The Woodwork

I have been writing on my travelbolognie.blogspot.com website, but here and there, I come across something that just makes me write about something other than travel.

You might think that Arnold Schwarzenegger only had one illegitimate child, Austria, but reports are out and turns our he's back- in the news.

You work for a wealthy celebrity family for 20 years. You give birth to a child made up of the filthy rich Father’s filthy sperm and over ten years later, you are sitting on the floor with a tiny tv on top of a box around Christmas time. This is your legacy.

When I masturbate about breaking up the homes of powerful men, I almost always get some furniture out of the deal before I cum. What is wrong with this woman that this is where she is in life? I am not saying that the man has no role in this, but what the fuck is wrong with women? Why don’t we respect ourselves and each other enough to honor something as sacred as a political marriage, or if we don't, advance our own place in life ass a result?! (see what I did there, with "ass"?) This woman lives in Bakersfield for Christ's sake!

Also, the photos of her and her son are all over her Myspace page. That’s news also, Myspace still exists and this is it’s demographic: desperate home-wreckers. I think that Myspace should sue this woman for tarnishing their image... they might get a box or a 10 year old out of the deal.

Clearly money was not the motive, or she spent it all on a sugar tooth, but why? WHY WHY WHY WHYWHY exploit yourself and your son to this publicity on MYSPACE?! The thing is, she looks awful in her behavior, but Arnold looks like a regular guy and will go on to make movies again, because this is just an image blip for him. Reminds me of when Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with a Beverly Hills prostitute in the back of a car and was arrested in 1995:

Hugh went on to have a successful career, just like Arnold will and these women will barely get by until they die. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is wrong.

I like My Horse Like I Like Tits: Bare Back

I am generally writing on my travel blog these days and that is called travelbolognie.blogpot.com

However, every once in awhile something crosses my path that extends past cultural bounds and brings me back to nature... where we all come from.

So, travel with me on this life journey- we shall roll through the meadows and dance in the wind. The sky will dress us and our love can trot/ gallop.

In the present we are free, just like a horse or a child without discipline. The sun bathes us like the water- so far from one another, but so close- like politics.

I found the inspiration from today's blog from a thumbnail to an invite called "Equine Vision Journey"... yes, I was invited. I will not be attending because I left my horse in the 1920's, but it's nice to know I can still return to a simpler time. The picture from this event was too small to see clearly, so I got on google and searched "woman on horse meditating". I don't want to say what I found is better than Europe, but really- it's better than God, so it's at least better than Rome.

Oh, Too Much Chocolate?!

I just ordered my friend a mocha from a coffee shop, where I asked about the amount of chocolate they put in their mocha, she told me about 3 pumps in a 16 oz... and she said it in such a way to suggest she didn’t even use full pumps. I said “oh, so not too much, then?” She shook her head and I turned around grimacing at the stupidest question ever posed at a coffee shop. I say that knowing some pretty stupid ones, I worked at coffee shops for years- hip establishments, at that... Oh, I didn’t work their long, due to my deficient proclivity to be chic.
“You’re my BEST FRIEND!” I would declare with indiscernible authenticity to the “coolest”, bitchiest co-worker/ manager... She would tell me something about working and I would tell her how we are like sisters.

So here I am posing a hypothetical question to a barista that can only be the evidence of a sheltered life and repeated head injuries: “So not too much chocolate then?” Like she was going to lean in with a slow wink, real slow- questionably slow, and after looking around to make sure no one was watching smirk at me and whisper “no, too much.” Her mouth didn’t move when she said that and come to think of it, she could have thrown her voice in case someone was listening. I turn around with the heavy burden of knowing the weight of the world.. BOOM, the back of the shop explodes and I am knocked to the floor. I am laying in a pool of someone else’s blood, it’s the barista’s- they killed her and now large black boots are running past my face, splashing DNA in the form of waste and brains. My eyes fill with the parts of other people before I go completely unconscious.

