"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Friday, June 11, 2004

Tweekers and small towns…. Whats the connection?

I love tweekers…NOT! Why is it that in mullet infested, white trash town this drug runs rapid like the flu? Trailer parks, mullets, flannels, bikers, women with teased out high hair styles, missing teeth, Dire Straits, welfare checks and crank, (speed, crystal, tweek) all live together in tweeked out harmony. Further, what is the connection between white trash and tweek? Is it the cost effective drug of choice for the bottom dwelling masses? Not to be harsh, but I fucking HATE tweekers. I guess Im a drug snob, since Ive been called a “pot head” and I don’t mind ravers and acid heads too much. Tweekers are just a breed of their own. I have also seen many a lives ruined from tweeker habbits and behavior.

Tweakers abound...
Upon moving back to my hometown, I discovered that tweekers abound, and that tweek is the name of the game for most of the locals. How can you tell a tweeker? Lets see… bad skin, missing teeth, bulging eyes, paranoia, and fast non-stop talking that never seems to have a point, and jumps mid sentence. Here are some other clues… Your neighbor spends every night all tinkering in his garage but never seems to get anything accomplished…. Houston we have a problem.

Boy was I stupid
One of my ex-boyfriends went on a tweeker binge once while we were living together. Me being anti-tweek, and somewhat ignorant to that culture, was completely in the dark and oblivious. He stopped sleeping when I did, stayed up at night and put together action figure scenes, went on shopping binges for action figures, and talked incessantly at me (or anyone) about action figures. His skin also broke out and his breath got pretty bad. I remember a stoner friend coming over and taking me aside and pointing out the obvious. “He’s fuckin tweekin cant you see that?” I was shocked, stunned, flabbergasted, and mortified. Here I thought he was just acting weird. Boy was I a fool.

Im not in the bedroom club
Another thing about living where I do at the present; everyone pretty much knows you, and everyone pretty much knows your beliefs on tweak. When I go to a party, people may disappear for a few minutes into the other room (in groups), but they don’t break the shit out in front of me. Though I do appreciate this fact, it gets quite obvious what they are up to after their third trip to the bedroom.

A visit to a tweaker den
Last weekend I went to a friends house for a quick visit before picking up my son from the skating rink. There was a poker party in the dinning room and my friend was in the living room with the door closed. At first I sat down at the poker party, but realized this was a “boys only” scene and decided I should head into the other room. Just as I was about to enter, a strange looking guy emerged from the back room with a huge backpack and overly active mouth. “Hey guys looks like fun” he quipped, as he headed out the door. “Who was that?” I asked the poker table. “Who knows” was the reply. I knocked on the back door to say hi to my friend. Quickly the door was answered and I was greeted by hugs and smiles. I guess I should be familiar with the smell of tweak, but I have too say I am not. Im just not around it that much. There was a strange smell in the air, but I took it for brown weed. My friend looked normal, only she was chewing gum REALLY fast. I also noticed there was no munchies out on the table, and the usual bong load was non-existant. My friend’s boyfriend is bipolar (and a genius) so he always talks really fast and deep. He came down the stairs and started talking at me really fast, and then slips (she’s gonna think Im tweekin). I thought this was a strange thing to pipe in unless you really are tweakin. Then, Im trying to talk to my friend, and some strange man in the chair screams out, in a Turrets syndrome fashion “Im Bored”. I tried to ignore him, but obviously he wanted to talk, so though my back was turned and eyes were rolling, he starts ranting about his girlfriend. Then he decides to take a walk (mind you its 10:00 at night, who walks at that hour?). Luckily, it was my time to go, my ear was talked off and I was starting to feel brain friend. The next day another friend of mine who was at the poker party says “boy they were tweakin in the other room”. I say “really, I didn’t know”. He says “yeah first thing they did when I got there was take me in the back room and offer to sell me some crystal”. Well, they didn’t offer me any. I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment, or an insult. I chose to take it as a compliment, Im glad tweekers know I aint one of them. I don’t want to end up lookin like Im 65 when Im 35 and loosing all my teeth. Plus, Tweekers suck!
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Thursday, June 10, 2004

