Welcome to Hell

Welcome to hell. Please take a number. Her Evilness will be with you when she damn well feels like it.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

so i found this thingy...

these guys have the coolest thing that makes a word cloud out of the most commonly used words on your blog or whatever.  so i entered my URL and i got this:

so uh, yeah.  i evidently use the word "really"  waaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy too much.
also the word fucking.  but you can't use that word too much, so i'm just going to say that it's awesome that it comes up so large in my bloggy wordcloud thingy.

have no idea how "cancer" got in there (or "glutes," for that matter), but i definitely understand the "smoking" part.  you know, because i'm always talking about smoking pot ahem, legal tobacco and shit.  and also banned-in-the-US cloves.

Monday, April 25, 2011

i love *****ing

this never fails to make me laugh.  probably some of you have already seen it, but i'm sharing it anyway.

you're welcome.

it gets you sprung, son. also: musings upon filthy habits

this may be the best thing i've found on the internet lately.   wow.  

"not work out so much on her glutes."  snort.

i've never been on reddit, but they might have a point.

schoolhouse rock:  "and i have a genetic impulse to pass on my hereditary traits, yeah.  you kids getting this?  glutes are the bomb!"

oh, internet.  one day it will be possible for us to marry.  until then, we'll have to continue our illicit love affair.

in other completely unrelated news, i've been sorta kinda picking back up my absolute favorite dirty nasty filthy habit.

i'm referring to smoking (cigarettes... i am not giving up my favorite non-addictive weed habit), jeez guys, get your minds out of the gutter.

(no selling blowjobs on the street, OKAY??  that is dirty filthy too (the street), but it's probably much worse for you in the long run, given the nasty dudes who'll do it on the street, and the mean cops who wanna arrest you for the oldest profession in the world.  if you wanna sell it, be classy, y'all!  get a hotel.  not a gross motel, set yourself up - makes more money if you are all high-falutin',  i promise.

ahem.  i don't have personal experience here, but i do know a few very classy self-described whores, and they make nice money doin' it this way.)


i never smoked regular cigarettes, though, because i hate the taste.  although i'll fess up to occasional menthols and american spirits (they are really better, y'all.  price is worth it.)

oh, no.  i went a little bit more hardcore.

 i smoked/smoke cloves.  mostly because i like the taste.  but seriously, how badass does a black cig look?  really fuckin badass, and i will say so myself.
(the very picture of decadence, eh?  my shirt's only off because it was really damn hideous, but i like the effect.)

so of course i had/have a favorite brand, and that's djarum blacks.  SO DAMN GOOD.
(this is probably coming across as advocating smoking.  i'm not promoting it kiddies, ignore this stuff.  bad for you and all that shit.)

the black tin is what i kept them in, naturally.  so i could offer people a clove and be like, "cancer?  anyone want some cancer?"  then they'd usually say no with a horrified face, and i'd get to keep my deliciousness all to myself.  (also it kept me from squashing them by sitting on them.  i did squish the tin that way though (see left corner...).

but then stupid america fucked me over, and banned them, and stopped selling them, quelle horreur!!! (because apparently they are "flavored" and they make kids want to smoke them.  lemme tell you, they are not the kind of thing you just pick up and love.  first time i smoked one i thought my lungs would die.  when i picked them up as a habit, i smoked a few in a row, and i ended up hurling.  they are strong.) 

now they still sell them as djarum black "cigars" which really suck, compared to the original.  not only are they blah tasting, but they come in smaller packs  -

boo.  boo, i say!  fucking america.  y'all suck, evil lawmakers.
naturally when i heard this news, i stockpiled some packs, even though i'd stopped smoking them a while back.  because you can't get rid of my favorite nasty dirty filthy habit!!!

but i only have three packs left... and i'm jonesing... but i can't smoke them too quickly.  bah.

i have discovered, however, that you can get them on the internet, and they're the real deal, not those shitty "cigars" - so you bet your ass i'll be buying some, sooner or later. 

oh, internet, i love thee.  please marry me when it becomes legal.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

rat fink bastard motherfuckers

each and every single night, about 1am to 4am (also before, and after that, but specifically during those times), we've got these shithead crotch-rocket riding motherfuckers who go past our house, one street over (since our street is residential and has stop signs, otherwise i'm sure they'd be on our street), and they are loud.  really, really loud.

i've been trying to capture them on video with my camera for a month, but they're annoyingly absent when i could actually use their obnoxiousness for my devious purposes.

so here is a video via the youtubes, which will give you the general idea.  to get the full effect, turn your speakers all the way up.  this part is really important.