When I wake up, I feel like I am made of cement and would like nothing more than to lay back down, but I am chained to a chair in a 200 watt sterile room, when I see myself in a two way mirror. I have been shaved completely and am dressed in a hospital gown, everything is blurry and slow to advance with my gaze. I’ve been drugged- heavily. A voice comes over the intercom in a muffled metallic “Abbey?” “what do you want?!” I say with the effort of a scream, but the result of a whisper. “How did you know about the chocolate?”

You get the gist. I am very important and my questions reflect that. The mocha wasn’t even for me and now I am probably dead- if I continued writing, but I wont because this is a ridiculous topic.

This Is Today, But Also It's Life

Oh boy, I am so lucky because my boyfriend is going to drive me to get coffee! I mean, he has to because he chose to live somewhere that has nothing around it and he’s not exactly my boyfriend. He is my ex boyfriend who I sleep with when we are in the same town. So he tolerates driving me around in exchange of fluids and affection. I also buy lunches and stuff. YAY! He also loves me and I love him. I love coffee. I love my lap top and hula hoop!

He said he wouldn’t be grumpy about having to drive me somewhere. YAY. He said he’s resigned to his fate because he knows I can’t stay put and need to go places. I’M A PRINCESS!
He’s making jokes right now while I type and I just want to say, you could be driving right now- instead of making wise-cracks. We’re on the couch watching a documentary.

CORRECTION: We’re sitting on the couch, he’s watching a documentary and I am making fun of funny things I hear, as I hear them.

I want coffee now. He said we could go when the “movie” was over. He’s only saying that because he has had cowboy coffee (the cold stuff in the coffee pot from the day before) and thinks I will literally drive into the coffee shop if given a set of car keys, so he has to make me wait until he is ready to take me. I have given him two blow jobs since I’ve been here- with my mouth. I do that for his satisfaction and leverage.

The documentary is over and now he is running into things, doing his best retard impression, no doubt trying to get a blow job. Be right back!

Oh, I almost forgot about you- no offense, but I was shopping! Ordered a dirty chai and got my eyebrows waxed (eee gad!). I also bought a Diva Cup, which is like a reusable tampon. Environmentally sound and ultimately cost effective- BF commented that it will be nice not to have to deal with those “red mice”. I think the purchase was a success to have inspired that rodent blip.

I am going to make soup/ teach BF how to make soup. I want to go for a run, but have to make this soup... we’ll see. Also, I am hanging out, waiting for boy wonder to get whiskey, so we can continue our demise in Beaverton, OR.

You might read this and think something about me, but don’t judge a book by what is typed in bold, declarative print. Trust God and just kick back, life is happening to you soldier, so you just have to wait for the pay check.... or you have to create your own destiny- it’s really about balance. Namaste.

Light Rail: A New Age Train

You ever see an elderly person or someone with unfortunate circumstances and feel an urge of good will, but realize that every thing is hopeless, so you write a sardonic blog about the needy, in front of the needy?

Yeah, me too.

I am on the Max train, in Portland, OR, which is public transit for “train” or “light rail” (new age terminology). I am sitting across from a “blind guy”. I type that in a condescending fashion because I really feel like he’s embellishing his situation and trying to make ME feel bad. He has a dog, he’s old and his eyes are rolling in the back of his head. It’s like sitting across from a HAM SANDWICH.

Give me a break, “blind guy”, I am a woman so things have been hard for me for like three and a half years. Two years is like twelve years in dog time, so you can only imagine the pain three has brought me!

Speaking of dogs... I thought that someone might have brought a box of Popeye’s fried chicken on this train, but realized that “blind guy’s” dog just farted. Not only am I having to look at this guy every once and awhile, his dog is possessed by Asian shit ghosts right under me. Why me? WHY ME!?

I feel like I can’t go anywhere anymore without being harassed by the handi-capped or homeless. Where do these guys get off?

He’s been pretending to be sleeping... he just opened his eyes. Like that is adorable, or something. This guy’s been coasting by on his Anthony Hopkin-esk good looks for too long and it’s about time I said something. Blind people; cripples just coast through life and my boyfriend* has to get a job?! It’s just not fair... he has plantar fasciitis, where’s his dog?

This is what it’s come down to. This man got on the train and my first instinct was “how can I assist him?”. I saw him feel around for his seat and realized he didn’t need me. Well, nobody is going to take my power/ worth... not even *, because I am an independent woman who buys my own fucking latte (unless someone else offers to treat me- I am a princess).

