I guess I am the official badinagoodway advice girl.
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To: stacia@iamafish.org
Subject: YOU GIVE ADVICE?
From: *@mail.com
Date: Thu, Mar 13 2003 01:17:57 PM -0800 (GMT)
What does it feel like to get your wang mouthified?
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Well, last time I checked, I was not equipped with a wang, so I can’t really answer that. Maybe you could check with Wangs-R-Us.
Porn, schmorn. Stolen from a forum:
hxxp://www.clanmlm.com/fun/Sexy_Sarah/Sexy_Sarah.htm
hxxp://www.maria-german-model.com/gallerie-prof.htm
hxxp://www.cdlc-xxx.com/freeforever/index.htm
hxxp://nb.hostmb.com/Balcony/Balcony.html
So, I was going to run into a bitch session about emails from my step crack smoking dad and a recollection of a conversation in his office two years ago while he was getting drunk and taking care of mental patients, but I thought you’d all be more entertained by b00bies.
I wasn’t as successful as I thought I would be. Apparently, I don’t have porn radars and I don’t know how to even find b00ber pictures the entire male world hasn’t seen already.
I was surprised, however, to see that the the first item listed under edible breasts contained an international Harry Potter meetup site. I find that too disturbing actually.
And then I did a search for edible boobs, and discovered that if I had a wishlist, this would be on it. Seriously, a girl can never have too many penis cake pans.
And then my luck increased, and with a little photoshop help, I present:
Blah. Porn’s still boring, and if Justin weren’t so *cough* preoccupied right now, I would just continue on with something else.
Cheers.
Oy. What the hell is wrong with my mother? I don’t generally pick this topic for any kind of discussion, because frankly I haven’t got a whole lot I want to say or elaborate on. I’m moving in three days so I thought a courtesy call to my mom was in order. I haven’t talked to her in a couple months. It’s not that the international call to the US is expensive and makes me go broke, but we usually end up talking for a couple hours and that’s sufficient. So one phone call every 6 to 8 weeks is just fine.
So, I restate, I’m moving. I’m moving in with my boyfriend, because we’ve found an apartment. Moving to a bigger city. I thought maybe my mom would at least be curious as to what’s going on in my life. I was wrong.
“Are you pregnant yet?” – teh mom.
“No! What the fuck?!” – teh eve.
And then she wanted to talk about babies. I’m not having kids any time soon, I’m 19 for God’s sake. I told her she has at least a decade to go before she sees grandkids. I have school and work training to think about, stable housing, a car… and to find a guy that will do more than donate sperm and actually be a father and not leave after a year. Just because I’m moving in with him does not mean we’re going to start our own breeding ground. Good Lord.
We talked for 145 minutes. In that entire time, I spoke for about 20 minutes max. ‘Tis no lie. I ended up lapsing out and just talking to my boyfriend online about how my mom just doesn’t listen.
So as she’s telling me about her marriage problems, about how stubborn her husband is and how he never let’s her get a single word in, I’m there on my own trying to fight to get my own words in. I’ve heard this same damn story every time I’ve called, and for the last 2.5 years that they made the mistake to meet each other and fall in ‘love’ – which personally, I don’t buy it. She never asked about my relationship (except if I was knocked up yet) or about the apartment. And she has the nerve to talk about how her husband never lets her speak, when I’m her daughter calling her for the first time in a couple months with my big news about the apartment and my moon&stars relationship.
I thought moms were supposed to get off on that and she could chow on some coffee and chocolate while chain smoking and just listen for awhile. My bubble’s bursted.
Now I remember why I don’t call home. Argh.
Despite how nice of a person you are, sometimes it’s hard not to notice how easily people can be placed in stereotypes. I was on the road the past couple of days and realized that even though the city I’m moving to is of a substantial size, the population repeats itself. Day to day when you walk down the street, it’s like seeing the same people every day.
So here’s a little break down of the boxes I could make.
Mainstreamers, male and female
They shop at the mainstream stores – the stores that carry the same handful of clothing brands that you can find 20 times in the same shopping lane. You know one when you see one. The guys wear the tight shirts and the fashionable pants, they have their nicely cut jackets that probably cost them half a month’s worth of pay, and their shoes are along the lines of whatever brand costs the most, isn’t sporty, and their overall look if seen in america would be considered clubby or just homosexual. Usually, I just call this bunch the beauty boys.
Then there are the mainstream girls. They’re picking up whatever trends are on the racks for the season. You see them tripping over their own 5 inch heels in any given season, their clothes are so tight you wonder how they actually breathe, and in the winter a thick coat generally appears to not be fashionable enough for them – God forbid they look more than their 90 pound constricted frames.
The disturbing thing about this group is that they are only seen together – only about 10% date or are seen with people that don’t look exactly like them. Both genders are super tanned year around, so in the crowds of paleness they are the orangies. It actually looks terrible, but I guess skin cancer and wrinkles at 35 is hip now or something.
Natural Loungers
This group is not gender specific, they both wear the same clothes – hemp, natural fibers, all in dull colors of t-shirts, super wooly sweaters, and cords or tie-around ankle-length skirts. This is more of a college group than anything else. They also flock together and cook together more than often, because no one understands their ‘save the cows’ motto more than their equals. Needless to say, 75% I’ve met are vegetarians. Often seen unshaved, long haired, and without the extras that consumerism has to spare. The girls almost never wear makeup, they make pottery and do natural crafts in their spare time – something they always seem to have more than enough of. The guys think that water and soap are necessities to be overlooked, and deodorant may also be a disposable item in their toiletry. This particular group of people appears to be the more approachable, but in personally conversing with the person you discover they are actually very close-minded and not accepting of people that do not follow their same values. Also, reggae, ragga, soul filled and angsty are the top choices of music.
