________________________



Q: She had three children, right?

A: Yes.

Q: How many were boys?

A: None.

Q: Were there any girls?

______________________________________



Q: How was your first marriage terminated?

A: By death.

Q: And by whose death was it terminated?

______________________________________



Q: Can you describe the individual?

A: He was about medium height and had a beard.

Q: Was this a male, or a female?

______________________________________



Q: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant
to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?

A: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

______________________________________



Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed
on dead people?

A: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.


_____________________________________



Q: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What
school did you go to?

A: Oral.

______________________________________



Q: Do you recall the time that you examined the
body?

A: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.

Q: And Mr. Dennington was dead at the time?

A: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why
I was doing an autopsy.

______________________________________



Q: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

_____________________________________



Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did
you check for a pulse?

A: No.

Q: Did you check for blood pressure?

A: No.

Q: Did you check for breathing?

A: No.

Q: So, then it is possible that the patient was
alive when you began the autopsy?

A: No.

Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?

A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a
jar.

Q: But could the patient have still been alive,
nevertheless?

A: Yes, it is possible that he could have been
alive and practicing law somewhere.


You know what the worst part of this all is? I completely understand why the lawyers asked these seemingly assinine follow up questions, and I would've done the same. Kowledge of the law makes you STUPID. That's why I could recite every federal income tax exclusion and deduction, but can't manage to remember to TAKE OFF MY SHOES BEFORE GETTING IN BED.

...blank stare.....droooool....

My professor just used the word Flummoxed. FLUMMOXED. do you know what that means? because I don't. It's bad enough that he's teaching us constitutional law, chock full of latin phrases that are never ever translated for us, along with their english counterparts like "the pennumbra of unenumerated rights" but now he has to use words that went out of style in about 1743. THANKS KMIEC. This is getting reduculous. seriously.

You know what happened yesterday? I went to staples to get more toner so I could print out the 95,000 pages of dribble that I've managed to mindlessly type into my computer in between sessions of Instant Messnenger and google searches of "I Hate Law School" (which, not amazingly brings up like 4 billion sites). Well, en route to the office supply mecca, I realized that I left the toner cartrige I was aiming to replace, on my desk, and I had not changed out of my fluffy purple barney Uggs, as I had been planning to do, before facing the blinding eternal sunshine of the non-law-schooling rest of the world. So, with the realization that I had no clue what kind of printer I had, much less what kind of toner I needed, sighed heavily and lit up a cigarette, hoping that once I got there, God would remember that I existed for the first time in 2 years and guide my hand to the right $95.00 2X2 inch cardboard box. So, I eventually weaved my way through the "Fear Factor-esque" parking structure in the depths below the store, and made my way inside. Oh, but...wait...what's that smell....??? OH SHIT. I'M HOLDING MY LIT CIGARETTE INSIDE STAPLES. AHHH!!!...RUN OUTSIDE! WAIT!!! Where the fuck are my keys....??? HOLY SHIT! THEY'RE STILL IN MY CAR!!! YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT...I left my CAR UNLOCKED in the parking structure, with the KEYS IN THE IGNITION, and took my LIT CIGARETTE into the store. GREAT PRIORITIES, AL. Somebody shoot me before I somehow mindlessly kill an innocent child while trying to butter my toast in the middle of the street somewhere. please.

no...YOU go fug yourself.

www.gofugyourself.com

Oh Fug girls...why hast thou forsaken me? Don't you know that your website brings the only ray of sunnshine into my pathetic existence that some call a life? Don't you realize that, after hours and hours (okay, bursts of 15 minutes or so) of shlucking through the ever increasing mound of bile that my class notes have become, the only thing that fills me with happiness is the possiblity of partaking in a session of ripping celebrities to shreads like a pack of rabid dogs for their completely forgivable fashion faux paus? Your Letters of Fug bring the one ounce of sanity left in my psychee back out from its hiding place somewhere down in the deep dark recesses of my cold, black soul. Your perfect capturing of both Brittany and Kef-Fug's inner voices are truly intellectual genius, and I must have more. I need you girls. I need you like a smack-addict needs her black herioin, and here you've gone and replaced the rusty nails on the swinging plywood window marking the entrance to your crackhouse with no regard for how much I writhe in pain from the itch in my blood that your absense leaves. Please...girls...I'm begging you...POST SOMETHING NEW, DAMNIT. IT'S BEEN A FUGGING WEEK!

This is my life. Seriously. THIS.

