this is paulie

I am going to stab myself

2012-02-12T19:29:00.000-08:00

NOT

REALLY

But, I mean, I stopped taking my anti-depressants recently because they were fucking up my life (anxiety attacks that last 2+ hours? At least once a week? No thank you) and they've completely worn off just in time for the best time of year to feel lonely (Valentine's Day) and shitty about whatever relationship state you are or are not in.

So I'm back to my old self, who is a dude who likes doing shitty stuff, and I could blame my ex girlfriend (The Ex) for ruining my life, but really it's my fault so yeah whatever I slept with her again and then we had a really big fight in the morning and then I came home and ate some candy and did some chain smoking to make myself feel better, but it didn't really work that well because she still hates me and I still hate her for hating me even though I don't actually hate her, but still deep down kind of love her and want everything to be like it used to be I'M SORRY I HAVE FEELINGS GODDAMNIT.

Now I'm experiencing a sugar crash and I can't stop coughing and I have an angry text that I haven't replied to yet which is just like looooooooooming and loooooooooooooooooooming.

I might pay Adam to reply for me. I don't want to deal with this shit.

No, I mean, I'll do it, but I'm not going to like it.

I don't think any of this was worth it.

on being a buried romantic with insomnia

2012-02-09T18:36:00.001-08:00

So I have insomnia, and have for a while now. And last night, some time between when I went to bed (1 am) and when I finally fell asleep (6 am), I realised I sleep in the same position if I'm sleeping alone, or with someone else.

That is, the ideal position for me to fall asleep in is meant to include someone else.

Safe to say, that made me really melancholy.

Maybe it's an observation I should ignore because I made it while deliriously tired, but there's something there--the fact that I can only fall asleep in one exact position, that I've been sleeping this way for as long as I can remember. It seems to suggest irrefutably, to me, that we are not supposed to be alone.

You might disagree. That's okay. I know I'm a hopeless, really kind of tender and soppy romantic deep down (really really really deep down) when it comes to things like this. And sometimes it sounds stupid and I probably shouldn't bring it up . . .

And it was odd, lying there and thinking about how once, what seems like a very long time ago, I was in a serious relationship. For like four and a half years.

Usually, I don't want to ever go back to that.

But then there are times like this, when that's all I want.

This post is probably brought to you by the fact that I stopped taking one of my meds and am having moodswings again.

At any rate, it is valid, and Valentine's Day coming up is making this a shitty time to be aware of my own loneliness.

ALSO:

I can't seem to comment on bloggers blogs anymore. It just doesn't work for some reason. I will read and cherish EACH FUCKING COMMENT like nobody's business, but I won't be able to reply.

Paulie's Boring Post About Shit Like Dandruff and Starfucker

2012-02-08T23:47:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty boring without substance abuse. That's why the blog's a ghost town. I have no stories.

So instead of interesting stories, here are some uninteresting facts about your creepy old friend.

1. I have dandruff

It is a nice thing to have. Nothing gets rid of it, so, you know, I just live with it.

2. I haven't had coffee in like a month.

Just don't feel like drinking coffee I guess.

3. I hit myself in the head with a ladder the other day.

Not very hard at all. But it happened. And it was funny because I was trying to have a serious conversation with my housemate and then, yeah, ladder to the face.

4. Oh right, I moved.

My friend Adam and I are living together. The apartment is nice. It has a bathtub, which I have definitely broken in in at least two ways. I haven't had sex in it yet, though, and once that happens it'll be broken in all the way and it will also be my territory. Like I will own it in some kind of magical way.

Adam's definitely not going to have sex in it. Not before me.

Goddamit.

Now we're competing and he doesn't even know about it.

If I don't tell him, though, he won't try to win.

Okay. Good plan.

5. Facts about Adam:

I realise you guys don't really know who this guy is. WELL WELL:

a: he's 27, like I am. He is tall and has dark hair and is pretty good looking, but straight. He isn't comfortable with me making jokes about how we are gay together. It's really funny, but he doesn't think so yet. He will. One day. Either that, or he'll kill me.

b: he has a really hot younger sister. But she's had the same boyfriend since she was like 16 and is religious and so, you know, that's a lost cause. Also remember how I'm supposed to leave my friends' younger siblings alone? Remember Abigail? HOLY SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT HER. Fucking hell that was a rough time of my life I tell you what.

c: he's a foodie. He goes between being vegan to eating whole foods, to living off of hamburgers for weeks. Basically we are food soulmates. Because I do the same kind of shit. So we've been here about a week and so far the kitchen is always full of something good to eat. It's excellent.

d: he's a more normal guy than I am. Which means that he plays video games sometimes.

e: he used to be a Christian, but now he's a Buddhist.

f: he really, really likes racoons.

g: he works at an after-school program for kids doing . . . something. I don't know what he does with the kids. I don't know what anyone does with kids. Probably makes them read shit. Like books.

h: he didn't know I was bi and, while of course he's okay with it, he told me he has no idea how I do it because "penises are so, so, so gross. Oh my god, I can't even think about it."

It was funny, but also kind of sad. For the penises.

(you are handsome body parts. don't let anybody tell you otherwise)

6. The most recent album I bought was Starfucker's "Reptilians"

And I hate myself for waiting this long to get it because listening to it is THE CLOSEST THING to an eargasm ever.

Holy.

Fuck.

