Monday, November 26, 2007

More Bang for your Buck

On our neverending quest for the cheapest hotel in the Boston area me and hubby stumbled upon a Motel 8 just seconds from home. Although I do feel a certain sense of betrayal on our part to the Arbor Inn Motor Lodge that we have called our home away from home for the past year. But we managed to get over that feeling when we abandoned Presidents Inn after finding out the Arbor Inn was only $76 compared to Presidents which is $109. Motel 8 being the cheapest one to date coming at at precisely $70 dollars. Its also a King Size bed compared to the other two that give you two queens. And get this, they have HBO. The coffee maker was broken and the lights were really dim but that is my only complaint. Its a much newer building and the blankets dont have nearly half the amounts of cigarette burns on them. This is our third hotel that we frequent and they are getting cheaper everytime so hopefully the next one we find will be only $50 a night. That would be rad.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Want, Need

I just want to feel decent. I want some sense of control over the thoughts that roam my head throughout the day. I want to find a way to deal with each nagging thought and dismiss it, instead of harboring these creepy feelings like something is always about to take over and crush me. I wish I didn’t push them all down and ignore them this long because now they have gotten so powerful that they seep into my dreams and wake me with a rush of panic Or they dominate my concentration in the lonely hours of the night when everyone else is sleeping and I am pleading with a God I don’t even believe in to grant me just a few sweet hours of sleep and escape from myself. Sleep is the drug I don’t pay for, the booze I don’t have to drink. Sleep is all I need to feel human. But I can’t sleep without either of the two. I need to cloud my head with drugs and alcohol in order to let myself drift off to sleep. To escape from the guilt and frustration I feel all day long. And it’s terrifying. Falling asleep at night has become such a struggle, something I dread all day because of the fear that lingers behind my eyelids and makes me sweat and shake and traps me in violent nightmares. And the pressure of knowing that if I don’t fall to sleep I will not go to work and I will spend another entire day basked in guilt. How is somebody supposed to recharge and feel human when they can’t do the most essential and natural thing they are supposed to do?
They figure out what it is they have been smothering all this time, they face the things that scare them and make them feel low and they let go of all of it. Then they lie down at night and doze off to sleep through the night and dream of things that aren’t dark and ugly and they wake up and feel like they can face the day cause at the end of it they can have another break from their heavy thoughts.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Update on Empty Wallet

Not only did I get through to unemployment and plead my case but they said they will send the check out today. My dad give me 60 bucks yesterday and Kelly gave me a knife last night. I won't be getting raped now.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Nest On (The Maggots Nest Anthem)

Nest On ( My Ode to the Maggots Nest)

By Lizzi Tish

Every time that I look in the mirror
No more Natty Ice and things get clearer
the beers are gone
they lasted from eight till dawn
isn't that the way
Every maggots got a nest where they can stay

Yeah, I know everybody knows where the beer comes from and where it goes
I know the number for Franklin Just hit rocketdial and they'll deliver a new case of sin

Half my life's lived in Nests & Cages
live and learn from my friends drunken rages
you know it's true
all the maggots come back to booze

Sing with me, sing for the Nest
sing for the laughter and sing for unrest
sing with me,
if it's just today
maybe tomorrow the good Beakey will send us away

Nest on, Nest on, Nest yourself a dream come true
Nest on, nest on, Nest on, and Nest until the beers are through

Life Lessons

True Story One evening while laying in bed with her boyfriend and best friend watching the movie Permanent Midnight there was a girl who had recently decided to end her month long drinking binge. Ten minutes into the movie she saw someone with a bottle of beer and was quickly reminded of how good it tastes. At this point she sprang from the bed, dove to her pocketbook and pulled out her remaining gas money for the week. Three dollar bills, three quarters, one dime. If she could find one more quarter she could afford two 40oz of Natural Ice. She started to feel the burning eyes of the people in the room and realized she looked like a coyote hovering over a fresh squirrel carcass and she grew embaressed. She decided pajama pants and flip flops would suffice for this trip and she fled the room and the judging looks from her peers. When she pulled up at the conveniently close Red Apple Liquors, she noticed two very unsavory men; one sitting in a pick up truck next to her car, the other standing at the door talking to the one in the pick up. The one at the door looked like he lived underneath a train station. He donned a tight, tan leather jacket, with those creepy gloves that have the fingers cut off, and a turtleneck covered by flannel. His face was riddled with pock marks, and his mangled teeth the color of nicotene. He was the type of person you could look at and immediately know what he smelled like. She weighed her options of either staying in the car and pretending to try and find something until they left or suck it up and walk in the store. Her hunger for cold, refreshing beer was too dire so she got up her courage and walked into the store. Naturally this guy was standing in front of the Miller High Life's so she did not have to stand too close to him. She was scared because all too often these type of men would hit on her, and she was feeling very vulnerable in her pajamas and tank top. She picked up her two 40oz and headed for the counter where he already was, it was here the two made conversation.

Sleezy Halfway House dude- "Oops ,didn’t see ya there " (as he gestured for her to put her beer on the counter while he was getting his change into his wallet)
Ridiculously Cool Girl- "oh thanks" (as she placed her beer onto the counter nervously)
Sleezy Halfway House Dude "40 ounces huh? You go girl" (smiling through his chapped lips at her) Ridiculously Cool Girl "Nothing but the best" (as she slowly turns the bottle to unveal the Natural Ice Label) Sleezy Halfway House Dude- "Whoooaa Natty Ice to boot, you’re a woman after my own heart" (as he places a hand over his heart on his tethered flannel shirt and walks backwards out of the store, raising his bag of beer to her)
Ridiculously Cool Girl- "Hahha Enjoy!!" (as she turns her attention back to the look of abolute disgust from the Indian clerk she realizes that she just looked into the eyes of her inevitable future)

She leaves the store and chuckles to herself about yet another liquor store experience that has left her heart warm and her smile wide and decided that the people that make her uncomfortable and look like potential rapists are actually her friends.

How to Ace a Job Interview

I just got a job at a pretty reputable company. How I beat out the 6 other candidates for the position goes a little something like this..
1. Party until 4 am at friends house on the night before the interview.
2. Drive home and struggle to get 4 hours of sleep before waking up to head to interview.
3. Wake up and Pull clothing out of the suitcase that you have been living out of because you have been thrown out of your house for the second time in 3 months. Do NOT iron. Do not acknowledge the fact that your belly is completely exposed and your jean jacket us filthy.
4. Leave makeup on that you had on when you went out the night before. Just clean up the black eye makeup that has wandered half way down your face.
5. Get to interview and stare blankly at the directory on the wall until someone asks you if you need help. Get on elevator travel up and down between floors until you realize the floor you are looking for is labeled lobby not 1st floor.
6. Get off elevator and stare blankly at directory again until someone else asks you if you need help. Explain predicament and have you future coworker explain the whole Lobby=1st floor thing. Then giggle and say "yeah Im kind of retarded when it comes to finding things" Then upon introductions discover this man is someone you will be working for.
7. Arrive in office of Interviewer where he asks you questions and you give one word answers.
8. Pick at your fingernails, fidget, and act completely disinterested.
9. When he asks you what your short term goals are, say "I dont really have any Im kinda just living day to day" then laugh about how dumb that sounded.
10. When he asks you if you have any questions about the position or about the company. Say "no" and offer no follow up.
11. While he is walking you out of his office say "pardon the jean jacket I know I must look like a dirtbag but Ive been living out of boxes for a week" Dont explain further.
12. And finally as you are walking through the door and down the hallway hit him with a "Laaattta" in your most West Quincy voice.
13. Wait for the company to come begging to hire you and then go ace a drug test so you can start the next round of "the Liz Furlong Job expectancy Pool"