I just finished my piece of toast in the SHOWER to consolidate my morning tasks because I felt bad for wasting time by going to Yoga this morning. And it wasn't like I shoved the remaining bites in my mouth, walked over while chewing, and swallowed as I stepped in. No. I turned the shower on, de-robed, grabbed the 3/4 of a piece left on my plate, and TOOK IN IN THE SHOWER WITH ME. I'm serious. You think I'm lying? You think I'm exaggerating for the comedic value? Well, you're wrong. You are sooooo wrong. I stood there, with my back to the water, getting my hair moist and ready for the first round of lather, and, with my right hand strategically placed outside the flow of the shower head, I continued devouring the buttery goodness of my rye bread. Until I realized what I was doing, blinked in disbelief a few times, then immediatly soaked the toast with an OCEAN OF TEARS, shed at the utter DISPAIR that only the realization that my life is in utter SHAMBLES can produce. BREAKFAST IN THE SHOWER, ladies and gentlemen. It's like that SNL skit with Dan Ackroyd about the Breakfast Feeding Bag that you could strap on like a horse and eat while you're driving to work. Except this is REALLY HAPPENING TO ME. And you know what's even sadder...there was nobody here to laugh at me...because I live ALOOOOOOONNNNNNEEEEEEE......... AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay...listen..

Mom...I love you. I really, really do....but, we need to talk about something. I know you've never seen me as stressed out as I've been these past two years. I know you don't appreciate me calling you to tell you who at my school I'm plannig to kill next. And I know you're at a loss as to how to console me when I call you, half drunk, cursing and screaming about how horrid my life is. But, Mom, if you tell me ONE MORE TIME not to worry about getting a job because I'm CUTE and anybody I interview with will see that and WANT TO HIRE ME ON THE SPOT...because IM CUTE...I'm going to lose it. Seriously Mom. LOSE IT. I'M NOT APPLYING TO BE A GODDAMNED STUFFED ANIMAL. IT'S NOT LIKE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO SAY, WOW, SHE'S GOT THE CUTEST FAT CHEEKS FROM EATING KRISPY CREAM AND MCDONALDS ALL DAY EVERY DAMN DAY, I SHOULD PUT MY LIFE AND ALL OF MY ASSETS IN HER HANDS. OOH, HER GREASY HAIR REMINDS ME OF WHEN DAD USED TO TEACH JIMMY AND THE BOYS HOW TO CHANGE OIL IN THE DRIVEWAY. THAT'S SO CUTE. LETS PUT HER AT THE HELM OF OUR MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR MEDICAL MALPRACTICE LITIGATION FIRM.
Mom. I love you. I do. BUT STOP GIVING ME REDICULOUS ADVICE!!! Oh, and while we're having this family meeting...Hey Dad...Lets stop this faux "calling to see how you're doing" bullshit, and call it like it is: the weekly "I just wanted to remind you how fucking lucky you are to be living my dream, since your unplanned birth ruined my entire life and I never got to know the beauty of the life that you shit all over every day" call. Because, as far as I know, "BE THANKFUL THAT YOU'RE NOT IN MEDICAL SCHOOL, WHERE EVERY MISTAKE YOU MAKE CAN LEAD TO SOMEBODY BEING DEAD" is not exactly the appropriate response to "well, to be honest, I really hate my life, Daddy..." And honestly, it would make more sense if you said "BE THANKFUL THAT YOU'RE NOT ON A ONE WAY ROCKET TRIP TO THE MOON WITH NO IDEA WHEN OR IF YOU'LL EVER RETURN TO EARTH AGAIN" because I think that would be more plausible than me going to med school. Seriously. Ok...I think I'm done here. Good talk.

True Story

(Scene: A Starbucks in Santa Monica. Big Bad Al is sitting at a small, cramped table, furiously typinging on her laptop, while flipping through the Federal Income Tax books and suppluments strewn around her. Highlighters of every color, pens, pencils, old coffee and tea cups, and the remnants of various fatty pastries surround her.)

Mr. X: mrvffff....nmrwrnn fmrmrv fymmmrmmrmmr gggaaarrrrr....
(Mr X towers over Big Bad Al's table until she gets creeped out enough to realize that he's just standing. staring. She glances up, still typing)

Big Bad Al: sorry, I have earplugs in.

Mr. X: (louder) I SAID, WOWWWW....SOMEONE'S SURE STUDYING HARRRRRRRRRRD.

Big Bad Al: (Still typing) um. yeah.