This album is fucking excellent. And really sexy. And it makes me want a boyfriend so much that I can't listen to it sometimes.

Which is weird.

But I still listen to it.

Then I get kind of sad, thinking about lovely boys . . .

But then, I'm listening to Reptilians, and I love it, and am kind of happy anyway.

7. Yeah, so I dated a coworker for a while, and then we broke up.

I was having a rough time with my mental health and was having lots of anxiety attacks which would ruin our dates and shit, and she didn't want a boyfriend who was "kinda weird".

It was a bit hurtful.

We're on good terms now. That was kind of an assholey thing for her to do, but . . . I'm being civil, I guess. I mean, I have to, because we work together.

8. So I'm taking a break from women.

That's what I'm telling myself, at least.

And you're like, "oh, well, Paulie, it's not like the ladies are throwing themselves at you" and I'm like "THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK."

Naw, but there are always stupid people bothering me about, like, "we should hang out" and blah blah blah . . .

9. Rachel just left to spend about three weeks in Idaho.

She has a cousin there who's getting married. I don't know why she's staying for three weeks, but . . .

Anyway, she is evidently still interested in me? We hung out about a week ago and . . . it was weird at points and some things kind of happened but anyway.

Our relationship is always going to be a bit weird.

We'll probably be friends for a very, very long time, and always have weird shit happening, but I don't think we'll ever actually have sex.

And this is a good place to stop this post.

an abandoned post from October, 2011

2012-02-08T22:55:00.001-08:00

Wandering around a store the other day, saw the Halloween section. And you know, they have those shitty costumes out now. One of them was called . . . "Fantastical Alice" or something, and all I could think was, "what's so fantastical about that Alice? That she can deep throat? cause that's all that outfit's saying to me right now."

I realise this could be offensive.

But I mean really now.

fill in the blank with "fuck" : A LOVE LETTER

2012-02-05T21:56:00.000-08:00

Dear fuck,

I fuck you. You have a nice fuck. You make me fuck. You   should fuck. Someday I will fuck. You + me = fuck.   If I saw you now I’d fuck. I want to fuck you. I   would build a fuck just for you. If I could sing you any song it would be fuck.   We could fuck under the stars.   

Love,  fuck

(P.S. fuuuuuuck.)

This is kind of romantic, right?

Paulie tries to the best of his abilities to recount an article about the top ten sex records in the world

2012-01-20T17:28:00.000-08:00

I was a little bit high when I read this article last night. Let's see what I remember.

I will try not to bring personal info into this list. I will try really really hard.

1. Biggest Dick

Okay, so it seems like the biggest one on record is 14.5" and the largest living one--or, I guess, the largest one on someone who is alive--is 13.5".

Right. So. That's, like, really big. 13 and a half inches isn't a lot of inches when you're talking about most things, like trees or children or whatever, but you get out your ruler and then really think about that.

Shit

Is

Ridiculous

At that point, it really is an extra limb. It's not a joke, and it can hurt you.

2. Biggest Vagina

I don't know what this one means.

Okay, but. Listen. There was something about a 26 pound baby and its skull, and the vagina was 19"? I guess that means around? Circumference? Like . . . I don't know what it was talking about.

It was on a giant(ess), who was like 7 feet tall, and, to be honest, I feel like that's cheating. I mean, kudos to her, but obviously you are going to win. Because you are a giant.

3. Strongest Vagina

This is frightening, but some lady can lift like thirty something pounds with her vagina.

This also means that she can probably turn your cock into pâté.

4. Longest Masturbating Session (male)

I feel like it's kind of obvious that this one's from Japan. What other country would hold an annual Jerk-Off-A-Thon [not its real name] so people can try to break this record?

Anyway so some dude thought about baseball for a little over 9 and a half hours.

I don't like thinking about that.

5. The Most Sexual Relations In One Day (or something like that)

This one lady at this orgy thing had sex with 910 men, I think, in a day. Or 24 hours or something.

My record is 3.

Moving on.

6. Biggest Orgy

500 people. Obviously Japan's doing. They organise these sorts of things all the time???

7. The Jizz Race
I couldn't think of the official title of this record, so I came up with one on my own. But some guy evidently can ejaculate a distance of EIGHTEEN FEET.

I know, you thought that one time a few years ago was really impressive, and then some asshole is like "Oh, yeah, 18 feet? NBD."

The same guy also holds the record for the fastest jizz shooting (what are the official terms for this?!), which is 47 mph.

At this point, you give up any hope of being a side show in a really disturbing kind of circus and face the fact that your jizz is going to get you nowhere in life.

8. Something about a gang bang?

I can't remember this one.

9. Something about babies?

hmmmm... yeah...

10. Oldest Dad

90 years old.

Ew?

THAT'S IT TA-DAH!

yesssssssssssss

2011-11-23T21:28:00.000-08:00

from Street Peeper

I don't blog about fashion or clothes because I'm too lazy to.

BUT THEN THIS -- fuuuuuuuuck, there's something so great about that Rottweiler Givenchy sweater. And the holey jeans. And the white collared shirt. And the leather arms! LEATHER ARMS!

I think I have to get someone to switch out the arms on my peacoat with a pair from one of my many, many leather jackets.

Maybe the one with all the studs . . . TOO MUCH?

NO SUCH THING.

I forget that you have no idea that I usually look like I got dressed by an insane or blind person. My fashion is anywhere from "gay lumberjack" to "goth detective", "mgmt" to "mod punk", sprinkled usually with "yes I stole this jewelery from my ex girlfriend".