THEY ARE REALLY THIS LOUD.  with my doors closed.  in fact, they're that loud in my bedroom, where i do occasionally try to sleep.  i want to kill them.  and i'm pretty sure it's the same few people.  they must live nearby.  otherwise, why the same patch of road, every single fucking night?

imagine these motherfuckers going by your house, every single night, at a time when all normal people (read:  not me) are trying to sleep.  wouldn't it make you feel homicidal, too?  look, i know people who ride crotch-rockers are trying to feel badass or some shit, but is going by my house in first gear at like 40mph really necessary?

they make me want to spread thick patches of gravel across Claiborne (where they do this) in hopes that they will skid out and damage their bikes past repair.  stupid motherfuckers.  why not the highway?  why not on a fucking racetrack, where such behavior is acceptable, and in fact, encouraged?  is it really worth it to hold these "i'm manlier than you are" deafening races a block from my house??  REALLY??

as for those fucktards, i've only got one thing to say to you:

 (fucking awesome video too, amirite?)

i hope you get pulled over and get the worst speeding tickets ever.  and additional ones, for disturbing the peace..  i hope you skid out and murder your crappy-ass crotch-rocket. 

PS, i'm pretty sure this is the entry where i've used "fuck" the most, hands down. 

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

oh, come on - you knew i wasn't gonna forget this.

it's 4/20.  ho - ly - shit.      

happy 4/20, everyone!  i'll leave y'all to the couch vegging and watching stoner movies and smoking copious amounts of marijuana whatever you like, but first!

i must post this. 

and then go do all of the above.  except i think we have a better movie.  i hope so.

pretty much the best rap video ever.  because, Dinosaurs!  and also high dinosaurs.  there is probably no better combination on the planet.  (well, the lightsaber fighting dinosaurs at Monday Night Drinking Club were fucking awesome too.  can we combine these two things?)

"you're welcome, internet."

my life is surreal.

not only have i been up AllFuckingNight for absolutely no reason in particular... no really - occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, i will be Not Tired and not sleep - but tonight/this morning has been WEEEEIIIIRRRDDDD.

and believe you me, i understand the difference between "too worried/manic/whatever to sleep" and just plain "i'm not sleepy, i'm hyper!"

tonight was just not a night for sleeping, evidently.  i did read 2 novels, and bore myself to death on the internet. 
one of the more random things i do is look up a certain subject (probably because there was a link provided in something else i was already reading, or i wanted to know more about subject whatever), and then end up following links like alice down the proverbial rabbithole. 

tonight was footbinding night(again...), because it was topical to the novels i was reading.  and even though i already know enough about the subject to choke a horse, i went and researched a few scholarly books about it (because i'm always up for educating myself, yo, no matter how smart i already am, heheh), and next thing you know, found myself following links all night.

which in turn, prompted me to think about just how often i do this.  it's pretty often. 
and then of course, i notified the twitter.
yeah, i know, you have to read this backwards, from bottom, up.  just... deal.  but read it.

...but i wasn't done yet.  again, read from bottom, up.

oh, and i forgot to mention in there the week or so i devoted to hauntings/ghosts in new orleans, alone.

do you see what i mean??

and then, lo, i go and check my inbox a few minutes ago, and i see

i am starting to think that everyone that follows me on twitter is utterly fucking insane.  the last time this happened (a flood of new followers, that is) happened after all these went up:

yeah.  seriously, if you want to really fuck with a roommate, leave that looped for a while, and watch the fur fly.

