4.05.2005
Kicked It in the Sun
It's getting hot here. Up in herrrr. It's going to be 90 by Thursday and after that it's only a matter of weeks until this conflagration of asphalt and plastic surgery becomes hotter than the surface of the sun.
Help me. Even big girls here wear tank tops and tiny tees that read "I Need A Stiffie" and "Porn Star." Oh yeah. It's like that. I went to a patio bar on Sunday and it was like the entire cast of some Jenna Jamison flick rolled up on the back of Harleys. These girls were dressed - or undressed - in outfits so skimpy and ridonkulous that the entire bar couldn't help but turn heads and gawk. J-Lo shades, barely there shorts, pieces of fabric arranged around their enormous plastastic tits. It was a train wreck. You couldn't help but look.
And there seems to be more and more of it with each passing week. Phoenix used to be pretty laid back, but now it's attracting these sun-starved freaks who change their faces/bodies/attitudes and adopt the stripper aesthetic. I think they're nocturnal, too, because you only see them at night. Yeah, I'm going to meet a nice guy when all eyeballs are fixed on the girls with the "I Just Had Sex with 65 Guys" bumper stickers on their asses.
And the guys...oof...summer brings out the yuck factor in Phoenix dudes, too. The shorts come out of the closet. And with the shorts come the retarded T-shirts ("ASU Porn Team - number 69") and the flip flops. Or the mandals. (Man Sandals, for those who aren't in the know.) Or the white sneakers with short white socks. I'm a big fan of the Man Legs but I don't want to see them sticking out of cargo shorts when I'm sitting down to dinner. Or at any other time, really. I like a man in a sweater and levis. Shite, I like Me in a sweater and levis.
I have to leave this shithole. This burned-out burg. I'm taking donations. I have a P.O. Box. Donate. Please.
In other news, my GAWD how I love being a girl. If it wasn't for shoes and the sheer joy of receiving oral pleasure it would be a real losing proposition. A meaningless existence. An existential hell. For the last few days I've felt I the PMS coming on, and yesterday I wore a cute little jacket to work, which buttoned in the morning and by 2 p.m. could not be pulled across my breasts. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? Even the sleeves felt tight and shorter! Trying not to freak out...trying not to freak out...though Sunday I had a total "I have nothing to wear" breakdown between the three-hour, 10-person brunch at Dick's (you gotta love that name) and the porn parade at Dos Gringos. I got guacamole on my shirt & had to go home and change. It took me an hour, four skirts, two pairs of jeans and a dozen shirts to find something that didn't make me want to cry.
Dude. It ain't pretty.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the Puppy is really leaving now. Thursday morning. He pulled up this evening with a u-haul trailer and it made me go all soft inside. I am thrilled - thrilled to get my house/personal space back, but oh man I'm going to miss him. Despite (or is it because of?) our trials and tribulations (which were a minor part of 2 months of really good times) I'm going to miss him. I'll miss his smell. I'll miss his musk. (If you haven't seen Anchorman my GOD that's creepy, huh?) He is but one of two people ever in my life that I have felt an honest, unpredicated, no-strings-attached platonic affection for - the other one being Our Little Lisa out there in Japan - and he drives me crazy/makes me adore him the same way she does.
I like 'em kooky. What can I do.
Help me. Even big girls here wear tank tops and tiny tees that read "I Need A Stiffie" and "Porn Star." Oh yeah. It's like that. I went to a patio bar on Sunday and it was like the entire cast of some Jenna Jamison flick rolled up on the back of Harleys. These girls were dressed - or undressed - in outfits so skimpy and ridonkulous that the entire bar couldn't help but turn heads and gawk. J-Lo shades, barely there shorts, pieces of fabric arranged around their enormous plastastic tits. It was a train wreck. You couldn't help but look.
And there seems to be more and more of it with each passing week. Phoenix used to be pretty laid back, but now it's attracting these sun-starved freaks who change their faces/bodies/attitudes and adopt the stripper aesthetic. I think they're nocturnal, too, because you only see them at night. Yeah, I'm going to meet a nice guy when all eyeballs are fixed on the girls with the "I Just Had Sex with 65 Guys" bumper stickers on their asses.
And the guys...oof...summer brings out the yuck factor in Phoenix dudes, too. The shorts come out of the closet. And with the shorts come the retarded T-shirts ("ASU Porn Team - number 69") and the flip flops. Or the mandals. (Man Sandals, for those who aren't in the know.) Or the white sneakers with short white socks. I'm a big fan of the Man Legs but I don't want to see them sticking out of cargo shorts when I'm sitting down to dinner. Or at any other time, really. I like a man in a sweater and levis. Shite, I like Me in a sweater and levis.
I have to leave this shithole. This burned-out burg. I'm taking donations. I have a P.O. Box. Donate. Please.
In other news, my GAWD how I love being a girl. If it wasn't for shoes and the sheer joy of receiving oral pleasure it would be a real losing proposition. A meaningless existence. An existential hell. For the last few days I've felt I the PMS coming on, and yesterday I wore a cute little jacket to work, which buttoned in the morning and by 2 p.m. could not be pulled across my breasts. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? Even the sleeves felt tight and shorter! Trying not to freak out...trying not to freak out...though Sunday I had a total "I have nothing to wear" breakdown between the three-hour, 10-person brunch at Dick's (you gotta love that name) and the porn parade at Dos Gringos. I got guacamole on my shirt & had to go home and change. It took me an hour, four skirts, two pairs of jeans and a dozen shirts to find something that didn't make me want to cry.
Dude. It ain't pretty.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the Puppy is really leaving now. Thursday morning. He pulled up this evening with a u-haul trailer and it made me go all soft inside. I am thrilled - thrilled to get my house/personal space back, but oh man I'm going to miss him. Despite (or is it because of?) our trials and tribulations (which were a minor part of 2 months of really good times) I'm going to miss him. I'll miss his smell. I'll miss his musk. (If you haven't seen Anchorman my GOD that's creepy, huh?) He is but one of two people ever in my life that I have felt an honest, unpredicated, no-strings-attached platonic affection for - the other one being Our Little Lisa out there in Japan - and he drives me crazy/makes me adore him the same way she does.
I like 'em kooky. What can I do.