I dunno. Anyway. I look like a fucking maniac. I'd wear that outfit. Just so damn classy.

portrait d'une femme / affiche d'une fille

2011-11-22T23:46:00.000-08:00

The gf kindly let me draw her, though refused to pose for a profile view to make a proper 3-pose collection.

The one on the left is the more accurate of the two. In real life, she doesn't look quite as old as she does in the right-hand drawing.

Anyway, pleased that she doesn't mind being drawn. I was kind of ready to have to draw her while she was sleeping, which is a bit creepy, especially if you've only been dating for a few days.

something more than you

2011-11-22T03:34:00.000-08:00

At bus stops, I stand downwind of smokers. On the street, I pass them and the smell wafts by in a dream of tobacco and nicotine, reminiscent of hot ash and calmed nerves.

Old coats, shirts I thought I'd lost over the summer, my striped knit gloves all have the scent, stamped in the fibres from so many years of so many cigarettes.

It's the perfume of a departed loved one. Sometimes it haunts your own room, your own bedclothes, and your own mind -- so much so, you even smell flashes of it in the shower. But maybe they aren't dead, aren't departed -- but somewhere far away, their scent staining the skin, the hair, the hands of a stranger.

The receptionist at work smokes. I hang around her desk too often, I know that. We used to take smoke breaks together and she'd tell me about her dog, the bike her brother was fixing up for her. Inside, she burns a candle that covers up the smell of menthols, but close enough, in the kitchen at lunch, it's there.

She tastes like flat ash. The menthol is only a smell that doesn't last long. Flat ash and an old fashioned, after a date of watching her smoke, watching her drink.

She smokes outside, on my balcony, as a courtesy. I almost wish she wouldn't, just so I could watch. But no -- she'll smoke outside. She ruffles my hair and walks out wrapped in a blanket. She flicks the cigarette into the courtyard when she's done. Doesn't snub it out in the ashtray I brought back out of hiding for her, even though I wish she would. Seeing a dead cigarette in the ashtray on my bedside table would be a relief. Something normal.

None of this is normal.

It's thirty-six degrees outside, and she comes back in with a freezing nose, freezing lips, freezing hands. Too cold to touch, really -- so cold she feels like melting ice. Possibly wet, but too cold to tell. I kiss her anyway.

We decide we'll go to work together in the morning. Doesn't matter what she's wearing, what people think. We'll take the bus together in the morning, and as we wait at the bus stop, I'll stand downwind of her, my new girlfriend; second-hand smoke.

this is just a really long post. To your attention span, I say: I AM SORRY

2011-11-16T21:07:00.000-08:00

It's very safe to say that I've changed my lifestyle, and it's also very safe to say that because of it all I do anymore is alternate between 'miserable', 'bored', and 'at work' (with variables of the first two in the third.)

In the absence of partying, alcohol, cigarettes, porn*, and my ex/not-ex girlfriend**, I have very little to fill my time with.

I couldn't tell you what I do anymore.

I go through awful withdrawal periods, from any of the above. I can't really sleep anymore. I don't eat much, though I never really have, and have lost almost all of my interest in cooking.

I just kind of am.

I watch twitter. Tweet things and then delete them. Delete and then reactivate my facebook almost every other day. Browse tumblr.

And somehow, it's November. Not even early November, but half way through. I have to face the holidays soon--now, really, as christmas already vomited ALL OVER the stores. The entire nation is going to be forcing states of good cheer, sentimentality and We Love Our Family on everyone, and I have to put up with that while combatting this pervasive emptiness.

It's part of Borderline Personality Disorder, which I either have at a high functioning level, or I'm right on the border of having (and therefor have a "borderline personality type").

The disorder explains the emptiness, the impulsive, self-distructive behavior, the inability to control my anger, this fractured self-image. Evidently, I've had this for some time, but was only officially diagnosed about a month and a half ago.

I'm in therapy for it and . . . everything else that's wrong with me, and I have my few friends that have been able to put up with me, and that's about it.

My relationship with Sadie I think wounded me in a way where I'll never really love again. Or, at least, not the right way. My relationship with my best friend, Rachel, has always been slightly unhealthy, with no clear boundaries and lots of "filling the boyfriend/girlfriend" gap without, you know, actually dating and being a real couple. Things are different now, and part of me misses how close we were, but I know it's for the best. She doesn't love me, I need to stop idealising her and . . . well, anyway #saveitfortherapy

So, these days, I'm only mildly depressed. Generally discontent. I work through it with a lot of self medicating (coughtoomuchpotcough), and a lot of stupid humor. I dedicate a lot of time to trying to figure out what I actually like doing, and trying to do that.

But it's difficult. All of this is difficult and morose and I'm doing everything I can to keep myself from that impulsive, damaged mindset that will see me trying to kill myself again. I think I warded one of those off this past weekend, as Rachel was kind enough to let me live on her couch. (Thanks dear, you're one in a million.)

Anyway, long post, nothing really new, and, I know, nothing funny. That's okay. Just wanted to let all of you know what's going on.

Which is a lot of nothing.

So you should email me! About anything! I will email you back (woaaahhhhh) and we will be pals.

My email's up there tot he right. Yeah, just . . . right there. Yeah. Yeah. Oh yeah.