Hip-hoppers
I live in the area where German hip-hop was first discovered, created and recorded. You can spot a hip hop kiddie and his or her groupies about 50 miles away. It’s pretty similar to the american brand of little dogs, still nipping at everyone’s heals. They’re the 15 year olds that bring beer to the park and spray the town with their shitty unartistic tag names – eventually they all get caught because they have big mouths. They’re the little assholes that prevent me from sleeping on the train because their minidisc players are blasting whatever new gold-rim car music they could scrounge out of the trash. They think they are the ultimate coolies of the world, that their sagging pants and FUBU will help them live life and fufill their dreams. Every little hiphop kiddie has his g-girl, she’s equallly shabbily dressed and usually sporting a bandana and an oversized coat. I still don’t understand why they all have a habit of spitting, I suppose it’s the human version of a dog pissing on a tree. But they make good for entertainment – unless that is, they never grow up. I’ve seen these cases, and surely these are the worst. Because despite the fact that they add 6+ years to their already 15, they don’t change. They just take it a step farther – they’re the super egos of the party, the super sweaters on the dance floor, the ones with their man-made philosophies that they are their own gods and we need to bow.
Rich Old Women
You smell them before you seem them – either their overpriced department store perfume or their dog’s shit on the sidewalk. Every rich woman seems to either have a dog that’s barely as tall as their shoes, or they have enough fur on their coats, hats, sweaters, scarves, and purses to lay claim to 10 slaughtered animals. Rich old women never go gray, they never go white, they’re branded by super blonde or an all over dark color. They draw in their eyebrows, look haughty at all times like they just stuck the frown pill up their ass, and you can at all times see their dark lipstick creased into their wrinkles. These women are probably lonely and fearing the role mortality plays on them, so they drown out their misery in the showing of money. Oh, and GOLD everything.
Babooshkas
It’s the Russian word for Grandmother. I fit all Middle Eastern women into this category that sport the head coverings and long neck-to-ankle balloon. They don’t speak in public unless it’s to their husbands or female friend – and always in their native language. I honestly think that they play so little of a role in life that they don’t bother to learn German because they have no need. It’s not like their allowed friends besides their countrywomen and male family – or like they’ll ever hold or be allowed to have a job. They dress like the Amish – all dark colors, light colors seem forbidden, if you see a red head scarf it’s almost like seeing a red “A” sewn onto their breasts. Their only unique part is the pattern of their head scarf and their shoes. Both always completely clash with the ultra suppressed woman look.
A Babooshka’s man is also dressed in dark, they don’t speak, they walk with their hands in their pockets and have the facial expression of a car thief looking to score a new ride. Black leather is life’s staple, along with heavy Russian clothing I would die wearing. Any season, they are sweating, and you can smell it.
Homeless Punks
They piss me off. They look like punks and they are too above society to work for the man, but they’re not too good to beg for the man’s money. They have lots of dogs, group together like flies on shit, and pretend to be able to play guitar while they sweat through their holey jeans and black leather jackets. I don’t understand them, I don’t want to. These are the only beggars I have no sympathy for. They choose to not be a part of society except the refuse on the street with an open hand and without a thank you. Fuck them. They can piss off.
Wish They Were Still Young and Thin
Women are ridiculous. Especially women in their late 30s and 40s that think dressing outrageously will make their thighs look smaller. The typical example here, which is country specific, is the whatevertrendwashot3yearsago look for teens – along the lines of that alphabet pants things (writing all over it), lots of bold and bright colors that make you gag – and ALWAYS, their pants are too short. So you have this center of attention thing right from their stretched waistbands down. You see the gut, the thighs that meet until the knees, a cutoff of material somewhere between the knee and ankle and then these really, really horrible shiny colored (red or black) half-boot things. It reminds me of a washed out crack whore or an episode with a morning after sceen of “Absolutely Fabulous.” Kill me now.
Americans in Germany
“Oh My God! That is soooo, like, Germany or something – we have to bring one of those home for mom!!!” I don’t know what happens when the average girl hits German soil, but whatever brain was there to begin with fades into this hyper-talkative, like OMG voice that can be heard two blocks away. They openly comment on everyone they see in a very loud voice, obviously not realizing that 75% of German people can speak English, and that 90% understand it.
American guys like beer, and they’re not afraid to show it. That, or they think they are ultra European the minute they buy some european-styled clothing and can say “Geil!” – which is the German equivalent of “cool.” They’re also known for staring at the girls, commenting on nice asses and creating a loud buzz of headache noise wherever they go.
Everyone else
wallpaper.
Justin is odd, so I know he’ll take this as a compliment.
Some of the readers of BIAGW are seriously messed up. See below.
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To: stacia@iamafish.org
Subject: saw u @ justin’s site!!
From: *****@aol.com
Date: Tue, Mar 05 2003 08:41:45 PM +0800 (GMT)
Can I get pregnant if a guy cums in my mouth?
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FYI: Unless your digestive system has been re-routed to somehow connect to your reproductive system (i.e. the stomach is connected to the fallopian tubes), I think you are safe.
There’s like 4 – 8 inches of new snow out there. Reee!
(Deja vu?)
Don’t you think?
How well do you know me?
Hi. Maybe you know me from p1nk.net or parafly.org, but now I have a website here: Lucky.nu. All compliments can be sent here, at my fanbase: ILoveCici.com. Haha… did you just click on that… well, if you did, you’re a moron. Anywho, the ever so cool Justin said I could post here, so what am I doing? Posting. I’d take the time to plug people, but everyone sucks. Yeah so, I think I’m going to express some cool things here. Unfortunately, I won’t be expressing them now, but sometime in the near future or something. To save you all the trouble, my A/S/L is 75/m/alaska, but montana in the summers. Ok thats all.