OH Haaaaay LA!

Soooo... I moved to Los Angeles! I know what you're thinking -


"Uh didn't you just move to Texas?" 

Yes, yes I did! 

I moved from San Francisco, to Austin, TX in January, and have now moved to southern california. Apparently, I'm in a masochistic relationship with UHaul, and I didn't even realize it. Every time I move, I say, "FUCK THIS! Fuck UHaul, fuck owning things, I AM NEVER MOVING AGAIN." 

And like the liar that I am, I continue to own things, obtain UHaul's services, and move... again and again.

Will I ever learn? No... no, I won't; I WILL however continue to complain about all of the above.

But, I digress...

So far, Los Angeles is seemingly a cluster fuck of everything amazing and horrible about the human race, all packed tightly together in sardine-can like fashion, against the back-drop of a city with never ending rush hour traffic.

I know what you're thinking - "Bridgette, this sounds like you're living at the gates of Hell... Why the fuck would you move to a place like that?"

First of all, I'm pretty sure the Los Angeles visitor center has a part in the brochure about being a gateway to the "fiery abyss," but i'll have to double check on that. Secondly, I'm an idiot, and idiots do stupid, irrational, illogical things with their lives. I have done dozens of things which fall into the aforementioned category, and, well, I was due for a big "life mistake." 

The non-sarcastic, real world where grown-ups live answer is - LA is unfortunately the place in which my career has forced me to reside. In case you didn't know, I'm a dancing, singing, "acrobating," circus clown. That is a lie. I am a writer, which is basically a lying, singing, dancing, "acrobating," circus clown...  with a pen.

I don't mean to be so judgmental about a place I've only recently started living, but the cynic inside me refuses to disable its hold on the mainframe circuitry of my nervous system. There is also a ridiculous amount of hilarity constantly walking by me down the street, driving next to me on the freeway, and ordering coffee in front of me. It's like every outlandish stereotype is heightened and multiplied by 10 here; literally a schmorgesborg of comedic gold everywhere I turn. It's over-fucking-whelming. I might have to start a blog dedicated solely to overheard conversations. I'm a world-class eavesdropper, and will never apologize for hearing your inappropriate for public verbiage about STD's, molestation, and/or body hair related situations gone awry.

On the flip-side however, I'm starting to fear that my greatest skill in life has become complaining. Despite popular opinion, I'm not actually a pessimistic, cynical person; I just play one in my day to day life. I'm surprising optimistic about the world and human race in general. It's just that complaining is easier than praising. You can always find something wrong and make it funny. To me, pessimism is a conversational skill, not a state of being. People relate more to negativity than positivity. We tell stories of misfortune, and disastrous happenings, all starting with different versions of the phrase, "you won't believe what happened to (insert self or unfortunate parties name here) the other day at (insert relatable establishment or activity here)." We like hearing the bad more than the good. That doesn't mean we're all necessarily rooting for bad things to happen to people we know, closely, or by association. It just means we relate to the negative, and we measure the "goodness" of our lives, somewhat based on the the troubles of others we identify as equal, or "on the same playing field" so to speak. It's all relative. It's all perspective.

Plus, no one likes a "holier-than-thou, I do yoga 9 times a week, mother earth loves everyone, I piss rainbows and wheat grass," kind of person. I mean, we all say we like those people because you look like a dick if you counter with - "Fuck your positive energy and healthy lifestyle!" But the bottom line is, those people are either HUGE hypocrites, or genuinely peaceful enlightened beings, and it's nearly IMPOSSIBLE to tell the difference at a dinner party for a friend of a friend's birthday/promotion/"look at me look at me" event. So, I feign interest and understanding while mumbling under my breathe something about cleansing the world with fire. Because I'd rather be "that" girl, than a hypocrite. But I guess i'm still a hypocrite since cleansing the world with fire is a horrible idea, and I actually kind of like wheat grass. I guess I just don't believe anyone can be that "enlightened" or "positive" all of the time. Humans are weak, pathetic little creatures that constantly fuck up the simplest things. The negative is as much apart of us as the positive. To believe otherwise makes you an idiot. To say that believing something other than what I believe makes you an idiot, makes me an asshole... and an idiot.