Letter to Sir Mix-A Lot

Dear Sir Mix A Lot, I am writing you to ask for your help. It seems as though many of my friends are suffering from SMAV Which is a street term for Sir Mix A Lot Virus. It is impossible to breach any subject without breaking into song whether it be about drinking, pancakes, butter, Marching Powder and many other day to day life issues besides big butts. It has become close to impossible to carry on conversation with anyone of my friends these days because they are breaking out into song and dance midway through conversation. I know these were not your intentions when you wrote this song, clearly you were just expressing your love for "big butts" and trying to tell your other brothers not to deny their shared affection for a round derriere but I don’t think you thought about the negative affects it could have on today's youth. Case in point whilst enjoying a night out with friends Saturday March 27th my dear friend Jeff was discussing his passion for pancakes and it turned ugly when he could not stop singing and adding lyrics about butter and whatnot. He was struck down in the prime of his fun and turned into a mumbling fool. We had to dose him up with liquor and other pharmaceuticals just to make him stop. Take my friend Kelly for example she just likes to drink. That's not a crime but what is a crime is the fact that she cannot even tell her fellow drinking partner about her love for drinking without breaking into song. Its becoming a problem that is way worse than her excessive drinking. So please if you could I would love to hear perhaps a new song you could write. Just please don’t include the words Schfifty, Schwaum, Hokey Pokey, Country, Nice, Momma Likes, and Nine. I know that you are not responsible for the growing trend and overuse of those words I will be writing letters to the people responsible for that at a later date. So in conlcusion although I do love and respect and appreciate you and your love of the round things in your face I do not get sprung when I see my friends suffering. Please write a new song you will be helping us a lot.
Thank you, Becky Furlong

My Ongoing battle with an Empty Wallet

I should have got my last Unemployment check in the mail yesterday, but I didn't. It should be coming today instead because of the holiday, but it's not. In Fact it hasnt even been processed yet because I didn't attend a meeting for a Job Fair today that was required of me. The Job Fair is today mind you and they couldnt possibly know that I had no intentions of going and just assumed I wasnt and decided to hold my check as a result of my assumed not going. I would love to talk to someone at the Department of Unemployment and explain to them that I actually have a job now that I started last Monday therefore I do not need to attend said Job Fair meeting, but that's not an option. It's not an option because the Automated person I get when I call the Unemployment line tells me that there is an unusually heavy volume of calls today and then disconnects me, which makes me wonder why I don't have the choice of waiting. If your at all familiar with the Unemployment line then you know that it takes about 5 minutes of unnecessary announcements to even get to the part where you start waiting so I would much rather wait in excess of thirty minutes than to have to repeatedly call and go through the obligatory process of getting to the disconnect part again.
So my car is broken down and has been for about 3 weeks now and will be for probably another 2 weeks until I get my first paycheck from my new job. I have been using public transportation to get to South Station which is right near where my job is at. I walk, take the bus, take the train and then walk again to get to an from work everyday and surprisingly it hasn't really been bothering me all that much except for when I get off the bus at night and have to walk home but thats only because there is a rapist/burglar on the loose in my neighborhood. Hopefully they catch him soon before I have to start carrying a steak knife because I can't afford a crappy pocket knife because of the stupid unemployment check issue. If I have to carry a steak knife the chances of me reaching in my bag for a cigarette and slicing my hand open is far greater than the chances of actually warding off a potential rapist. So it's either get my car fixed or buy a knif e or get raped and as you know I can't pay for either of the two. So my Question is.. If I get raped can I hold the Department of Unemployment responsible?

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Hello I'm New

I have been writing short stories, silly poems and song parodies for awhile now and never really did anything with them except send them to my Yahoo account and leave them there to rot. Anyways I just started a new job and I can tell already that it's going to be the type of job where I have a ridiculous amount of free time so I'd like to start writing again. So instead of sending my stories to live with the Spam and Penile Enhancement Advertisements that collect in my Yahoo account, I figured I'd give them a home and maybe somebody will read them when they are wasting time at their meaningless, boring jobs. So All the entries from today are from last year when I was writing way more. I will try to add something once a week and hopefully will be inspired enough to come up with some shit. Enjoy!

Grievances

Grievances...(work in progress)
Red light Seekers- I have gotten used to the fact that I am going to have to sit at many a long red light in my life. Its sucks but it's a fact. I have even tried to put a positive spin on it and use that time to clean the passenger seat of my car or check my bag to make sure (for the 9th time of the day) that I am equipped with chapstick. Its not the red lights that I have the huge problem with although I do hate them, Its being stuck behind someone who is trying to get the light. We've all been there, you drop your cigarette in between the seats, your trying to find a CD, dialing a phone number etc.. And you need a minute to focus so you wait until you get a Red Light to get your shit together but because the Lord works in mysterious ways, you don't get a light. In fact when you are waiting for a red light, that is the only time you will hit every Green Light on your trip. I swear though, more and more so, I have been getting stuck driving behind somebody who is trying so desperately to get a Red light that they actually start slowing down at the approaching green light. It makes me crazy, I want to scream and throw a tantrum and drive directly over their car to get through the light, but it happens. I solemnly vow that if I ever get the urge to listen to Hurricane at that exact moment but cant quite reach my Neil Young tape underneath my seat and I see my chance at a light that is coming up I will not make the person driving behind me suffer through the boredom of the light just so I can get what I want. Unless that person looks like a douche bag.
My Advice: Check for cars behind you before trying to get the Red, If there is anyone behind you, then you lose, you can hear the song later, Or you can slam on the breaks in hopes that the impact will move all the tapes under your seat up to your feet. Also if a light has just turned Yellow and you are coming up on it, go through it You have about 4 seconds until it turns red and this way you can give the person behind you the decision of whether or not they want to blow the light.

Starbucks, Panera, etc.- Okay I am sure that some genius in the marketing department thought up this whole "lets call them our 'guests' and find out their names" thing thinking that it would make the customers feel more welcome and at home, but No it just makes me Hate. I am speaking for myself here, but I am sure that there are others that agree that calling me your "guest" is obnoxious. Yeah, I suppose I am a "guest" in your restaurant but really, I am just a customer. I'd actually prefer it if you just looked out into the line of people and shouted "Next". But this whole "Can I help the next guest" thing, really fucking wears on me. Also I don't want to give you my name. I think that's getting a little personal for a food/money transaction. It doesn't help that nobody can EVER understand me when I say "Liz" I almost always end up with a receipt that says "Lynn, Louise, Lisa" so really if your gonna fuck it up why ask at all. Cant we go back to the days where I was assigned a number and a recording announced my number and I went up and grabbed my food. Now I have some friendly little Portuguese woman gently whispering "Lisa" over and over again until I finally hear her and realize she means "Liz" and she is talking to me. My Advice: If your going to commit to something you better really commit. If I really am your "guest" then you are my concierge and I expect you to comply with any of my orders. And make an effort to look at my mouth and listen to the sounds that are coming out of it when I tell you my name. LIZ. Its three letters and it's a pretty common name. When you are assigning tasks to people at the start of your day, Panera Manager, please pick an Ex Cheerleader or someone who can raise their voice past the "Im just a scared immigrant and I don't know what this says so I am going to whisper it" volume because if she has a hard time reading and saying "Liz" then she is gonna have an even harder time pronouncing "Ichbeinensteikler" which is what I am giving as my name the next time I have a craving for your delicious soups.