Ha. okay, Paulie, get off the computer.
Okay.

*I cut that out, too, which I haven't really talked much about. I stopped because I just didn't like what it was doing to my head. Also made me kinda sad . . . but everything does, so that's probably not news. But yeah, porn is kind of awful. Even though I miss certain types of it . . .

** no, she's not "gone" as in dead. I didn't kill my ex girlfriend. I don't know where you heard that. She's still alive. Being an asshole to someone else, I suppose.

this is why I worry about myself

2011-11-08T01:03:00.000-08:00

I like taking things said online out of context. It's a hobby. One I have a section in my notebook for.

Five minutes ago this was the funniest thing I'd ever read and I was laughing so hard I was crying.

"idk my biggest fear is choking 2 death and/or laughing while giving someone a blow job."

And now I'm like "wut."

Specifically "what is wrong with you, Paulie? That's . . . it's not that funny."

But now it's in my notebook forever cause I wrote it in pen and shit.

I don't know if it's funnier if you know it was written by a guy, and that he was originally talking about eating large pickles.

Anyway.

when it shitrains it comes in threes

2011-11-08T00:33:00.000-08:00

This post has nothing to do with:

-shit
-rain
-or anything bad

It DOES however have something to do with "threes" as in there are three topics and also yes, I was trying to think of a saying about things in threes and couldn't remember any so I just made something up on my own.

Do you like it?

TOPIC ONE:

Death Cab For Cutie. Ah luhvs them for reals, for forever. The only thing that would make their album You Can Play These Songs With Chords better is if I had someone to make out with while listening to it. The making out can be with a girl or a guy or anything in between, and it doesn't have to go anywhere, it just needs to happen. Like now. While listening to You Can Play These Songs With Chords.

Obviously, discussing how FUCKING GREAT THAT ALBUM IS is not only okay, but highly encouraged.

Seriously, though, how great is that album? I want to have its babies.

TOPIC TWO:

We usually aren't what we claim to be, and are what we claim not to be.

The other day, I was like, "I'm not a pothead."

And then I was like, "Oh."

There's always something in my life I'm doing too much of. I guess it could be worse/less entertaining for everyone else?

But . . . you know, Justin Bieber probably is made of old footballs & hay. How could I be wrong about that?

TOPIC THREE:

I don't understand the whole "bad girl/boy" sex thing. Like, oh you've been bad and want to be punished? Uhm, then I am definitely not going to have sex with you.

Because, you guys do realise by asking someone if they want to be punished, and then having sex with them is just insulting yourself.

I probably don't understand the dynamic of this but then I don't want to.

Paulie Decodes Internet Acronyms

2011-11-04T03:01:00.000-07:00

LOL: Way back in the day it meant "lots of love" and "laughing out loud". Now it means "the number of times I use this is the number of times you are allowed to punch me in the face."

Acceptable versions: #lulz (really lazy amusement) and lololololololololol, which is acceptable because it acknowledges the misuse and exaggeration of LOL and just goes apeshit with it. A lolololololololololol might actually mean that you--woah--laughed out loud.

ily: see this post

GPOY: literally means: "Gratuitous Picture of Yourself." Used mainly on tumblr in captioning a picture somehow related to cats, loneliness, or a photo of someone displaying a very bad, but TOTES OMG FUNNY, trait you have. Like killing babies.

In the end, all it really means is: "OH EM GEE I AM THE ONLY PERSON ON TUMBLR WHO LIKES CATS I'm totes so unique and funny love me????!!!!!11!!!!"

IDEHTW: "I Don't Even Have The Words", but you do have an annoying acronym for it. Thanks.

IMHO: "In My Humble Opinion" means "Get Ready To Hear How I Am Right And How You Are Not"

BTW: "By The Way" means "Oh And Here Are My Real Feelings/What I'm Really Getting At But Trying To Hide". Watch out for this one, guys.

FTW: "For The Win/Fuck The World" does anyone use this anymore? It feels really 2009 to me.

WTF: "What The Fuck". Only effectively used when not followed by a question mark. Only amateurs still use the question mark and capitalise it.

wtf = perfect, stunned into silence, absolute whattthefuckery

WTF? = grandpa just heard about Lady Caca.

IDGAF: "I Don't Give A Fuck" means "My Apathy Makes Me Cooler Than You. OBVIOUSLY". Pronounced "eye-dee-gafff" and is accompanied by a shrugging motion.

IRL: "In Real Life" means "That Place Where I Am Not As Good Looking As I Am In The Photos I Post Online"

OMG: literally means: "Oh My God" and is only okay to use in a satirical or clearly exaggerating way. If someone says it "Oh Emm Gee" you get to piss in their hair.

Know of any I missed?

ily

2011-11-04T02:17:00.000-07:00

My favorite new acronym:

ily

Means: "I love you". Used only in lowercase, pronounced "ahluhyoo", it is the perfect way to drunkenly express affection.

ily baby. ba-hic-by, ily. lezzzzzfuck.

ily.

I miss drinking.

cool people, they have birthdays ON HALLOWEEN

2011-10-31T00:59:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to my best online friend, Lisa STULL![more exclamation marks here] The fact that you put up with me in any and all levels of sobriety, and trust me with your home address are some of the many reasons you are one of the Best.

If I listed your good qualities & complimented you loads, I would feel a bit like I was coming on to you, so we will do this instead:

this was the first image that came up when I googled "happy birthday Lisa". Question is, though, do you fancy Hugh Laurie? Let me know if you don't. I can find a better photo if this one is unsatisfactory.

WE WILL GO OVER ALL THE GOODTIMES!

Like that one time you were like "I'm getting divorced" and I was like, "What. I didn't even know you were married?"

THAT WAS HILARIOUS. (We were particularily close at that time. OBVS.)

Or that first email I ever sent you, which was a complete list of everyone I had ever slept with. I was paying you back for something. I don't remember what, though.

Or when you went on vacation earlier this year and everyone thought you were coming to visit me because they thought we were dating. AND THAT I WAS REAL.

Or what about "starfusch"?

Or that time I emailed you while I was on [insert drug].

Or that time when I got a concussion and I kept on telling you on twitter that I had a concussion because I couldn't remember that I'd already told you.

Or when we figured out my spirit animal was a ferret.

Or when I drew you a picture of myself as King of the Deer, and mailed it to you, and you fucking framed it and shit.

Or when you bought me a mug with my face on it, and some of my favorite words. (Cock. Dick. Shit. Fuck.)

Or when I sent you a huge letter that was all drawings, with stupid little caricatures of my ex girlfriends and a shitty recipe for chocolate pie.

Or when you sent me a recording of you singing the "poo poo herp a derp" song.

Or that one time when it was your birthday and I wrote you an awesome birthday post.

Yeah, that one was probably the best.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappy Birthday Lisa. Marie. Presley. Ha. Ha.

Don't tell me things, I will spread them all over the internets.

I love you in a not creepy way* and hope you have an excellent birthday today.

I like this cake a lot. It looks nice.

*creepy way: carving your name into my arm**. That is not something I have done. Yet.

**this one girl I went to school with carved 'Blink 182' into her arm cause she just loved them so much and she was good at making decisions.

halloween 2011

2011-10-30T22:25:00.000-07:00

This year, my best friend (Wade), his wife (Grace) and their four month old (Ethan) came over last night to celebrate by watching Shaun of the Dead with me. Rachel, who is talking to me again as of this month, wasn't sure if she was coming over or not, but by the time 11 o'clock rolled around, oh boy did she come over.
Drunk.

Drunk.

Drunk.

She came straight from a Halloween party, in a black wiggle dress (yes, I know what those are) and cat ears and tail and, frankly, it was all very attractive. Those shining eyes, the stumbling around in her heels, the messy hair.

I didn't know just how amazingly and far gone drunk she was until she sat next to me and started working her way into trying to cuddle with me. She had zero interest in watching the movie; only seemed to want to play with my hair and try to snuggle and wrap all her limbs around me and so on and so forth.

Sober Rachel has no interest in me, which we all know. Drunk Rachel, however, thinks I'm the sexiest thing alive and will be slightly aggressive in trying to get her point across.

So I spent a good while pushing her away, and telling her to be quiet and stop touching me. She got upset and went into the bathroom, where she somehow broke the mirror. The thing crashed down off of the wall, and shattered all over the counter and floor (everything in the apartment is breaking, so I wasn't surprised, really.)

When I was in there cleaning it up, Rachel stood by and tearfully started ranting at me about what is wrong with me, and our relationship, and every time I looked even the slightest bit angry at what she was saying she yelled "I'LL PAY FOR THE GODDAMNED MIRROR, ALRIGHT?"

I kept on telling her that she was really drunk and needed to go home and that we could talk about this later, when she was sober. She kept on saying that she knew she was drunk, but she was totally sober enough to be completely right and to be making decisions.

The party died after some more harsh words about how I have no morals, and was a hypocrite &c. &c., and Wade took her home.

I haven't heard from her since last night.

All this, and I'm still in love with her. Maybe even more so. You see, I was the sober one this time, she was the drunk one, and I realised just how much of a saint she was to put up with me when I was like that all the time. Breaking things, being an idiot, yelling and crying and trying to convince her to love me.

God help me. This woman's going to be the end of me.

Happy Halloween, guys. This one was aces.

future boyfriend(?)

2011-10-28T02:28:00.000-07:00

I drew this for Lisa last night because I was still kind of stoned and was like hey, let's commemorate my love [read: lust] for Simon Amstell with a shitty cartoon of him surrounded by a bunch of hearts and wavy lines of hotness.

Impresonating a preteen girl aside, I am recently very open to the idea of having a boyfriend. A conversation on twitter about peanut butter got way out of hand and I just decided yes, okay, looking for a boyfriend now.

So far "looking for a boyfriend" involves a lot of sitting on the couch and thinking about looking for a boyfriend.

And bothering Marjoram about possible siblings, cousins and the hotness and sexuality of said relatives.

If I don't ever get a boyfriend, I guess I'll go back to my Amish wife dream*.

*not an actual dream.

I just needed to share this with everyone

2011-10-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

FOUR POINT FIVE, BITCHES

2011-10-20T23:39:00.000-07:00

It's been almost four and a half months since I last had a cigarette, any alcohol, or any, let's say, proper drug. Your precious drunken, fucked up, "thinks he's in an alternate dimension" Paulie is becoming but a memory, which is why the tales round these parts have slowed down to, well, a complete stop.

I'm okay with this.

