Julia: What about, “I think I love you when I’m drunk?”
Lauren: Yeah, tell him to go ahead and write that in the vows.
So in tribute to spring love and the fact that both Lauren and I will be attending weddings tomorrow, here are my hypothetical wedding vows, if I were to marry a hypothetical man named…let’s say, Toto.
Toto…since I met you, I’ve seen more colors in the universe than I previously thought existed. And I’m not just talking about the crazy colors in my morning phlegm, which as Dr. Grendal told me are just leftovers of the pixie sticks I used to snort in high school. And neither am I talking about the variety of pigments in my urine. Who knew the clap could be so tenacious? No, Toto, I’m talking about the the shades of sunset over the gentle ocean horizon, the oranges, golds and reds of leaves swirling in the fall, and the exploding stars before my eyes that time you slammed me in the head with our brand new fondue pot when I flipped your mother the bird for saying that my tube top made me look like a whore (good thing the pot was still in the Target bag…otherwise I suspect it might have left a nasty scar). Yes, that tube top did make me look like a whore, but your mother is honestly a fucking cunt (sorry, Mrs. G). Anyway, as I was saying, dearest Toto, I can not imagine my life without you, your sweet caresses and your tender declarations of “Get me my fuckin’ Pabst Blue Ribbon outta the cooler bitch and don’t let me catch you outta the fuckin’ kitchen again. Don’t make me use my belt!”
[Note to Self: Self, do a dramatic pause here, as you are bound to be overwhelmed by your love and too choked up to speak for up to three minutes].
After our first date, I knew that you were the kind of person that I wanted to be with forever. Maybe it was because you bought me dinner at the Sizzler before doing me in the back of your El Camino. Maybe it was because you slowed to a considerate 12 miles per hour when you nudged me out of your car in front of my house. Maybe it’s because you always stand up for me in front of your friends. That day when you told Davey Boy after he caught us banging in the bathroom at the bowling alley, “Yeah, she’s a ho, but she’s my ho,” I would have cried tears of joy if I hadn’t just accidentally flushed my thong down the toilet.
Toto, you are my everything–my sun, my moon, and my retarded baby’s daddy. I love you and hope you’ll stick around even after the baby’s born.
I’ve realized that I have a speech impediment. I don’t seem to enunciate the tail end of my words very well sometimes. I normally don’t care because, hey, my first language was broken English. But it’s become a problem with the word, “Peanuts.”
For example:
I was on a road trip with two friends. We were in a gas station convenience store and out of sheer boredom, I pointed to a bag of circus peanuts and say, “Hey! Circus peanuts!” They both turn around like, “WHAT???” Like I had just said, “Corey Feldman is my Lord and Savior. And by the way, I too, suck dick for crack.” And I’m like, “circus peanuts.” Apparently, they and every one else in the vicinity had thought I said circus penis. Given that statement, I wonder what the hell they thought I was pointing at (hey look! A circus penis! It’s doing all kinds of jumps and tumbles in that guy’s pants!)
A few nights ago, I was telling Muskrat about what it means to have an allergy to peanuts and she thought I said, allergy to penis. Of course, several softball/lesbian jokes emerged and wackiness ensued. But seriously. There’s no way around that word because I can’t say it right.
But seriously, I love Muskrat. I have always had a touch of Muskrat Love. But she moved all the way to Florida and she’s still there. She’s one of those people who always laughs at my jokes and I really appreciate that. And she calls me Shih Shih which means “pee pee” in Chinese and you can’t beat that.
Me: will there be imminent lovemaking?
LaurenAHooch: how could he resist my charms..
Me: that’s what i’m talkin bout
LaurenAHooch: imminent..i like that…sounds like some sort of plague or something
Me: the Black Imminent Lovemaking Plague of 2003
Me: oooh…how so many succumbed!!
LaurenAHooch: you are making me crack up here
Me: we should write a script about it
Me: it would actually make a great porn movie
Me: the country shuts down as people are self-quarantined in their bedrooms with the black imminent lovemaking plague
LaurenAHooch: sign me up for service
Me: it opens with a woman, her clothes in tatters as she just barely escapes a frenzied mob of men showing symptoms of the plague, screaming into the camera, what about the children?!?!