I have completely lost any semblance of a point here, and I have no idea where I thought this was going. PANTS!

So, in conclusion/summation and in no particular order -

- I love small animals, unicorns, and most "Hello Kitty" related visuals/products.
- Don't be a douche.
- Yoga is awesome, but no one really wants to hear about your "spiritual awakening," unless of course this awakening is monetarily profitable to them.
- I am an asshole.
- You are probably an asshole too.
- I think I know more than I do.
- I act like I know less than I do.
- In the end, I don't know nothin'.

Dear Los Angeles,

I've heard a lot of rumors; mostly about your promiscuity and streets paved with broken dreams. I'm not judging. I think we can co-exist without the ironic apathy. I promise never to depend on you for anything other than a zip code. In return, I would appreciate it if you could promise not to fuck me in the ass. If you can't make that promise, then maybe a 24-hour notice before said ass-fucking commences?

Thanks,

Bridgette

love you mean it.

FUCK THE LONGHORNS!!!

Ya that’s right, I said it. If you don’t live in Texas, you might not know what I’m talking about. Nine months ago, I wouldn’t have known what I was talking about either. For those in the dark, the Longhorns are the University of Texas football team. Now personally, I think football is kind of gay. And I don’t mean gay as in “lame;” I mean gay as in men having sex with other men GAY. Seriously… let’s think about this -- Super buff dudes, running up and down a field, grabbing and jumping on top of 20 other dudes, all while wearing lustrous satin-shiny spandex capri pants. The only thing I like about football, is the hilarious irony that the majority of hardcore “I paint my face with team colors EVERY game even if I’m at home” fans, are also, CRAZY hardcore homophobes!

But whatever… I don’t give a fuck what your hobby is. If you get your rocks off screaming at the TV because your spandex clad behemoths dropped the ball, good for you. My problem exists specifically with team colors flooding an entire city. You can’t go ANYWHERE in Austin without seeing a Longhorns banner, someone wearing a Longhorns shirt/hat/pants/shoes/butt plug, etc…  It’s fucking EVERYWHERE! And to tell you the truth, it wouldn’t be a big deal if the Longhorn colors were something nice, like green, or blue, or even red… But no, the Longhorns colors are a lovely shade of burnt diarrhea brown-orange and white. I’m actually not really sure if white is one of the colors… I just assumed it was since it’s usually paired with the diarrhea orange, but the diarrhea orange could in fact be standing alone.

In protest, I really want to adorn my own Team Bridgette shirt, which will respectfully have one of the following phrases screen-printed across the “breastal” region: “Fuck Football,” “Fuck the Longhorns,” “Football is Gay,” or “Your sport is gay.” I know what you’re thinking…

“Bridgette, you are so creative! Did you go to art school?"

Yes, I DID go to art school!

Thanks for noticing. 

But seriously, while my shirt phrase selections would be a SUPER creative way to showcase my obviously epic artistic talent, actually wearing one of them… in public… would mostly likely result in me being raped and bludgeoned to death with a foam finger full of nickels, by a 300 pound, learning disabled superfan. For the record, that is NOT the way I want to go.

I know it’s probably shocking to my 3 readers that I haven’t been “bludgeoned” before. It’s shocking to me as well, especially considering the massive shit talking mouth I acquired over the years; sprouting first on the rough-and-tumble streets of upper-middle class suburbia.

But we’re getting off topic here… this isn’t about my sweet art skillzzz or the 80’s upbringing which has left me and my generation with a disillusioned sense of entitlement. No, this is about something much more important… something deep… something profound… and once I figured out what that something is, I will be able to end this blog post. 

ACTUAL INFORMATION: 

According to UT's website, the diarrhea "orange color was chosen by football coach Darrell Royal, who thought that it would help his players conceal the football when they ran the triple option." I don't know what "triple option" means, but I know it has something to do with fondling balls and running in capri pants... and really, that's all I NEED to know to satisfy the visual in my head. 

love you mean it.