(keep reading from bottom up for all of these... you guys are smart, you'll get it)

reeeally raised eyebrows.
also, i will probably not drop a bug in his mouth while he sleeps, but that's mostly because if i did, the bug would then be on my bed.  which is bad planning. 

but by FAR, the twitterfest that has brought the most new followers to my page, is this one:

ps, the worst was doctor who fanfic porn.  not because it's doc who, but because the person writing it was writing about two dicks, and is herself Very Homo.
here is a link.  don't say i didn't warn you.   but it is hi-LA-rious.

anyway, continue:  it gets worse from there.

like i said:  this exchange was what made people flock to my twitter.  wha?

i will now attempt to find that picture mentioned above.
yep.  here you go.

...i'm sorry, Aaron.  but it had to happen.  it is WAY TOO GOOD not to share.

(and that's my college apartment - yikes...)

and no, i don't know why the vibrator lit up, and the reason i bought it is because it was the cheapest vibe in the whole store.
and no, you couldn't see it glow inside you.
i know.  i was disappointed, too.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

punk is such a weirdo.

that's right, my cat sings.  what can your cat do???
i'm pretty sure my cat is more awesome than your cat.  unless your cat can play fetch.  none of mine will do that shit.

Monday, April 18, 2011

questions, questions

cool, someone took me at my word on the "weird questions" front - 
"Have you ever worked a wedding were you also worked the bachelor party?"

not to my knowledge, but WOW wouldn't that be awkward for the guys there!  me, i'd just be on my phone:  "uh, hey, twitter?  never guess what just happened."

i can just imagine the bugged-out look on their faces when they spotted me.  

although, it's a weird truism that people who've met me when i'm a stripper never tend to notice me when i'm out and about in public, because i think they're staring too hard at my tits in the club.  
either that or the glasses and the  normal clothing throws them off, despite my very recognizable tattoos.  

in fact, i just saw a guy the other day that i've known from the strip club - it took me a while to recognize him, but i didn't say anything, and i still don't know whether he recognized me or not.  guess we'll find out if he ever comes back in the club...

(P.S., the color is fucked up, because i fucked it up, basically.  but only for this post.  so you get red, which, believe me, was better than the first try, which was entirely unreadable.)

Sunday, April 17, 2011

my Minions, we've got Mail.

for the record:  when i say email "stalk," what i mean is, send me funny shit.  ask me really weird questions.  start up a dialogue if you want to be my friend, and not just read the blog.  you know, shit like that.
because guys, this is a humor blog, and that's what we do here.  we do funny shit.

now that i've dispensed with that, check out the gem i just got in my email, guys. 
parenthetical comments are mine, of course.

I can't find the words right now.... (you're damn right... what the fuck is this in my inbox?)  you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. (...i post pictures of me making weird faces and doing stupid shit, in my pajamas.  REALLY??? I just want to send as much good will as I can your way, as I have seen from the little bits of your blog that you suffer from a condition... (yes, i do.  it's called humor.  my bipolar doesn't define me, and it's not a "condition."  it's a disease.  you know, like being diabetic.  thank fuck i'm not diabetic, though, i love sugar waaaaaaaayyy too much for that.)  Wow, that sounds kinda dumb as I read it back to myself...  (well yes, that feeling is what comes when you write a random love letter to a stranger on the interwebs.)  Your face, eyes, hair & smile are bewitching.  (oh, fuck no... just stop now.)  I hope I can recover my bespelled tounge (well technically this is correct if you are speaking archaic English, but it's tongue for the rest of us)  soon and can write you a better email, (please don't) but for now, just know that a very mezmerized (mesmerized, yo - you spelled that wrong too, and yes, i am a grammar nazi - degree in creative writing, remember?) man is taking you up on your offer to email stalk you.   (please, please don't.  "stalk" is a joke, alright?  no more love letters, it's creepy.)

here, my minions, is an example of what not to send me.  if you have anything funny, lob it my way.  if you want to tell me my humor is awesome, fire away.  there are lots of awesome things you can send me by email.
but, if you want to talk about my physical appearance, i'm not interested in an ego boost.  i have a boyfriend for that stuff.  besides, it's really not relevant, and kinda sexist. 

and now, back to regularly scheduled humor.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

"Paypal Just Ate Every Bit Of My House."

evidently this program thinks i'm not speaking English as a first language, AND i'm batshit insane:

"Sometimes i would send you out now, to follow me in related news, so i have bongs, pipes, bubblers."

