Giving back to the community...in bed.
First week of school over, wooohoooooo! There's so much to say so much to say. I just don't where to begin. There's no good way to start this entry all the stories I'm about to share with you are of equal importance. They're all brilliant, funny, bizzare and above all else, there are one-hundred percent true. You can't make this shit up. So take my hand and follow along with me. C'mon, baby, this is a coming of age tale.
As I mentioned there's no ideal way to kick this post off so I guess we'll just start at the begining of the week as this sings of logic. It was my very last night in P-ville and I had been drinking since three p.m. knowing that I would be unable to drink in my apartment without risking eviction. I just wanted my last jollies so I slammed gin drink after gin drink. I was buzzed but not drunk. I was in the state of inebriation in which your limbs feel heavier and you feel as though you are moving through chest deep water. My thinking was giddy but not stupid. This was the stage of drunk I was in when Danny came over and suggested a ride on his motorbike (okay, okay, stop laughing alright I know. I know it's to be called motorcycle. I know that saying motorbike is incredibly old lady-ish but damnit I can't help it). My immeadiate reply of,
"FUCK YEAH! Let's get on the motorbike!"
was not caused by alchohol. This response was caused by the fact that I'd never been on a motorbike and have alwaysalwaysalways wanted to hop on one. Elated, I jogged back into my house to grab my leather jacket and nearly broke my ankle drunkenly rolling it. Gin numbed this and within seconds I was happily situated behind Danny with his oversized helmet making my already heavy head harder to hold up. I askwed him before he took off what it felt like to be on a motorbike. He responded,
"It feels like free"
then he tore out of the driveway.
Well Danny, was a killer driver and oh your God was it ever fun. From my place behind him I could just look over his shoulder and see the spedomitor. We were going around eighty. This sobered me up. If I in my drunken slowness were to in anyway jostle Danny, in a way that would set him off balance I could send us both careening off to a horrible death. This is a sobering thought.
Can I just say something though? There is no such thing as life after a motorbike. There's nothing like it. Truly. It's being free just like Danny said. It's liberation all over again (I've been getting a lot of liberation lately. It's a bit like crack y'know?)
After about forty-five minutes of riding my shoulders, back, and butt were sore and we were far from our little P-ville in some nothing town that neither of us were familiar with but it was okay. We turned around to come back. Now keep in mind from my vantage point I can see the spedemitor pefectly. Pretty as a picture and at this point Danny is actually going the speed limit and fuck you know what fucking happens? Can you even fucking guess? P-ville police bitches. Pull us the fuck over. For no reason. And Danny's insurance card is expired, and Danny doesn't have a motorbike licsense, and oh my goodness I reek like gin. This is bad situation. Long story short. Three tickets. And I kept my mouth shut so I guess he never smelled the gin on my breath.
Moving in was interesting. My roomies are the best...and so very, very typed. No joke. T-Y-P-E-D. Kayleigh would be our resident drunk. Carrie, is our fun little sweet eccentric art chica. Stephanie is our mousey little gal who'll be corrupted by second semester. And me? I'm just me. I love them all though. They're all fun. I knew they were my kind of people as I unpacked my food box pulled out my tonic and lime and Carrie asked,
"Got any gin to go with that Schweppes?"
Don't I wish. Not to mention the freaky fact that Steph and I had the same IKEA dishes, same handsoap, Carrie and I are both huge Boondock Saints, and Fight Club fans. And Kaleigh is, well, Kaleigh is Kaleigh...
Now onto the first day of school. I met a multitude of nice people. I can't even begin I can't so I'll move on to what I really want to talk about drawing nudes. Yes, yes. Or if you're French, qui, qui. I stepping into Life Drawing 101, and there was our model. I sat on my horse and began to get all my supplies in order. Now keep in mind when I put my head down to organize my supplies our model was closed. When I raised my head our model was not. I was not expecthing this. Let me describe this man to you. He was in his late fifties, early sixties, salt and pepper hair with a mustache, other than that he was COMPLETELY shaved save for a little Hitler mustache of pubic hair just above the base of his...penis. Yes, penis. I am a good girl. This model, Bryan, had just taken all the mystery out of the opposite sex. Well okay, let me rephrase that. Yes, I am a good girl, but I've seen peni. Just never in person...well until Bryan. Why did Bryan have to be the one to pop my visual cherry?