Hangin with Rock Stars and other posers

Living in sailor/redneck infested mulletown, one doesn’t get the opportunity to hang with Rock Stars as you might in the big city. Rock stars tend to avoid these parts, unless you count pre-fame shows in garages or venues played while on some crackerjack tour. In lieu of the absence of real rock stars, small town big shots emerge and try desperately to play the part. (You know the whole big fish small pond thang). In these parts, one can gain “Rock Star” status for the smallest link or 15 mins of fame. She is the sister of the cousin whose girlfriend is dating so-in-so rock star, or his face appeared in the crowd shot of this rock star video, or he was the toilet-paper-getter roadie for the tour of this band, or his band opened for a festival with 100 bands and these rock stars were on the billet. It goes on, and on. In a town like this normal folk can achieve rock star status for just about anything trite thing; such as running a successful tattoo parlor, winning a local D-Derby competition, or being a regular player at the local juke-joint taverns. I find this all to be very amusing. Especially when these characters start acting all effected, wearing sun glasses at night, accumulating a fan club, talking at you, and making appearances to further spread their local fame.

I ignore these local clowns, unless I happen to know them, and of course, I honor them by saying “what’s up Rock Star!”. (I use my most patronizing voice when I say this). I really cant stand the rock star attitude, even when its coming from actual rock stars. Be yourself please, don’t try to impress everyone.

When I used to live in the Bay Area, I happened upon a band who achieved fame in the pop punk circle. (I won’t mention the name, because I don’t want to name drop) Through a boyfriend I was living with at the time, I became “accepted” into the inner circle of this band. This meant full-fledged membership into their entourage, exclusive rock star parties, back stage passes, and rock-n-roll appearances at local shows. Now these guys were gutter punks that happened to strike it rich. It was funny to me that punk rockers could be rich at the same time, (and still try to be punk), but hey, who was I to judge. This elite membership in their group awarded me all sorts of privileges, and it was funny to me how people changed when they were around. The rock starts themselves were a strange group of guys, very affected by their fame and MONEY, but most affected by how other would treat them. Kinda like that Joe Walsh song “Life’s been good to me so far”. Everyone changes from fame, the ones who get famous, and mostly the people around them. For example, I would walk into a party by myself, and no one would say hi, or have anything to do with me. I show up at the same party, 15 minutes later with rock stars in tow, and all of a sudden, Im someone, everyone wants to say hi to me, and make some sort of stupid conversation. Like I was born yesterday, I knew what time it was. They all wanted to stand near me to try to get their conversation in with the rock star. This was totally annoying. The rock stars themselves were nice, if you got them one-on-one, but in a group they became this personality who would talk at the crowd and tell the same tired ass stories all over again. It got old, even more so when you have your friends and family bugging you for things like backstage passes, autographs, or personal photos.

Back to small town life, where real rock stars are few and far between, and local yokels will try to immortalize you in local fame “just for touching a real rock star”. Luckily too, this local fame fades, as its been at least six months since some idiot has reminded me that “I used to hang out with” the real rock stars. It just to be “hey this is vadergrrrl and she knows _______________”. Luckily more, my teenage son could care less about hanging with the real rock stars. Though he has been to their mansions and birthday parties with their offspring, he could care less. He isn’t a fan of poppy punk, or any punk rock, and knowing those rock stars is totally un-cool to him. When I mention to one of his friends that we know them, they say “who?” I find this amusing as in the 90’s they were the biggest thing since sliced Wonder bread. Yes, to this new gang of teenagers if your not P-Ditty or Nate Dawg, you aint cool sucka.

I think however, that the real rock stars are you, me, and anyone who has survived this bitch called life. Just because you were in the right place at the right time, or your daddy knew someone, or what not, this does not mean you are more talented or deserving than any of the rest of us. In fact the most talented individuals I have ever met, are broke ass poor struggling artists, like myself. All those lucky bastards who achieved fame and riches are just plain that… lucky bastards. I also think its time to spread the wealth, and let the real deal Hollyfield talents, such as you and I, get some of that cash. Yes a fantasy, but would be nice, and heck… One can dream….
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Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Crazy-Ass Fish Grrrl

Whatever your take or beliefs are in astrology, its still kinda freaky how dead on it can be. I do think that the universe and placement of the stars has an effect on our personalities. Obviously, the Carl Sagan cosmos have an effect on our earth, look at the moon and our tides, or the end of the dinosaurs. I find astrology fascinating, and in my case startlingly accurate.