Oh Shiiiiiiit... Mr. West did it again...

DISCLAIMER: This was written by the 16-year old girl inside me who still sleeps in her "I heart the Backstreet Boys" t-shirt... I take no responsibility for her writing...

Don’t judge me, but I was pretty excited for the VMA’s this year. Mostly because my favorite whore, Chelsea Handler was hosting, and if anyone was going to say inappropriate things on live TV, it was going to be her. I was also secretly excited for Kanye West’s night capping performance, where all the celebrity gossip rumors (which I deny reading) had concluded, Kanye was going to perform a new song that he had written specifically for Taylor Swift, as an apology of sorts. The anticipation of what he could possibly “perform” that would not only be a sufficient apology, but done so, WITHOUT being obnoxious and insincere, was titillating. Mr. West isn’t exactly known for big apologies; so to say that I was pretty skeptical about the reality of this "I'm sorry" song, would be an understatement. 

Don’t get me wrong… I like Kanye West. He makes good music, and while his ego might be bigger than the entire western hemisphere, it’s usually positively directed in elaborate and entertaining live performances and/or tabloid antics. Sure, Kanye may be somewhat of a douche, but how many multi-millionaires do you know that aren’t, on occasion, "douchey?" Personally, I didn’t give two shits about the whole “Taylor Swift 2009 VMA acceptance award diss,” and I was kind of surprised that it ended up being such a ‘big deal.’ I mean, it wasn’t the smartest move he’d ever made, but it’s not like he bitch-slapped the girl and put her on a bus back to Oklahoma… er, Tennessee… er… whatever mid-western meth factory state she’s from. 

Honestly, if Taylor Swift was actually legit, she would have cock punched Kayne with her moon man, snatched the mic back, told him to go fuck himself, and then made some kind of: “I’m sending you a ‘black hiphop bitches’ first douching kit after the show. You’ll get it in 5-7 business days… Time for you to clean some of that ‘I’m a HUGE ASSHOLE’ stench off the area where your balls used to be,” anger induced joke. But alas… Taylor Swift would have NEVER done something like that… Engineers at the “Build-a-Pop-star factory,” made the Taylor-bot much too timid and virginal to stand-up to the big black rapper. Plus, the record company that purchased Taylor-doll 2000, ordered a wholesome, non-confrontational robot. 

Anywayzzz… a few weeks ago, the VMA's arrived, and I was pleasantly surprised. Chelsea Handler did a good job making people uncomfortable, Lady Gaga did a good job of maintaining her status as most insane and misunderstood popstar of 2010, and Aziz Ansari hilariously tied my two favorite things together, "The Jersey Shore" and outspoken black men, as he introduced Kanye for the final performance of the evening… 

Ok... REAL TALK YO:

It wasn’t the greatest song ever, the performance wasn’t particularly thrilling, but the message... Oh the message was clear - KANYE IS A MOTHERFUCKING GENIUS! Maybe I’m easily impressed, or naïve to think his PR representation didn’t concoct the whole thing, but either way, my mind was blown. The last thing I thought Kanye would ever do, is call himself out. I mean, a few years ago, this guy was declaring himself the next Jesus!!! THE NEXT FUCKING JESUS!!! HELLO CRAZYTOWN?!?!? Not in a million years did I ever expect Mr. West to cough up a legit apology, and then perform a song about how we’ve “been putting up with his shit for way too long.” It was too much for my little brain to handle… I couldn’t believe Kayne had just performed a song shedding himself in a negative light! IT’S FUCKING GENIUS! Not only has he shown a thread of humility and gained even more fans in doing so, he’s also going to make millions of dollars from it! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!

He's a marketing wetdream... 

 

I don’t know why this is so amazing to me… but it is motherfuckers! If you haven't seen it, WATCH BITCHES!

love you mean it.

Update: HELLO AGAIN FACEBOOK!!!

ya... you saw that coming... *shame*

love you mean it.

Goodbye Facebook...