Thinking of a Number Guy- Go away. Seriously, Stop it. Please stop being on the TV. Please stop having Red Hair. Please stop annoying the piss out of my boyfriend. Please stop making me have to leap out of bed to change the channel when you come on which is every motherfucking commercial break. Please Stop existing. GO AWAY.


Talking about the Weather- I know this one has been beat to death but I have to complain about this. Okay Listen up Everyone in my building at work, mailmen, UPS guy, Employees, Xerox technicians, Maintenance crew and Security, Here is the thing.. In order for me to get to work I have to go outside of the building I sleep in, Get into my car, drive on the Highway, park my car, get out of my car, and walk into the building I work in. I can guarantee you that at some point or another I have noticed the weather. Please, please, please Stop telling me what its like outside. I know I am the receptionist or whatever and I am the first face you see when you come in to the office but that shouldn't mean that you have to burst at the seems with your Wit and attempted humor at "this crazy weather were having" and "only in New England" bullshit. Just because I am only a receptionist doesn't mean you have to humor me with mind numbing banter about basic dumb shit. Ask me how I like my eggs or what my opinions on the Death Penalty are or just completely ignore me. But please enough with the weather. You can't possibly imagine how many times I hear the same sentences uttered day in and day out.


Dirty Shirts & Fluorescent Lights-. When I get ready in the morning I take approximately 6 minutes. 4 of which entail me staring blankly into the bucket that all of my clothes are in and the other minute and a half is spent screaming profanities about dress codes (more on that later) leaving me with just 30 seconds to get dressed so I never really examine my clothes before putting them on. I just assume that they are clean and stain/smell free. It seems like though, when I get to work the lights in my office pick up on some things that normal lighting and natural sunlight failed to show me. I then have to spend the entire day wearing my jacket or positioning my arms in ways that cover the coffee stain that is dribbled down the front of my shirt. Also annoying, Smells. Spending a whole workday trying to identify a smell on your clothes that you aren't familiar with sucks. The things you start to think of get weird. "Hmmm I guess it smells a little like an old orange rind that was used for an ash tray but somebody got lazy about putting out their cigarette so they poured the milk they were drinking into the orange rind ash tray" Is an actual smell I spent a whole afternoon identifying. Oh and socks, forget it. I only have two pairs of black socks and work five days a week, you do the math.
My Advice: For the love of all things pure and good in this world LET ME WEAR JEANS AND FLIP FLOPS. Why oh why do I have to wear hideously bad clothes to work. There are never any big important things going down in this office that I need to look nice for. Most days I don't even see anybody except for the Weather Fairies who drop in to tell the lowly reception girl who lives under her desk what is happening at that precise moment out in that big scary world, and I don't think they care what I am wearing. Although I am sure they want to dress me in Gollashes, Rain Coats, Sunblock and Umbrellas. So why do I have to wear "Business Casual Attire". Ewwww. Ewwie Ewww. I would get here a lot earlier everyday and be in much better spirits if I was allowed to wear The Liz Furlong Uniform which consists of, a Black Tank Top or T Shirt, Jeans, Flops. Nothing too racy, nothing offensive, Just comfy casual clothes. But No. There I go everyday seething at the world for forcing me into a pair of black flats and dress pants. I hate you Cruel Business Casual.

My Teeth- Really Teeth, really? Not enough for you yet? You haven't started to get bored with the whole Lets kill our host with insufferable pain thing. I look at my teeth as a separate entity these days and for this reason only; I cannot imagine how something that is part of my body could possibly cause so much pain. I just cant fathom how something that is in me, hurts me so much. So I decided that they aren't my teeth. They cant be. They are the teeth of someone who I hurt or killed in a past life. They are ghost teeth and they hurt me because of something awful I did to the person whose body they were in. Well I guess a more reasonable explanation would be that my Dentist up until age 22 kind of sucked at his profession and did some ridiculously expensive work on all of my teeth that he totally half assed. But when I am in the throes of a multi teethed toothache and I Am hysterical and crying in pain I find it easier to blame Ghost Teeth instead of Dr. Barron.
My Solution: Go back in time to the previous life and find the person whose Ghost Teeth are haunting me with. Apologize profusely for any wrong doings offer to buy them dinner.
Banana Craving- I'm sure this has been covered before and if not than I am gonna give some ideas here that maybe a fruit vender or entrepreneur could take to the bank. Sometimes you get a craving for a Banana, and you weren't expecting this craving so you didn't prepare for it by buying bananas 5 days earlier. Now what do you do? Go to the grocery store and purchase bananas and wait a few days for them to ripen. Yes. That's what you do because that is your only option. The only place I have ever seen bananas that were ripe in the store is in the 7E or Tedeshci's and that really isn't a place you wanna get your fruit. I guess that goes for most fruit that has to be ripe like Peaches, Plums and Pears. Maybe there are stores that have these fruits in a separate basket for the people that want them "To eat today" and another basket "to eat Tomorrow" and then one more basket that says "ready by the end of the week" But I haven't seen that store.
My Advice: Open that store

That Creepy Indian Guy- Okay look, Owners of Red Apple Liquor Store, I know its your store and its family run and whatnot but seriously does you ancient Uncle or brother or whoever that Creepy Indian Guy is have to work there. I know its like family and cultural tradition to take care of your family and share the wealth and whatnot but couldn't you give him a job in the storage room. I'm not even sure what That Creepy Indian Guys' job is there all I know is that he follows me around and he stares at me. Literally, just stares at me. And sometimes I don't know what I want when I get into the store. Is it a Hefeweizen night? Do I feel like Coronas? These are things I like to think about without the watchful eye of the That Creepy Indian Guy hovering and waiting for me to make my move so he can run over and rearrange whatever I have touched in the fridge. And why is it that I have Never ever seen That Creepy Indian Guy without a bucket and Mop but I have never ever seen That Creepy Indian Guy actually mopping? Is it like a crutch or something? A prop maybe? Do you even know who That Creepy Indian guy is, Owners of Red Apple or did you just assume he came with the store when your family bought it? Because I have never seen any of you talk to him or look at him.
My Advice: Ask That Creepy Indian Guy what his deal is.. Maybe check out your Payroll information and see if he works there, maybe do some family tree research and find out if he is a member of your family. And for the benefit of your customers maybe tell him that lurking around near them and watching them with That Creepy Indian Guy look in his eyes might make them a little uncomfortable.

Ode to My Designer Wifebeater

I bought you on Melrose
While I was looking for other clothes.
It was a mission for Frankie B jeans
When I realized I didn’t have any white shirts clean
You were on a shelf with other colored tanks
But to orange and pink and blue I said No thanks
Because I like my wifebeaters to be the classic white
Because any other color just wouldn’t be right
You were softer than most shirts Id ever own
And boy has my love for you grown
But in the beginning I was unsure
Because If it isn’t a Hanes wifebeater it might be unpure
You were in a trendy boutique in LA
And you didn’t even have a name on your tag that I could say
Instead you had a Heart and Moon and Star picture on your tag
And I was sure that had to be a red flag
Warning me not to stray from Hanes I thought
And a struggle within me was then fought
But I threw caution to the wind and purchased you
You were so damn soft I wanted to buy two
I was scared I might lose you and I wanted a spare
So I wouldn’t have to fly back to LA in case one day you weren’t there
But here we are together 3 years later
And I haven’t ever have a problem with designer wifebeater haters
Your still my shirt and I wear you with pride
One day I thought I lost you and I almost cried
I still love Hanes shirts that come three to a bag
But I will never abandon my shirt with the Heart Moon and Star Tag.