There are rules in LD101 about codes of conduct around the model. No inappropriate remarks or anything like that, but as I began to sketch and examine Bryan's body furthur in my art I realized something. This man had only one testicle. I was dangerously close to breaking the code of conduct about talking to the models. I wanted to ask Bryan where oh where had his other nut gone? I bit my tongue and continued sketching. As I worked the most inappropriate thought came into my head. I thought of every crude penis joke I had ever heard, I thought about how Hitler only had one testicle and how funny that made Bryan's poorly shaved pubic region. I thought about how if I burst our laughing I'd get kicked out of the class.
Our LD teacher is a fucking phantom. He floats around the class silently until he materializes behind me, scares the shit out of me, critisizes my peice, and throughly knocks me out of my rhythm. I was getting very sick of Mr. Jeremy Long by the end of the week. On Friday he snuck up behind me again (which is a terrible thing to do to a gal with rotten hearing) and as he critiqued me I began to scratch at a small scab I got on my forehead from slipping in the shower and banging my head on the tiles. I noticed Mr. Jeremy Long twitch. I scratched harder. He continued to lose his cool. I scratched until I felt blood under my finger nails. Mr. Jeremy Long scampered off to other students. I got happily back in my rythm. Within twenty minutes I was aware of a presence at my back. I reached my hand up and began to scratch mercilessly at the back of my neck. Soon enough the old feeling of being watched went away. Things continued on like this. I think we understand each other now.
And finally I have my last LD101 story of this post. Bryan took a position on Friday which can only be called "froggy" that is to say he squatted down with his hands on his knees and his legs bent. With his junk, his cash and prizes, his man bits, hanging like ripe fucking fruit. I maintained my calm not even one inappropriate thought went through my good gal head. Then Jeff leaned over and whispered,
"Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?"
I could have died.
I made Steph watch Fight Club this week as she had never seen it. She watched the entire movie with rapt attention, everything about the set of her face screamed "CONCENTRATION" she made no facial expressions and she only laughed once (when one of the space monkeys attempted to pick a fight with a priest) other than that she was completely silent. When the film ended with it's single frame of pornography she slowly got up and walked to the DVD player where she with the utmost care removed the DVD and replaced it in it's case. She had not said a single word. Finally I asked,
"What'd you think?"
She turned to my and dead panned,
"That was some fucked up shit."
After she recovered a bit she later told me that the night after she watched it she had a dream that she was plotting to blow up Opera's studios with Tyler Durden. I guess that means I've created a new fan. I'm slowly corrupting her flick by flick. I've made her sit through Boondock Saints, and both Kill Bills as well. She's digging 'em all so far.
And now onto my creme de la creme. My personal favorite story of the week. After walking back to the apartments, Jeff, Steph, and I sat waiting for an elevator. In our very tall building elevators are few and far between and the second an elevator arives you get the fuck on it because fuck knows when the next one is coming. Well the far right elevator arrived and I clammored to get on it when Jeff grabbed my shoulder with an,
"MFB DON'T!!"
"Why the fuck not?"
"Someone pissed on that elevator!"
Call me incredoulous, but,
"WHAT?!"
"I was riding that very elevator last night at nine o' clock and this drunk bitch stumbled on. I hit my floor (Jeff lives on the 30th) and she leaned against the wall. I couldn't bear to look at her without laughing so I looked at my feet and suddenly I noticed a puddle lapping at my shoes...I looked up and this chic's crotch was soaked. She pissed on the elevator!"
I didn't believe Jeff, but he begged me and Steph to wait for the left elevator and we did. I got up to my room and began to pack my shit for a weekend at home. While waiting for an elevator later that evening I still didn't believe Jeff so when the far right elevator came I thought nothing of hopping on it. Well I wish I had thought something of it because this elevator did not smell like a smidgeon of piss, oh no this elevator smelled like someone said, "BRING ON THE PISS" and then had some one proceed to bring it on...and then it smelled like someone tried to cover the piss with Lysol. It was gawdawful. I want to leave a note in the elevator that says,
"I DO NOT RIDE UP AND DOWN FLOORS IN YOUR BATHROOM...PLEASE DO NOT PISS IN MY ELEVATOR".