Lets look at what astrology says about me, my sign, the famous fish… Pisces.

Café Astrology

Pisces:
Keywords: intuitive, dreamy, artistic, humane, sympathetic, sensitive, compassionate, perceptive, tender, impressionable


-This all sounds like me none more than the other. I definitely represent these attributes.

Sun in Pisces people are frequently pegged as wishy-washy, but this is all a matter of opinion. What you will find behind a vaguely directionless, spacey manner is a deep person with real dreams.

--Thanks for acknowledging that Im spacey. I hated being called “space cadet” in junior high. I do have dreams, and my head is often dreaming in space. All true.

A deep love for humanity, and compassion that knows no bounds.

---I am compassionate, almost too much sometimes. I hate to be a “doormat”.

Their imagination, attunement to humanity, and remarkable intuition endow them with enviable gifts of insight and creativity.

--Cool this makes me psychic and creative. Except when I have that damn writers block.

Pisces is a sensitive sign--both sensitive to criticism and sensitive to others' feelings. They believe in people, are deeply hurt by compassionless human behavior, and have a hard time saying no.

--“Im just a girl who can’t say no… Im in a terrible fix” LOL

Some might even wonder if Pisces finds pleasure in suffering. Sometimes this is the case, but most of the time, Pisces pulls a lot of creative energy from sadness. Pisces is the poet or artist with angst.

--I don’t find pleasure in suffering, but I do find a lot of creative energy when I depressed. Most of my poetry has stemmed from depression periods. I actually have a very difficult time writing a “happy” poem.

Some find Pisces' tendency to be late for appointments, spaced out behavior, and absent-mindedness amount to irresponsibility. Many Pisces seem almost allergic to things like shopping lists, maps, directions, and instructions, and for some brave souls, even watches -- they prefer to feel their way through life than to follow some plan.

--I am late to work everyday, I miss a lot of appointments, I can be called flaky. Have you guys ever seen the movie “Easy Rider” where Captain America takes off his watch to live on his own time? I haven’t worn a watch since I saw that movie several years ago. I prefer not to have a clock in my bedroom either. I hate being controlled by the time.

We find plenty of artists, poets, and musicians with Sun (and other personal planets) in Pisces. Piscean themes are woven throughout the songs of Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins and Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, for example.
--Cool, cool.

Quotes from Famous Pisceans

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free."
-- Michelangelo (Sun in Pisces, Moon in Pisces, Mars in Pisces)
"I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."
-- Albert Einstein (Sun in Pisces)
"The only abnormality is the incapacity to love."
-- Anais Nin (Sun and Venus in Pisces)



Some Famous People with Sun in Pisces: Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Sun, Mercury, Venus, and Mars in Pisces), Drew Barrymore (Sun and Venus in Pisces), Kurt Cobain (Sun, Mercury, and Venus in Pisces), Smashing Pumpkins' Billy Corgan, Cindy Crawford, Billy Crystal (Sun, Mercury, and Mars in Pisces), Albert Einstein, George Harrison, Kato Kaelin (Sun and Moon in Pisces), Jennifer Love Hewitt, Freddie Prinze Jr., Michelangelo, Aidan Quinn (Sun and Moon in Pisces), Rob Reiner (Sun, Mercury, and Mars in Pisces), Dr. Seuss, Sharon Stone, Elizabeth Taylor (Sun, Mercury, and Mars in Pisces), Bruce Willis

Free chart!

For more information on astrology I totally recommend this website. This is a website where you can do a free chart. You need your date of birth, time of birth, and location of your birth. Its actually VERY COOL. I totally recommend checking this out.

Have Fun! And hey, remember the best pick up line....

HEY BABY WHATS YOUR SIGN?!?!


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Sunday, June 06, 2004

I think I was a little out of control....

Well sometimes vodka and I do not mix. Ever see that movie with Bruce Willis, blind date? Kim Bassinger acts all crazy when she drinks and does some wacky things? Well that was kinda me the other night, or any night I go out and whup it up. Vadergrrrl becomes a crazy ass girl.

