I wanted to be "Cornteeth" but it was taken

Somehow I managed to cram 8 pictures of myself into this entry

February 21, 2006 - 1:23 a.m.

The direct result of some misguided flirting:

If I told you that my boyfriend twisted my arm and shook me til my weave fell out, after catching me flirting with medical personnel at the doctor’s office, that would be a pretty interesting story.

Unfortunately, that is not what happened (and I actually enjoy getting shaken so I’m more disappointed than one would deem proper).

That bruise was caused by an over-excited lab-boy who jabbed me with a needle in such a way that it seemed like he had mistaken my arm full of veins for a bowl of cookie batter, and the needle for a mixer. How else can you explain how a single pinprick can turn into that bloody mess? The bruising that is still purple a week later, the arm that was throbbing in pain for 3 days and I could hardly bend it.

I think it is crystal clear that the lab boy is in love with me, and attempted to leave a lasting impression.

But seriously, I have visited the lab boy every 2 weeks for the last 3 months and it’s the same boy every time. Each time he grew more and more excited, “Oh! Hi! It’s you again! Hello!”

He is very nice but he creeped me all out because he looked just like Pee Wee Herman but with severe acne scars.

He took my blood flawlessly each time until the last time, when he tried flirting.

He said, “So, are you still nervous around needles?”

“No, I’m getting better, I just can’t look.”

“Yeah, I get nervous too sometimes *jab* like when I try to talk to someone *jab* *jab* sometimes I stutter *jab* and don’t know what to say *blood squirting straight to the ceiling*.

Huhhhh.

The bruises were so colorful, they reminded me of this painting I have hanging up by KC:

The lab boy is going to get nowhere with this missy because a) he is creepy, 2) I’ve already given him the moniker “BLOOD DUDE” which is a step in the wrong direction, in my book and c) he looks like the result of these two actor guys if they had a baby together:

Being that I am a former model for National Geographic Magazine, back when I was of the Nguni people, a member of the Zulu tribe in South Africa, I wanted to introduce you to my breasts. Perhaps you remember seeing them in the photos, me and my bush-sisters, sitting in a circle threading beaded necklaces. The breasts, as you’ll recall, rested gracefully in my lap as I worked. Here they are in their natural state:

But really I just wanted to show off my new t-shirt, sent to me by MIA, who kicks ass cuz she totally made this shit, and why didn’t I ever think to make a CO PILOT t-shirt? Duhhhh. It’s like, so obvious, now that like, someone else thought of it! And she also sent me about $20,000 worth of illegal music (shhhhhh) and it’s all really good and if anyone knows the coolest, newest music, it my Hipster Chicken Lesbian friend. (Not to be confused with the “OTHER” Chicken, the one that pukes and cries a lot. If you’re getting them confused, just remember the one I hate is the one who SUCKS A LOT OF DICK.) New Music: Antony & the Johnsons, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Coco Rosie, Le Tigre, The Gossip, Fannypack, Ladytron, M.I.A., Bloc Party, Sufjan Stevens, Electrelane, and ON AND ON.

For Valentine’s Day, me and the pilot went to the Joffrey Ballet and saw Romeo and Juliet. How appropriate, doncha think? Quite beautiful and romantic, and like I told him, luckily I am very familiar with the story and was able to follow along since it had no dialogue. As opposed to say, Othello, where I would have been, “Huh…jungle fever. Interesting…”

And FYI, not that it matters, but it was -4 degrees that night with a “REAL FEEL” of -30. We RAN to the car afterwards because we thought we were going to die. Some dude that we passed said, “Aw c’mon, it’s not THAT cold.” And what exactly IS cold, then? Did somebody lie to me, when I was informed that -4 was cold? Trés bullshit.

Here’s the presents he gave me, along with a tiny little homemade card:

A Neighborhoodie. I’ve always wanted one. REPRESENT!

Two sets of sexxxay lingerie, this one miraculously lifting the breast from a banana shape, into a more natural teardrop shape:

I got the day off on Monday for President’s Day, which is like the most retarded day to have off because it is freezing and death outside, everyone else is at work, and it’s a total waste because all I can do is stay home and be bored.

Luckily, I was able to meet Belle for lunch. He called me and said, “I was looking through my closet and found an old sketch book from college. You have to see this. There a drawing in there that you did of yourself, I think it was supposed to be a surprise note, because you’re waving at me. You draw so fucked up.”

“What the hell? I never said I could draw!”

“It’s not that…it’s just…your people look so fucked up. You just have to see this. There’s also a list in there I made, about everything I hate about you.”

“I’m not surprised.”

So he showed me his book, and there were two long pages, one where he wrote what he liked about me, and one where he listed all the hate. It was bad. It made me feel bad, even thought it was written many years ago. I can’t even repeat it here. The nicest one was that I am grumpy in the morning.

There was also a drawing in there that HE did of ME, and it is a pretty accurate caricature:

And here’s the drawing I did of myself, waving like a fuking psycho, wearing a shirt that says “VAGETA” which makes no sense at all:

Isn’t it amazing how two artists can interpret the same subject so completely differently, especially the BREASTS?

Oh, and to the haters who just can’t stop HATING? I love it when people have no faith in me, and I can prove their ass wrong. You thought I wouldn’t do it? You thought it was a whim? SUCK IT AND BEHOLD:

My tap shoes, mutherfuggas, in all their shiny tappy glory. I signed up for classes at Hubbard Street Dance Company and I start this Saturday. I got my jazz pants & my jazz hands ready to go. I’m stoked. Next stop, I’ll be wearing a sailor suit, like a grown-up Shirley Temple.

If you’re happy for my tapping, clap your hands:

!*clap-clap*!

4 took this opportunity to tell me I suck

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