LaurenAHooch: im ready to be all that i can be
Me: and then someone points to a writhing pile of flesh and appendages and says, they’re in there!
Me: it’s sick but true
Me: it’s a work of non-fiction
LaurenAHooch: is this still a porn? needs to be more sex
Me: it is more sex!
Me: it’s one big orgy that spills out into the streets!
Me: they keep bringing in the national guard but they too succumb to the plague
LaurenAHooch: ohhhhhhh……im liking the sound of this one
Me: mmmm…men in uniforms
LaurenAHooch: who would play the lead…
Me: why we would co-lead, of course!
LaurenAHooch: that’s what im talkin about
Me: we’ll be the people who are originally infected with the plague on a trip to amsterdam after getting free tickets to a suspicious yet deliciously raunchy show in the backroom of some seedy hostel
LaurenAHooch: more…more
Me: another aspect of the plague is that people turn homosexual when exposed to water (like in gremlins) and autoerotic when they eat after midnight
My mom doesn’t really like me very much right now. I picked a strange time to assert myself and more or less kicked her and my brother out of my place yesterday. She thinks it’s just because I wanted to spend time with the guy I’m dating, but it’s all about principle to me. It probably wasn’t right, but I just got tired of how she always places my brother first and how my personality now is shaped in a way that always puts other people’s needs and desires before my own. Hell, it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even recognize what I want anymore because I figure it’s not important. I’m so repressed in that way. I got so sick of how she can’t see my point of view or even acknowledge it, and how it’s always been that when it’s convenient for her or the family, I should be obedient and “mature/responsible,” but then out in the world she doesn’t understand why I don’t assert myself and says, “Just go do it” in the most disgusted, condescending way. Fuck you!! I can’t just go do it because my self-assertion and self-esteem were beaten out of me. I had no fucking childhood because I was so busy being a third parent for my brother and making sure that I didn’t give my parents anything else to worry about. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you. Fuck you for ignoring me and expecting me to be able to grow up on my own. Fuck you for expecting me to become the person that you thought I should become and punishing me for being who I am. Fuck you for seeing me as an extension of yourself. Fuck you for loving my brother more than me when it was about your guilt that’s not even my fault. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. I know you hate that word but this is my own fucking space and if I wanna say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER in public, I sure as hell am going to say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER WITH A CHERRY ON TOP in public.
Fuckin’ A I’m pissed. I could really use a hug today.
But again, there’s the logical reasoning of…no one cares.
I just got back from a trip to the Grand Canyon. Three Words. Fucking Awe Some.
I realized that my personality type is that of a Loner. Who gets lonely. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? God are you there? It’s me, Julia. And I have a gun.
I also found out that my mother does not appreciate the phrase, “Dammit Jesus Christ Muthafucker.” Not one bit.
I have a lot of emotions but I don’t express them. Is that true? Have I been walking around giving my love out when in reality, no one even realizes it? I wonder if I come off totally unemotional. I know, I shouldn’t care so much how I come off or how people perceive me. But it is a little bit disturbing. That maybe my intentions aren’t being carried out by my self. Sometimes I don’t think people hear me. Sometimes I think that people don’t take me seriously, or don’t realize that I’m being vulnerable and they accidentally say the wrong thing that ends up hurting. Sometimes I think I’m a big pussy. And not in a good sense (but then again, is there really a good sense?). Mike asked me the other day if I feel like I’m on a different level than other people. I don’t know about levels, but sometimes I feel like I’m on a different plane, and that it’s all coming from my subjective perspective, but that I just have trouble relating in the same way other people do. I don’t think I intellectualize my perception of the universe and it’s form as a way to avoid dealing with emotions. But I do think I don’t always share how I feel or the things that make me vulnerable because I don’t trust people to treat me with sensitivity and kindness. I just don’t want to get hurt anymore. There. I said something honest.
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About Me:
experimental stream of consciousness writer who may or may not be a liar. sanest person you've ever met but i'll look you in the eyes like a computer eating magnets. what i don't know about you, i'll make up. and you'll still love me because you don't know where i went that moment you swore i disappeared. my moods chase the seasons and i hear it makes an interesting read. i like smelling good.