In other news, I am liquidating my self-esteem all week in hopes that relieving that weight will make me skinny.

Oregon COASTING Through The Weekend

I am spending the weekend at the Oregon Coast with my friend, C. C and I used to date and were in love... he broke my heart out of stupidity and I learned to value myself enough to not expect anything from him, so now we get along great... I haven't met anybody else, so we are doing mushrooms at the coast. I am not on mushrooms, but he is playing Mario Bros on Nintendo... what else are you going to do when it's gorgeous outside and there is beer in the fridge at three in the afternoon. He just grabbed a drink, the beer is peeking over my computer, in between C and I- as usual!

Last night we walked into "town" just to laugh at a town smaller than the expansive presence that we are. We were the ones driving an hour and a half to get here. Who spends that much effort to enjoy and simultaneously break something down? Parents, the Government and Us, I guess.

I wrote an earlier blog talking about how I made love to potatoes... then I cut it, thinking I would write something more relevant to the times, but... I am only writing right now as an exercise, not because I'm inspired. It's the same reason I have sex, really.

Not really. The reason I actually have sex is to fake some sense of authenticity between myself and whoever I'm seeing at the time. Pumping and grinding to feel something in this void, this sea of potatoes; fingerling potatoes.

I love potatoes, but our relationship makes me fat. Potatoes don't break my heart, which is a nice respite from fellows I have dated in the past- the drinkers. The only difference is that potatoes can't drive- at least that's what the officer said that one time I got pulled over for driving under the influence and insisted my "friend" would take it from here. He let me know the towns' traffic laws about legumes and such and I let him know that the 50's were so last year- I could love whomever I choose and he should drive because I'm a *hiccup* lady.

There it is, much needed potato commentary.

I Really Mean It.

I will explore the experience I have when I go into grandiose confidence on stage... I can accept that the quips might not be very funny, but the way that people seem to take it really blows my mind.

If I brag about having an iPod touch, you can't think that this is me placing my worth over yours. This is me, bringing to light that I have my notes written on an iPod touch and that's why I'm holding it on stage. If you're still working with an archaic note pad, well I have compassion for that. Vintage really only works with clothes and wine, but you're trying and I commend that. Good for you.

Seriously though, I do have an iPod touch... poor people can only steal them and I bought mine by working and setting aside money to get it. Sometimes, I just put my hand on it and feel better about who I am as a person. I am functioning in a respectable society. I write this as I watch commercials for gadgets I will soon own, as well.

A canvasser asked me if I had time for the environment and I said "is that an app?" she looked at me bewildered and I said "I don't have time for anything but my iPod touch... 32 gigs, very spendy."

That's not true, though. I also have time for my MacBook Pro. I am typing on it right now, but I'm also sitting next to my iPod touch and my phone. I also have a phone, there are only a handful of friends I can still call on it because everyone is so jealous of my success. I just took a photo of myself sitting at a coffee shop with my computer. Everyone is so jealous.

I have $1.13 available funds in my bank until my $2,054 check clears. Deposited it on Saturday and it's Tuesday... I feel hungry, but I wont eat because I have to wait. Luckily, there are a lot of distractions here, on the internet. I look at Oscar photos and know I am not far from looking that good now that I'm starving.

I am flying on an airplane tomorrow with my lap top, iPod touch, iPod nano, and my phone. Thanks America.

This Was Edited And Posted After The Fact.

Hey everyone! Greyhound has free wifi, so I am VIRTUALLY cruising.

There was actually one seat left on this hub of a hot spot and it is right next to the toilet! How convenient... well, not right next. I have two heavy-boy-bookends, who have probably robbed something... like my personal space! It’s okay, though because I was so lonely in my early twenties, that now it just feels like soul mates. Also, it's a great exercise in being assertive, something I have never had an issue with.

me: “are you awake now?”

ex-con: “huh?”

me: “yeah, I’m going to need my seat back because my thighs are sweating too much by being forced so close together.”

x: “you got any R&B on your iPod”

me: “I have a little, why, you want to listen to my iPod?”

x: “yeah”

me: “you can’t.”

x: “why?”

me: “because it’s mine and I’m using it.”