"It's fucking pizza! Proteus marching! Lundi gras ho!!!"

"I ever saw was erotica fanfiction to be your feathers riled up?"

"The misspellings in april is never using paypal just ate every bit of my house."

"Tweet about the dragon-on-person furry porn and that one."

"Because right now, i've been clawed by evil trolls! seriously raised eyebrows. when he sleeps. damn."

"This what is no longer holds its thrall... what about weird-ass porn that a gym membership."

"2 nights where do this? am not to kick a half-full damn bottle of Glee is it actually achieved today!!!"

 "You'd think they don't like i epically squashed a baby. you need to hear that, though. i was mine. BUT."

"Hells yes, i think i were getting Drunk - it's so well with any excuse to find a table & twitter."

"What to give me something productive to furry porn and pie. thing in other words, i'm usually using?"

"Scotch o'clock was in months. depends."

"Tonight at festivals. they are completely different colors when did panty lines go stalk your family's."

"If one of herbs. stack of the return of recently-closeted gay men fabulousness."

Paypal just ate every bit of my house.
i don't even know what to add to all this.
and these are only a handful of them.  

"Paypal Just Ate Every Bit Of My House."

Sunday, April 10, 2011

get your party on

why weddings are occasionally fucking awesome.

don't worry, these hapless guys gave me permission to post this.  (muahahahah!)

in case you guys missed some of the details:

these guys grabbed like ten bottles of wine,

and the two-foot high candlesticks/flowers,

and the birdcage (theme of wedding: lovebirds),

and got the fuck down in my booth.

these guys cracked me up all night.
they eventually mooned the camera, but i'm preserving you guys, and them, from having their naked asses on my blog.
you're totally welcome.

i have funny shit i'm not sharing with you yet. because i am That Asshole.

it's "sitting in your underwear" hot in my house.
and it fucking sucks.

i refuse to turn on my air conditioning, though:  for fuck's sake, it's april!  i need a few months of power bills that aren't above $100.

good things from tonight's wedding gig:  bottle of wine.  awesomely hilarious wedding guests.  even more awesomely hilarious pictures from said guests, which i will post probably tomorrow.  because they gave me permission to post them, on my blog, in exchange for the URL.  (muahahaha!!)  naturally i said "Done!"
great time, overall.   no one almost knocked over the photobooth (this happens more than you would think), no one was irritatingly sloshed, no one spilled any drinks in/around, and life was peachyish.

bad things from tonight's wedding gig:  it's French Quarter Fest here in NOLA, which mean, for the uninitiated, that driving through/parking in/trying to schlep a photobooth into a venue is BLOODY FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE.  why someone would schedule a wedding during this fest is completely beyond me.  the logistics are ridiculous.  perhaps they didn't know. 

at any rate, after circling around the quarter and finding literally zero parking spots (like, i saw not one damn open spot AT ALL, at any time, what the fuck!), i said fuck it.  so i took the car home, and i had to walk from my house to the gig.  which isn't a problem in sneakers.  but when i'm in dress sandals and carrying thirty pounds of shit to the gig...
well, let's just say the blisters on my feet would like to tell everyone on the planet to fuck off.

also, leaving this gig was a hot mess.  because i had my car at home, i would have had to walk home (30 min, 45 while limping with blisters), and get my car, then return to pick up the booth.  normally not the end of the world. 

problem?  event coordinator was gone from the face of the fucking planet, and event staff was telling me they were closing up shop and i needed to get gone.  FFFFUUUU.
luckily i have the best friends on the planet, so i caught a ride back to my house, with said booth.
stress city, lemme tell ya.

but it's alright, i have a bottle of wine, and a corkscrew.  and no intentions of finding a glass.

