Hell and Wonderland

In order to write perverse lyrics to popular Christmas carols, one must necessarily know the original lyrics. So, I've been researching the words to "Winter Wonderland". There are several variations of the "In the meadow, we can build a snowman" stanza (I don't know if I'm using that word correctly).

In what I believe to be the original version, the verse goes on to say,
"and pretend that he is Parson Brown.
He'll say, 'are you married?'. We'll say, 'no man,
But you can do the job when you're in town.'"

But, there are two other versions I've come across. One replaces "Parson Brown" with "Charlie Brown" and goes on thusly:
"We'll have lots of fun with Mr. Snowman,
until the other kiddies knock him down."

The other variation also uses "Charlie Brown", but then follows:
"We'll have lots of fun with Mr. Snowman,
until the aligator knocks him down."

That's the verson that confuses me the most . Where does the aligator come in? Do aligators have any place in a "winter wonderland"? Who's the nut job who came up with that one?!

Really though, I don't understand why the lyrics need to be changed at all. Could it be that the lyric was outdated? Do people no longer know what a parson is? Maybe it was an adaptation promted by religious stance. A parson probably indicates a certain denomination and maybe it was changed to be more universal. It certainly couldn't be that the implications of those lines in the song were too "adult" for a children's melody. When you think about it, it's kind of a sweet notion. Two people build a snowman and pretend that they're going to be married before it. It's romantic.

So, what could it possibly be, and where in Hell did the aligator come from???

Now, if you want a dirty Christmas song, listen to "Let it Snow" a few times.

Hell's Jingle Bells

My, it looks as if it's been about a month since I've posted anything here. It may be the holidays approaching and the mad rush to spend as much money as possible beforehand. It may be my complete lack of interest in anything online other than Neopets. I'm a fucking addict. I don't even work at my job anymore. It's just the bare minimum that I can get away with before I log on to get my fix. This is worse than heroin. Heroin isn't free!

Anyway, I must have thought of a hundred viable posts to tack up here. Neko A Go Go was supposed to be a notebook of sorts. So that I might jot down ideas to expand upon later. That obviously hasn't worked. I don't have much to say now, other than, "Yes, I'm still alive." and "No, I haven't abandoned this project completely." Maybe after the holidays, I'll have more to elaborate on. I did see "Narnia" today. I do recommend it.

I've got family flying into town on Tuesday. So, my father's stressing out that the house won't be absolutely spottless before they arrive. You see, my Grandmother almost never leaves her house. So, this may be the last time she's to set foot in this awful state. Apparently, if everything isn't perfect, my father's going to have another heart attack. God damn it.

Hell On Wheels

You see, this is why I own an SUV:

It's not because it gets great gas mileage (ha, ha).
It's not because I'm a soccer mom (you know I'm not).
It's not because I love the open road (I'd rather fly).

And let's just set aside the fact that it was free.

The reason I own an SUV is something I like to call "Urban Off-Roading". Just yesterday, I "flipped a bitch" in the middle of a two lane road. It required that I drive up onto the sidewalk for about 20 feet. Just after that sweet maneuver, I plowed down some suburban landscaping in the neighboring yuppified strip mall. Every time I pull up to the liquor store, I leave tread marks on the curb.

On the back of my out-dated gas guzzler, I have several bumper stickers, which read the following:

"I hate everyone, please make a note of it."
"Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver"
"Same nightmare, different day."
and a Happy Tree Friends beaver that says, "Be Afraid".

Dangling from the rearview, I have a small collection of air freshners:

Devil girl with a martini in hand (my brother says it reminds him of me)
Black Cat (ala Emily The Strange) that says, "Bad Kitty"
Devil Kitty surrounded in flames reads, "Devil"

none of which do any actual "air freshening" anymore.

On the dash is a sleek black kitty bobble-head.
Flames on the seat cover. Flames on the steering wheel.

You bet it's one bad-ass ride! So, when I cut you off in traffic to the uber decible screams of My Chemical Romance and a hand from the window gives you the "one finger wave", just smile and say, "I know that chick."

Virtual Hell

Of all the god-forsaken things for me to get involved with! It's not bad enough that I've got two blogs and excessive Yahoo! groups, not to mention email and research. Now I had to go and get a Neopet!! What the fuck was I thinking!? I guess, deep down inside, I miss my Tamagochi.

In case anyone else out there has fallen into the same trap, I'm "chibirisu666" and my pets are "Samshoa" the bat creature and "Rockoa" the demonic goat creature. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do now. Sheesh.

Punching My Way Into Hell

I hope you're all enjoying my random brainwaves. It helps to have an input device away from a computer, but text messaging must be short and simple. Hopefully, that adds charm. If not, oh well. (and by the way - "he" turned out to be a roadie.)

In keeping with my strategy of only falling in love with characters and objects, I have a new object of affection. Over the weekend, some friends and I got together to do a little scrapbooking. I know what you're thinking, it seems like kind of a "stay-at-home mom" kind of hobby. However, while my cropping companions were deftly organizing photos of birthdays and easter egg hunts, I was pasting together a colorful montage of blurry concert photos. Having caught up with that scrapbook, next month's project will be my scrapbook about death. It doesn't go over very well with my friends when I spend the whole time mumbling about how much I detest children and Christmas. Hmf. But if they couldn't handle it, they wouldn't be my friends.

Back to topic here...my new love. The host of this month's cropping party also happens to be a rep for Creative Memories. She had a bunch of their products available for our use (subtle, but effective), one of which happened to be a set of paper punches in star shapes. Gasp! I lifted the device tentatively at first. Heavy. I examined it briefly to determine how it operates. Grasping a crisp sheet of mounting paper, I slid its edge into the slot of the device. When I was confident that the paper was well positioned, I pressed down firmly and swiftly on the five-pointed knob. There was a moment of hesitation. Then, I removed my sheet of paper. Okay, that's kind of nifty ~ a star shaped hole in my paper. For some reason though, that's not what got me juicy. I set down the perforated page and, like a kid watching a majic trick, I lifted the paper puncher. Underneath, perfect and delicate, was a brightly colored star. It shone up at me and my heart throbbed. Oh star-shaped paper puncher, how I love thee! You punch me and I see stars. You "click" and the world is a precious galaxy

One Hell of An Idea

I now have a "mobile blog" to which I can post from my cell phone. Yay. Now I can get into a wreck while posting from the highway! Whoooo Rah!

Hell-a Cool Phrase

Here's a word that my little brother and I have recently adopted into our regular vocabulary. "Chillax". It was taken from the movie "Final Destination 2" and it's a combination of "Chill" and "Relax". It's nifty, doncha think? Use it in a sentence? "I really need to go home and chillax."

Yeah, I know the posts are piddly today. But, I'm so damn upset about everything else that I can't articulate properly regarding them. The Avalance will come soon enough...don't you worry.

Have a Hell Heart

This is nifty.

Like A Bat Out of Hell

Hey, wanna see something wicked-bad? Neko got a wild hair for some ink on Halloween and got herself tattooed. It's been way, way too long since Neko went under the needle. Now Neko's got an evil bat creature perched on her shoulder. Freakin' cool!

I've decided that I'm going to fall in love with random things, instead of real people. The way I figure it, if I direct all of those intense feelings at an object, or a movie character, I won't sandblast anyone foolish enough to fall into a relationship with me. My flavor of the moment is the main character in High Tension. Fuckin' A!! Not only is she a dyke, not only does she masturbate at the beginning of the movie, but she's a tough-ass psycho bitch. Love, love. love! I've never been so horny during a horror movie in my life. Is it wrong to bust out the vibrator while someone on screen is being shredded to bloody pulp with a gas powered circular saw? Oh, and did I mention she's French? Fuckin' A!!

Sneaky Little Hellion

I've been to The Book and I snuck off with something. Let's see if I can be clever in 15 minutes.

[x]three names you go by[x]
1. Neko
2. Neko Noir
3. Chibi Risu

[x]three parts of your heritage[x]
1. Italian
2. Greek
3. Whitie

[x]three things that scare you[x]
1. bridges
2. large dogs
3. the words "I love you"

[x]three of your everyday essentials[x]
1. shower
2. liquor
3. masturbation

[x]three things you are wearing right now[x]
1. Black Doc Martins
2. maxi pad
3. coffee stains

[x]three favorite musical artists[x]
1. Beck
2. Bjork
3. Jack White

[x]three favorite songs[x]
1. Helena - My Chemical Romance
2. Vampires Will Never Hurt You - My Chemical Romance
3. Fur Elise - Beethoven

[x]three things you want in a relationship[x]
1. sex
2. sex
3. sex

[x]two truths and a lie[x]
1. I am not fat
2. I am not pretty
3. I am not sober

[x]three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you[x]
1. eyes
2. hair (only the head kind)
3. shoulders

[x]three of your favorite hobbies[x]
1. drinking
2. sleeping
3. imagining devine retribution

[x]three things you want to do really badly right now[x]
1. go home
2. take off my clothes
3. take a shower

[x]three places you want to go on vacation[x]
1. Japan
2. Gerard Way's house
3. Gerard Way's bed

[x]three things you want to do before you die[x]
1. Jump out of an airplane
2. Fuck Gerard Way
3. Fuck Gerard Way again

[x]three ways that you are stereotypically a chick/dude[x]
1. I'm a slut
2. I like cute fuzzy things
3. I'll sleep with your friends and try to steal your s/o

Hilarious Every Little Line

I've just been reading Sweat Flavored Gummi (see link to right and down, down, down) and it was all I could do to maintain my composure here at work. They know I'm not working. But not working AND laughing would be pushing my luck way too far. I think I'm in love.

A Hell of a Mood (Part II)

After reading my last post (if you haven't, I suggest you do so now), you might be thinking that the whole process is unfair, that different people have different views and experiences, everyone makes mistakes, and one is entitled to a little indescretion now and again. And you'd be right. That's why the legislative branch of K.A.R.M.A. exists. This branch consists of a board that collectively determines if certain actions require neutralization. It's primary governing guidelines would be the following:

1. "Acts of Stupidity" shall be defined as those which endanger or supremely annoy, unnecessarily, the general population.

2. "Acts of Stupidity" that do not effect individuals outside of the one performing the act will not be considered punishable actions. (i.e. if Idiot Bob forgets which way his front doorknob turns on a consistent basis, although dumb, shall not be considered grounds for termination, because no one else is harmed or inconvenienced by his forgetfulness.)

3. One time "Acts of Stupidity" also shall not be subject to enforcement. It is allowable that each member of the population make a small degree of mistakes during their existence.

4. Only "Acts of Stupidity" that are performed repeatedly , or a habitual combination of stupid bahaviors, shall be grounds for enforcement.

4a. In the event that an individual's "Act of Stupidity" grossly endangers the life of another (as in the bear example) enforcement shall immediately be allowed.

The committee determining which acts will be defined as "gross endangerment" and which acts effect the population adversely, shall be made up of an equal number of males and females who come from different cultures and backgrounds. One culture may view an act as idiotic. However, without the understanding that different perspectives can bring about, it may not come to light that the individual performing the action is doing so according to ignorance of his surroundings, rather than a consious intent to disregard his fellow citizens.

Okay, chew on that for a while, while I get back to work.

A Hell of a Mood

Well, it's been one week and 3 days since my last cigarette. I've developed quite a little attitude problem since then. I find myself wondering if this is a permanent personality shift, or if it's only a passing reaction to the lack of chemicals I once inhaled. There's a powder keg of anger and fustration inside me, and this new mood thing has put a short fuse on the little stick of dynamite that is Neko. You can see it in my eyes - a thinly veiled contempt for the world. Not so much the world as the people in it. A seething cauldron of rage just beneath the surface, threatening to erupt and spew lava on the next villager who dares to disrespect the gods. Sure, I've still got the Nicotine gum, but screw the gum. I haven't chewed a piece all week and I don't really care to. Not that the gum is a bad thing. It just takes too much effort. That's right asshole, I'm too lazy even to chew gum.

With that said, I'm not sure if this next idea arose from my new loathing for mankind, or the combination of prescription drugs swimming around in my brain. I've developed the outline for a new secret society. It would need to operate as a highly classified branch of the government. A black ops kind of thing. Deep under cover. Think of it as enforced karma. And it goes a little something like this:

The sole purpose of this organization is to manage the spread of ignorance and decline of common sense in our society. By "manage" I mean to secretly monitor and cull the herd where necessary. Said organization has 3 branches, shadowy mimics of the 3 headed beast that is our Democracy. The first branch would be the legislative arm. The second, enforcement, and the third, judicial.

There would be "scouts" from this organization mingling with the civilian population. I would use the word "undercover", but the whole damn operation is undercover. These "scouts" are keeping watch on their assigned section of the population. When an individual is observed doing something completely stupid...

** Completely stupid, here, means stopping to have a conversation about nothing right in the middle of the damned hallway that everyone else has to walk through. Or, speeding up and weaving through traffic, just to end up at the stoplight, one car ahead of their previous position. Other examples include talking on a cell phone at the sales counter, putting on make-up while driving, microwaving poodles, spitting gum on the ground for someone to step on, putting honey on a child's face just for a good photo op with bears, breaking car windows when the doors are unlocked, using the car horn as a commentary device, rather than a warning device, and so on. More on this later. **

...that individual is "tagged" with a nanobyte. The nanobyte will serve to track the individual and will be so tiny that the subject won't feel it enter their flesh after being forcefully projected from some type of blowgun thingie. Let's call the subject "Idiot Bob".

Now, the scout has done their job. It's time for the judiciary branch to move in. Their job is to monitor Idiot Bob to determine whether or not his bonehead faux pas is the result of an innocent slip up, or a symptom of chronic stupidity. If it is determined that Idiot Bob just messed up this once, monitoring is discontinued and the nanobyte is deactivated via a remote device. The nanobyte decomposes and is passed through the body as waste. The process is slightly less painful than passing a kidney stone.

But, and here's where it gets good boys and girls, if it is determined that Idiot Bob is truly a moronic asshole he is eliminated. As he's exiting Starbucks with his double frapilated half-caff mocha latte in one hand and holding his cell phone with the other, walking to his double-parked, blinding yellow H2 with the oversized tires and unnecessary radio antennae, the "K.A.R.M.A." team will pop up out of manholes, jump out from the shadows, and generally materialize. They will tackle Idiot Bob to the pavement, point their .357 Magnums, in all their matte-black glory, at his head, and send the contents of his skull sailing across the asphalt. (Big grin here)

I've got to stop here and go to lunch. But, I'll be back with more..oh yes, you can count on it!

What the Hell is Neko Doing

Fucking around with css and html are fun. Maybe I'll relearn all that stuff I forgot over the years. Better yet, maybe I'll learn some new tricks! If all goes well, maybe this blog will start to look halfway decent for a change.

I Feel Like Hell

Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Neko's Lurgy
Cause:	sporting injury
Symptoms:	earache, cloudy urine, inability to turn neck, automatic writing
Cure:	expensive biofeedback devices
Enter your name, for your own diagnosis:

Hellbutrin

Long story short (or long story told in short sentences).
Neko wants birth control. Neko goes to doctor. Doctor prescribes birth control. Doctor says stop smoking or die. Neko says allergic to patch. Doctor prescribes Wellbutrin to help quit. Doctor suggests patch. Neko reminds doctor of allergy. Doctor suggests gum. Neko goes home. Neko takes pills.

Neko feels like crap. Neko is nauseous. Neko is dizzy. Neko's anxiety level skyrockets. Neko has lost desire to smoke (mostly). Neko has also lost desire to eat, drink and have sex. Neko has lost desire to masturbate. Neko is not depressed. Impossible to be depressed on so many pills. Miserable, yes, but not depressed.

Gummi Bears From Hell

Oh, here it is. Sweet Flavored Gummi. Or, Sweat Flavord Gummi?

When Hell Froze Over

Fuckitty, Fuck, fuck! Today is our first snowstorm of the season. First of many, I'm sure, since I live in a crappy state with crappy weather!! NOW I remember why I hate it here so much. It's been snowing all day, all day since before I woke up this morning. Slushy, trees breaking, endless flakes of white pouring and pouring down like...well...something cold and fucking horrible!

At least it's dead at work today. Thank you Columbus. I don't have to walk between buildings nearly so often as on usual Mondays. Of course, that means tomorrow will be double bad. But, for now at least, I'm enjoying the inactivity. I just remembered that they revised the "Employee Handbook" here to include something about not blogging. I've never read the "Employee Handbook", but I got an email about the updates and I remember people asking what "blogging" is. Oh well.

Anyway, I've been cruising around the 'net, hopping from blog to blog. Normally, the only blog I get over to read is Shenry's (find link to right). Reading his blog always makes me want to give up posting here. He's such a damn good writer! After a visit to The Book, my abmition and self confidence withers away like an 80 year old boner when the viagra wears off. But, today I started from his wonderous blog and browsed some of the links that he has to his favorite reads. I found a few gems, particularly one called "gummi" or something to that effect. (will research and post link here) And I realized something important - several of them were fantastic and enjoyable to read, but each of them had an entirely different style. So, now I don't feel so impotent. Maybe it's not that I'm a bad writer. Maybe I just have a different style?

How the Hell Can They Do It?

Ok. It's not often that I post things like this, but I feel very strongly about this one.

http://www.wspa-usa.org/pages/1264_protest_japanese_dolphin_slaughter_on_october_8th.cfm

It's about dolphin slaughter in Japan. I can't even look at the pictures, because they drive me insane. So, I'm sending out 4 copies of this letter, one for myself and I'll find 3 more people to sign. They're not asking for money, just a letter or an email or something. Please people, you can be an armchair activist for just one moment.

Little Orange Fuckers From Hell

My favorite holiday is rolling around again. Have you guessed it? Halloween, of course! Christmas can go fuck itself - Halloween is where it's at. By now, you've probably noticed that a few scary movies have popped into the theaters, and the candy isle at SuperMart is all orange and black. I was noticing it too, the last time I was picking up Gatoraide and shampoo. Even though I've almost completely lost my taste for sweets, there is one candy that possesses me every year. "Mallowcreme Pumpkins". They're those pumpkin shaped things that are made out of candy corn stuff. Mmmm!

I make myself sick on them every season. The other day, (when I was buying Gatoraide and shampoo) I bought a "big" bag of them. Gone. Now, I'm craving them like mad. I must have eaten the entire bag in about two days. By the first of November, I'll be completely sick of them for another year. They don't go very well with beer, especially the cheap beer I steal from my dad. But, I haven't wanted to eat anything else since I bought that bag.

Some people gorge themselves at Thanksgiving dinner. Not a big holiday for vegetarians. Some people pig out on fruit cake. Okay, well I suppose that's not true. Some people look forward to the big, juicy ham on Christmas day. Uh, that's just gross. Some people delight in candy eggs and marshmallow chicks. Not me. Those little orange balls of sugar have me hooked. So, if you pass me in the street, and my tongue is bright orange, you know why. Mmmm..

Back to the Hell from Whence You Came

So, how was everyone's weekend? Mine was pretty much par for the course. Went to the "Italian Festival" and sampled some tasty foods, gelato, olives..mmmm... Italians fuckin' rock! Unfortunately, I didn't spy any good looking Italian men. I did enter for a chance to win a trip for two to Italy. Most likely, I'll end up with a bunch of junk mail I don't need. But, I've been in a gambling mood of late and figured I'd give it a shot.

I also took my brother to see The Exorcism of Emily Rose. As per Shenry's suggestion, I'm posting a review. (no spoilers, I promise)

The Exorcism of Emily Rose was a good movie. It is not, however, a scary movie. The entire focus of the film is on the court proceedings that evolved from a failed exorcism. I believe that "based on a true story" means that it was based on a book written by the author that the defending attorney shared her case notes with. So, here you have a priest who is on trial for "willful neglect" of Emily Rose.

There is no question as to whom the audience is supposed to be rooting for. Obviously, we all believe in demonic possession. The only frightening scenes in the movie are already given away by the trailer. There is only one scene that's mildly disturbing which you probably haven't already seen. All of the parts in the movie that show Emily being possessed are delivered as flashbacks as different characters give their testimony.

Even though I wasn't frightened at all, I did find myself getting into the storyline. It took me about half an hour to warm up to the characters (except for the hard drinking attorney. I identified with her right away). You might be tempted to scoff at "Emily's" performance. But, take a moment to think about just how difficult it might be to portray a young girl possessed by several demons. And then, ask yourself if you could successfully contort your body into all those different and painful looking poses.

So, in conclusion, I suggest that you see The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Just, don't expect to be spilling your popcorn in terrified fits of...um...terrification.

Hell Weighs In

Worried that you might have put on a little too much weight? Wondering if you're still going to fit into your snowpants in time for ski season? Well, now Neko has a simple, easy fat test that you can take in the privacy of your own home.

Neko's Simple & Easy Fat Test:

Find a small object that you can hold in the palm of you hand.
Now, holding that object in your right hand (or left), reach around and try to put it in your left (or right) pants pocket.

Can you do it?

If you said yes, congratulations! You're not fat!

If you said no, you're fat. Go on a diet, exercise, Hell - get some liposuction or a stomach staple if you have to. You'll feel much better about yourself and you'll be much healthier when you've shed those extra pounds. Then, the world will be a better place all around.

Going Straight To Hell

I suppose I'd better keep up with this thing before it gets away from me again.

I'm not dating that guy from work anymore. He's not that guy from work anymore, since he quit. Our relationship and his employment lasted almost exactly the same amount of time. I thought I'd be crushed when it was over. However, I'm finding that I don't really care that much. I mean, he was really hot, but he never lasted more than 3 minutes in the sack. Such a waste.

There was a guy that I was kind of seeing that works at the liquor store. That's over too now. But, he was way beneath me anyhow and I was just lonely I guess. Sounds conceited of me, but c'mon and tell me you've never felt the same about anyone. I'm just being honest.

So, the leads me to once again examine my issues with relationships. I don't have a good track record. Consider that the first boy I ever kissed is now serving a life sentence for murder, the first guy I ever seriously dated has disappeared from the face of the earth, and the first man I married attempted to murder me. Sure can pick 'em, can't I?

More later...I have to look like I'm working...

What the Hell Am I Thinking?

Oh, and by the way, next up on Neko's Rock 'N' Roll tour are Green Day, Fall Out Boy and Santana.

What The Hell Have I Been Up To?

Wow. Time has ravaged this blog like a southern state in a rainstorm. I've been busy. What have I been up to? Well, I can sum it up with a few simple phrases: getting drunk, rock concerts and unprotected sex. Maybe not some of the wisest choices in the world, but certainly some of the most enjoyable.

The first and the last go hand in hand and probably don't need much of an explaination. The rock concerts though, I will divulge.

Let's see...in keeping with my "Summer of Rock" modality, I've been to see The Killers and The White Stripes while I was away. The Killers played "Next Fest" along with local band The Fray, a band called Spoon and a slew of other musicians not particularly memorable. The Fray was really good and had a good raport with the crowd. I always like to see some crowd interaction, participation, what have you, when I go to a show. The Killers performance, however, did not have this quality and I was somewhat disappointed.

The White Stripes kicked so much ass! For a two person band, they really put it on. I would see another show in a heartbeat. If you like The White Stripes even marginally, go and see them live. I swear you won't regret it. As for all the details, you could probably find some in a periodical or publication somewhere. (I just like the word "periodical")

I've hooked up with the new guy at work. He was there for only 3 days before I jumped on it. As far as any gossip about it, we keep it pretty much on the DL. He's everything I never thought I'd find myself with: Catholic, Military and Right Wing Conservative. Although, he's everything I usually find myself falling for: Alcoholic, Tattooed and Emotionally Conservative. He's just down right hot and freakin' cool. I've no doubt this "thing" we have going will crash and burn eventually, but why not live it up when I've got the chance? Besides, I'm sure his well-to-do, attractive and highly available friend will be around to snatch me up. The trick is to stay away from one while I've got the other. I'm a bad, bad girl, but I like it that way.

Fumar Con El Diablo En El Inferno!!!

Hey Philmorgan3202! Yeah, YOU mother fucker! Don't you dare post a comment to this blog again, you bastard! ESPECIALLY about the evil timber sons a bitches!!! Heed this warning or I'll find you, come to where you live, and boil your fucking children!!!

There Isn't a Chance in Hell That I'll Take Another Quiz

..well...actually that's not true...I've still got 15 minutes to kill.


Cocktail


?? Which Alcoholic Drink Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

Why the Hell Not?

Doing my solemn duty as a die-hard and hopelessly obsessed My Chemical Romance fan, I have gone here and voted for them. You should too, by the way. MCR sent me a little banner with this link, but I've no idea how to make it work...I'm not a very good geek, you know.

Heavy Eyelids Losing Longitiute

You are an
assassin.
That means you are a proffessional and do your
job without mixing any emotions in it. In your
life you have probably been hurt many times and
have gotten some mental scars. This results in
you being distant from people. Though many
think that you are evil, you are not. What you
really are is a person, trying to forget your
pain and past. You are the person who never
seems to care and that is why being an assassin
fits you good. Atleast, that's what people
think. Even if you don't care that much for
your victims, you still have the ability to
care and to generally feel. It is not lost,
just a little forgotten. In crowds you tend to
not get to noticed, and dress in black or other
discrete colours. You don't being in the
spotlight and wish people would just leave you
alone. But once you do get close to someone you
have a hard time letting go and get real down
if you loose him/her.

Main weapon: Sniper
Quote: "The walls we build around
us to keep out the sadness also keep out the
joy" -Jim Rohn
Facial expression: Narrowed eyes

What Type of Killer Are You? [cool pictures]
brought to you by Quizilla

That's a Hell of a Lot More Like It!

80% Vegetarian (probably Vegan)


You're very dedicated to your cause. You could work
for PETA if you wanted to. You love animals,
and look forward to a peaceful future where
nothing has to die needlessly. You've done the
research, and can quote statistics at the drop
of a hat. You probably carry slaughterhouse
photos in your plastic or nylon wallet. Good
job, it wasn't easy to come this far, but
you're living proof that it can be done.


How Vegetarian Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Why In Hell Do I Keep Taking These Quizzes?

You are Kip Dynamite and you love technology.


Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

That's One Hell of a Tune

My most recent obsession is undoubtably music. While I've always had eclectic taste and open ears, lately my taste for tunes has been "kicked up a notch". I think it started when I won tickets to New Orleans on the radio. Falling for Gerard had something to do with it too.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see MCR (among others) on the Warped Tour. It was hell trying to get someone to absorb my extra ticket. I should just start buying them in singles, since finding a partner is like pulling teeth. You'd think that people would jump on a free concert ticket, but no. I did find someone, however, to accompany me to the Warped Tour. We saw Fallout Boy, Offspring, Billy Idol, Atreyu, and a band named "Thrice". I took a disposable camera with me, hoping to catch Gerard on film, but alas. I ended up with a picture of Billy Idol's shoulder and a couple of grainy shots of the stage lighting. Damn, damn and double damn! My hopes of throwing myself at Gerard were dashed as well, as the only entry to the tour bus parking was guarded.

When we went to see Fallout Boy, the crowd was crazy. I was kicked in the head by crowd surfers, almost lost my sandals (next time, I wear steel-toed boots!) and pummelled by empty water bottles. The bruises still haven't healed. So, my instinctive desire not to be crushed to death kicked in and I fought my way back to air. At that moment, I vowed that however nasty the crowd for MCR would be, I would stick it through to the end. Well, I made sure to shove my way close to the stage during the two preceeding acts. I was about 10 feet from stage when Gerard jumped on. The moment I spied him, chills surfed through my body. Here I was, just 10 feet from the man of my dreams! After the second song, the crowd went berzerk again. I tried to tough it out. People were crashing into me from the left and from the right. My toenails were torn off. People passed above and occasionally landed on top of me.

Well, I'm not a big girl. I weigh about 120 pounds. I couldn't even see the band anymore and the panic inside me was rising. So, I fought my way out again, stopping to help up an unfortunate girl who was almost trampled. Visions of European soccer games flashed in my mind and as I exited the throng, a tear came to my eye and a lump grew in my throat. Not because I was almost squished, not because it was at least a 100 degrees outside, and not because my toes were bleeding. It was because my heart was aching. My favorite MCR song swelled in the distance and Gerard shouted to the girls, "hey ladies - are these pants too tight?"

For the next couple of days, my emotions were raw. Every song that played on the radio seemed to sink right in and go straight to my heart. Good lord, there has to be some way to live in that atmosphere of rock and sweat. There has to be some way for me to be part of the music.

No Wonder I Feel Like Hell

Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Neko nioritis
Cause:	genetic mutation
Symptoms:	occasional horn growth on forehead, chi imbalance, hairy legs, extra legs
Cure:	wake up and realise it was all just a dream
Enter your name, for your own diagnosis:

Smoke This in Hell

That's it!
I quit!
Smoking, that is.
I decided on Tuesday morning that I would attempt to quit smoking yet again. This time my chosen method is "cold turkey". I tried the patch thing at the beginning of the year, but it made me swell up!

The sudden decision to cease the habit was born of two factors. Primarily, I was broke. It was either gas to get to work for the rest of the week or 1 pack of Camels. As it was, I barely made it to work today. Another contributing factor was that I was starting to feel sick. I realized how unhealthy I am, despite being vegetarian. I can't run very far, I drink excessively and smoke. So, I figured that I will work on one vice at a time.

Cold Turkey is going to be difficult, especially with everyone in my family smoking. I have learned how to lessen the maddening craving through various breathing exercises and yoga muscle control. Talking about it is making me jonze.

A Hell of a Lot Sooner

Well, speaking of nude photography, guess who just got herself a photographer! I met with someone on a professional level who wants to pay me for modelling. I also plan to apply here and, if things work out, I will have a regular photographer and a regular gig. We'll see what "develops". At the very least, I should be able to fund my next tattoo.

Hell if I Know

Now that I'm home with a cold brew and a fresh pack of smokes, I shall continue my thoughts from the previous post. Let me preface by offering the following disclaimer. I am not a man hater. Sure, there are plenty and plenty of dirtbags out there, worthy of stereotyping and swift kicks to the groin. But, I happen to know a couple of genuinely great guys who are not necessarily the scum that their gender typifies. With that said...

I've had it up to here with "the dating game". Tired of shallow "hook-ups". Sick of trolling at bars. Fed up with giving out my phone number to no avail. For the time being, I quit. It's dildos and porn from here on out.

For starters, the whole thing with Van was basically out of pity and desperation. He wasn't what I would normally think of as "hot". The primary reasons that I gave him play in the first place was that, A: I was flattered that someone showed interest. B: He was recommended by my crush. He was fun to hang out with, and semi-decent in bed. (Although his porn collection would have put Mother Teresa to sleep.) When it became apparent that he had a "side project", I realized that I never had much interest anyway. I thought the man had nowhere else to go.

I've always been the kind of girl to go after something once I've decided that I want it. I just close my eyes and barrell through. I've also always been the kind of girl to shun the demure behaviour that women traditionally are taught to ascribe to. (Is that even a word?) I have no problem at all with making the first move on a man and maybe that's my problem.

The day before I left on vacation, I met a guy working at the book store. He and I had flirted once before and by the second visit, I was sure I had a good candidate. So, I asked him out to dinner. He was working late that night and unable to accept. On top of that, by the time I arrived home, he had moved to England. While in New Orleans, I got a call from him, advising me that my order had come in. When I asked him if that was the sole reason for his call, he flattered me with compliments and I swooned. We've been corresponding via email, but I'm not getting anywhere.

Nothing makes you feel like hot shit more than a trip to New Orleans. Everyone's on vacation, everyone's drunk and everyone's lookin' to score. I had a movie producer and a rock star in the same night. All hail the lust goddess Neko! Did I mention I had a great time? Upon returning to my home town, I thought I could stretch my luck. Ha ha.

Last Saturday night drove home, more than anything, what a sick game the bar scene is. The whole scenario was pathetic and depressing. The four of us arrive in a group and huddle together while casting glances around the room. I'm turned down flat by one mildly attractive jerk, hit on by a fellow who was so wasted, he couldn't remember me five paces later and end up with a guy that, of course, never called me the next day. And it wasn't that this guy was the man of my dreams. He was just what was settled for that night. It's just not right.

Another example of my over-eager drive to succeed. There's a really, really hot guy that works at the porn store. Perhaps I've mentioned him before. He acted like he might have been genuinely interested. He looks like my favorite male porn star - Rob Rotten. So, the last time I was in, I pronounced, "I'd really like to go out with you some time. Here's my new cell." No call. Did I read the signals wrong? Did I jump the gun? Does he have a girlfriend? Was I too direct? What in the Hell is up? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to be scared off.

Well, that's it. Any guy who wants my digits is going to have to have the balls to man up and ask. I'm tired of waiting by the phone. I was talking to my cousin last night, whom I love in every sense of the word (Have you ever seen The Royal Tanabaums?) and he said, "We're just props, dear." My brother thinks it's funny - me hovering by the phone and wondering why it doesn't ring.

The problem is, I'm not the most social person in the world. How will I ever find some entertainment? Sure, a dildo will give you an orgasm and porn will bring the urge, but a fake dick won't kiss you, spank you, pull your hair, or give off the male phermones that I love so much. So what's next? Social clubs? Personal ads?

Maybe I'll just go into porn. I've been looking for a new career...

Go To Hell

Everyone seems to want to piss me off lately. It's as if my list of associates has been gnawed on by a crack addicted beaver and there are very few people I'm still willing to speak with at this point.

"Van" is history. He took me out to see Land of the Dead weekend before last. When he called, I was eager to go because I'd just gotten back from New Orleans and was bored as Hell. Not only did he not tell me that he was bringing a friend, but the friend he chose to bring was someone that everyone knows I've had a crush on for about half my life! After the movie, the three of us went to a bar. The band sucked, the crowd sucked and the conversation was like a dead crack addicted beaver. The only good point was that I heard some great jokes from the bartender. I love jokes, especially dirty ones. Anyway, all Van talked about was how many cocktail waitresses he's gone out with and showed me a bite mark on his inner arm! He first said that he'd gotten the mark from another girl, and later changed his story....twice! Well, he can fuck off.

Next on my shit list is Bugs (who will heretofore be referred to as "the step"). This past Saturday night, I went out with her, her roommate, and another friend of theirs. It was like a weak-ass version of Sex in the City. Well, the step's roommate and friend (whom I'd never met prior) are both incredibly stuck up. We went to one bar and stood around like sheep. The three of them dressed identically, while I stuck out like a crack addicted beaver at a tuna convention. Not my kind of bar, not my kind of crowd. After last call, our group headed back to the step's posh new digs. On the way, I heard a guy say, "nice pants" to me and I responded with, "you wanna take them off me?" Consequently, each girl in the group now had a male escort back to the apartment.

The step always tells people that she is studying to be a lawyer. To my knowledge, she is actually studying to be a travel agent. Her roommate is apparently studying to be an anesthesiologist. So, the conversation was all about politics. One girl just sat in the corner and said nothing to anyone. One of the guys passed out on roommates bed. After he was kicked out, he left the apartment, and as far as I know, was picked up by the cops, because he was never found.

Let me get to the point of this little story. In the step's brand new, posh, downtown luxury apartment there exists one piece of furniture. This piece of furniture is a brand new beige couch, which I'm told cost in excess of $900. Roommate went on and on about how I was not to cause any damage to her precious couch. I assured both her and the step that they had my word no harm would come to the sole inhabitor of their living room. That should have been enough.

One of the fellows (not the one with the pants comment) and I were doing a little making out on said couch, but I had in mind that before anything messy went on, I would move us to the floor. Well, the roommate absolutely flipped out! I mean, really went gonzo. So, the step starts bitching me out! At one point, I said, "Yes mom." to her, as an attempt to hint that she was crossing the line. She responded, "Yes mom, nothing. This is my house!"

I've made up my mind not to speak to her again until the scabs on my elbows (where the skin rubbed off on her hardwood floor) heal. #1: Unless you can site specific examples of past indiscretion, my word should always be good enough. #2: I was incredibly humiliated and embarassed. #3: Never, ever pull rank with me!! Ever!!

So, the step can kiss my ass too. And her friends will never again have the pleasure of my company.

Let's see, who else pissed me off? Did I mention that my father took all my stuff, crammed it into plastic grocery bags and dumped it in the basement? That's another post unto itself.

Jihad (oh, um..Hell!)

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Claymore of Patience.

Get yours.

Hell and the 7 Joys

In response to a recent post by shenry, I thought I'd offer up a list of 7 simple pleasures in life that I, personally, enjoy. (in no particular order)

1. Eating Cheetos cheese off of my fingers.
2. Going out for Dim Sum or Sushi.
3. Crushing on rock stars.
4. Imagining suitable fates for people who piss me off.
5. Showers.
6. Opening envelopes with a letter knife.
7. Trying to guess foreign languages I overhear.

For those who have seen Amelie, I love the parts in that movie where the narrator lists each characters likes and dislikes. I like to bury my hands in buckets of dried beans too, just like Amelie

Hell-o Kitty

My cat is a bad one. When I first moved back in with Dad, after I got married, my cat didn't seem to have any trouble with the neighbors. Then I got an apartment, got attacked, and moved back in with Dad. Now, he is contantly fighting with the cross-eyed kitty next door. My dad discovered that the yard next door has a catnip bush, so we think that he's getting into trouble over the stash. Here's the dialogue as I imagine it.

Jiji (my kitty): Awwww yeah! This is the shiznit!

Elmo (next door kitty): Yo, G! Why you always up in here? Get-cho broke ass back over that fence before I got's ta pop your black ass! (yes, my kitty is black)

Jiji: What! What! You got a grip a this shit. Why you gots ta be all stingy an shit? Man, I'll take what I want and your cross-eyed ass ain't gonna do shit!

Elmo: Bitch! Just cuz yo mama was a chow dog don't mean you can chow on my shit, man. I'll snatch you up and put you over my knee, son!

Jiji: I hear you talkin' but I don't see ya walkin'.

Elmo: That's it, punk!

Then the two cats proceed to chase each other around the neighborhood, leaving unsightly clumps of fur everywhere.

The whole point of this post being that I had to take my cat to the vet last night, because Elmo bit a hole through his ear. Like most pets, I imagine, my cat doesn't appreciate my efforts to look after his welfare or the fact that I'm going to get reamed on the bill. He was so unruley, the doctor had to call in an orderly to help keep him still so he could have his ear cleaned.

Now, I've got this liquid antibiotic crap that I'm supposed to administer through a syringe twice daily. Ha! I tried in vain this morning and just about got shreded alive. As you all know, I'm not in the best of moods at any time that ends with "AM". As I'm trying to chase Jiji down for the third time, my dad pipes up with his little words of advice. "You just have to grab him and shove it in his mouth." No shit, Dad. Really? I told him that if he was such a freakin' genius, he could give it a go!

Long story short, kitty didn't get his meds this morning and I was late for work. We'll try again tonight.

Hell - O Potato

Hot one, commin' through!

http://www.passthepotato.com/potato-2.php?potatoid=050627134706-956297

Hell Hath No Chicken

When you think of hell, you might think of evil. When you think of evil, you may think of chickens. Well, here ya go....

http://www.savagechickens.com

Pay particular attention to the segment on evil. EVIL I SAY!!!!
(if this link doesn't work, I'm gonna look like a complete retard.)

Party Like Hell

There's only one thing wrong with winning an all-expense paid trip to New Orleans and having the most incredible, fantastic, unbelieveable time of your life. That problem is, when you get home, you realize what a smoldering, reeking, pile of shit your life really is and don't particularly want to live it anymore.

Hell's House of Reptiles

Ever drink Sobe? Flavors I once found refreshing, recently make me nauseas. The one flavor I currently still enjoy is Cranberry pomegranate. So, the other day, I pop open my customary bottle and flip the lid to see what quip the Sobe company has in store for me. Under the filmy plastic seal, the words, "Bathe the Stiffmeister" are emblazoned.

Bathe the Stiffmeister? I'm not a hundred percent certain of what "the Stiffmeister" is, but I have a pretty damn good idea. If I had a stiffmeister, I would hope that no reminder to bathe it would be necessary, especially from the lid of a juice bottle. In fact, I'd probably be spending a great deal of my time "bathing the stiffmeister".

Another word for "stiffmeister" might be "lizard". Is it a coincidence that a lizard happens to be the mascot of Sobe? Does the lizard need to wash his "stiffmeister"? If the Sobe lizard is the creature responsible for these liquid refreshments, he had better damn well wash something.

Then there's the fact that the juice bottle itself is gently reminiscent of what a "stiffmeister" might be shaped like. If I'm going to wrap my lips around and drink from the stiffmeister, it should be a clean stiffmeister. It sure tastes good for stiffmeister juice. Hmm.

What exactly is Sobe trying to suggest? Is this something appropriate? Should I be bathing my stiffmeister, or someone else's? And why does the lizard think that the stiffmeister needs it in the first place?

Hell Bear

This is my bear. I rock, but I don't really care.


Nihilist Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hell's Other Shoe

Remember a while back (see "Hell Comes in Threes") I mentioned car trouble, and then driver's license trouble? Well, I knew the other shoe was going to drop before long, since we all know that these things happen in threes.

I won a trip to New Orleans on the radio!! That's right, hotel stay, VIP tickets to a concert, transportation, the works! I even won a CD, a t-shirt, and a stuffed toy. The only problem is, I can't claim my prize without an I.D.!!!! Last week, I waited 3 hours at the DMV, only to be told that I have to take the driving and written tests and that those tests had been discontinued for the day. GAaaarh!

Is there any way to get an I.D. like, tomorrow?

Text me: 1-800-GOT-HELL

On the dating front, there has been no action.
Van was supposed to contact me on Saturday, but did not follow through. Then, he spent about an hour sending me text messages in the middle of the night. What's that about? His excuse was that he had fallen asleep. Is this a plausable excuse? Let's discuss...

Support: A. Van works out of town and for over 8 hours at a time. This would certainly lead one's body clock to be askew and therefore account for odd hours of rest.
B. I, myself, have neglected many a return call due to unexpected siestas.
C. Why would he blow me off only to text me later on?

Defiance: A. I don't have my ID. Therefore, I wouldn't be much fun at any gathering that require proof of age. Thus, a convenient excuse may be necessary so as to mask a night of drinking with "buddies" to which I may have otherwise been invited.
B. Hours before his call was due, he advised me that his mother was visiting.

This is confusing. If he was trying to get rid of me, or blow me off, why would he text me the next night? On the other hand, what a lame excuse. On the other hand, would I rather a lame excuse or a flat-out rejection?

On the other hand, I don't really care all that much. Honestly.

There is an "adult" store nearby, in which I have sometimes found myself a customer. Wait, that doesn't sound right. I'm not a hooker. I didn't find myself a customer there, I was a customer there. Anyway, there's a really attractive guy who works there and, quite a while ago now, I had given him my phone number. He never called. I was a bit disappointed. Not heartbroken - just disappointed. I had written of this to one of my pen pals and she recently wrote back to say, "He probably lost your number." Well, I have had my number changed and disconnected since then. She could be right.

After all, I thought I'd seen all the signals, all the little signs that tell a woman when a man might want some. So, I dropped my digits on him. Oh, I was real slick about it too. I danced deftly around the "you work at a porn store and I'm asking you to call me" akwardness quite nicely. What better partner than someone who recommends your private viewing pleasures? What an interesting way to communicate to someone what your kinks and fetishes are.

I don't know what happened, but I haven't been back to see him since. I did drop by once, but he wasn't working. Since then, I haven't really had the money to spend there. I feel weird going in and not buying something from the guy. Anyway, maybe I should give that avenue another shot. He's really hot!

Another Night in Hell

I promised to tell date 2. Well, there's not very much to tell, so I'm going to give just the high and low lights.

I met Van at his condo last Saturday night. There was no trouble finding his complex, but I spent about 10 minutes knocking on the wrong door. This should have been the first indication that the night wasn't going to go well for me. I got all dressed up again. This time, I went for the school girl from Hell look. Problem was, I wore the most uncomfortable shoes in the world. This whole week, I've been wearing sandals to work so that the cuts on my feet can heal. Would it be so much to ask the world for a hot pair of shoes that don't destroy my flesh? That's what I get for trying to be sexy.

When I arrived, Van had a friend visiting. He already has a nickname - Dr. Smoke. The two of us got along and chatted for about 20 minutes on the subject of music and his punk band. I toyed for a moment with the idea of singing in a punk band. That'd be cool! What a great way to get out all this pent-up aggression and angst. I'm wound so tight these days, I'm liable to just snap on someone - No warning. I guess that's why I'm at a pack a day.

Van and I went to see "Unleashed" with Jet Li. It wasn't a bad movie at all, but there was less action than I expected. I have to say that this is the first made-in-America movie that worked well for Mr. Li. "Romeo Must Die" sucked major ass! Has he been in anything else that wasn't made in HK?

After the movie, I was adamant that the two of us should go and get something to drink. So, I walked several blocks - feet bleeding - to a bar, got up to the door, and suffered humiliation!! No I.D.!! Embarassing to no end, and I didn't hear the end of it from Van all night. I couldn't tell if he was really irritated by the situation, or he was trying to give me a hard time.

So, we went back to his place and hung out. I finished off a bottle of vodka and a couple Tequilla shots. Still didn't feel comfortable. He turned on the T.V. and guess who's favorite hottie had on-demand videos to watch! For the first time, I saw the My Chemical Romance video for "I'm Not Okay". It was all I could do not to drop to the floor and writhe around in some type of "Gerard Way is the most incredibly hot creature in existence" fit of desire! I did drool. I did gush. I didn't take my eyes off the screen. Probably not the best way to act in front of my date, but I just couldn't help it. I'd run over my own mother to get to Gerard. Sacrafice my eternal soul? No hesitation.

The night was basically boring beyond that point. It's my own damn fault I suppose.

A last item of note: Van did actually hold the car door open for me once this time. Good boy.

Hell Comes in Threes and Who In Hell are You (conclusion)

My god. I've been neglecting the conclusion of date #1 and there's already been a date #2. That, and more chaos of life has been visited upon me.

(conclusion) Hmm...just how much detail do I want to go into here? There isn't much left to tell of date #1. I really like Van's sheets. They have spirals all over them - just like my tatoo! However disappointing the foreplay may have been, the sex wasn't bad for first-time-sex. He "went down" which may have been the first time for me that a man has ever "gone there" on the first date. I, however, did not "go there". Out of respect, I won't go into any dimensions of any body parts. That's just wrong. I'd be really pissed and embarassed if I found out that some guy posted my chest size online. Let it be known that in my world, posting Neko's chest size online fully warrants a smashed windshield.

The next morning, I had to get up early for my weekly yoga class. So, that means Van had to get out of bed and drive me home. Well, he wasn't too happy about that one. I tried to hint that maybe I should stick around a little while or that we should do breakfast. He wasn't having it. On the way home, he turned up his radio and didn't say a word to me! Gasp! Can you imagine the anxiety I felt?

Morning After: 1 strike

I was about to chalk the whole date up in the "failure" column, but at the last minute, everything was saved; my pride, my ego, my vanity, my anxiety. I told him he had my number if he was interested in seeing me again and right away he asked, "How about next weekend?" Yes! That's got to be record response time.

End date 1. Look for date 2 coming soon.

Hell Comes In Threes:

Last week, my father got a new job. Now this doesn't seem like it should throw a big wrench in my flow, but my transportation situation was immediately all jacked up. For quite a while now, I've had "daddy's car", which is a fairly sweet Nissan Pathfinder. Daddy was driving a company provided vehicle. Naturally, with his new employer there came no new vehicle. And so, my sweet ride was suddenly yanked and I was left by the roadside, staring at my own vehicle - unregistered, uninsured and expired tags.

When the ex and I split, he had the truck to himself for about a week. When we were married, I hardly ever drove and he and his no-job-havin' ass ran that poor truck into the ground. Oh, yeah and then there were the 3 "emergency" cross-country trips. During one of which, several of the accesories went missing. Never lend your car to a junkie. For that matter, you sure as hell should never marry one!! Panels were missing, parts were punched out, and a whole lot of "what the fuck happened here?"

Well, what I was getting at with that last paragraph is that my truck held a whole lot of evil spirits and bad mojo for me. That's why I'd been procrastinating for so long before getting it on the road. Besides, I'd become accustomed to piloting a jet-black, automatic, cushy ship with a decent sound system and a CD player.

All at once, I had to pony up the cash and make the junkie truck legal. So, I took 5 hours off from work, drove half way across town to buy insurance, drive back, go for an emissions test, go to get my title changed (I was awarded the truck in the divorce), get it registered and finally, get new stickers. Whew. As if that wasn't enough, I got lost and was 2 hours late picking up my dad from his office. Then, I missed my therapist appointment. Trust me, I need it.

With all that out of the way, I thought I might be able to chill this week. Not so...

On Friday, I went and bought myself a new cell phone (did you get my text Shen?). Well, like an ass, I left my I.D. at the cell phone kiosk in the mall. I remember reminding myself over and over not to forget my I.D. Over the weekend, I was going crazy trying to locate it (more details on this later). Yesterday, I went to pick up my spankin' new phone and I asked the guys if they'd seen it around. Good news: they had. Bad news: they put it in the mail! Having my I.D. mailed back to me wouldn't be so bad, except that I have lived in about 4 different places since the address that's listed on my Texas I.D. Well, good-bye to that. I knew sooner or later I'd have to replace it anyway. At least I'm not still pulling my hair out over where it could be.

So this week's running-around-like-a-chicken-with-no-head task is to get my birth certificate from the county, go to the DMV and try to get a license issued. If all goes well, I can take care of this before the weekend. Do you know how humiliating it is asking Daddy to buy cigarettes for me?

Who in Hell are You? (part 3)

Before I begin part 3, let's review:

Threads: 1 strike (could have been better, could have been worse)
Food: 1 strike (at least there wasn't a steak involved)
Cuteness: 0 strikes
Car: 1 strike (not a Viper, but not a Geo)
Manners: 1 strike (not holding the door is a no-no)
Bling: 0 strikes (nice phone)
Conversation: 0 strikes
Musical taste: 1 strike (Van Halen without Roth?)
Threads: 1 strike (not Versace, not Old Navy ((or maybe it was?))

You may have noticed some adjustments. I think I started off forgetting that 3 points was bad.
So, beginning with that, here's the rest of the date-evaluation.

We went to a club downtown called "Crocs" to meet Bugs. It took a while for sis to show, so we took a mafia-style booth and I got to the martinis. The table was laden with parchment, and since there was no smoking 'til 10, I took some crayons and got to work testing Van's skills. I drew flames, he drew a dragon crouching from behind a rock. Not bad.

Skills: 0 strikes

There was a review of our previous meeting and apparently, he didn't remember much of it. He blushed when I reminded him of how friendly he had been. I like a guy with a little touch of shyness. Not Mormon enough to keep his hands to himself, but not Heathen enough to warrent a slap in the face.

Cuteness: still holding at 0 strikes.

Bugs finally showed and we decided that Croc's wasn't happenin'. He treated my sis with respect, included her in conversation and offered to pay for drinks. A big plus in the manners department, but still not enough to erase the car-door oversight.

Manners: still 1 strike.

I think the next venue was the Gigglin' Grizzly (I live in Colorado folks). It was the type of hot, sweaty nightclub where you can get lost in the crowd and they pass out promo t-shirts and glowing bracelets. I got a red one. (That's 'cause I'm red-hot) There was an encore of ass grinding and not being able to stand up straight in a room full of people. Black men seem to really like Bugs. For the second night we've chilled, another random ebony-skinned fellow wouldn't leave her alone. I couldn't begin to speculate.

Sometime between the dinner and the club hopping, I had made it clear to Van that he was taking me home for the night. I bade good-night to Bugs and hopped back into the Dodge.

Van has a nice condo. Not to far away, new carpeting, a loft area, a miniature pincer, nice furniture and very, very clean. This guy is getting a second date, if only for the wide-screen, plasma TV I'm in love with.

Crib: 0 strikes and holding strong.

Aside from listening preferences, another way I size up my companions is via cinematic choices. I'm a huge fan of horror, indie flicks and foreign film. When it comes to horror, almost anything goes. You'd be surprised at how many B movies I've sat through (or maybe you wouldn't). One of my all-time favorites is Evil Dead. Evil Dead 2 is great as well, but that's where it ends. The fact that at least one of the two was his shelves is a good sign.

Movies: 0 strikes.

Van also has 2 electric guitars. Now, having lived in Austin - the "live music capital of the world" - I have had many a suitor attempt many a serenade. After we toured the condo and the Star Wars toy collection, I convinced him to fire up the amps and strum a few chords. Impressive, the boy can play!

Skills: 0 strikes strong.

Now, at this point, alarms may be going off in your head, "Star Wars toys?!" I have had several collections of toys myself and am a card-carrying member of the "no way I'm taking that out of the package" club. So, color me dork, but no strikes for the toys.

Where was I...oh, the movie. Well, I didn't finish Evil Dead 2. About 20 minutes into the screening, I made my intentions clear by undoing the buttons of Van's shirt. On to make-out scores:

Kissing: 2 strikes against.

It may seem harsh at first to give so cruel a mark, but I love "the kiss". A good kiss can get my panties nice and soaked before the real action even begins. Van has facial hair, and my poor, delicate chin would up badly chaffed. No innovation and too much repitition. We're going to have to seem some improvement there.

I have to wonder to myself if Van had spent the whole day previous cleaning or if he is just a neat freak. The apartment was spotless! I mean, it was like a set, or as if he'd just moved in. Everything was spotless and neatly in place. For 1, most stoners aren't that clean. For 2, most single guys don't dust, and for 3, most dog-owners have a hard time keeping things up. Almost suspicious. If he had spent the whole day cleaning, that's a plus. But, if the guy's a neat-freak, that could spell danger.

More tomorrow.

Who in Hell are You? (part 2)

(this is part 2. If you haven't read part one, scroll down and read the previous post before reading this one.)

He did not, however hold the door to his car open for me and that definately deserves a strike against him.

Manners: 1 point.

Once we were underway, I asked to use his cell phone so I could call step-sister (let's call her "Bugs". No idea why.) He didn't bitch about minutes and the phone was top-notch.

Bling: 0 points.

On the drive, we talked and discovered that we had both attended the same elementary school and the same middle school. Kinda cool in my book, since I don't know anyone else who grew up in my hood anymore, let alone some random person. We also talked alot about music, which is always a way in which I size up anyone I meet. As I mentioned earlier, he is a Van Halen fan. Although not a favorite with me, I recognize their place as rock legends. He is a Sammy Hagar man. I like David Lee Roth oh so much better.

Conversation: 0 points.
Musical Taste: 1 point.

That's going to have to be it for tonight. I'll continue this tomorrow.

Who in Hell are You?

Before we get to the juicy details, I need to address Shen's comment on the last post. In case you're too lazy to "click" on the comments at the end of said post, let me summarize: Could I please come up with a more suitable (i.e. shorter) nickname for each of the men involved.? Why certainly, anything for the Great Gor-Gor! (....thunder....)

We will call date-boy by the nickname "Van", since he's way into Van Halen. We will heretofore address graduate stoner boy by the moniker "Bruce", since he's got arms like Bruce Lee (drool). And thus, it begins...

I've decided to adopt a "3 strikes and you're out" policy for my date analysis. Each category will be scored on a 3 point system, 3 being the worst and 0 the best. Each time the date-ee improves his/her performance, a point will be subtracted. Each time the situation worsens, or does not improve, a point will be added. If the date in question reaches 3 points in each category, the dating will end. Let the scoring commence...

I didn't end up ditching my date on Friday after all, although, for about 15 minutes, I thought he had ditched me. Thinking it wise, I had called ahead and made reservations at the restaurant. I got all dolled up, in my black velvet dress, make-up, black-spiked collar and new bondage sandals. (The policy is the try to scare the crap out of them on the first date.) I was anxious to leave, but I remembered that you're supposed to make the guy wait for some reason. My cab driver took his sweet time picking me up. I arrived at the Olive Garden, checked in, and stood outside, hoping to intercept Van. There wasn't much of a crowd, but nearly everyone gave me odd looks. A little boy stared at me for about 5 minutes. Then, I was seated, sans date. I sat there by myself for a while, before all the dots were connected and the waitstaff realized that my date had already been seated at another table on the other side of the restaurant.

With a nervous and unsteady step, I followed the hostess through a maze of tables. Van sat alone, looking at his cell phone. I smiled, sat myself down, and promptly ordered a glass of the house red. I panicked for a second when I realized that Van wasn't as attractive as I had remembered from my hazy night at the club and I wondered if I was just as shocking to him. No, I'm not going to score the man on looks, because I'm hardly that shallow.

He was all dressed up and although he wasn't wearing Versace, at least he bothered: 3 points.

Conversation progressed tentatively at first. We talked about Bruce a little and how I managed to track down Van's number. I told him about my "series of operatives" working under cover. I was thankful that he didn't order a big, buttery steak. Intentional or not? We talked about why I don't eat seafood.

Food: 1 point.

He picked up the check. Paid with a debit card. I'm not going to score on that, since I can't decide if I'm more impressed by cash or suspicious of it. At least it shows that he has a bank account, unlike myself, who is way to shady to have the credit required for a bank accout. He didn't ask if I wanted dessert, but he didn't bitch when I ordered several glasses of wine. I asked if he wouldn't mind driving to the club where we were to meet my step-sister.

When I followed him out to the parking lot, he couldn't find his car! Although he expressed his embarassment, I thought it was really cute!!

Cute: 0 points.

He drives a red Dodge sportscar with a sunroof. I'm thinking that it might be early 90's.

Car: 0 points.

(I'm going to post this now, because I was just rudely disconnected and barely had time to copy this much)

Let's Meet for a Date in Hell

Tonight, I have a date. It's the first time I've gone on a date since I was granted my divorce. Actually, it's the first time since waaay before I was even married. Considering the number of guys I've "been with", I've had surprisingly few of what you would call "dates". Tonight, it's the guy from the bar. Not the bartender, but the guy I was dancing with. Bartender never called me, but I didn't really expect him to. This guy didn't call me either. I managed to track him down. Sheesh! Does a girl have to do all the work these days? There used to be a day when a man would hold the door for a woman. Now it's "why don't you be on top?"

So I called this guy the other night and had to leave a message. I sounded like some giggly, high-school dorky girl. When I got home from work yesterday, there was a message on the machine. He sounded kinda giddy and excited and I think that's what got me. I called back and reached him, apparently getting stoned and watching Star Wars with his friend. We're going to meet at the Olive Garden, primarily because it's one of the few easy to find restaurants in town with vegitarian options. I tried to go to Applebee's once - not a single damn thing on the menu without meat!! Fuck you Applebee's!! I even offered to go to Taco Bell. Where in hell are my standards?

After dinner, we're going to meet my step-sister and her friends at a bar downtown. Then, I'm going to get laid. "So confident?" you say? Trust me, it won't be much of a challenge. In fact, if I don't end up getting laid tonight - the next round is on me.

At first, I was really excited. Now, I'm kind of dreading the situation. Why did I decide to call this guy and go out on a date? Wouldn't I rather just go home and relax, do the cleaning I've been putting off, rest up for yoga class tomorrow? After all, I don't know if I really like the guy all that much. After surfing MCR websites all day, I don't really want to be within 10 feet of anyone who doesn't look like Gerard Way. Seriously contemplating only dating men with the name "Gerard" or remaining celebate until I get to meet the man himself.

But then again, doesn't this guy deserve a chance? I mean, he was recommended by the guy I've been crushing on for years. Does that even make sense? I guess what I'm doing is testing. I'm testing to see if I've "still got it", testing to see if I'm ready to date again, testing this guy out. So, I'm not going to bail. I'm going to go through with it. Here's the plan - get really wasted and...no...wait...that's the usual plan...

What In Hell Did I Do Last Night?

Well, guess who had lots of fun this weekend?

Saturday night I went to a friend's graduation party at a local bar I'd never been to. The graduate in question is a guy that I've had a crush on for what seems like forever. Anyway, the night started slow... I hate when I'm the first person to get to a shindig. I feel like such a sober dork wandering around the bar by myself. The bar was DEAD when I got there too.

I'm always so awkward in these situations. I don't really dance until I'm completely wasted (we'll get to that part), so I chain-smoke and try to lean against something and make it look natural. I have to express my endless admiration for Shenry, who can just start gettin' down right away and make it look good. If I was a super-hero, that would be one of the super powers I'd wish for. Of course, Shen is a super-hero, so who am I to compare? I felt such a sense of relief when he and his wife appeared. I can always talk to her while I hang out by the wall.

I remember speaking with her (I'm not sure what her online moniker is) at one point. I had just gotten a Long Island Iced-tea from the bar and it tasted like a cup of fresh squeezed ass. I had been complaining to her that the Amaretto sours I had been sipping weren't doing the trick. She suggested that I chug the nasty "iced tea". So, I followed her suggestion and almost gagged. The last thing I can really remember clearly was Shen's wife saying to me, "Don't worry. You'll feel it in a minute."

What couldn't have been more than 10 seconds later, I was out on the dance floor, doing things that are probably illegal in most states. I remember stumbling up to graduate-boy and whispering in his ear that I'd had a crush on him since I was 12. (I feel like such an ass!) His response was something like, "That's cool, but you should check out my friend who apparently has the hots for you." My thoughts - "Oh, that must have been the guy who was kissing my neck and feeling me up while I was grinding my ass against his jock." I can only console myself with the assumption that everyone else was as wasted as I was and that no one will remember my drunken antics. I feel like I should call the guy up and at least get his name. I kinda blew him off.

I had also invited my step-sister who lived close by. I'd bailed on her a couple of times recently and felt I owed her an invite. It's a good thing she came, because I ended up crashing at her house. The two of us went downstairs and sat at the bar. We proceeded to down several shots and flirt with the bartender. The bartender threw ice down my shirt and we ended up eating face. Yes, I say "eating face".

Back upstairs, where I had my ass smacked numerous times by persons unknown and gave out a round of ass-grabbing myself. Um...I hope you're wife's not too pissed off at me Shen...

Damn. I thought that after my divorce, I would shape up a bit; not be so wild, more responsible. But, now that I'm free again I'm almost as crazy as I was back in my Austin days. Only difference is, I'm much older and I can feel it. Thank god my step-sister was there. I was able to drive the few blocks to her house and crash on her couch. She likes to throw drinks at me, but she always takes care of me.

At the beginning of the night, I was wearing a t-shirt that says, "Complicated." How ironic.

The Next Round In Hell Is On Me

So, I went out to the club last night. I'm realizing now that I'm not as young as I used to be. Can you believe I used to work 2 jobs and party every night 'til 3? Now, one solid night of drinking and staying out late takes me 3 days to recover from. Yet, here I am at work, trudging through the day. Maybe I'm not in such bad shape after all. I was even 15 minutes early to work!

I've had about an hour and a half of sleep. I must look like the living dead. My new job has me up and running about most of the time, so that has been keeping me from falling asleep. But, the music in the office is grating on my nerves!! "Urge to kill...rising..." (the Loco Motion?)

I met someone by chance who happened to be a reader of my old blog! I didn't realize that anyone but my friends ever read my odd ramblings. It was actually very flattering, like meeting a fan or something.

Then there was this guy at the club who wanted some attention from me. To begin with, he was really unattractive. Add to that, he was so drunk that I couldn't understand what he was saying. I think he said something about, didn't he "see me" at Hot Topic? Something idiotic. He moved away from me a little and motioned for me to follow him or dance with him.

It's the first time anything like that has happened to me. I'm not usually shakin' my ass anywhere, let alone a club. When I was back in my hay day, I always used to hang at the clubs with my friends - who all happened to be guys. Walking into a club with a bunch of guys is a sure-fire way to make sure that you don't get hit on. That can be both good and bad.

Anyway, I just waved the guy off. Really, really not anywhere near interested! (Now if I could just get the guy at the porn shop to give me a call)

The Bathroom in Hell

The Ladies' room at work isn't generally so bad. There are flowers, lotion and an air freshner that despenses perfumed air in timed disbursements. Normally, there are plenty of stalls and you can use the handicapped sink so you don't have to hold down the hot and cold when you want to wash your hands.

All in all, restrooms here aren't so bad on the scale of public facilities. But, every once in a while, there's someone else in the room. One of my biggest annoyances is having to share the restroom! There's the fat lady, who doesn't feel the need to stifle the panting and grunting sounds she makes and she tries to haul her ass onto the seat. Then, there's the skinny girl with the bad attitude who zooms on by the sink and doesn't even pretend to wash her hands. Anyone who doesn't wash their hands after using the commode should be shot. No trial, No jury - straight to execution!! Thirdly, there is the chatty middle-aged woman who doesn't give a thought to privacy or the delicacy of the situation and wants to talk to you from the other side of the stall. Finally, there is one handicapped woman in my office. She is in a wheelchair. Aside from yeilding the handicap-code-compliant amenities, I am always at an embarassed and awkward loss when it comes to helping this person. I mean, should I try to hold the door open, should I offer assistance in some way, should I talk to her? Every time I've encountered her, I don't speak and merely flail my arms about in an effort to signal both my willingness to help and reluctance to interfere.

One last complaint about the stalls themselves. The seat is almost always wet. This creeps me out almost enough to buy a few bottles of Purell and carry them around with me. I can never tell if the wetness is due to lack of aim on someone's part or the flush-backlash kicking water back up on the seat. If it's not backlash, it's in entirely the wrong area. Why do they even offer those paper seat liner thingies? If the seat is wet, fluid is going to soak up through the flimsy material anyway. Are they meant inspire some sort of false security in the user. It's not as if they're going to block moisture, STDs or anything basically. Are they even sanitary?

It's all I can do to keep from having a panic attack every time I round that corner.

Hell can be fun

I've developed a new amusement for myself at work. I like to jump into an elevator and close the doors right as someone's coming up to get in. Hee hee hee. Oh, the fun I've had.

Here's the technique:

1. Memorize where the "close door" and floor button for your stop are.
2. Jump into the elevator just as someone's approaching. You may have to practice to get the timing just right.
3. Jam the "close door" button in and then hit your floor button, while simultaniously pressing yourself against the elevator wall where you can't be seen. This is important because people get really pissed off when you don't hold the doors.
4. Listen for pissed off comments from the people who didn't make it in. This is the best part!

Risks involved:
Someone might see who you are and spread nasty rumors or give dirty looks.
Someone (mostly men do this) might shove their arm into the doorway as it's closing and board the elevator. Then you have to endure their scowls until they disembark.

Remember though, if you take up this past-time, you forfeit the right to be pissed off when you miss the elevator.

It's endlessly amusing! Mwa ha ha ha ha!

Mornings are Spawned from Hell

In order for me to get up on time this morning, it took 1 alarm clock, 1 wake-up call from a friend, and 1 knock on my door from Dad. This is the second day in a row that I have managed to arrive at work on time.

It doesn't seem to matter what time I wake up - I always feel like crap! Mornings are the most punishing of all moments. It could be partly due to my medication. It could be partly due to my drinking. It could also be partly due to the fact that I find it impossible to sleep before 11 pm, sometimes midnight.

I have been known to sleep for 12 hours straight through. I am the last person you want to run across in the morning. If I don't have to be anywhere, and someone wakes me up for no reason - you'd better look out!! I need my cigarette and my coffee and to be left alone. Unfortunatly, this causes a conflict with my current living situation. At the moment, I'm living with my father. My father is an early riser. Very early. That's bad enough, but he seems to feel that no one else has a right to sleep in later than he does. So, often on the weekends I find myself up late working on the multitude of projects I entertain myself with. Then, on the 1 or 2 days out of the week that I have the chance to sleep in - my dad is crashing around the house!!! Either that, or the cats are jumping on my head.

No rest for the wicked I suppose.

The Marriage from Hell

Well, well, well. So, it's finally rolled around to Cinco De Mayo again. I HATE May 5th!!

No, I hold no prejudice against Mexico or it's independence. For me, this day has an entirely different and altogether more sinister meaning.

Two years ago, exactly on this day, I marched into a courthouse in San Diego and proceeded to make one of the worst decisions of my life. Doomed myself to a year and a half of misery. - I got married. Thankfully, I'm divorced now. Oh, thank the gods!!

I wasn't the first failed marriage for my ex. He had another wife before. She had been with him for 8 years! She must have been completely psycho.

Hello single life, again! I must make it my goal to sleep with another man each year on this date - just to amuse myself at the thought of how pissed my ex would be if he only knew.

Welcome to Hell

Welcome to Little Tragedies. This is the resurrection of Nekoecho and the third rebirth of Neko's Rainy Day. I live again!

But, like most undead creatures, this incarnation is a bit more gnarly, gory, dark and a great deal more morbid than the original. I'm not the woman you once knew...

But, I am really tired. So, I'm going to go to bed and clean up this mess later.