Yes, that's right... I have committed facebook suicide. I "deactivated" my book of faces about 2 weeks ago, and I have never been more productive! That is a blatant lie. The theory in my mind was: "It's becoming increasingly pathetic the amount of time I spend reading inane updates from people I don't care enough about to actually call on the phone... I bet if I no longer had a facebook, I would be WAY more productive in other aspects of my life." It turns out, I am EQUALLY as UNPRODUCTIVE as I was before quitting facebook!

Well, that's not entirely true... I have been slightly more productive... at... ONLINE SCRABBLE! Ya, that's right... I'm pretty much turning into a scrabble champion, one triple word score at a time. I realize these extremely sexy details about my life are titillating for the 3 people that read this blog.

Anywayzzz...

I'm starting to have an adverse reaction to the overly public, "look at me look at me," generation I'm in cahoots with. And yes, I see the irony that I'm posting about my overly public generation, on a public blog. However, there is something to be said about the level at which we're all whoring ourselves out... over the internet, and in real-life. I subscribe to the philosophy that we all just want to be heard... noticed... have our existence on this planet acknowledged. I'm just not sure how I feel about that philosophy coming to fruition via a twitter update relaying the message that you just watered your garden, and you're going to go take a shower now. I think it's pretty clear that NO ONE GIVES A FUCK THAT YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE A SHOWER! Unless of course, you've got a webcam in your shower, and this step in your day is part of your "online modeling" career... if so, by all means, tweet away.

However, if you're one of the other 50 million assholes updating your status with obsolete details about your mundane existence, please SHUT THE HELL UP! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are obnoxious, caustic, and contributing to the massive amount of BULLSHIT currently clogging about 98% of the internet. I know what you're thinking: "Fuck you Bridgette! People care about what I have to say... I matter... I'm talented... I'll be contributing useful things to the world soon... just you wait and see! Stop being a bitter bitch and get over yourself."

Good point alternate version of my personality! But let's not mix facts with the fantasy in your head... Anyone you think "cares" or replies to your tedious status updates, 9 times out of 10, just wants to sleep with you, or, alternately, wants to whore themselves out via your facespace... Bottom line is, you DON'T matter. You're most likely not that talented, and you won't be "contributing" anything to the world other than the hollow shell of lies you call a "personality," which is actually a collection of poorly regurgitated Dane Cook parodies mixed with philosophical ramblings from the Psyc. 101 class you failed last year at (insert city name here) community college. I'm not bitter, but I am a bitch... and i'll "get over" myself just as soon as you STOP announcing your to do list on the internet!!!

This rant doesn't just apply to the no-name nobodies either... I'm an equal opportunity hater. I don't care the same amount, no matter WHO you are; even if you *gasp* actually contribute positively to society... You still need to SHUT THE FUCK UP. Seriously... we're living in the most amazing time right now. The technology we have supersedes country lines, ocean expanses, language barriers, and so on... We can talk to anyone, anywhere in the world. In seconds, with a few key strokes, we can find answers to questions that, 20 years ago, you would have to research in a library for hours. Information is like oxygen, and instead of taking even the slightest advantage of that, we're using these amazing tools to post photos of ourselves at flattering angles in order to get 50 soulless comments from "friends" we haven't actually talked to in years, all bullshitting different variations of "omg you're so hot/sexy/pretty/cute etc..."

And I'm no fucking different... I too live in conflict and contradiction. I posted the same photos, looking for validation from people I have no real connection to, or concern for. So I had to stop it. I had to end the bullshit cycle because it was making me nauseous. And I realized that I was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about, and caring about, and wondering about all these people that I didn't really know... or care to get to know for that matter. 

Facebook had turned me into an angry stalker. I was angry that all these people led boring lives, or were Über pretentious tech nerds, or art nerds, or simply HUGE ASSHOLES. I was even more angry that I COULDN'T STOP REFRESHING MY NEWS FEED! I was annoyed, but couldn't log off! I was in an abusive relationship with facebook, and I had to end it before someone got hurt. 