Monday, April 4, 2011

if it's broke, well, we don't even know how to fix that.

one of the good parts about working in a strip club is a lot of weird shit happens, every day, and people just roll with it.

i was at the club the other day, NOT working, hanging out with the DJ for no good reason (aka $2 beer draft), when i noticed a Very Weird Thing, on the lighting panel computer.

"Chris, is that... Does that say Dick Lights???"
"Yes, yes.  That says Dick Lights."
"Um.  What. The. Fuck. are Dick Lights???"

he explained to me that the Dick Lights are like all of the regular lights (which are weirdo shapes that swirl around on the wall, and are Very Annoying).  Only they are in the shape of a cock and balls.

i cracked up laughing.
"WHY.  WHY, do we not have these lights on the walls ALL THE TIME???  that is fucking brilliant."
"Well," Chris says, "it's because they don't work.  Like, at all.  They've never worked."

we paused for a moment, to let that sink in.

"So basically, we have Impotent Dick Lights," i said.  "Our dicks don't work.  At All."

"Yep," said Chris.  "Impotent Dick Lights.  We are a special breed, here."

i have to agree.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

because i am an ASSHOLE, that is why

i'd hate to erm, "tarnish," my good reputation here (SNERK) but it's true:
i AM that person who will sneak and poke around in your stuff if you aren't there, or are distracted.
i will look in your medicine cabinet (although i probably won't judge you on the contents.  but i might steal a valium or 5).
i will root through your bathroom cabinets, too.  who knows what kinds of interesting shit you have down there?  even if it is all bath soap and pepto and foot medicine and HOLY WHOA WHAT KIND OF SEX TOY IS THAT?

pantries are definitely not off limits either.  when i was freshhh out of high school, i worked as a house cleaner.  and one of the great joys of the job was sneaking yummy shit out of people's pantries.  and that is why you should probably pay your house cleaners more.

i probably won't read your private journal.  depends on how curious i am, or how much i like you.  (if i want to fuck you, i'll probably read it.)  but if it's a grocery lists, some poetry, random scraps of a song you're trying to write, etcetera, you bet your ass i'm going to read it.

i will read the titles on your bookshelf, and look at the movies in your DVD collection.  i will pretty much go out of my way to snoop into as much shit as possible, without looking like a complete asshole and an idiot.

it's not that i'm trying to intentionally invade anyone's space - but i'm curious.  the things people have often say a lot about them, and i like that.

i probably won't root around in your shit if you're a complete stranger, but if you are a friend of mine, all bets are off.  i won't mess around with your stuff.  chances are you wouldn't even notice that i touched it, if i didn't tell you.  i am SO good at making it look like your shit was never touched.

i think it's just curiosity.  or maybe voyeurism, who knows.

point being, i went through my brother's chest of drawers today.
my brother has owned this chest of drawers since before he could speak.  i mean it.  it's one of the few pieces of furniture that has survived my antiques dealer dad's constant selling, buying, and reselling.
over the years, my brother has accumulated quite a bit of crap in that dresser.

for example, i found out that he keeps his books in his dresser, y'all.

if i did that, i wouldn't have room for my clothes.
granted, the man has an apartment near his college, so there are probably lots of books there, too.  but STILL.
books.  in. his. dresser.

i also found quite a bit of other amusing things:

SERIOUSLY?? you still have this thing??  this used to be my old walkman.  like, in elementary school.

the obligatory nerdy Magic The Gathering cards...  (i found Vampire the Masquerade character sheets (& the book) too, but i figured they fell into this nerdy category as well.)

part of a clarinet mouthpiece...  (this is maybe where i lost my grip on sober, too)


not really.  but i'm "gangsta," so I WILL IF I HAVE TO.

bendytwisty sculpture man?  wire + boredom?  you tell me.  i have no idea.

this is my old phone.  not my exact old phone, because we both had the same kind.  but memories, yo.  they're coming back.  i learned to text on this phone.

you know, i thought these things were extinct.  but evidently not yet.