So that's the short of it. There's so many more stories but just not the time. I'll maybe write more tomorrow but right now I gotta head out with Angela to kill time in the best ways possible. Look out P-ville we're going to get White Castles.
You know what we need? Some rope,...
MFB
As I mentioned there's no ideal way to kick this post off so I guess we'll just start at the begining of the week as this sings of logic. It was my very last night in P-ville and I had been drinking since three p.m. knowing that I would be unable to drink in my apartment without risking eviction. I just wanted my last jollies so I slammed gin drink after gin drink. I was buzzed but not drunk. I was in the state of inebriation in which your limbs feel heavier and you feel as though you are moving through chest deep water. My thinking was giddy but not stupid. This was the stage of drunk I was in when Danny came over and suggested a ride on his motorbike (okay, okay, stop laughing alright I know. I know it's to be called motorcycle. I know that saying motorbike is incredibly old lady-ish but damnit I can't help it). My immeadiate reply of,
"FUCK YEAH! Let's get on the motorbike!"
was not caused by alchohol. This response was caused by the fact that I'd never been on a motorbike and have alwaysalwaysalways wanted to hop on one. Elated, I jogged back into my house to grab my leather jacket and nearly broke my ankle drunkenly rolling it. Gin numbed this and within seconds I was happily situated behind Danny with his oversized helmet making my already heavy head harder to hold up. I askwed him before he took off what it felt like to be on a motorbike. He responded,
"It feels like free"
then he tore out of the driveway.
Well Danny, was a killer driver and oh your God was it ever fun. From my place behind him I could just look over his shoulder and see the spedomitor. We were going around eighty. This sobered me up. If I in my drunken slowness were to in anyway jostle Danny, in a way that would set him off balance I could send us both careening off to a horrible death. This is a sobering thought.
Can I just say something though? There is no such thing as life after a motorbike. There's nothing like it. Truly. It's being free just like Danny said. It's liberation all over again (I've been getting a lot of liberation lately. It's a bit like crack y'know?)
After about forty-five minutes of riding my shoulders, back, and butt were sore and we were far from our little P-ville in some nothing town that neither of us were familiar with but it was okay. We turned around to come back. Now keep in mind from my vantage point I can see the spedemitor pefectly. Pretty as a picture and at this point Danny is actually going the speed limit and fuck you know what fucking happens? Can you even fucking guess? P-ville police bitches. Pull us the fuck over. For no reason. And Danny's insurance card is expired, and Danny doesn't have a motorbike licsense, and oh my goodness I reek like gin. This is bad situation. Long story short. Three tickets. And I kept my mouth shut so I guess he never smelled the gin on my breath.
Moving in was interesting. My roomies are the best...and so very, very typed. No joke. T-Y-P-E-D. Kayleigh would be our resident drunk. Carrie, is our fun little sweet eccentric art chica. Stephanie is our mousey little gal who'll be corrupted by second semester. And me? I'm just me. I love them all though. They're all fun. I knew they were my kind of people as I unpacked my food box pulled out my tonic and lime and Carrie asked,
"Got any gin to go with that Schweppes?"
Don't I wish. Not to mention the freaky fact that Steph and I had the same IKEA dishes, same handsoap, Carrie and I are both huge Boondock Saints, and Fight Club fans. And Kaleigh is, well, Kaleigh is Kaleigh...
Now onto the first day of school. I met a multitude of nice people. I can't even begin I can't so I'll move on to what I really want to talk about drawing nudes. Yes, yes. Or if you're French, qui, qui. I stepping into Life Drawing 101, and there was our model. I sat on my horse and began to get all my supplies in order. Now keep in mind when I put my head down to organize my supplies our model was closed. When I raised my head our model was not. I was not expecthing this. Let me describe this man to you. He was in his late fifties, early sixties, salt and pepper hair with a mustache, other than that he was COMPLETELY shaved save for a little Hitler mustache of pubic hair just above the base of his...penis. Yes, penis. I am a good girl. This model, Bryan, had just taken all the mystery out of the opposite sex. Well okay, let me rephrase that. Yes, I am a good girl, but I've seen peni. Just never in person...well until Bryan. Why did Bryan have to be the one to pop my visual cherry?