(Insert Dramatic Break-up Scene Here)

Yes, I know. I have issues. But this isn't about me... this is about you, and them, and everyone who's ever tweeted or updated their fbook with, "MMM... coffee in the morning is the best!" or, "I love eating lunch with my friends!" SHUT UP... WE FUCKING GET IT ALREADY. 

How about you tweet something legit, something interesting, like you're partnering with a Ugandan charity to raise money for KIDS WHO ARE STARVING TO DEATH ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PLANET? Fucking do something! Something REAL... something GOOD... something THAT MATTERS! I'm not saying we all have to save the planet and attach our greedy mugs to Al Gore's balls or anything, but I AM saying that we need to stop taking pictures of ourselves in public bathrooms, and we need to use our influence for something other than fodder for narcissistic masturbation fantasies. 

I don't want to live in a world where everyone has their own youtube channel. I don't want to live in a gapping hole of over-exposure and "acidental" crotch shots. I desperately want to believe we're better than that... Humanity HAS to be better than that. I want to live in a world where everyone wants to help each other make this planet better... environmentally, socially, politically. I want to live in a world where good ideas are heard, and then put into action by like-minded individuals. I want to live in a world where skanky super-sluts and Ed Hardy toting mega-douches are shot in the face and imprisoned for their transgressions on society. I want to live in a world where Jersey Shore is taken on off the air due to lack of interest and poor ratings. 

But alas... I have simply created a fantasy here, and my dreams of it every coming to fruition are about as likely as MTV actually playing a music video... But haaaay... whateverzzz right? I fucking love Snooki just as much as you, and I'll be taking high angled pouty lip bathroom pics later this evening too... I'm sure i'll have a facebook relapse in the next few weeks, and before you know it, I'll be updating you all on my love of coffee and showers... 

Come on now... Nothing ever changes out of complacency... Nothing ever changes with glaze over our eyes. This easy ride only breeds complainers... not changers. 

How many super-stars can you name that've come from great families in middle-class suburbs? Great art, great change, and great things come from the bowels of despair. Pain might just be the greatest motivator... 

Because, why should you care? Why should you care about starving African children? Or little girls being raped by American tourists in Cambodian brothels? You can't see it. You can't feel it, and unless you regularly reach out for an international newspaper, you won't hear about it. 

Out of site, out of mind. 

Out of words, out of time.

love you mean it.

Still obsessed with this song...

"A prince in practice moans for the attention that he wants,
but most of this town won't even dignify his ignorance with a response.
Left to a crowded foster home by a 15 year old mom,
never been held in anyone's arms,
when you've never been moved its really hard to move on.
A young saleswoman sets up shop when the sun sets,
she'll make your wildest dreams come true at a price you wont forget.
The sadly married set up alibis no harm no regret,
hoping they meet an angel in bed that can wrestle the devil right out of their heads.
This city runs fast, no one has time to sit with themselves, no time to look into our pain,
or see the same despair in everyone else; 
it's here, it's there, it's everywhere, tears soak each card the dealers dealt.
But time taught me how to see every second as heaven even though they're perfectly disguised as hell...

And I refuse to let past bruises cover the light,
it ain't all good, but its all good enough, so I know I'm alright.
Agony is truth it's our connection to the living, I accept it as perfection and keep on existing in the now...

I can only build if I tear the walls down,
even if it breaks me I wont let it make me frown.
I'm falling but no matter how hard I hit the ground...

I'll still smile.

I can only build if I tear the walls down,
even if it breaks me I wont let it make me frown.
I'm falling but no matter how hard I hit the ground...

I'll still smile.

Ear to ear as if that's all I'm here for,
despite the wars founded by the rich, funded by the poor.
Kids barely 18 are dying so billionaires can make more,
elsewhere hungry mothers watch their babies starve to death,
 in a beat up shack on a dirt floor.

The aged professor quotes "Freedom's without a path,"
now he dresses like a widow and preaches "love is dead" in every class.
But curiosity killed the cat and taught the dog in him how to act,
and it burned his bridge to Jill so he tries to drown the guilt with a bottle of Jack.