Stop talking to me while I have headphones in, people!

So, you might think I am complaining- I am just illustrating that these people are out there. The terrorists need to know what to attack next. Hey TERRORISTS, you’re wasting your time trying to get back on airplanes... all the WORST people are on the Greyhound and there is absolutely no security! I am only telling you this, because I will never ride on one again.

Another strong point was that I was doing a show right after I got off the Greyhound that night and I was on the phone with my friend, who was picking me up, when I mentioned something about the show... Little did I know that ears are EVERYWHERE on a Greyhound, just dying to talk to me about MY LIFE!

passenger: “I couldn’t help but strain to hear your muffled, but brief conversation... did you say you were doing a show?”

me: “yes, I did.”

passenger: “what kind of show? What do you do- are you an actress?”

me: “a comedian.”

passenger: “COOL.”

Here’s the thing about being a comedian, I don’t want anybody I don’t know to know about that. So now, the whole back of the bus knows this about me to the point that I get asked "where are your smiles?!"

“OH MY SMILES?! Is my face an unpleasant backdrop to this joyously delayed trip in the heaven wagon?! Why, they must have been SQUEEZED out of me by the two beef patties in this backseat burger! OR they were fumigated out by the facilities half a midget away from me."

Speaking of small children, yes- one is screaming 3.5 feet away from me. How can I think?! I CAN’T and that’s how Greyhound likes their customers: mindless. So I am doing a fine job fitting in and luckily it's getting dark.

Outside the bus, during a pit stop, my future agent/ the inquisitive eavesdropping passenger is asking even more questions:

passenger: “are you famous?”

me: “no”

passenger: “oh, well you get paid, though.”

Not really, but I didn’t have the heart to break it to this star struck kid, who couldn't handle the reality of doing something for nothing while he was still under the impression that a famous person might be sitting behind him on a bus in the middle of Colorado. Only somebody who rides a Greyhound bus could possibly think that someone famous might be riding the Greyhound bus.

Anyway, a 2 hour and 50 minute bus ride is going on 6 hours, but at least I have a scarf to bury my face in when I see someone get up to use my bedside-public toilet. When I see someone coming, that's when I fart real hard, because- why not?!

I would continue writing but this 6'5' giant is reading over my shoulder and where his eyes go, his legs follow, so if I want to walk again I better shut this lap top... I don't think he can read so much as he is waiting for pictures to show up on this "book".

There Is No Point

Responsible.

I am responsible now... I used to cry myself to sleep, wishing I could pay rent and buy groceries. I wanted nice things. Now, as I sit in a cafe, sipping a spicy chai and typing on my MacBook Pro, I recognize how my wants have shifted.

I was watching a movie the other night, where a character had practically every bone in her body smashed in some awful accident. As she sat in her hospital bed, morphine constantly dripping into her blood stream, I wished I had an excuse to be on morphine all day. Maybe in some sort of terrorist attack, where I lay out the bad guys and save the world, or at least the building.

I used to love opiates and hanging out, but now- I can't. I have to stay focused, but for what? Success? Presence? I just watched 2012 and I realize success is pretty pointless. However, like other rappers before me, I must get dat paper, y'all. Sure, I would rather be euphorically itchy all over while I tried, but then I yell at cats for "talking" too much.

I'm working on a book, but don't tell anyone... I don't want to subject myself to public ridicule. I was writing jokes, but then I lost the page I was working on, so I picked up some opiates and now am havein fuhn. Don't know what all these small townsie people are looking at... like their ticks don't make them itchie... I could have ticks, what do they know? One thing definitely havein: FUUUUUUUUUhhhhHHhhhn. I should go some where and masturbate.

OH THANK GOD THERE IS A NEW NOTIFICATION IN FACEBOOK!

Rock and Roll Out, Man.

Listening to a mix suggested by SPIN magazine, so you know the genres are all over the place, but no world music, ironically (so hip).