and just in case you feel bad for my brother and his violated dresser, chew on this:  i also got a glimpse of his bank statement.  and now i am having the major sads.  because my brother will probably die rich, and i will be on the streets surrounded by mangy cats, considering how things are standing now.

this post is fueled by my mother's thoughtfully-provided wine,

my "OMG i can eat strawberries because i can't kill The Matt with them right now" rampage,

AANNND, my awesomesauce pajamas.  which kinda matched my formerly technicolor blog.  AND YES i did that on purpose.*

hi, minions.  want to invite me over to your house yet??  i promise not to steal all the shit out of your medicine cabinet.

*no the fuck i didn't.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

um, guys?

i know i've been commenting on the twitter a lot, recently - but i don't care.

first The Bloggess adds me on twitter -  wooo!  -

and now, my FAVORITE AUTHOR, Diana Gabaldon has tweeted me as well.  probably due to the fact that we just so happened to be on the twitters at the exact same time at ohgod o'clock in the morning.

if she friends me for any reason whatsoever (pleezohpleezohpleez), i have to admit it -

i'm going to be doing the fangirl flail. 
just for a moment.

then we will return to the regularly scheduled funny.

i've got "contraband" drugs. also other legal varieties. BONUS! i'm not funny today.

(WARNING:  most of this post is SOOO not funny.  not even remotely.  it maybe gets funnier later as you go on, but yeah.  if you don't come here for Discussions About Serious Stuff, you may want to just skip this one, and tune in later in the week for the funny.)  /end warning

i am reeealllly fucking high on lots and lots of drugs life right now.
just, be warned.

if you follow my twitter, you may know that i came to see my mom in Alabama for the weekend.  she lives in Fairhope
that little article, should you read it, will give you a bit of an idea about my high school experience.  i'll say this:  we had a hell of a good band.  i was in it.
and most of my classmates were snotty upper middle class white-bread label-wearing bitches preppy.  the few of us who weren't any of the above, had a good time fucking with the rest of them.

the most interesting thing of all about Fairhope (& all of Mobile Bay, really) is Jubilee.   but i don't think that wikipedia explanation does it justice, because i've been to a Jubilee.  and the fish & crabs aren't "climbing onto stumps" or "coming into the shallow water" or whatever.  crabs, shrimp, and fish are LITERALLY FLINGING THEMSELVES onto the sand.  it's freaking awesome.  it's the cheapest seafood buffet you can ever find.  just bring a damn cooler.

or, you know, a boat.  that's cool, too.

i digress.  high school memories and weird facts aside, i came here to my old stomping grounds, because i am trying (& of course, failing) to temporarily escape my life. 

i don't usually talk about depressing or serious shit on this blog, because it is my humor blog.  so i want to be funny all the time.  problem is, sometimes i am not funny.  so i blip off the radar for a while.

i've probably mentioned somewhere in this blog, by this point, that i am BATSHIT INSANE, and i do mean literally, here.  with a diagnosis and all the crazy pills to go along with it.

i have bipolar disorder.  a lot of people don't know what all that's about, so let me fill you in:  no fucking fun.  or sometimes, too much fucking fun, which can lead back to no fucking fun really quickly.

there are a few types of it.  bipolar 1 (usually characterized by a manic break, "a form of psychosis where the patient lapses into an alternate reality, one which is inconsistent with the real world"), and bipolar 2 are the main ones. 
i have bipolar 2.  thus far.  we think.  sometimes my doctors and i disagree on this.  i'm also "special" and shit, because i am also  rapid cycling
so basically, anything (and i do mean ANY LITTLE STUPID ASS THING) can make my day, or ruin my day.  or one or the other or both can happen like 4 times a day.  it is possible.  it happens.  and?
that's right:  it's no fucking fun.