The Tragedy

THE TRAGEDY
By Elizabeth Furlong
Edited by Dan Beakey
The Beginning
In an attempt to secure her standing in his life and fortune, Candy Spelling had the foresight and smarts to go into the box of condoms laid out in her husband's dresser and poke holes into each one. She had plans to become pregnant, despite her husband Aaron Spelling's apprehension about having a child. What Candy didn't know is that Aaron had been visited in a dream some years prior by a ghastly skinny and long faced girl who would whine all night and haunt him about how she wanted to be made famous. He knew what the burdens of bringing a child into his television and movie dynasty would be. He knew that if he had a son or daughter they would beg to be cast in his latest projects and recommended for movies that his fellow screenwriters were working on. He was also aware of the likelihood of his offspring's expectations of a free ride to celebrity status. What he didn't know is that his wife would give birth to the worst actress in history. He also didn't know that his wife would be seducing him after dinner one night in September of 1973, purposely slipping a faulty condom onto him. Thus is the beginning of Tori Spelling's life and the end of acting as an art form as the world knew it. On May 3rd, 1973, Victoria Davey Spelling was born. On May 4th, 1973, Aaron Spelling realized he was going to need to make more hit TV shows so he could build his mansion large enough that he would never bump into his daughter in any hallway, kitchen or bathroom where she could solicit him for roles in any of his projects.

The Rise of Tori Spelling

Tori's childhood was that of any kid growing up in Beverly Hills with a legendary television tycoon as a father. She had bedrooms in her home that were built specifically for her dolls, and even a room for wrapping presents, all to insure that her mother and father would never have to interact with her. You see they realized early on that Tori's entire life would be an audition for one of her father's shows. Even as an infant her cries sounded fake and overly dramatic. As a toddler she would throw temper tantrums and scream at her parents in badly done English and Scottish accents. When her father wasn't around she was performing for the nannies and maids in the hopes that they would be so blown away by her acting skills they would tell her father to pay attention to her. Needless to say Tori had countless nannies and hired help over the years because nobody could endure her pathetic impressions of Annie and Oliver Twist.
Time passed and Tori grew up. Her father had thrown her a bone here and there just to keep her off his back and she had done some "professional acting" in series such as "Saved by the Bell", "T.J. Hooker" and "The Love Boat". Fans of these shows were awestruck at just how badly a sixty-five pound girl could perform. There were even suspicions of some supernatural forces at work, using their powers to make her so bad. There was talk about the possibility the rumors surrounding the Poltergeist movies could also apply to this little girl. It was as if the people believed that she carried some force within her that could take down Hollywood and every innocent thing surrounding it. But before she could do what she was sent here to do, she would have to become so recognizable that when people saw her face their guttural reactions would be so unforgettable it would leave her face carved into their memories forever. She needed to reap the status that would make her name as recognizable as Adolf Hitler's. She would need to get on a hit television series that would make her famous. Then, and only then, could Tori Spelling do what she was sent here to do. Then, and only then, would Tori Spelling fulfill her destiny. Then, and only then, she could take down Hollywood.

A Decade of Dormancy

As folklore would have us believe, in the early 1990's a 17 year old Tori Spelling auditioned for her father's new series, "Beverly Hills 90210", under a fake name so as to prove that it wasn't nepotism getting her the role but rather her "acting skills". Clearly the idea that any casting directors could watch Tori Spelling "act" and think that she was good enough to be on any television show is too hard to fathom. Therefore most historians believe that she didn't lie about not being Tori Spelling, but, in fact, paid someone else to go to an audition for her under her own name. But, no matter what her method was, she landed the gig and was about to embark on her journey into the American people's souls, and burrow her way into their homes once a week. People were starting to take notice of her awful attempts to show human emotion, and their visceral reactions were a warning sign to them all that this entity, this dark force, this creature was sent from somewhere ugly and scary to do harm to us all. They watched her week after week like a dormant volcano knowing all along that something was bubbling under the surface, something that was ready to explode and destroy everything in its path. This gaunt, scraggly girl with dead eyes and no real emotions, just words that she was reading off a teleprompter in her dead voice, was hungry for blood.

Hollywood Burns

Aaron Spelling's hit series, "Beverly Hills 90210", achieved cult status and, after a ten year run, it ended. Knowing that this show could not stay on forever, Tori had been plotting and scheming for her next move. She had appeared in many Lifetime movies throughout the past ten years, winning over the hearts of single desperate women everywhere, and her run on 90210 had made her face and name as recognizable as she needed it to be to start working on her final solution to the entertainment industry. Tori Spelling was going to single handedly destroy every movie that was in the works, everywhere in Hollywood, by either starring in it, doing cameos, attaching her name to it in any way, running by in the background during filming, working on set design, or simply just breathing near any aspect of the movie. The film industry was slow to pick up on her plan. Everyone just assumed that she was trying to keep her career going and cash in on her 90210 success. She got some small parts in shows and movies. She even had her own series on VH1 for awhile too, under the name "So Notorious", which everyone thought was cute that she could poke fun at herself. The producers of the show, along with the viewers, just assumed she was referring to herself being Notorious because of all the jokes and speculation about her acting skills. Little did they realize that her referring to herself as "notorious" was because she was about to take down everything these people held dear to them, and her name would be synonymous with destruction, sadness, and misery for years to come.
It was the summer of 2007 when the trouble started. Tori Spelling started appearing in TV shows, commercials, and movies on every channel and in every theater. She was doing exactly what her purpose in life was to do. She was destroying everything she touched and the people of America were scared. Couples were out at the movie theater to see romantic comedies, and Tori would rear her emaciated face onto the screen. People settling down at night to watch informative documentaries about history and world issues would find her appearing on the screen, mumbling something idiotic. Children would be watching their favorite cartoons and her voice would be behind one of the cute characters. That's when it all started. It was like an epidemic. Anyone who saw or heard anything that Tori Spelling said or did would get violently ill. They were throwing up in the theaters, over their TV dinners, on their couches and remotes. Their eyes and ears were bleeding and their bodies were twitching. This went on for days as it took awhile for the officials to figure out what was happening. After putting the pieces together and figuring out that all the people that were becoming ill had all just participated in some kind of media viewing. That's when the Tori Spelling Terror Alert System was assembled and put into crisis mode. It was from here that the National Media Security Team decided that the only way to end this outbreak was to quarantine all the victims of the attack. They decided the antidote was simply to put them all into a giant theater and play movies such as The Godfather, Jaws, The Exorcist, Casablanca and other classic movies, in order to rid them of the memory of Tori Spelling. That was how they chose to deal with the victims. As for the poison that infected them, there was only one way to deal with that, and that was by burning every piece of film that she appeared on and every piece of tape that recorded her voice, every magazine that she appeared in. The quickest and easiest way to do that was by burning down the city that started it all, Hollywood.

