pissyrabbits

LANDRY: ha
you are a very very smart woman

GORMLEY: hahaha
C and i had this exact conversation last night
and i said that im not that smart when it gets right down to it
im clever, and manipulative, which makes me appear smart

L: hmm, you cant be successfully manipulative without being smart. i think you are smart… and i think manipulative isnt right

G: im def manipulative - even if i am smart

L: MANIPULATIVE:
1.To influence or manage shrewdly or deviously: He manipulated public opinion in his favor.
2.To tamper with or falsify for personal gain: tried to manipulate stock prices.

G: #1 -def

L: ha, but that infers a bit of falsehood

G/L: side discussion of business deal…

L: thats business… thats how it works
you are not a social worker

G: HAHAHHAHAHA

L: i dont like manipulative people
they usually do not have much to offer
so they have to be kniving

G: kniving
is the funniest fucking word EVER
i want to be kniving people

all

the

time

So last night found me on Landry’s couch as she made a tasty Lemon Parmesan Pasta - which sounds classy, and was - but it is important to note that we’re still among our people considering we were eating stale goldfish out of a bowl with “cheap, sweet, trashy” wine and a few Stellas…

Anyway…

So we’re sitting on the couch watching “The Dog Whisperer” on the National Geographic channel, waiting for JM (who really shouldn’t be allowed to dress himself) and enjoying our BF, the host, Cesar, retrain the owners of psychotic dogs who turn their normal pets into raving lunatics who need behavior modification….

I’m rambling because I haven’t had coffee yet - which is stupid….

My brilliant idea of last night during one particularly disturbing segment of the show was to do “PopUp Hate” ala “PopUp Videos” where Landry and I get to sit on a couch - with the tackiest box of wine we can find - and make snarky comments which would appear on screen for the public. Gems from last nights segment would have been (and insert that charming PopUp Video bubbling noise before each quote):

Trophy Wife laughs and playfully swats arm of Old Busted RICHASFUCK husband: “Oh dear, you’re so funny…” Thinking: Oh dear, when you die soon, I get all of your money…

OBRAFH: Nodding in agreement to a dog suggestion… Thinking: no way this guy isn’t white and he’s in our LA living room.

TW: Nodding in agreement as she considers recovering the chair… Thinking: my pants match my sofa… (bewildered) did someone say something?

TW and OBRAFH: “It’s amazing the difference in the dog with these few simple steps!” Thinking: We’re going to let the gardener take care of the dog from NOW on!

I need a coffee AND a rifle today.

7:30
I walk the beast every morning at 7:30.
this morning I was lucky
As I was walking home my future husband leaned into me as i walked past him
and growled low:
“Hey sexxxxy”

I was carrying a plastic bag full of Great Dane shit

I have never felt sexier
and i was so happy that someone was there to appreciate it.

I have been inundated in the subway stations with a gauntlet of religious fervor and everyone shoving pamphlets at me.

All I want to do is go to my capitalist job.
Make my stupid widgets.
Make fun of ugly babies and go to happy hour.
I gave my $6 to Christ,
leave me alone, especially before coffee.

Then I have these moments of something approximating nervousness because these pamphlet pushers seem to be growing exponentially.
Maybe they know something I don’t.
Maybe god slipped them a note.
Their deadline for saving everyone is coming fast and if they don’t get their noses to the grindstone they are fired.
So the slackers and underachievers and procrastinators of Gods Army are stepping up to the plate.

I have my own chats with the ‘big one’.
Mostly it doesn’t consist of talking to some omnipotent being that I can’t see but must be there.
It’s me checking in with my conscience.
Which, secretly, is what I think god is
but most people are not smart enough to think that abstractly.
So they create an angry (or somewhat benevolent) man with a white beard and a long flowing robe that they can make pamphlets about.
Pamphlets that end up on the train tracks no doubt causing fires
which in turn makes people late and very very angry.
That’s not very god like.
My ‘god’ (ie my common sense and conscience) have advised me that we are, in fact, all going to die soon.
But that isnt because we are not ‘pious’ as most people understand it.
it because we are stupid.
and dont adapt and change to fit our circumstances
and we think that we are smarter than nature (the other part of the mysterious ‘god’)
we could all stop lying and cheating and fornicating tomorrow (or in my case a few months ago) and we would still die.
Because we are so amazingly stupid that we think that we can beat the crap out of each other
and the earth
and that miraculously,
if we pretend to be holy,
God will save us.

If I were god i would have killed everyone already.

For just about destroying my big, gorgeous plaything that I lent to you.
Even as amazingly tolerant of your idiocy as it is, you wrecked it.
I’d be really pissed too.
And more so because you are too ignorant to even realize that all your disgusting brown nosing and pamphlet pushing isnt going to fix the problem.

Hell in a hand basket is obsolete
hand baskets being outdated and not luxurious enough,
we are going to hell with a Louie Vuitton bag and in the comfort of a hummer.

“If you don’t brush your teeth right now they will all fall out, and when you wake up Elmo will be dead.”

…this is what she wrote for me:

Straight (contrary to popular belief) white female ISO a discreet husband. Looking for an anti-social man who will keep me in grey goose instead of beer because my ass is getting big from 4 being the new 3 (and its only a matter of time before 7 is the new 6).

Please try not to be stupid or ask too many questions.

I am bossy, drunk and hate children.

”Nice” people need not respond.

Landry and I enter the Brooklyn Lowes with J yesterday. Its raining. We’re all feeling like surly damp cats… but the following exchange would have occured regardless:

Landry: (eyeing a terrifyingly red headed child in the lobby) “omg she should have drowned it before it got too old to struggle.”

Gormley: (struggling not to choke laughing…)

L: “i mean… one look at her husband and she should have known…”

G: “sorry dear… I just can’t seem to get pregnant…”

L: “she could put it in one of those rubbermaid tubs with a lid and some water…”

G: “or just do a ‘officer I just left him alone in the tub for a minute…’”

i am starting to feel predatory.
…..maybe

“i just gave $6 to Christ”

“I am too old to have sex with random people in bar bathrooms, but you have a few years in you”

“This would be really perfect if I could just get Jesus out of it”

“Bring beer over. I only have 6 and you know that 3 is the new 2″

”i could fly in to LA then meet you but it makes me want to slit my wrists”

”4 is definitely the new 3”

”i should put up your profile on friendster for a model of more people I want to meet. because if you die in a fiery crash I’m screwed”

The irony of the purple heart stamp that the postman handed me
from behind his bulletproof glass window did not escape me.
The obvious cosmic zing because of where the letter was headed
did not for one second escape me.
It had taken me damned near 8 years to write it
yet it contained no more than 10 sentences.
All of them humble. All of them sincere.
Less than 60 words
(including the greeting and signoff)
to try to appologize for,
not every problem we ever had,
but specifically my disregard for gentle handling of
something fragile..
I knew that once I put it in the box it was out of my control
and I was going to have to let it be whatever it was going to be.
if I hadn’t prepared myself to do that prior to kissing the envelope
and dropping it in the brass surround of the shoot,
I knew I’d be a goner.
Waiting for yet one more life altering thing was more than my brain could handle.
so off into the swell of mass mailings and letters home,
lost notes to santa
and careless postal workers
it goes.
I will only know where it ended up if
I get the call or the email that I have been preparing for for so many years.