Monday, April 13, 2009

do you know who i am, motherfucker?

i have had about all i can take of the stupid town where i live.

i went to the stupid library here, which i rarely ever go to anyway, to get a book i have to read for my friend's residency lecture in june. where i used to live the library was amazing. i went several times a week. but the library here sucks. there are like three books in circulation and they all deal with like quilting or the amish. so anyway i have literally taken out one book since i moved here 19 months ago because it was some book i had to read for grad school and i was not going to buy it since i had a premonition that it would be total crap (i was right, it was). anyway so i went to take out a book. and i get up there and you know what the guy tells me? my card is expired. i have never heard of this before. is this standard in other places? that you have to renew a library card yearly? out of everywhere ive lived, ive never heard of anything like this.

at any rate, the guy tells me that since my address has changed twice since the expiration, i need to provide proof of both changes. and since my name has changed i need to provide proof of that too. like a marriage certificate. a marriage certificate to take out a book. from the stupid library. two proofs of change of address and proof of a changed name. for a book. a free. stupid. book.

i literally had my hand over my mouth and was biting my tongue. literally. i mean it literally hurts now i was biting it so hard. i wanted to scream YOU DUMB CRACKER-ASS MOTHERFUCKER! IM NOT GOING TO STEAL YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BOOK MOTHERFUCKER! DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM MOTHERFUCKER? DO YOU, YOU CRACKER-ASS, CRACKER? ONE CALL, MOTHERFUCKER! ONE MOTHERFUCKING CALL AND I WILL HAVE SOME CRIPS SO FAR UP YOUR CRACKER ASS YOU WILL BE SPITTING OUT SHOE LEATHER. NOW UPDATE MY MOTHERFUCKING INFORMATION IN YOUR MOTHERFUCKING RECORDS AND GIVE ME MY MOTHERFUCKING BOOK, CRACKER-ASS MOTHERFUCKER!

and of course for good measure, just because its such a cool word, i'd throw in a few more motherfuckers. MOTHERFUCKER MOTHERFUCKER MOTHERFUCK-ASS COCK SUCKING, LIBRARIAN MOTHERFUCKER. CRIPS MOTHERFUCKER! GIVE ME MY BOOK! NOW!

and for all of my LA friends, perhaps i'd throw some of this in.
HOLMES! VATO! ESE! BOOK! NOW! MOTHERFUCKER!

shit dude. who has to go through this for some hubert selby and anais nin? stupid motherfuckers. they can go fuck themselves. im going to amazon.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

daisy chainsaw

i moved into a house with rosebushes in the front. i have never been big on roses; i think they're trite. even for my wedding when the florist lisped "for your bouquet, roses?" i rolled my eyes.

so from what i was told, the rosebushes had to be pruned, cut back to about 8 inches off the ground. granted, i should have googled this first, because im not sure on the reliability of the source. but the bushes, as they were, were as tall as me, which is about 5 feet, so there was a lot of cutting to do.

i have never gardened before, unless a chia pet herb garden counts. but i got some pruning shears and gloves and decided to do my pruning today as it was reasonably warm and sunny.

at first i was timid, just a snip here and a snip there. the thorns kept sticking me, which made me think of that stupid poision song which i had to force out of my head. bret michaels is a washed up douche. soon though, i was not just snipping, i was whacking. i was not just trimming branches, i was slaughtering them. i was moving with a quickness, butchering everything in my path.

these little grass-like plants next to the roses, i had been advised, needed to be trimmed as well; i grabbed them in my hand like a little girl's pony tail and whacked them at the root, waving the plant over my head like i had just scalped a white man. if i were more talented i would have done a native american battle cry for effect.

i began singing "anarchy in the uk", first in my head, then inadvertantly out loud, putting special emphasis on the "i want to de-STROY" portion. coincidently i looked a little like sid vicious in that one picture where he's slashed himself and is bleeding all over, what with the roses slicing the shit out of me. i hadn't even noticed until afterwoads as the entire time i was transfixed on the roses in this crazed, trance-like state. MUST.DESTROY.ROSES.

when i had finished there were branches, leaves, grass, buds...all kinds of crap...everywhere. i might have gone a little overboard, however, the whole thing was strangely, almost perversely, theraputic.

gardening. who'd have thunk it.