A rock song came on, and it was yelling at me. If I wanted to be yelled at, I'd go back to childhood (amiright, Michael Jackson?!). I don't want you to think that I don't like rock... I also don't want you to think my skin's bad either, but what can I do besides wear headphones and stay in my room?

I had a theory once, when I listened to Top 40, exclusively (I know), that people who liked sad music had pretty nice childhoods and that people who listened to Pop music grew up in foster care... I am pretty sure that people who like rock were molested my their priest.
Maybe these theories didn't hold true as I got older... I also got more friends (856 on Facebook), so my perspective is highly evolved. At least I just said something about molestation. Lots of kids out there, so people should really keep their eyes out... also their ears, if you hear rock- call the cops! I don't think they can do anything to sex offenders unless they actually find their fingers hidden in youth. Being caught "red-handed" never had so many hymen connotations.

So far, a pretty pedophilic post, but let's get back to music. It's great, ey? Sometimes I just sit and listen to it! I am sitting right now listening to it right now. Before I started writing this I was listening to it and even before that. The thing I like is that I am listening to it on my headphones in a shitty coffee shop that is playing Matchbox 20 and company. Every time one of my hip songs is over, in fades Staind, or the like. It just reminds me "hey, you could be stripping." Except I can't because I don't like the way I look hanging upside down naked. Society put that on me... makes me wonder how I am going to protect my children.

For now, I will protect them by not having them and then when I do- holding them real close for 23 years.

Jesus Christ Super Starbucks

I am sitting at a Starbucks in Glenwood Springs, CO... I left after I wrote that, now I am somewhere else. Pretty honest of me to tell you that. I could have said that I was still in Starbucks, on my 5th cup of mint tea and you wouldn't know the difference between that and a chai at Auto Zone (free wifi).

That is how you know you can trust me. I will tell you what inspired me to write a blog today and you will know I am being completely honest because of my last paragraph.

I was sitting across from a couple guys, they seemed outdoorsy and reasonable. However, they weren't. They were talking about Jesus and stuff... about wanting the bible taught in school. I don't think there is anything reasonable about loud Jesus talk.. why is over hearing a Christ convo like hearing about someone beating their dog?

It's not that Christians are bad, but it's that they all beat their pets. You know who is really good to their pets, Muslims (Sufi)! Yep, this is all probably a thorn in the hat of Jesus. He is, no doubt, rolling over on his cross, because he really loved his dog.
Jesus was like Paris Hilton in that sense... he was always carrying Sam Sam everywhere. Unlike Paris Hilton's dogs, Sam Sam was a pit bull, but super affectionate. Jesus chose to carry Sam Sam because Jesus was a strong man. He was so strong he died for your sins, but was indifferent to dying... "Let's just get this over with, so I can finish building stuff." That's what he was recorded saying on the cross, then he said "Sam Sam!"

The truth is, the only reason there is official proof (paintings) that Jesus cried on the cross was because he missed Sam Sam. It's ironic that all Christians ended up being so into animal cruelty. Maybe it's to do with the fact that Jesus loved his dog more than any of us.

I am more of a cat person, but I'm not religious.
*
*
*

Thursday?! but it was just Wednesday 10 minutes ago!

This is me right now:



and the only reason I'm telling you this is because Bridget Jones: Edge Of Reason Failed to download properly... turning my Wednesday night of back to back Bridg-J (like Tahr-jhay) into a blog.

What? No, it isn't available to watch instantly on Netflix- I guess they want letter carriers to have a purpose other that delivering coupons and my post cards.

So I am here, kind of relieved BJ:EOR is unavailable (for the time being) because I don't want to stay up super late... sure, I ate two (small) bowls of ice cream a few hours ago and I am scared of getting hungry again, but we have to face our fears or we don't grow.

I'm not talking about my "waistline" growing (eeew!). I am talking about as an intelligent being- like Bridget Jones- she journals- JUST LIKE ME! and she is touted about the movie and hefty girl who weighs ____, JUST LIKE ME. I'm okay, but where is my Mark Darcy?!(even Hugh Grant would be alright)

He may be in Paris? Sure. I am moving there in March, but what would a relationship be like now that I have a computer? Probably a distraction... Look here's me in Paris:



Couldn't do that with some man in my bed. I think that I'm like Bridget, but better because I am totally comfortable with my... hmmm... hey! Look at that moose!