The Aftermath

The city burned for days. There were no fatalities as the classic movie antidote did the job it was supposed to do. Unfortunately the memory erasing serum that was administered to all the victims of this senseless crime wiped their memories of everything they had seen for the twenty year period that Tori was filmed. But during the days following, all of the victims were shown some of the great movies of our time so that they would not be socially inept when they returned to their normal lives. Another tragedy of this huge attack was that all pieces of film that had been created in that 20 year span had been destroyed. Although it may have been unnecessary, the days during the attack were so panic stricken that the officials had to assume that she had somehow snuck into any movie and there just wasn't enough time to do the proper research. The good news is that Tori Spelling was caught. She was placed in captivity and studied by scientists where they discovered that her DNA was not of this world. The blame was placed on her mother and it was decided in the final reports that her mother was sent here from somewhere that had evil intentions towards our planet. Candy Spelling used Aaron Spelling simply for his links to Hollywood, knowing that her spawn would have the power to influence her father enough to get him to put her on television. Candy Spelling was never seen after the attacks, and therefore was never prosecuted. It was decided that Tori Spelling was innocent in the whole thing. People actually started to feel bad for her, as they realized she was not an evil force, but a dumb girl who actually thought she was good at acting and really just wanted to entertain the public. She had just been under the influence of an evil force that her mother programmed her with. It was after she had been studied that they were able to deprogram her and saw her for the "aww, shucks", twenty something girl she was.

Picking up the Pieces

As time went by, Hollywood was rebuilt and renamed "Hollywood II Back With a Vengeance". Movies went back into production, television was resumed and series started popping up all over the place. The American people did learn one thing though and that was never to just accept a bad actor, or actress, appearing on your screen, and never just deal with it. They learned to revolt against the bad shows and bad acting that was being sold to them and the National Media Security Team developed new technology that allowed people to vote from their homes and remove bad actors from their shows. There was also a terror watch list for people who were suspected of foul play. In the first sweep of this terror watch list, actors such as Vin Diesel, Carrot Top, Paulie Shore, Kathy Griffen, and Paris Hilton were removed from the airwaves. After they were cleared of terrorist suspicions, they fell into the category of "bad actors" and had their SAG cards revoked.
The system seems to be working and there hasn't been another attack like that to date. Also, the quality of television and movies has improved and actors, and actresses, are now required to go to school, or have some kind of professional teaching to receive that title now. And, in some weird way, we have Tori Spelling to thank for that.

Claude (A fictional Character)

Dear Claude,

Ahhhh Claude, where do I start?? You are a man of many words, a man of mystery, but mostly a person of interest. The cops have been calling. They have also been by our place about 3 times this month. And we don’t even have a place so you can imagine how annoying that’s been. You know, when Shawn and me created you, we had no idea what kind of a hassle and turmoil you would bring to us. We are actually quite disappointed. It was something we did out of the goodness of our hearts. I objected at first, but Shawn pointed out to me how sad it was that we didn’t know anyone named Claude. We discussed the ramifications of creating a person, and we decided the risk was worth the benefits of having a Claude in our lives. Sadly, you have destroyed any bit of optimism and hope Shawn and I had left that there could be some good done in this world. He is now a bitter skeptic as am I. I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I tried to reason that maybe you were a little overwhelmed with the fact that you went from being an idea to being a human. I can see how there might be some stuff that you might want to do considering you were nonexistent and now you have a body and stuff. I was patient as you slept with all of my friends, stole: my car, my wallet, my parents, and my cat. I even defended you when Shawn suggested maybe you weren’t the best decision we ever made and we should kill you off like the fictional character that you were. But now it’s too late. You are out of our realm. We don’t even have the power to destroy you anymore. We’ve been banished from our jobs, families, friends and the City of Quincy has exiled us. You have reaped destruction and abuse on everyone in our lives. Of course they blame us. If it weren’t for me and him creating you on a whim that boring night then you never would have had the chance to say…Rape my kindergarten teacher, kill Stephanie’s fish (I know that was you) plant poison ivy in playgrounds, and draw mustaches on Mary and Jesus statues in all the cities churches. So now we are living in the Rockport State Park because the mob is angry and they want is dead. We are hiding out here now with no food, no running water, we are using creepy outhouses that inhabit God knows what kind of livestock, all we have is each other, oh and this computer I managed to smuggle up here and run off the windmills energy for the purpose of writing this letter. We can’t even make out or take our clothes off because of all the nature-seeking people that stroll through this park day in day out. There is no privacy Claude. Me and Shawn NEED privacy. I’m asking you to turn yourself in. Or at least make your wrongs right and turn over a new leaf. Think of what kind of man you could be with the name Claude. You could use it for good not evil. Men named Claude weren’t put on this earth to molest small boys and kill butterflies. That’s what men named Michael Jackson and George Bush are for. Not Claude’s though. Claudes are crime fighters, Claude James Claude. They are ladies men LL Cool Claude. They bring gifts to children, Santa Claude, They rap, Claude Face Killah, They are songwriters, Claude Dylan. They are lovers, Claudio and Juliet. They are even the almighty himself, Claude.
So please, find it in you to disappear. Leave this world that you aren’t even from. Let me and Shawn have our lives back. Two people can only stare at a view of the ocean for so long. We don’t need to see you again. You don’t have to make contact with us. Just kill yourself off. We are no longer the owner’s of your life. Think of all the heartache you will be preventing if you put an end to this now. It’s got to be very obvious to you by now that you have an affinity for young boys. How many of their lives do you want to ruin. How much more damage must be done before you are stopped. The police will find you someday. They are onto you. There is a certain characteristic me and Shawn gave to you that first night you were created that not even you know about. We told the police about it, and it will speed up your capture. Your leaving a trail and you don’t even realize it. Do you really want to spend the rest of your fictional life in a prison? Prisoners don’t like pedophiles and you can imagine the kind of fun they will have with a guy name “Claude” I mean think about it, your name is Claude, you will never survive in there. Claude the pedophile…I bet they already have plans for you. They are anxiously awaiting your arrival. So end it now. End your life so we can take back ours. We’ve learned our lesson. We aren’t God. We don’t have the right to create people. There is a reason there are only so many Claude’s in this world and we will just have to deal with the fact that none of them are our friends. I mean it sucks, cause seriously how cool would it be to scroll through our phonebooks and come across the name Claude, it would be so funny to casually be like ”Oh excuse me for a second I gotta make a quick call to Claude” can you imagine peoples reactions to that…Oh wait sorry …..Never mind I’m getting carried away with myself. This is about you. I am writing this to plead with you. End it. There is only one way to do it though and that is the last thing we do have control over. The method of your suicide. I’m hoping that by the time this letter reaches you and hopefully it reaches you deep within your heart and conscience you will have decided its for the best. So here’s what you do, you draw a picture of yourself. A picture of what you looked like when you were first created. Not after you got that plastic surgery and the chin implant and frosted your tips so as to look good to the younger fellas. And not before you started dressing in that snakeskin jacket and silk shirt with the Italian gold horn around your neck and you grew your nails so long. And Claude, seriously the Italian Horn, Your name is Claude you clearly aren’t fooling anyone into believing that your from Jersey. Moving on, you draw a picture of what you looked like on that first innocent and hopeful night when you came to us from our thoughts. And you eat it. You eat the picture and you will vanish with it. And everyone will forget of your awful existence and the damage you have done will be repaired. Young boys will forget about the ‘special ice cream field trips’ you took them on. Animals in the Quincy area will grow their fur back, toilets and plumbing will function again, lollipops and candy will not have any traces of acid left one them and life will return to normal. I hope this letter finds you as I am sending it to every priest in the Boston area as I can only assume they have become allies of yours since you all share a very significant common interest. Once again, this was not our plan for you. We really had the best intentions for you. We thought you would be a man who’s caliber would only compare to that of Charles Reinhardt. We thought our Claude would be the talk of the town, the man everyone wanted to meet, that hip new guy in town, Claude. But you clearly had other ideas. And for that I am sorry. Shawn is too upset to discuss the issue any further but I know he is sorry too. We have learned a valuable lesson and that lesson is we are not God and you are not Claude. Not the Claude we had imagined at least. So please go home, go back to the place in our minds and be that cool guy we had always thought of you as. Goodbye and good luck in this decision.