I like waking up, at home, on the weekends without hangovers, being able to remember every single terminally bored second of the night before. I like being able to taste my food, and being able to hang out with friends without having to go outside to smoke every other goddamned minute. I miss not the whiskey shits, the running-from-cops-because-they-want-to-arrest-me-for-indecent-exposure*, or regretting that I'm almost always lucid enough while drunk to use my phone.

It's not all peaches, though. In the aftermath of cold-turkeying yourself from a heavy drinking habit, I'm . . . a bit more unstable. We'll just say that. Emotionally, mentally, sleep-ally?

Primarily, I can't sleep much anymore. Secondarily, I am insane.

Mood swings, irrationality, lots of crying, you know because, let's say, my passport is expired and I want to go to Japan to see if it's just like in Lost in Translation, but I can't go because my fucking passport is expired, and it's just so much money to renew it and I have to go do it myfuckingself, but I know I'm a terrible human being that is just too damn lazy to renew his passport so I'll be stuck in this country FOREVERRRRR and I'll NEVER GET TO GO ANYWHERE AGAIN I MIGHT AS WELL JUST DIE RIGHT NOW.

Then, two seconds later, I'm completely okay and a sandwich will solve everything.

So I eat a sandwich.

And I watch tv. Listen to music. Haunt tumblr. Feel fine.

Then . . . then I see a picture of something--almost anything (sometimes it's the most random shit)--and it starts up again.

Crazy.

Towns.

This used to happen all the time, but now that I'm at four and a half months (no, not the pregnant kind), it's becoming more spaced out. Once a week seems to be the average now.

I'm facing it with humor, which makes me look a bit more insane, I'm sure, because I'm crying about a passport while laughing at myself for crying about a passport.

Well, the cat's the only one around to see it, and she doesn't seem to mind. The ex is gone again. For some reason . . . why did we break up?

Wait, why were we even dating . . . ?

Anyway, FUCK YEAH four and a half months sober and oh my god I have no social life someone please get me out of my apartment I'll do anything.

Yaaaay.

*this has only happened once. That I can remember.

"bleeding hipster" or "OH MAH GAWD" or "my face is in this one"

2011-10-17T01:22:00.000-07:00

The internet is cuh-razy, kids. You go over to a friend's house on Saturday night and by Sunday there are fucking PICTURES OF IT ONLINE ALREADY.

Anyway, I used one of those photos for that up therr, which is me, in my new glasses.

That is what I look like these days I guess. Like a bleeding hipster. OH MAH GAWD.

back for one night and one night only, it's "Paulie Doling Out Advice"

2011-10-05T21:27:00.000-07:00

1. Don't trust a restaurant that does kids' meals.

An establishment that has anything that caters specifically to children is the first sign that they've not just sold their soul to capitalism, but are proud of it, and probably have videotaped it so they can get off to it later.

Take your business somewhere else.

2. Likewise, don't give business to a corporation that uses "ironic sexism" or "retro sexism" in their ads.

Right, because it's okay to be sexist as long as they know that I know that they're being sexist. They're just trying to sell something, right? It's harmless, right? And, like, funny or some shit?

It's not. There are really stupid and impressionable people in this world, and most of them are children. I don't have kids, and it's likely I never will, but I'd hate having to figure out a way to explain, or avoid explaining, a "smell my fingers joke" a six year old heard in an ad for hair gel. It's not that they don't need to be exposed to the idea of sex at a young age, it's that they don't need to be exposed to objectification and sexism at a young age, nor do they need its accompanying message that their self-worth comes from sex.

But then, no one needs that message. Even adults.

And not only is objectification and sexism in advertising offensive, it's unoriginal. Find a better way to advertise or--hey--don't advertise at all.

3. Aim for the impossible.

Sometimes, in order to be a good boyfriend, you have to do just this. Why? Because your girlfriend's on her period and your breathing makes her angry. So you have to stop doing that so she won't hit you.

and if that doesn't work:

4. Use flowers to help cover up your mistakes in a relationship.

A few seeds now, and come spring no one will know there's a shallow grave under your perennials.

let's get you some valium

2011-10-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

Where's my goddamned hot water? Hot water, Carl.

How do I sex thee? Let me count the ways

2011-09-30T16:36:00.000-07:00

"sexual intercourse"

This is what they taught you about in school. It was explained in a very scientific way and made to look like it wasn't something you'd want to do. But then, I imagine if you did just put your penis in a vagina and just kind of waited for something to happen, you know, no moving around or anything, it might not be anything worth talking about.

No one has sexual intercourse. Except maybe geography teachers.

"having sex"

Having sex is like having a bad hair day. You didn't plan on it, but it's happening and you have to deal with it.

As I see it, having sex only happens when you're drunk, or when you're losing your virginity. In both cases, you're probably bumbling around and thinking OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD in some kind of voice in your head, either terrified or excited or both, because you just can't believe this is happening.

But it is. And you have to forge through all that fucking alcohol you drank, or your complete lack of previous experience, to try and make it work. What is this? What does it do? Where does this go? Is it supposed to look like that? Oh wait, I'm trying to fuck a bowl of soup.

"getting laid"

Getting laid is something that happens when you're outside of a relationship, or you're in a relationship and haven't slept together yet. Getting laid is that initiation into (hopefully) more regular sex with someone. After you get laid, it's called something else. Hopefully that "something else" is not "sexual intercourse."

Getting laid takes a lot of cunning, a lot of good grooming, a lot of good breath and good shoes and just the right mix of being an asshole (read: Bad Boy) and alcohol. Not too much alcohol now, because you don't want Jack Daniels taking your boner on holiday and leaving behind a shamefully unresponsive grower-not-a-shower.