Abbey, you look like Fergie!

I don't consider myself a feminist. I don't like what it's become... a woman who insists on making herself unattractive and uptight about everything in the name of "feminism". The hollow shells of a stereo-type that are supposed to represent my empowerment.

Maybe I got off on a bit of a rant there. Sorry... let me put on some lipstick. better.


I make light of my gender, mostly because I don't identify with anybody anymore... wish I could be a turtle, really. However, nothing makes me feel more connected to both lips of the labia than reading Top 40 lyrics.



"That girl's too hot
Too hot she's too hot
Too hot for her top
Too hot she's too hot
Too hot for her shirt
Too hot for her skirt
Too hot for her clothes
Too hot for wardrobe

So go just take it off, take it off, take it off,
take it off, take it off, take it off,
just take it off, take it off, take it off,
take it off, take it off, (Lookie lookie lookie lookie)"



Parenthetical "lookie" to the third degree paired with "too hot for wardrobe" (clearly singular, like the cave men days) This is the Black Eyed Peas, a band that traded respect for costumes and Fergie. They are now educating a nation of young dummies.

It's not threatening- it's hilarious. The majority of this country is like "yeah, turn it up!" and girls are like "I'm hot if I take it off... if I take it off, it will be like Dad never left (or left my vagina alone)" and guys are all like "you don't respect yourself because your dad fucked you- I bet you are a crazy slut- hot!" and, guys also say: "have you heard the new Black Eyed Peas- It's awesome- suck on this dick, I dipped it in roofeeez!"

So, this is the world... most girls are molested (not me) and Clear Channel is really paving the way for some talent. I seriously hope that the popular music world changes- at least before I'm too old to suck a famous guy's dick. standards.

Murder Me Not

Seeing all these beautiful strangers on Facebook with their beautiful pictures helps me to see why people kill.
"When I see her, Audrey doesn't even acknowledge me, but I swear she's looking right at me in her pictures... she knows I love that blouse! I will MAKE her watch a movie with me!"



Sometimes, I think that people want to murder me, but I am too smart and slick. I use coconut oil on my skin so bad guys can't keep a grip and good guys can't get enough. I will tell you when the latter happens... thus far, it has only attracted young, Jimmy Buffet types. [insert "penis"colada pun]

Also, I'm too damn smart. Most murder victims are straight dummies.



Sometimes, I wish someone would just try and bring me bodily harm (rape joke) so I could go all Crouching Tiger and shit. I have never taken martial arts, but I am very intuitive and flexible.

Maybe I shouldn't say that I spend energy getting into imaginary fights with three big muthah fuckahs... and I really wont say that all the people who, I feel, have ever slighted me are there to witness it (ALL OF THEM). Brings up too many plot holes for my pragmatic mind (even my naughty fantasies are about catching my bus on time and not being bothered at all- bother just gets in the way [insert pic of vag and audio clip of dried leaves being crushed under the weight of a firm step]).

BACK TO GAPS IN PLOT:

What are they all doing there? Why am I wearing head-to-toe black latex? Am I married yet?

I am reasonable and so I will reason that:

a) they all follow my success and simultaneously came around to win favor.

b) I was at a photo shoot.

c) a lot.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you are a prospective employer, I encourage you to recognize that my tongue is so embedded in my cheek that I can't even talk anymore- just type... so send me any further questions via e mail.

Regards,
Abbey

Deer Poop

I am living in Carbondale, Colorado for the next few weeks. Carbondale actually stands for "deer poop"... things we didn't know- ey? And Carbodale is all over the ground out here! I think there is more Carbondale than grass.

Deer poop looks like this:



I have only been here a day and deer are already like homeless people to me. "Stop shitting on my side-walk, Joe!"

(Joe was a homeless fellow who shit on my block a lot in San Francisco.)

Joe's poop looked like this:



I don't really know what Joe's name was, and come to think of it, his poop really looked like this:



Alright. I guess it is nice that deer don't leer or smell violent... in fact, they are pretty pleasant- except for:



I guess it could be worse: