This Simpering ......Female......

deadandobscure: New self portraits.

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 15:40:42 -0800

deadandobscure:

New self portraits.

If I somehow die tonight, I want this screencap engraved on my...

Sun, 24 Feb 2013 22:06:51 -0800

If I somehow die tonight, I want this screencap engraved on my tombstone.

LANCE ARMSTRONG'S SCANDAL CAN'T STOP LIVESTRONG'S IMPORTANT WORK

Tue, 12 Feb 2013 17:36:00 -0800

LANCE ARMSTRONG'S SCANDAL CAN'T STOP LIVESTRONG'S IMPORTANT WORK:

As the United States Postal Service announces it will halt...

Wed, 06 Feb 2013 15:05:00 -0800

As the United States Postal Service announces it will halt Saturday delivery, here’s where I’m at:

Today I got my rent envelope returned by a neighbor, who found it ripped and shredded in his own mail. This was done by our psychotic USPS mail carrier, an older black gentleman who mumblecurses throughout each day, after he had twice failed to mail it and I had finally placed it in his hand (which he apparently didn’t go for).

On the other side of the country, my mother sent me a package thru the USPS that was guaranteed to arrive by last Saturday. THIS is the most recent information available, which you will note has not been updated in a day and represents the EPIC JOURNEY of one box as it attempts to find its way to Los Angeles…..

[Edited Feb. 7th, a follow-up on yesterday’s nonsense] Today the world’s grumpiest mailman came with no package. I stood right next to him while he glared angrily and smashed our mail into the boxes. And what was wrapped up in my mail, pre-written with almost no info? A PACKAGE SLIP.

I called the USPS and it turns out that they are only required to make ONE DELIVERY ATTEMPT now, and a lot of mail carriers are getting around this by NEVER attempting a delivery at all; if they can just stuff a notice for you to get your ass to the post office, there’s nothing to carry! BOOOOOOOO USPS!!!!

Oh, Clara Bow…. This is so not It.

Tue, 05 Feb 2013 22:51:13 -0800

Oh, Clara Bow…. This is so not It.

Created by Del Close. Improved by the performers at the Second...

Tue, 05 Feb 2013 14:22:00 -0800

Created by Del Close. Improved by the performers at the Second City, Improv Olympic & Upright Citizens’ Brigade theaters, among others. Perfected by the incomparable illustrator Dyna Moe.

Video

Mon, 04 Feb 2013 17:33:11 -0800

Remember....

Sun, 03 Feb 2013 01:50:00 -0800

A MOMENT IN LIFE WILL ONLY BE REMEMBERED IF YOU ACTIVELY REMEMBER IT. UNLESS AN EVENT IS TRAGIC OR SHOCKING OR OTHERWISE LIKELY TO BURN ITSELF INTO YOUR BRAIN, YOU WILL ONLY RECALL IT THROUGHOUT YOUR WHOLE LIFE IF YOU DO SO MULTIPLE TIMES. THE MORE OFTEN YOU THINK ABOUT A MEMORY, THE STRONGER AND LONGER IT STAYS WITH YOU.

SO… IF YOU WANT TO REMEMBER YOUR MEMORY - IN AS MUCH DETAIL, WITH AS MANY OF YOUR SENSES AS POSSIBLE - JUST REMEMBER TO REMEMBER IT MORE OFTEN.

Think about the reality of this. Really think about how...

Wed, 30 Jan 2013 16:49:42 -0800

Think about the reality of this. Really think about how insane it is that AK-47s are legal, but gambling (for the most part) is not. The state will “protect” you from losing your own money, but not from getting shot by your neighbor. It is such an embarrassment for us as a nation to cling to the silliest elements of puritanism while abandoning all of its morals…. AMERICA FOR THE WIN.

So ashamed that 5 years went by without me knowing about this.

Wed, 30 Jan 2013 16:40:56 -0800

So ashamed that 5 years went by without me knowing about this.

Bank of Corporate America

Thu, 27 Dec 2012 22:40:00 -0800

Bank of America sent me a survey asking how my call to customer service went. Here’s how I responded….

“Cassandra, whom I last spoke to on the phone, did a great job of handling me yelling at her. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about the fact that B of A - without ANY email or phone notice - stopped my temp ATM card ON CHRISTMAS. She told me it was an automated shut down and I should’ve received my new card by now. Well, only a corporation that doesn’t care about its customers would set up an automated system that would leave someone without access to their own money ON CHRISTMAS, without even bothering to automate a warning email days in advance. The USPS obviously failed to deliver my new card, but the carelessness and indifference of B of A is a far more disturbing issue in my mind. I have been a solid customer since 1999 despite semi-frequent nonsense from your bank, but at some point I can’t stay with you anymore. In short, Cassandra was great and I feel bad blaming her for the failures of the company she has to work for.”

A Joke.... Only 3 Months Late

Tue, 20 Nov 2012 10:34:00 -0800

CLINT EASTWOOD SHOULD’VE LEARNED FROM MILLION DOLLAR BABY - FIGHTING A CHAIR CAN KILL YOU.

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The WRONG Paula Dixon

Mon, 19 Nov 2012 22:46:00 -0800

There are 934 Paula Dixons in the US white pages (although I’m not sure how so many parents hated their daughters), and one of these Paula Dixons is a pot head…. OK, at least one of them is a pot head. But the particular pot head for whom this email was intended is NOT the Paula Dixon who received it…. Although I do wish the author the best of luck on his pot trip.

———————-

Dear friends I love more (D—, K——, Paula),

I had always been resistant to weed because blah idk, but I actually have been more interested in like legit hallucinogens. Partially because they are scarier/seem more like harrowing events than necessarily getting high—the difference in phrasing of “tripping” versus “high” is cool and possibly telling. The connotation of going on a trip has like socks and car mats and multiple stages and rest stops and pigeon worlds. Trips are multivocal in not entirely pleasant ways. That’s cool. I like to go on trips.

If appealing to connotations of words isn’t good enough there is also this very good Sam Harris article that seems good enough a reason to try various hallucinogens:

http://www.samharris.org/blog/item/drugs-and-the-meaning-of-life

I’m like kind of Buddhist enough to accept all of his arguments wholesale, right?

The fact that he says they have the potential to be very scary kind of makes them more interesting. Obviously I don’t like to suffer but for some reason my brain is wary of pleasure without at least the risk of suffering. I also like that they are inherently resistant to habit forming—in the words of R—-: “I’ve gotten all I have to get from acid, so I stopped.” That’s cool. Man, R—- is so cool. Also I think there is maybe something important here somewhere. Like ego death and the ability to live in even a somewhat tenuous communion with the universe. That kinda stuff. I like that kinda stuff.

I’m pretty sure Paula has the most experience (unless you guys are hiding shit from me) and K—— has talked about wanting to try various substances before, D— idk, but there generally seems interest so I thought I would make it explicit.

But anyways, I’m saying we should like trip, or whatever the kids are calling it these days, sometime together. Thanksgiving break is coming up, although I don’t necessarily mean then. I basically mean whenever, and just wanted to float it out there because I like you 3 more than other people and I would like to spelunk the interiors of my mind with you guys.

Also my experience with these things is entirely based on Wikipedia so I am being deliberately vague and partially relying on the more experienced here.

To be clear, I suppose I am talking about the drugs Sam Harris references the most and are kind of classical hallucinogens, i.e, LSD, mushrooms possibly DMT and mescaline. Those are really the only four I am currently interested in/ have partially read the wiki pages for hahaa.

Depending on how immediate the interest is, I should say that R—- would be a way of acquiring NARCOTICS or my shady friend Joe, if we were so inclined. You guys may be busy with school or whatever, so idk. You all seem like terribly productive humans. Last time I saw K—— he said he and D— were ALWAYS busy and K—— asked if I was swamped too and I sheepishly said I am, but to be honest I am taking 14 credits, I have basically finished out the Physics/Astro major. I’m just coasting. I just read and masturbate a lot so I’ve got a butt load of time and mind space to dedicate to my own forms of productivity, which is neat though slightly embarrassing when talking to people who work very hard.

I wonder if the government reads all emails with NARCOTICS in big capital letters.

SOOOO, JUST THROWIN IT OUT THERE

GAUGING YOUR REACTIONS ETC.

MUCH LOVE

SEE YOU GUYS SOON FOR TURKEY

[NAME WITHHELD]

PS: Paula, sorry your date fell through, and nice tattoo.

PPS: I’m just going to attach this because this poem/reading is so good and I don’t have a facebook to shamelessly share shit with:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGIr7fGdo6o&feature=related

Also I think you guys would like John Berryman.

Hero at the Bodega

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 17:18:00 -0800

I saw an elderly veteran at the bodega by my house today, and asked him about his service. He said he was in the 29th infantry division, which stormed Omaha Beach (they were lucky, he said, to be in the second wave). He spoke about the honor of serving in WWII, compared to what he sees now. He said, “I still get the magazine of the 29th, and when I see those young boys in Afghanistan in my old uniform, it makes me cry. Just bring them home!” His eyes started to tear up, but when I put my hand on his arm, it seemed to shock him out of his sadness. We talked a bit more, and when I left I said, “Thank you so much for your service, sir.” He responded emphatically, with a fist in the air, “YOU’RE WELCOME!”

3 "Face Down" Warning Signs With A Guy

Sat, 13 Oct 2012 13:20:00 -0700

1. If he puts his face down when you ask him questions, he’s lying.

2. If he puts his phone face down when he’s not on it, he’s cheating.

3. If he only wants to bang you face down, he thinks you’re ugly.

Now more than ever….

Sat, 15 Sep 2012 04:20:21 -0700

Now more than ever….

Hollywood Forever

Fri, 07 Sep 2012 12:11:00 -0700

Slide film shot with old Pentax K1000. A pretty stranger with lights at a cemetery film screening. Los Angeles, August 2012.

Another Story of Addiction: New Neighbor

Sat, 18 Aug 2012 17:19:00 -0700

Last night I was home alone in my little bungalow in Hollywood when several firemen knocked on my door. My duplex shares one wall, and they were looking for the man on the other side of it.

We’ll call him Henry, and he just moved in a week ago. Being the friendly neighbor I often wish I was, I went over on move-in day and introduced myself. Since then, we’ve had a couple of chats and email exchanges about our landlords. He’s about 37, and he gave me a framed photo of Cher and five unworn Pat Benatar t-shirts. Other than that, he’s just the new guy.

One of the firemen asked me if I knew Henry, or where he was. I said no, that I didn’t know him at all and he’d just moved in. As they led me outside and I saw the firetruck at the end of the driveway, another firefighter came around the corner saying he could see someone in bed through Henry’s window. Soon after, the subject of their search stumbled and dragged himself to the door. Henry was told that his friend in New York (where he had just moved from) had called 911 to report that he was trying to kill himself. Henry made a Frankenstein-esque moan, which I suppose LA’s finest took to mean that he was fine. One of the younger guys stepped up and said, “I don’t know, bro. You seem kinda….” Henry just leaned his head on the wall with his eyes rolling up in the back of his head. Another fireman told the young one, “OK, come on. Let’s get out of here.” As they walked off, they told me to stay with him and not to call the police until he hurts someone or himself. Henry, the stranger next door.

I was in shock - they knew I was not this guy’s friend. They also knew that he needed to be locked up for the night until the enormous amount of drugs and alcohol he was obviously on wore off. After the firefighters left, Henry just hung there against the wall in his boxer briefs, his eyes wildly spinning. I stood in the doorway, but I knew not to go any further. I perused the rooms inside, and saw what looked like the result of a wild tiger being released inside a bungalow: Broken furniture, cardboard boxes ripped open, books thrown against the wall. I asked Henry how he was doing and, as he leaned against - and then slid down - the wall, he tried to explain that he was just exhausted. There was a long explanation as to why, but it sounded more like alien moaning than English. At no point in our absurd ten minute exchange did he seem to notice that his bulldog was fucking the shit out of his leg. The whole thing felt like I had walked into a David Cronenberg movie.

I knew that there was potential danger there for me, so I took Henry at his single word (“tired”) and left. I came back onto my side of the paper-thin wall, and spent the next several hours listening to the tiger. He threw furniture against the walls, and I could hear him slipping on the debris and falling down constantly. Finally, at around 5 am, the sounds stopped. I could only pray that meant he had passed out.

There was no noise today. I emailed, called, and knocked to no avail. Around 3 pm, I started hearing some shuffling around and felt much better about the world. But it wasn’t long before I heard Henry screaming at a friend on the phone. The only complete sentence I heard clearly was, “WHAT IF I HAD SNAPPED AND JUMPED AT HER?!” I knew he was talking about me, and it scared the hell out of me. Ten minutes later, the friend on the phone was on my doorstep. His car was running in the driveway; he apologized for Henry’s actions and said he was here to take Henry to rehab. They’re gone now, I think.

In the end, I can only hope that someone can help Henry. Because a guy who loves Pat Benatar and Cher should never hate himself.

Online Dating Story #3: "Logan"

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 04:23:00 -0700

Two years (and one relationship with a man) after my brief homocurious escapade on Nerve.com, I was living in LA and decided to try online dating again. This time, I was honest with myself and said what I really wanted: An intelligent, kind, cool, funny guy to date for a short or long while. What I got was Logan.

Our first - and only - date was a full dinner, which I later learned is a universal no-no in the world of online dating. But things went swimmingly; Logan was my age, hilarious and smart, with the looks of an Abercrombie model - what was there not to like? I laughed and flirted my way through the meal, and then dessert came. As he sunk his spoon into some elaborate gourmet concoction, Logan lifted his head up and said, almost as an aside, “Oh, how do you feel about Jews?” I laughed, even though I didn’t really get the joke. He looked dead at me, stern for the first time. “It’s not funny; I’m serious. How do you feel about Jews?” And before I could stutter out a response, he added, “Because I hate them.”

I tried to figure out what hidden camera show I was on while I calmly asked Logan questions like, “Um…. why?” He skirted the issue at first, but when pressed, he started from the beginning of his story (which could always be total nonsense, although having seen his face, I am quite certain it is not): Logan’s father had worked as an executive for Kodak his entire adult life, and the job involved a lot of travel to Japan. On one trip to Tokyo, the dad had been in a horrible car accident that nearly claimed his life…. Or so the family thought. When Logan was in high school, he came home one day to find his mother crying over an army uniform in a box on the kitchen counter. She screamed at her son, appalled that he would join the military without telling her. Logan was confused; he had never done anything with the Army. They waited for his father to get home and, after being confronted, the man told his family the truth. He was not actually a Kodak executive, but a black ops soldier. He had not been to Japan, and there was no car accident. Rather, he had been working with the Israeli military to infiltrate Palestinian camps and, while on a mission, his Israeli counterparts supposedly started raping young Palestinian girls. Logan claims his father fought to protect the young women, and the Israelis pulled back but said that he would be punished. Upon returning to their base, the Israeli soldiers beat his father for 24 hours straight, and he ended up in an Army hospital in Israel for a month.

Logan’s unusual story seemed, to him at least, more than enough justification for despising all Jewish people. After I tried to differentiate the individual from the group for his benefit, I was met with a lot of the same arguments an 80 year old would make: “You know how they are…. So greedy…. Such nasty people.” My date and I ate from our bowls of melted goop in near silence, and he was kind enough to pay the whole check. I don’t know how much later it was when he dropped me off, since I was still in complete shock. I also blame my catatonic state for what I allowed to happen next: He kissed me. I will admit, though I did not initiate it, that the kiss was regrettably pleasant. We ended the night, and our communication, as I slipped out of the cab and walked swiftly to my door. I fell asleep that night wondering if I was more offended by him or ashamed of myself.

So if you’re keeping track on your Paula’s Level of Hell scorecoard: Under “not making out with a proud racist,” please feel free to write FAIL.

Online Dating Story #2: "Vanessa"

Sat, 04 Aug 2012 23:33:00 -0700

Vanessa was six feet tall, with huge boobs, tan skin, blue eyes and blond hair. She was a bartender, and she came from a foreign country that gave her the most endearing accent. She was the only woman I ever hooked up with.

Around the time of the Helena interaction, I met Vanessa online. We chatted briefly and she invited me to her bar in the Village; that way we could hang out without any awkwardness. I went to the bar, shaking the whole way there. When I walked in, I could not believe that the goddess in front of me was real, let alone gay. Every man in the place was entranced - you’d have thought the Superbowl was being projected on her forehead. She came around the bar to give me a hug, then made me a drink (citron & cranberry with lime) and introduced me to the regulars. This was a ridiculous cast of characters I would spend the next year with, so I’ll save them for another time….

After she closed up around 4 am, Vanessa asked me to walk her home. I did. It was raining. We flirted and touched as we walked through the shiny streets of Lower Manhattan. When we arrived at her door, she grabbed me. She kissed me in a way I’d never felt before; it was at once both aggressive and baby soft. Her lips were like nibbling into perfectly stale marshmallows. Our DDs smashed together as she pulled my head even further into hers. It was one of the best kisses of my life.

That was it for our first date, but a few days later Vanessa invited me to the fancy apartment where she was housesitting for the weekend. My memory of that night is in the minutiae - the designer couch that was so soft it swallowed us whole, Sex & the City playing on the television, the worn old jeans I was wearing. We cuddled for a while, but eventually she made her move. We made out. Our boobs proved a difficult barrier, but we managed to work around them. Then came time for the next part: She unzipped my pants and fingered me, as I lay utterly paralyzed. She took my hand and forced it down her pants, apparently as a quick final test to determine what she already suspected. I’m not sure how much earlier I had stopped breathing, but I may have been blue by the time she finally sighed, “You’re not gay, are you?”

I could tell that she was pissed as we stood and zipped up. She told me that this happened to her all the time, and she was used to it (of course, that did not mean that she was not quite a bit hurt, frustrated and angry). We would remain friends, and she would go on to marry the girl she met right after me, but that night would mark the end of my lesbian career (nearly) forever.