So, my teenage jock son was spending the evening away at some baseball team male bonding night. I’m thinkin I’m free, time to party on like Garth. I have a few glasses of wine at my house to get myself in the mood for a night out on the town. Now, mind you in my hometown a “night on the town” consist of choosing from various old man bars, to redneck jukebox pool halls, to sailor meat market dancin, to live townie music venues, to townie karayoke fest. We kinda managed to do all of the above, and I made sure and drank at every stop. Now, mind you, I think the townie music is good, I even enjoy the bands that come from Seattle. I think however that after being the girlfriend of a local musician for a couple years (my last boyfriend) burned me out on that scene. But that is for another story. Back to last night.

Bar #1 and tattoo parlor hell raisin
After drinking the wine to get myself ready, I head down to the first stop, the local bar that features northwestern alternative-ish music. The bank hasn’t started playing yet, so I avoid paying a cover at the door (this makes a big difference when you are broke). So I get to the bar and have a couple vodka (double) and redbulls. I’m feeling rather lit, and happy, when my friend decides to get pierced. Her other friend had her chin pierced earlier that day. We all load up, and decide to head to the tattoo parlor. We stop at a tattoo parlor opened by a friend of mine. He wasn’t there, so I “name dropped” upon entering and said my friend wanted her “clitoris pierced”. Of course, she wanted her lip pierced (on her face), but I, feeling rather buzzed, continued to make jokes anyway. See, this obnoxious character sometimes comes out of me, a wild child who could give a fuck what other people think of her. While my friend was pierced, my mouth was goin and goin. We flirted with the tattooed and pierced guys and then proceeded to move onto another bar.

Bar hoppin crazy train

This bar was the old man bar, mullets were hanging out everywhere with a tiny scattering of sailors. I had another drink and began yelling “its flash Friday” in the bar and enticing my friends to flash the mullet heads. A couple flashed us (AHHHHHHH) and we flashed the bar (but towards the wall where no one was sitting except a couple Bremolos who pretend not to the spectacle). So, not enough excitement there for us, and we decided to try another bar. We arrive at the bar (I had never been to before and had been rumored the Banditos biker gang hangs out at). This bar has a line out front with girls scantily clad, and a couple of guys in cowboy hats all waiting to go inside. We decide we will never patronage a bar in this town that keeps us waiting out front (Don’t they know who WE are???), so we decide to go to the sailor meat market dance club. Here I have 2 more drinks and do a little dancing with my friends and talking to a couple guys who went to school in the area when I did. We played the ol’ “do you know so-in-so game”. I was officially drunk at this point, but having fun, and talking up a storm. We decided to go back to the bar with the line out front. When we get back there was no line so we go in to find a Karayoke party. I have two more drinks here. In between Karayoke, the dj plays hip-hop top 40 and we dance. We dance to a couple’s rendition of John Travolta and Olivia Newton John’s Summer Lovin that included graphic sexual descriptions. I decide to sing Karayoke and pick the Dyvinals "I touch myself” When my name is called I get up there and started dancing and touching my breasts, and thighs, and getting all nasty and crazy. I also insert “when I think about your cock I touch myself” Yes, I was makin a spectacle. I later danced with some townie in a flannel that my friend picked up. We were all three dancing together and I’m wackin my friend and the townie on the ass, we sandwiched the townie, and then I grabbed his privates. Luckily the night was ending after this, my friend took the townie home for a night of talking, and I hung out with my computer geek friend eating pasta and doing computer fun until I sobered up enough to drive.

I fucked up!
Hungover like hell, I slept the next day until 5:00. Missed my son’s baseball game, flaked on a bunch of commitments, and basically spent the day recovering. I definitely feel like shit, even somewhat depressed for being such a wild thang, actin a fool, and then flaking on the world the next day. I may be too old for this shit, I dunno, It also never ceases to amaze me how crazy I act, golly gee wilikers. Egads! I have to laugh at myself, but I still can’t believe how I acted.

I think I will be staying away from vodka for a while. I need to quit smoking too. I love the hang over depression days…. You question a lot about yourself the next day. Oh well, onward upward. Cheers (with water)!


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