Getting laid is a precious gift, bestowed upon men everywhere by those of the fairer sex (or by other dudes, that's fine.)

"fucking"

Fucking is really good, or really assholey. It's something men do to "bitches" and tell all their "bros" about, or it's what happens when your girlfriend texts you a picture of her tits while you're at work, and all day it slowly chips away at your sanity until you rush over to hers after work and you fuck. There's a lot of passion behind it, which is why hatefucking is also a thing. There's not necessarily a lot of emotions in the "feeeeeeeelings" kind of way, which is why there's drunk fucking and the kind of fucking that bros do. I imagine.

"making love"

This is the kind of thing that you do when you're in love. Or in the movies. In the movies the lighting is really good, there's lots of just rolling around for some reason, lots of clever camera angles so you don't see anyone's taint or fat rolls, and everyone just looks gorgeous doing it, like not at all bored or like they have to fart.

In real life it's all lovey and shit. Feelings happen I guess. Maybe you are rolling around, maybe you're talking about stars and eyes and shit, or maybe you're just being more attentive so you can get all those bonus points for when all them multiple orgasms hit.

"making a beast with two backs"

This only applies to characters in a Shakespeare play who are, presumably, going at it doggy style.

You want me to be more specific than that? GET OUTTA HERE.

"bumping uglies"

Anyone feel like this is a high school thing? Like this is probably having okay sex with someone when you're in high school. You're probably on someone's old gross couch in a garage or in a basement, while your or your sexual partner's younger sibling is in the house, within earshot, watching tv and eating Cheetoes and may, any second, for some stupid reason, walk in on you.

Calling it "bumping uglies" is the kind of thing you might say if girls stopped grossing you out as of last week. Or if you're an adult and you want to express your solid distaste in what happened with your uglies, and someone else's uglies last night. "We bumped them together. Eugh. Not doing that again."

"going at it"

It's probably just enthusiastic, quick sex in a closet in someone else's house at a graduation party. I would not be surprised if a good amount of panting and worrying about getting caught is going on. Going at it is fucking's neurotic cousin.

SEXY.

Not mentioned: any of the terms for sex used in Borat. Those are used only to describe the sex that person is definitely not having.

many thanks to Marjorie for helping come up with some extra terms.

they're all appley and chippy!

2011-09-28T22:58:00.001-07:00

I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay now.

This relationship with my ex--yes, Sadie and I are properly dating again--will work out. I really think it will this time.

I'm not killing myself, no one's going to be happy if I do, I'm not crazy, et cetera.

Also apple chips are hella good, why don't I eat these ALL THE TIME?!

and you will be free

2011-09-28T21:23:00.001-07:00

Every weeks seems to offer another argument as to why I should not be here. I know it would be a relief to those around me if I just killed myself already. If I really tried. Really tried, really went for it, unlike the other times, which I have been told were only "selfish" and "juvenile" calls for help.

But I don't really want to die. I want to hold out for moments of happiness, for moments of contentment amidst weekdays of boredom, of difficult Tuesdays and far-too-long Thursdays. I want to be continually annoyed with commercialism, and completely in love with the beauty that is Thai food. I want to keep on worrying about who I am or am not sleeping with, and I want to keep on hating my apartment, to keep on telling myself I need to clean, I need to buy cat food, that I shouldn't be so lazy.

But this doesn't stop me from thinking, nearly out of the blue, that I should kill myself. I wake up in the mornings and stare at the bed sheets and hear -- "You should kill yourself," and I cross the street on my way to lunch and hear -- "You should kill yourself," and I stand in the shower and hear -- "You should kill yourself," and I answer, "I know, I know, I know."

I know.

I don't do it, though, and I have to live with the guilt. Every day. I'm just taking up space, just making others miserable, creating relationships that won't hold, that I don't even expect to hold. Not because I don't want them to, but because I shouldn't be here anyway. Because she knows I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be with her. It's like loving a ghost. I shouldn't be here. It's not real. It won't last. These fantasies, these delusions never do.

I'm not really here, so why am I hanging on?

And I know, I just know how relieved everyone would be to hear that I'm finally gone. That they don't have to put up with me anymore, that they don't have to talk to me, hear about me, take care of me anymore. That they're finally free.

That's what I want to give them--freedom.

But my fear makes me selfish, makes me keep on living when I know I shouldn't. When every week has some new argument, some collection of facts, on why I shouldn't be here.

One day the argument will be great enough, and you will be free.

ambulance

2011-09-27T00:04:00.000-07:00

[written earlier this year, after the attempt to end my life in late January]

What is it like?

For the others, I mean.

I wish I'd been awake. Just to see them, to see their faces. To see what they really think.

Well, maybe not actually awake. Maybe out-of-body conscious. I don't think I'd want to experience my body, not after what I'd done to it.

What I keep on doing it. Every ten-ish years. Or maybe it's more often than that.

It's definitely more often than that.

May, 2002

December 15, 2002

February, 2004

November, 2009

January 24, 2011

Maybe I'll stop now.

The first one and the last one, those were almost exactly the same. Different people found me, different states, but they were more or less the same.

Waking up in a hospital. Maybe it's been a few days, maybe it's been a few hours.

I've never seen the inside of an ambulance.

I don't know if anyone rode with me.