well.  all that being said.  bipolar disorder already drastically affects my mood.  it's the nature of the disease.  so, imagine when someone who is already nucking futz (read: me) has to deal with some Really Awful Shit.  yeah.  fur goes flying.
the reason i am writing about all this crap, instead of being funny and shit, is because i have been the "i'm not sure i'm paying my rent this month" kind of broke lately.  i am depressed, as i think any normal person would be in this situation.
times that depression by bipolar times anxiety, and what do you get?  well, pitiful, for starters.  and unfunny.  and anxiety.
well fuck, just go read this.  i've posted about my issues with working in the club.  the last several posts on that blog are all about the same thing, really.  the idea and reality of working in the club is affecting me so badly that i'm genuinely getting anxiety attacks over it.

for the purpose of relaxing, and trying to take my mind off my life, which is feeling really fucking terrible right now, i came over here.  for starters, one of my best friends is back from a foreign country and i haven't seen her yet.
another reason to be here:  one of my lovely, lovely friends Anthony is loaning me money (he insists it's not a loan, it's a gift).
i love this man soo much, you don't even know.  he is my bestest sassy gay friend.  (only without the scarf.  nooo scarf. and more southern twang - i mean, a lot more.  the Original Southern Belle, no kidding.)
he has brought me through some of the worst times in my life, and the worst manic episodes, and the worst depressions.  he can always make me laugh, even if it's through tears, and even if i don't want to laugh.  
of course, we've known each other forever, so i like to think i've brought him through some shit, too.

right now because of some stupid circumstances, he is living with his parents right now.  his parents don't really like me, for no good reason (to be fair, they don't seem to like him a whole lot either).  and they don't particularly condone our habit of hotboxing their backyard smoking, ahem, all the time.  

it's midnight tonight, and after we've swallowed some awful ho, aka awful waffle (waffle house) like anacondas, we're out in the back yard, doing what we do.

now, this is a large suburban yard with a pool, boat parked in the back, blah blah.  (i mean, this may be rural-ish alabama, but it's not exactly the sticks.  more like snobby-artisty-upper crusty-types, grouped all together in a string along the eastern edge of the bay.  and there are tons of Summer Homes.  those guys.)
we're sitting on the concrete by the pool, trying to light the damn bowl in the wind, while waiting for his dad to Finally Go To Sleep, because he's bogarting the living room, so we can't sit on the outside porch chairs because *gasp!* he'll see us having a good time.
"this is ridiculous," i say.
"yeah.  i mean, it might have been okay when we were 19, 20..." says Anthony. 
"it would have been okay in high school." i say.  "this is bullshit." 

and eventually, we just start laughing, at everything.

(what anthony looks like, while having a good laugh - you'd laugh along too.)

we laugh at his having to jump the fence (& land on the trailer hitch) to get inside his own back yard, my inability to be a "real" grownup and "get a real job" (if i had a fucking nickel for every time i've heard that, AS IF i don't want one...) and Pay My Fucking Bills, his mother trying to hide the tylenol like he'd overdose on it, the fact that we used to be doing the Same Fucking Thing six years ago - only we could chill at my house instead, i didn't have trouble paying rent back then, and his mother wasn't hiding the aspirin.

we're still contemplating, and smoking poolside:  pot, and his menthols, and the clove cigarettes that he bought for me; although i've officially quit years ago, i ignore that in times of stress.

(back in my clove smoking days...)

"i feel like i'm regressing," he says.  "the more they treat me like i'm in high school, the more i'm acting like a stupid high schooler."

meanwhile his neighbors have dragged their surround sound system out to their shed, and they are watching Star Wars Episode One:  The Phantom Menace (and yes, we are dorks, and we Know This To Be A Fact) really, really loudly.  so our conversations about stupid shit and soul-deep shit have a soundtrack of light sabers, explosions, and Jar Jar.

"you know, you just gotta laugh at the bad things," Anthony says.  "otherwise you just feel worse."
and he's right. 

i love this man to death, and he knows it.  Anthony darling, i'd marry you, if we weren't two homos.
; ]

i leave you with this picture, which i hope will make my entire whiny post bearable, and give you a good laugh:

this here's a picture i found recently, of my Bestest Friend and me, circa 2006.
the caption i'd given it:
"how high is too high???  Fuck if we know!"

some things never change.