Yours Affectionately,
Mom and Dad

Liz in a Nutshell

Little Lizzi weak bladder runs her mouth with non-stop chatter
Too many thoughts too finish each one so I start another one before the last ones done
My brain maps might be hard to follow but Ill explain them to you if you got time I can borrow
See there is a method to my madness its called attention deficit distractedness with a little hyperactivity thrown in the mix
Which will help explain the constant fidgets I’ve been to doctors and therapist so I know my conditions legit.
I can’t listen when you talk to me.. directions, names and numbers are lost on me.
Sometimes I see something shiny and I lose my train of thought
Every once in a while you might think you got me caught
But I can trick you into thinking I know what you just said
I do this with a “yeah” and a nod of my head.
Its not that I’m stupid or that I just don’t care its just I got too much of my own sh*t going on up there.
Not all of its profound not all of it’s worth thinking about
Mostly Im just thinking of what Im gonna wear next time I go out.
But you still can’t hold my interest and I still can’t pay attention.
I’m just involved in my own thoughts and having my own conversation
So don’t blame yourself or think your boring me
I just have too many wheels turning in my head that you can’t see.

French Fries and Cigarettes

French Fries & Cigarettes

I sit out in my car on my lunch breaks, its what you do when you don’t have money to go anywhere. I usually bring a bag of Cheezits from my house and take a complimentary soda from my office and I sit in my car and read my book. When I’m done I go back to work. Sometimes if I’m lucky and I was able to snag enough cigarettes from the house I smoke one before I go back inside. This week though, I had money. I’ve bought French Fries at the little cafeteria everyday this week. They are only a dollar and a nickel and they give me a whole lot of fries, like way more than a dollars worth. I wonder if they know that I’m broke and they pity me so they give me extra. I pay with exact change every time and they never have to break big bills for me so they must know that I’m dirt poor. Maybe I’m just being paranoid though. Anyways, The French fries are cheap and that’s a plus but the added bonus is that I have been hung-over everyday this week and greasy food is exactly what I’m craving. The best part of having money again is that I now have the means to be hung-over everyday. You wouldn’t think that would be something I would be shooting for, hangovers, but my hangovers are nice because it means that I got some sleep. Sleeping doesn’t come easy to me, but after 5 beers I usually don’t have much problem falling to sleep. I still wake up throughout the night sometimes so that’s why I take sleeping pills. That’s all a lie. I drink every night because I like beer. I could care less if I never slept again. As long as I had beer. I like going to the store to get it, I like bringing it home, putting it in the fridge and then drinking it. It tastes good, it makes my cigarettes better, it keeps me company. People seem to think drinking by yourself is taboo but I think those people are stupid. You aren’t drinking by yourself when beer is your companion. Your pretty much holding hands with it, and you probably wouldn’t be doing that with your friends. Besides if you feel weird about drinking by yourself put the TV on, or better yet call one of your friends. People love getting drunk dialed at 11pm on a work night. They want to hear you slur and stumble on your words as you tell them about the wicked funny commercial you just saw. If they tell you they’re sleeping, call them a pussy and hang up on them. Then call them back over and over again. Make it your own little game, ruining someone’s night. Then the next day when someone asks you what you did last night you have something to say instead of “drank by myself, watched TV.” Now you can say, “Oh man, it was the best night ever, I got wasted and then I called Tim all night, first it was just his cell phone, but then he shut it off, so I started calling the house, and then his wife picked up the phone and I could hear the baby crying in the background, I got him soooo good.” Much better story right? I stray, basically I like money. I enjoy the security it brings. Tasty French Fries to nurse my beautiful hangover that awarded me an excellent night of sleep and then a nice cigarette after my lunch. Who cares if I sit in my room and drink by myself, and who cares if I sit in my car and eat by myself? I’m having a better time than people who have lots of money and can go out and drink at bars with other people and who go to restaurants for their lunch. Hmmm maybe I should bring the beer with me and drink it in my car on my break that would be a double whammy. Now that’s something to think about.

Clyde the Dancing Turtle

Clyde. A Short Story
Chapter 1
Ladies Love Lyle

Once upon a time there was a town called Winchestertonfieldville, known to townies as The Chest. And in this town there was a Toy Factory, one of the employees there went by the name of Lyle Ovary and this employee was unlike and of the other mindless workers. He had style, he was high class, the ladies swooned for him and he had moves that nobody had ever seen before. Lyle was a funky doctor and nobody could step to him on the dance floor. The only reason he worked at the factory was so he could earn the money to buy the snazzy threads he wore out to his dance-offs. He made costumes out of the most ridiculous patterns. You could catch Lyle in a top hat, striped cape and tap shoes and there was no doubt that he’d look better than you. He had a signature carnation that he attached to whatever he was wearing, Lyle believed that by always having something living and fragrant on him he would be able to seduce his dance-off opponents into a trancelike state and then he would take over with his suave boogie. People came from miles away to catch Lyle destroying his rivals on the floor; they had to see for themselves the smoke that rose from the soles of his shoes when he danced. Always a confident dancer Lyle never got nervous about losing. The ladies were powerless to his smarmy come-ons and it is common knowledge that 75% of the children born in the year 1999 were from his seed. Lyle woke up everyday of the week and went off to his job at the factory and at night he went to dance competitions and wooed the people that came to see him. Lyle’s costumes got more and more ridiculous as time went on. One day he made a costume of freshly sliced ham that was sown onto his suspenders and thick pleather pants. There was a busload of woman stopping through The Chest on their way to a beauty pageant and he wanted to impregnate as many as he could so he felt he needed to step up his game to get these woman into his clutches. Because they weren’t local they didn’t know the legend of Lyle yet so he had to make an impression first. Lyle had an idea for some new dancing shoes. He went out to the woods and he shot a grizzly bear and took it to his neighbor who was an amateur taxidermist. His neighbor skinned the bear’s legs and fancied Lyle a pair of bearskin boots. The only problem was they didn’t have enough time to let the blood dry on the inside of them because the competition was just hours away so Lyle would just have to grin and bear it. Lyle danced his ass of that night and everyone raved about his stylish boots, he was invited onto the bus with the beauty pageant contestants where he got the woman on there to partake in his perverse sexual fetishes. When Lyle got home that night he felt on top of the world, he removed his garments and sat down to take off his new boots. It was then that he made the grim discovery that the blood from the bearskin had been absorbed into his skin while he was sweating on the dance floor. He had a horrid rash and bubbles of skin were popping on his legs. Lyle rushed to see the town doctor where test results showed that the Bear that Lyle killed and skinned was infected was a deadly form of Syphilis and Lyle had contracted it. It turned out Lyle wasn’t the only one sleeping with all the woman in The Chest. The doctor told Lyle he had two months to live and he would have to stop dancing during that time. Lyle was devastated. He wallowed in his misery for the first few weeks but then he had a revelation. He would teach his moves on the dance floor and in the bedroom to someone and that person could carry out his legacy. Lyle thought long and hard about who was worthy enough to carry this important job. All of the town’s kids were already carrying his DNA but he knew they would eventually die of some form of Sexually Transmitted Disease someday too, so he thought of the next best thing. Something immortal, something incapable of catching disease. A toy. He spent his days manufacturing toys and he knew the brought joy to people young and old. He knew the ins and outs of the toy making industry if he could just program one to be exactly like him then it would carry on in his place. The next day he carefully studied all the dancing turtles as they went by on the conveyor belt and he went for the one he felt a connection to the most. He spent his last few weeks with this turtle as he tampered with the wiring in it making him charming, sexy and arrogant instead of cute, cuddly and fun. He showed him his dance moves and the turtle picked them up very quickly. Lyle was very sick by this point but he managed to crawl to the factory one last time and place a carnation on his Dancing Turtle protégé. Thats when it came to life and Lyle died there on the floor of the factory.