Self proclaimed rebels say "We must oppose the system!"
"You gotta take a stand!" "If your not against them, your with them!"
Signs read "Support the troops bring em' home!" "No more innocent victims!"
But when a homeless veteran asks for spare change your to busy protesting to even listen...

And I'm no different I live in conflict and contradiction, 
but it can be so beautiful when I don't reject what lies within.
It's beautiful the way agony connects us to the living,
I think of the world when I hurt, and keep on existing in the now.

I can only build if I tear the walls down,
even if it breaks me I wont let it make me frown.
I'm falling but no matter how hard I hit the ground...

I'll still smile.

I can only build if I tear the walls down,
even if it breaks me I wont let it make me frown.
I'm falling but no matter how hard I hit the ground...

I'll still smile."

love you mean it.

Oh Haaaaaay Internet...

Sooooo... I've been neglecting this blog. I've been so busy posting on my other ones, I've left this baby all alone to wither and DIE! I'm a terrible mother. Anywayzzz... Being busy with this whole "I'm an adult" thing now, I haven't had a lot of time for personal ventures. Being an adult is full-time job... Correction, TRYING to be an adult is a full-time job. I'm pretty sure I'm on a downward spiral of FAIL when it comes to "being a grown-up," but you still get a runner-up trophy for trying... right? 

Things have been cRaZy the last few months... you can see I'm telling the truth by how nUtS I wrote cRaZy. 

I didn't want to say anything, but I think it's pretty obvious that my hands were detached awhile back, in a freak boating accident involving a bear, pirate, and Barry White... I don't really like talking about... I've blocked out most of the horror; and only recently have I regained my dexterity. However, with my newly attached hands, I am now back on the "type everything going through my head" band wagon. I've got A LOT of things I'm writing about, and therefore will very shortly be posting about them. 

I know, I know... The 3 people that read this can't contain themselves... You're all jumping up and down in joyous celebration, aren't you?

One thing I've learned over the last few months is:

The more seriously you take your life, the more your life will laugh at you.

New goal for 2010 = Taking myself life so completely UN-seriously, that it actually has to step up and be like, "Hey Bridgette, umm... I don't want to bug you or anything, but can we like stop failing so bad... it's hard to be sarcastic when you keep ruining all my jokes with tragic events, and incompetence." 

And then I'll be like, "Fuck you life! Go complain to someone else because I'm spending ALL DAY watching South Park and eating donuts in my underpants!" 

I will keep you all posted on how this new "life mantra" works out...  

I wish being a 25 year old baby was a socially acceptable career choice. 

*NOTE* - When googling "adult baby" for a picture of, well, an adult in a baby inspired outfit/scenario, be prepared for a "variety" of images to pop up... images you might not want to see, or even know exist.

You've been warned.

love you mean it.

Breaking-up with my hometown.

Moving away is just like a "break-up." Actually, I think a "break-up" is easier. When my last boyfriend broke up with me, he did it over the phone... like a pussy bitch. I was so mad that he was too pathetic to say it to my face, I went on an anger rampage. I started a "break-up" journal where I outlined all the horrible things about him, and why it was better that we weren't together. I wrote all my feelings down, day by day, week by week, and let myself go through all the emotions, gaining more and more perspective each day. Unfortunately, booze and facebook got the better of me on a few occasions, and I ended up leaving drunken fbook comments on his page, with my rage fingerprints all over the place. I would delete them seconds after I wrote them out, completely unaware that fbook sends out email notifications of said comments, whether or not you delete them moments later... whoops. ANYWAY, long story short, I got over him. I got over him faster than I thought I would, and don't really have any negative feelings left about the whole thing. While going through box that I have yet to fully unpack, I stumbled upon the elusive the "break-up journal," and found myself wishing that moving away was more like breaking-up. I wish I could make a "break-up" journal about where I'm from, and highlight all the things my hometown had done "wrong." I wish I wasn't romanticizing my former surroundings, and could remember the restlessness I was consumed by before I moved.