(awkward silence)

Mr. X: (loud) SO WHAT ARE YOU STUDYING FOR?

Big Bad Al: (still typing) um...law school...I have finals...

Mr. X: (loud) WOOOOWWWW...IMPRESSSSIVE....

(Awkward scilence. He stands. He stares.)

Mr. X: (loud) CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING? LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE RUNNING LOW ON COFFEE, AND YOU KNOW, COFFEE'S A STUDENT'S BEEEEEESSSSST FRIEEEEEEEND.

Big Bad Al: (still typing) um...no thanks...I've had my fill.

(Awkward scilence. He stands. He stares.)

Mr. X: (loud) SO, DO YOU LIVE AROUND HERE???

Big Bad Al: (Still typing) um. yeah.

Mr. X: (still loud) OH. WHERE? RIGHT AROUND HERE?

(silence)

(silence)

Mr. X: (loud) HELLLLLOOOOOO...(taps Big Al's table)...I ASKED YOU A QUEEEESSSSSSSTIONNNN.....WHERE EXACTLY DO YOU LIVE...?

Big Bad Al: (typing stops) Um...I'm sorry...I...don't know you...and...I don't really...uh...feel...comfortable telling you...where I live. And I'm really tryig to study. (feigned smile)(typing restarts)

Mr. X: what?

(sound of typing)

Mr X: ...ahem...what?

Big Bad Al: (typing stops) (Sigh)...I said, I don't know you, and I don't feel comfortable telling you where I live. Sorry. And I'm really trying to study, so...thanks... (typing starts)

Mr. X: Wait...What...did you just say...???

Big Bad Al: (typing stops)(LOUD) OH...WAIT...DO YOU HAVE EARPLUGS IN TOO?

Mr. X: WHAT!?!

Big Bad Al: (LOUDER) I SAID...I'M SORRY, DO YOU HAVE EARPLUGS IN TOO????

Mr. X: NO!!

Big Bad Al: OH, BECAUSE IT DIDN'T SEEM LIKE YOU COULD HEAR ME VERY WELL.

Mr. X: I CAN HEAR YOU JUST FINE! I JUST COULDN'T BELIEVE THAT YOU JUST SAID THAT TO ME. I'M JUST TRYING TO MAKE CONVERSATION, YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE RUDE. JUST RELAX.

Big Bad Al: Oh, well MAYBE you should try making CONVERSATION with SOMEBODY who's not TYPING FURIOUSLY, studying for LAW SCHOOL FINALS and WEARING EARPLUGS!!!

Mr. X: JESUS CHRIST, YOU'RE JUST A BITCH!

Big Bad Al: OH, THAT'S RIGHT. I'm sorry, I forgot to wear my "DON'T TALK TO ME WHEN I'M IMMERSED IN MY STUDIES AND WEARING EAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRPLUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGSSSSSSS" T-SHIRT TODAY. You're right, It's totally MY FAULT. I APOLOGIZE.

Mr. X: YOU SHOULD APOLOGIZE. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO INTERACT WITH PEOPLE YOU SHOULD JUST GO TO YOUR SECRET HOME WHERE NOBODY CAN BOTHER YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE JUST SO GODDAMNED SPECIAL. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW??????

Big Bad Al: Fine. (packing up stuff) Fine. FINE. I WILL go home. This is a bunch of BULLSHIT. SO, just because i'm SITTING HERE, I'M SUPPOSED TO CATER TO YOUR EVERY FUCKING QUESETION ABOUT MY LIFE, WHILE I'M TRYING TO FUCKING STUDY??? FINE! I WILL GO! AND I HOPE YOU KNOW IT'S BECAUSE YOUR'E A HUGE SELF ABSORBED DOUCHEBAG BULLY!! YEAH, BULLY!!! YOU CAN HAVE YOUR FUCKING PLAYGROUND BACK, BITCH!

Mr. X: What...what did you just....? Okay, YOU are just crazy, lady.

Big Bad Al: STOP FUCKING SAYING "JUST"!!!!!!!!

(Big Bad Al storms out of scene, Mr. X shakes his head, sips his iced orange mocha frappucccino, and takes her seat.) (fade out)

Warning

The next time a random guy comes up to me and says "Why so sad? Smile!!" I'm going to kick him in the BALLS and SPIT ON his condescending FACE.

I warned you all.

And by the way, don't EVER let your children go to law school. Unless you hate them. Then make it their life's goal.