Chapter 2
I Will Call Him Clyde

In a little town of Quincy a far, far distance from The Chest there was a delivery made to a store called Wal-Mart right in time for Christmas. A shipment of 100 dancing turtles was delivered and the turtles were removed from their boxes and placed on the shelves. Right around that time some socially prominent residents of Quincy known as Maggots were invited to a charity event at a VFW. It was an unlikely thing for the Maggots to do on a weekend night, donating their time, good looks, wit and sex appeal for charity, but it was at the request of their Maggot friend Nicole that they attend. They were promised free food and cheap beer as long as they brought along a five-dollar gift to be donated for children on Christmas. So the Maggots all borrowed five dollars from a family member or Non-Maggot friend and headed out to the stores to grab a gift off the shelf on their way to the free food and cheap beer. Two Maggots in particular named Beakey, and T decided that they needed to get stoned to endure the arduous task of going to a store and buying a toy. They wandered around the Wal-Mart discussing how ridiculously stoned they were when Beakey saw the Dancing Turtle display. He grabbed one off the shelf while exclaiming “Yes, that’s it!” From there T picked out some bumming Barbie and they headed to the register. While they were in line they ran into Quincy’s best looking couple and fellow Maggots Shawn and Liz. They all talked and compared toys and it was decided that the dancing turtle was the coolest of the toys and it was then that Beakey proclaimed, “I will call him Clyde”. They all parted ways with plans to meet up at the VFW. When everyone got to the charity event there were designated buckets for the toys to be dropped in, but Beakey saw the reaction Clyde was getting for his moves and he knew it had potential to upstage everyone on the dance floor and steal all the women from their men. That night Clyde stole the hearts of everyone at the party, young and old. DJ Dow, the bartender, the old veterans, Beakey’s kids, Paul and Stina, Heather Means, and all the other maggots could feel the spirit of Lyle that night, and Lyle Ovary was looking down from his own Boogie Heaven and he was proud at what he had created. Beakey walked out of that VFW Hall that night, the rpoud owner and friend of a Dancing Turtle named Clyde.

Lunch Time in Dedham

I sit in my usual seat and dig into my fries and Dr.Pepper like I do almost always. I’m reading Junky by William S. Burroughs, Ive been reading this friggen book for like a month. It doesn’t take me long to read books usually, its just that I get distracted and find it hard to sit in a noisy cafeteria and focus. I’m basically just holding the book so I don’t look stupid sitting by myself eating. Then this girl comes in and sits at the table in front of mine, but instead of sitting in the chair facing the wall like I’m doing, she sits and faces me. I’m curious about this chick now cause I don’t like that she just made me uncomfortable and pretty much is forcing me to look at her face. She also takes out a book and her lunch but her lunch is from home. It consists of Mini bagels with jelly on them, yogurt, and a bottle of water. I immediately start to note the differences between my unhealthy lunch and her carefully packed healthy lunch. She is wearing some lame business suit outfit and has glasses and bangs and looks like a nerd, but she seems to be about my age. I wonder what she’s reading and what else she has in that giant black bag that’s on the table that just moments ago held her lunch. I imagine its all boring stuff and make a list of what I think is in there. This is what my list consisted of; books, date book, umbrella, T-pass, mittens and ear muffs, tickets to a Star Trek convention she bought for her boyfriends birthday. I realize I’m getting carried away and my stereotypes about nerds are so cliché. Then I take a look at my outfit and start to think, Hmmm I don’t look all that cool today either. And I certainly don’t look like the type of person I am. I suppose the food I am eating and the fact I am reading a book about heroin might tell a little about my lifestyle but still I look like your regular office drone with no personality and no life. There is no way that if this girl were looking at me right now and trying to figure me out she would know that I once spent an entire morning chasing crack dealers around Blue Hill Ave in a car with my crippled friend who had just gotten out of the hospital after 30 something surgeries. And I was chasing the crack dealers because he ripped me off not because I was trying clean up the streets. So now after remembering the whole ‘looks can be deceiving thing’ Im rethinking what this chick has got in her bag and what she might be reading. My curiosity gets the best of me and I go and sit at her table. I look at her book and there are no words on the pages. I ask why she is starring at a blank book.
She says “Shit they’re gonna kill me”
I say “Who?”
She says “I was sent here by my superiors to scout out potential members for our growing group”
I inquire as to what kind of group she’s talking about, thinking its some cult or like Gay Pride shit or something.
She tells me “Well its similar to the Take Back the Night movement which was organized by rape victims to overcome their grief and regain control after being assaulted.
I interrupt and laugh out “Yeah I saw that 90210, who was it that got raped again on that show? Oh right, everyone. Haha”
She looks annoyed and continues on “But its called Take Back The Day and its for employees who want to get back at the Man who holds them down every day, the coworkers who rat you out for things, the people who ‘take work seriously’ and any person who has ever told you to “get a goddamn job”
I start to laugh and cant believe anything she just said to me so I look into the giant black tote bag to find evidence that she is just screwing with me. There aren’t any umbrellas or date books in there. Instead I see files, all of which have my name on them. There is a file from every job I have ever had and they all have a big stamp on the top that says “terminated” I realize she is dead serious and I ask
“How long have you been watching me?”
She says “We’re very interested in you and we think your awful work ethic and complete lack of interest in a steady income and security are honorable. We also think you do a pretty good job sticking it to the man everyday by banging in all the time and making your own schedule. We are looking for someone who will lead us and show us new ways to get back at all the employers and businesses who made us sit through staff meetings and online training courses and compliance training.”
I tell her Im honored and touched that they think so highly of my usually frowned upon behavior.
I say “Its nice to finally be recognized for all the efforts I’ve made to stay in bed an extra 20 minutes each morning and get blind drunk every work night. Im glad you appreciate the dirty clothes and ripped sweaters I wear to work everyday”
She says “ Look, Liz we’ve been studying your records, We are more than impressed. Is it true that you didnt show up for work for an entire month once and you didn’t get fired? Did you really get a raise after not showing up for two days without even calling in? Did you actually get out of having to come in on a Saturday because you claimed to have “Dental Obligations” ? We read in your files that you once had a job that paid you $16 dollars an hour to read magazines and listen to the radio but you quit because they had cockroaches in the building. Were you really fired for sleeping on the floor of the classroom you were supposed to be watching?”
She was frantic at this point my files were all opened on the table and she was ripping through them. I casually sat back and took a bite out of one of her mini bagels and very arrogantly said ”Yeah, that stuff is all true”
She asked me “Will you please come join our group, teach us how to slack off and act like an asshole and get promotions. Teach us how to get back at the people who complain about our Internet usage. Lead us and we will pay you for your trouble, you could quit this job right now and join us and share your knowledge with us and we will pay you triple what you are getting paid now”
I considered it for 2 seconds and said “yeah I don’t think so, that sounds like a lot of work and Im pretty much all set with not having to do anything all day so Im probably not the best person for the job.”
I left her there, confused with my files still all over the table. I couldn’t understand how she could think after reviewing my past work experience that I would want to lead a group of slackers. The whole thing was contradictory; forming a group and having meetings and stuff just to get back at people for making you do work. It seemed like a whole lot of work in itself I thought and I got better things to do.