I got a text message last night from this women whom I used to babysit for. I looked after her 3 children for about 3.5 years while I was going to school in San Francisco. Her text said, "First night with the new sitter... We miss you!!!" I totally started crying when I read this and I have no idea why. Sure, I miss the kids. I spent a lot of time with them, and even though they were heinous little monsters a fair share of that time, I still loved them, and feel partially invested in their lives. I realize that their not MY children, but I THOROUGHLY underestimated how much I would miss them when I moved. 

All the familiar things that were grating on my nerves at home, are things I miss now. Driving through San Anselmo, going over the golden gate bridge, friday nights in the city; I miss all the things that I took for granted, and I'm not really sure what to do about it. Even if I packed up and went home tomorrow, in a few weeks or so, I would be itching to leave again. Crawling in my skin looking for another way out. It isn't about the place I'm in, or where I'm going, it's about me. Something is itching and crawling around inside me, and I can't quite put a finger on what it is. 

I'm realizing more and more that life isn't a series of open and shut, case by case situations. Things ebb and flow, in and out of focus, rarely ending completely, or opening completely. It's as if my entire understanding as to how "things are supposed to be," has blown up in my face, and left a sad little clown, laying on the floor, pointing and laughing at me. Yes I know... Worst.Analogy.Ever. 

Being so far away from everything I've ever known, has bitch-slapped me with the highly unsavory realization that I was hiding in my familiar. I was hiding in the comfort of it all, and I let the fear of venturing beyond my familiar, overtake me. Now that I'm away from this hiding place, it feels like I've been stripped naked, and placed in the middle of a very big and very breezy intersection. My nipples are hard, and if you see me on the street, feel free to drop some change in my cup... that's not a sexual innuendo, although I can see how it could be perceived as one.

I have no where to hide, and for the first time, in a long time, I no longer want to run from myself... besides, I'm a tricky bitch and tragically hard to escape... Trust me, I've been running from myself for YEARS, and I'm always one-step to the right of my shadow; just on the edge of the darkness, desperately trying feel the light.

love you mean it.

Yes, I FAIL... at life... among other things... just know, that I know.

Yes, I totally suck. I haven't written anything since 2009! I promised I would write more, and look what I've done... I'm actually writing less than before. Since only like 5 people read this, I figure no one "really" cares too much anyway.

This time however... I have a legit excuse as to why my blog entries have become so sparse....

*Drum Roll Please*

I MOVED TO AUSTIN, TX!

Not only did I move to Austin, Tx, but I fucking drove there from California... San Francisco, California no less. For the record, that's a motherfucking long-ass drive. I would NOT recommend driving that far, unless you're really into road-trips. I am only 'minorly' into road-trips, and this particular one made me appreciate the invention of "the plane," in ways you can't imagine.

Planes are fucking bad-ass. Thousands of miles can be traveled in mere hours. Oceans crossed in the span of a nap; all while floating through the atmosphere in a giant metal bird. I want my own plane! That would be sick, but it would also make me SUUUUUPER lazy. I would travel by plane everywhere... To the grocery store... To the the fancy dress store... To the liquor store... To pretty much any and all places I frequent, I would no doubt use the plane as my main source of transportation...

"Hmm... 10 minutes to CVS by car... OR 30 SECONDS BY PLANE!?!?"

Saving 9.5 minutes several times a day would add up, let me tell you. I could accumulate whole years of what would have been wasted driving time, if I only used my plane. I guess the obvious problem with this newfangled idea of mine, would be, where would I park my plane? I've thought about it, and decided that I just wouldn't park it. The logical solution to this conundrum would obviously be, to circle above whatever store I needed to go to, and propel out of the plane via a rope and harness. Once my shopping was complete, I would belay myself back on board, and be off to my next destination.

I know what you're thinking: "Wow Bridgette, you have it all figured out!"

I know, and it's true... Sometimes I'm such a genius, I blow my own mind. I bet Jay Leno feels the same way right now... I bet Jay Leno has a plane too! Fuck, I need to find Jay Leno and become his biggest fan and maybe he'll give me his plane so all my wildest dreams will come true. I think he only has like 3 fans left anyway, so being #1 shouldn't be too difficult.

Move over Kanye... There's a new douche in town!

love you mean it.