Whatever, go to hell, I fucking hate you all.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT

DO NOT EVER TELL A LAW STUDENT THAT LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL, THAT THEY SHOULD BE HAPPY THAT THEY ARE STILL IN SCHOOL, THAT YOU'RE SURE IT'S "NOT REALLY THAT BAD", THAT THEY SHOULD FEEL LUCKY TO BE ALLOWED THE "PRIVILEGE" OF STUDYING IN A BEAUTIFUL DEMOCRACY LOVING COUNTRY, THAT YOU'D LOVE TO BE IN THEIR SHOES, THAT THE REAL WORLD SUCKS, ANY VARIATION OF "TRY BEING MARRIED WITH 4 MOUTHS TO FEED", THAT AT LEAST THEY'RE NOT A JANITOR, OR THAT THEY'RE NOT FAT. YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE IF YOU DO.

Finals season, and the screws begin to loosen....

Saturday Morning. Who cares. Last night I had a dream about this lady who ran a huge toy company that was under investigation by 60 minutes because they had a contract with Mattell to make a specific toy before the company was ever in existence. And even though that's perfectly legal, and I know because I took an entired 4 month class on just that subject last semester, for some reason in my dream, it was this huge scandal, all over the Dreamland news, and this lady (who was suuuuuuuper fat for some reason) was shamed, and forced to resign from her "billion dollar job" (I know it was billions because the guy on 60 minutes said so). They did this interview with her at her new job where she was all angry and bitter because she was now trying to make ends meet by working at this character themed shoe store, where she had to dress like one of the old ladies at Cinderella's ball and people put the shoes they didn't want on her huge ass and she had to walk around like that. Like with those huge fake ass trays with fabric draped all over them. And I was sitting in the livingroom at my parents house watching all of this go down on tv.
Now. I don't even know where to start with the analysis of this dream. There is SO MUCH wrong with it. It's seriously disturbing. But, in short, I can only assume that I am that fat assed lady, who is living in constant fear that I'm going to somehow be shamed out of my potentially lucrative law career (which I don't want anyway) by something that warrants absolutly no punnishment, and end up working in a rediculous, demeaning job, because the "billions" that I was making are now suddenly gone, and everyone hates me just because some douchebag on 60 Minutes says they should. And I feel super fat, so that makes sense. However, there is one thing that perplexes me...why was this lady working making TOYS in the beginning? That's fun. I want to do that. Law school BLOWS. I don't want to do this shit.

Sigh....Whatever.

Late.

Friday Night Highlights

Wow. Look at this. 11pm on a Friday night and you know where I am? In my stinky cigarette and vinegar smelling apartment, in the same clothes I managed to find on my floor and pull onto my hungover/PMSing (and therefore rediculously bloated) ass at 7:52 this morning. Which was a good 7 minutes before The Divine Ms. Papadickulous picked me up for our ritualistic Friday Morning DrunkDrive down PCH during which we consistently reak of the mass quantities of alcohol consumed the night before in desperate attempts to disconnect ourselves from the gruesome reality that is our Law Student life. I like the way we bond. We don't talk, we don't look at eachother, we don't smile, we don't laugh. We stumble into the car, make no eye contact, and struggle to stay awake and somewhat alert enough to grunt towards the general direction of the eachother if need be. We've gotten good at it, too. I can now clearly distinguish between the monosyllabic versions of "Bitch, put your fucking seatbelt on before that bacon-smelling PIG uses your free-ballin' ass as a LAME excuse to harrass us and we get stuck with 5 reCOCKulous tickets" and "can you please hand me that bottle of water that's right below your feet? Feel free to partake in it's thirst quenching nature as it glides by your parched lips on its way to my hand, if you so choose, my dear." And so, after a day of completely arbitrary legal jargon being barked at me by profs who never in their life have consumed the amount of alcohol my liver is currently trying in vein to process, and who therefore think there is something seriously wrong with my health come every friday (since I look like I've been delivered by Death to the steps of my law school for freaking him out and ruining his natural Reaper high) I am way to exhausted to even make an attempt to join the wandering masses outside my door. God I feel disgusting.

Welcome to my world...And by welcome, I mean Run.

So here I am. joining the ranks of my ever increasingly bitter generation who have grown prone to spewing venom at random celebrities, public officials, and mere mortals alike, all throught the wonder of the internet. I'm SURE this is EXACTLY where the guys at NASA saw this going 20 years down the line. I'm so glad to've joined your ranks, Gen X. ...you bunch of douchebags...