Little bit about Me

I am a huge fan of passive aggressive behavior. I think it’s hysterical. When and if I ever get my own place I plan to steal my cat just to get back at my mother for throwing me out on my ass. That’s another thing about me. I get kicked out and fired a lot. Some of my friends have described me as resilient though, so I do all right. Some of my other friends describe me as insane. My boyfriend once told me that I smell like creamy beer in the morning. I once described him as magical. But not as in like “Oooh he’s so dreamy and magical” way. I meant it more like my boyfriend is a fucking Magician. I’m obsessed with salt. I eat it straight up. Its common knowledge amongst my friends that if they eat a bag of rold gold pretzels they better save the empty bag for me. I apply chapstick obsessively. I have severe ADHD so I don’t really do well in structured situations. I used to take medicine for it but it made me boring. I also have no coping skills, no sense of direction, paranoia, I get overwhelmed easily and feel the need to “get flat”-which is my safe place. If you ever see me lay down face first flat on the floor then you know that something has happened that I am unable to deal with. Sometimes its something as simple as choosing what I want for lunch. It’s a coping skill I developed days after my best friend died and I found a lot of minor situations to be too stressful and unbearable. Unfortunately I went public about “getting flat” and its no longer really my safe place. I am extremely edgy and uncomfortable in restaurants; although sometimes I am in the mood to have people just bring me stuff. I like to be served I guess. Yeah, my best friend died. Her name is Annmarie. If you spend any time with me at all you’re likely to hear a million stories about her. My boyfriend says its like I carry a torch for her and I do but it’s more so that every memory I have includes her. She was my best friend for 22 years we did everything together. As I write this spell check is telling me with that annoying squiggly line that I spelled Annmarie wrong. Fuck you spell check. That’s how she spells it. I hate the insert button on the keyboard. It is the bane of my existence. I use phrases and words sometimes that I’m not sure if they even work in the context I use them but I don’t care because I can be very convincing and some people are too dumb to even notice. Henry Rollins is my moral advisor. If he says something isn’t okay I believe him. I love him and listen earnestly to his opinions and life experiences. I suck at analogies. Like here is an example I once said this to someone “Dude his hair is greasier than someone with like: pause: really greasy hair” If you’ve ever been to Murphy’s in Quincy you know who’s hair I’m talking about. Nicole Abruzzese is my rock. I couldn’t live without the girl. I really couldn’t. She is the only person in the entire world that I trust. Its not that I have friends that are untrustworthy its just that my paranoid mind doesn’t allow me to trust. But somehow I trust Nicole with everything. She has seen me at my weakest, in the midst of tantrums, in blackout mode, crying hysterically over a broken cell phone charger, after not sleeping for days because of insomnia, after telling her about my crazy suspicions of betrayal, when my heart was broken and destroyed by my own mother and when I’m just being a straight fuck up. And she has never judged me. She looks at me with a concerned look and says “lizzi” in her ‘trying to reason with me’ voice. When I called her hysterically crying after my mother kicked me out and told me she never wanted to see me again. Nicole called me back and told me I could live with her and her family. I’ve been there since and we still enjoy every second together. Although we no longer really speak to each other we basically just communicate through “Meow’s” They have different inflections and tones to express what we need. I drink a lot. This is known to everyone so I’m not gonna really cover that. Just by saying this, it’s not a problem. Don’t worry about me. I hate shoes. I really fucking hate ‘em. It’s not like a hippy thing, or like any particular reason. I just don’t like wearing them. I know this is dangerous, I know I shouldn’t go out in Flip Flops in the winter. I know its gross, and my feet are dirty but I take showers people and I don’t care about the dangers of being barefoot. I appreciate the concern but I wont be wearing shoes at all again this summer unless I say, actually go to a bar. So please just let me do my thing and don’t lecture me. I have trouble sleeping. That’s an understatement. I can’t sleep, I can’t fall asleep and If I’m lucky enough to fall asleep, I can’t stay asleep. I have nightmares, sleep paralysis, jump-awakes, hot-skins, and sometimes I wake up having convulsions. I can take 6 Tylenol PM and stay up all night. I’ve tried everything. I’ve been like this for years. It sucks. I am obsessed with cats. I tend to talk to animals and the television. There have been a number of times when just me and Shawn (my magical boyfriend) have been in a room watching TV and I’ve said something and he says “what?” and I say, “I wasn’t talking to you”. Shawn is awesome. I love him. He’s like my best buddy and my boyfriend and I love him too much. According to Shawn, he’s like John Ritter. Cause he is always over hanging in Nicki’s room with her and me. I don’t go out much anymore. Once a week I go over Kelly’s and yell at Zoe all night for being too hyper and eating SOS pads. I have a job. I am surprised when I have something to do here. Like someone asks me to fix the printer and I’m like “Huh?” and then I don’t. There is never anything to do so currently I have been reading recaps of the show My So Called Life, and totally reliving my fixation/obsession with Jared Leto AKA Jordan Catalano. The most memorable name from any Teen Angst shows ever. When someone doesn’t like a certain thing that I do or how I act I tend to amp it up and do it 10 times more. Its funny to me. Call me a scumbag and I will spit on your wall and steal all the pills out of your medicine cabinet. Tell me to stop kissing my boyfriend in front of you and I will fuck him on your bed. Call me a junky and Ill overdose on your couch. Its acting folks. I don’t like jokes at my expense I get way too pissy and I’m no fun. Sorry, I wish it were different. I grew up in Squantum and for my entire adolescence I didn’t believe there was life outside of Squantum. Small town mentality. I’ve met the most amazing people ever since I moved. Not this time that I got kicked out but I actually moved out on my own last year. I moved to Brewer’s Corner with Nicki and Meaghan. Then we met Beakey and all of his friends. A bunch of cool people and they all seemed to do shit. In bands, artists, writers etc. I was inspired and encouraged by a few of them and some people on my myspace friend’s list to start writing and since I have been writing short stories and poems and other junk. Julie Kenny and me have a See Saw friendship. She knows what that means. I am obsessed with Law and Order SVU. I could watch it for the rest of my life. If you ever see the E true Hollywood stories episode about The Hilton Sisters pay close attention to the part where they are talking about how Paris was dating Eddie Furlong. The narrator actually says, “Furlong’s drug and alcohol problems were well documented” I am pretty sure that applies to everything I have ever written.