There are rules in LD101 about codes of conduct around the model. No inappropriate remarks or anything like that, but as I began to sketch and examine Bryan's body furthur in my art I realized something. This man had only one testicle. I was dangerously close to breaking the code of conduct about talking to the models. I wanted to ask Bryan where oh where had his other nut gone? I bit my tongue and continued sketching. As I worked the most inappropriate thought came into my head. I thought of every crude penis joke I had ever heard, I thought about how Hitler only had one testicle and how funny that made Bryan's poorly shaved pubic region. I thought about how if I burst our laughing I'd get kicked out of the class.
Our LD teacher is a fucking phantom. He floats around the class silently until he materializes behind me, scares the shit out of me, critisizes my peice, and throughly knocks me out of my rhythm. I was getting very sick of Mr. Jeremy Long by the end of the week. On Friday he snuck up behind me again (which is a terrible thing to do to a gal with rotten hearing) and as he critiqued me I began to scratch at a small scab I got on my forehead from slipping in the shower and banging my head on the tiles. I noticed Mr. Jeremy Long twitch. I scratched harder. He continued to lose his cool. I scratched until I felt blood under my finger nails. Mr. Jeremy Long scampered off to other students. I got happily back in my rythm. Within twenty minutes I was aware of a presence at my back. I reached my hand up and began to scratch mercilessly at the back of my neck. Soon enough the old feeling of being watched went away. Things continued on like this. I think we understand each other now.
And finally I have my last LD101 story of this post. Bryan took a position on Friday which can only be called "froggy" that is to say he squatted down with his hands on his knees and his legs bent. With his junk, his cash and prizes, his man bits, hanging like ripe fucking fruit. I maintained my calm not even one inappropriate thought went through my good gal head. Then Jeff leaned over and whispered,
"Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?"
I could have died.
I made Steph watch Fight Club this week as she had never seen it. She watched the entire movie with rapt attention, everything about the set of her face screamed "CONCENTRATION" she made no facial expressions and she only laughed once (when one of the space monkeys attempted to pick a fight with a priest) other than that she was completely silent. When the film ended with it's single frame of pornography she slowly got up and walked to the DVD player where she with the utmost care removed the DVD and replaced it in it's case. She had not said a single word. Finally I asked,
"What'd you think?"
She turned to my and dead panned,
"That was some fucked up shit."
After she recovered a bit she later told me that the night after she watched it she had a dream that she was plotting to blow up Opera's studios with Tyler Durden. I guess that means I've created a new fan. I'm slowly corrupting her flick by flick. I've made her sit through Boondock Saints, and both Kill Bills as well. She's digging 'em all so far.
And now onto my creme de la creme. My personal favorite story of the week. After walking back to the apartments, Jeff, Steph, and I sat waiting for an elevator. In our very tall building elevators are few and far between and the second an elevator arives you get the fuck on it because fuck knows when the next one is coming. Well the far right elevator arrived and I clammored to get on it when Jeff grabbed my shoulder with an,
"MFB DON'T!!"
"Why the fuck not?"
"Someone pissed on that elevator!"
Call me incredoulous, but,
"WHAT?!"
"I was riding that very elevator last night at nine o' clock and this drunk bitch stumbled on. I hit my floor (Jeff lives on the 30th) and she leaned against the wall. I couldn't bear to look at her without laughing so I looked at my feet and suddenly I noticed a puddle lapping at my shoes...I looked up and this chic's crotch was soaked. She pissed on the elevator!"
I didn't believe Jeff, but he begged me and Steph to wait for the left elevator and we did. I got up to my room and began to pack my shit for a weekend at home. While waiting for an elevator later that evening I still didn't believe Jeff so when the far right elevator came I thought nothing of hopping on it. Well I wish I had thought something of it because this elevator did not smell like a smidgeon of piss, oh no this elevator smelled like someone said, "BRING ON THE PISS" and then had some one proceed to bring it on...and then it smelled like someone tried to cover the piss with Lysol. It was gawdawful. I want to leave a note in the elevator that says,
"I DO NOT RIDE UP AND DOWN FLOORS IN YOUR BATHROOM...PLEASE DO NOT PISS IN MY ELEVATOR".
So that's the short of it. There's so many more stories but just not the time. I'll maybe write more tomorrow but right now I gotta head out with Angela to kill time in the best ways possible. Look out P-ville we're going to get White Castles.
You know what we need? Some rope,...
MFB