I don't know if it actually happened.

I don't think it did.

Most days, I don't think it happened.

I was here, then I was in the hospital. It's a simple transaction. It doesn't matter how I got there; that's not part of the story.

Or it is, but I never get to hear it.

I never get that part, the part with all the drama.

With all the emotion.

The crying.

Does anyone cry?

Sometimes you have to shake people like that. But after a certain amount of shaking, they get angry.

And that's what I get to see, the part when they're angry. When I'm finally awake, and they're so angry.

So these big parts, these parts where people might cry, I don't get to experience it. So it doesn't happen. It's just a blip.

Then I go back home. After a while in the hospital.

And no one will leave me alone.

I'm not allowed to handle my own medicines. Or my razor. I have to sleep with the door open, have to shower and shit with the door open. I can't even lock the front door.

This isn't what I wanted.

I want to see the inside of an ambulance.

I can hope that next time I will.

But, deep down, I hope that next time I won't be able to.

I won a fucking award for being the SHIT

2011-09-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

Sweet Marjoram MacCatty (née Marjorie McAtee) awarded me a blog award, cause my blog is just apparently really good.

This is what she had to say:

"Paulie Elliot (@thisispaulie) at This is Paulie. Ok, Paulie doesn't technically exist, but his blog does, and it's awesome. Besides, if I know my Paulie, he loves awards almost as much as he loves politics (and by “politics,” I mean sex). At any rate, I didn't see anything in the rules about existence being a requirement for receiving either of these awards. So, there."

Oh fuck, heart so warm. (Even though babes left a T off my last name. Long hair don't care.)

Maybe this is in German?

My ex is fluent in German, but I've never heard her say a damn thing in it.

MORE LIES?!?!? probably not because it was actually her minor.

There are some rules about this award which I am not likely going to be following. Like passing it out to nine billion people. I'm thinking--not everyone on this earth has a blog, so that's difficult?

So, I dunno, part of this thing is answering questions. So I will do that now. I will answer the questions.

Q: If you were a vampire, which celebrity would you bite first?

Let's just say, first off, that if I was a vampire, I'd be so fucking ridiculous looking no one would be afraid of me. Thusly, WILDLY SUCCESSFUL at vampin around town. I'd be clompin around in bitchin shoes under the cloak of darkness, and under a real cloak, too, a black one, all wooly and lined in satin with a big ass collar (and big ass pockets--must have big ass pockets), and people'd think I was some gay goth punk child, and when they see me comin down the street, they be all:

"Who's this asshole? God, middle schoolers are annoying these days."

Then, when I'm finally close enough to realise I'm not twelve years old, I TEAR THEIR FUCKING BALLS OFF WITH MY INHUMAN STRENGTH and my TEETH and then drink all their blood I guess?

Okay, but I would bite Noel Fielding. Can you imagine?! We could have hot gay vampire sex for THE REST OF TIME.

sweet whiskey tits of jesus!

we'd have matching capes and EVERYTHING.

Q: What's your middle name? Not your real middle name, your MIDDLE middle name?

I don't get it.

My real middle name is William, which is a pretty good one. I like it. You absolutely cannot call me William or Bill or Willy, though. Paulie is bad enough.

You can call me Elliott, though. There are loads of people that do, and loads of drunk people I've convinced that my name is Elliott Elliott.

When I am a vampire (see above) I will likely go by Elliott.

news article from the future:

ELLIOTT THE VAMPIRE STRIKES AGAIN! Seen with him, an extremely attractive man that looks like a woman, but isn't? What the fuck? That's so hot. Elliott the Vampire is one lucky and very handsome dude. I can't imagine all the hot gay vampire sex they get to have with each other FOR THE REST OF TIME.

This one I like to call "Noel Fielding being majestic in a field."

Q: If you had to go to a desert island, and you could only take one thing with you, what would that object be?

Are you fucking kidding me? I'll give you a minute or two to try and figure out what I'm going to say.

. . .

Noel Fielding. Why? Oh, you know.

Are we still vampires? Or . . . I'm assuming these questions are building off of each other, so yes we are. We are immortal and on a desert island and having hot gay vampire sex FOR THE REST OF TIME.

THE REST OF TIIIIIIME

Q: What is your worst fear?

Being alone forever.

Funhouses.

Q: Describe your best friend in five words.

funny . . . kinda stupid . . . beautiful . . . tall[er than me] . . .

We've been really bitchy to each other lately, though, and I think we're both kind of upset.

I can't work hot vampire sex into this one. MY THEME IS FALLING APART.

how about anohter photo instead?

Q: What's your current favourite song? What about the annoying one stuck in your head?

Current favourite: Calculation Theme by Metric or Strange and Unprepared by Copeland.

he's gonna impale someone AWWWWWWW YYYEEAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Stuck in head: Not annoying, per se, but I had it on repeat last night, and that would be Vlad the Impaler by Kasabian.

(If you watch it, you'll understand why I keep on jabbering on about an undead Noel Fielding.)

Q: What was the last movie you watched? Did you like it?

The last movie . . . ? I can't remember.

I did watch The Big Fat Quiz Show 2010 last night. Guess who was in it?

Noel Fielding.

I'm not shitting you. I love that man.

As for the blog award rules, well, I am rewarding (#HA) Marjoram with this blog award. Because she needs moooooooore awards. She blogs about the fucking middle ages! And COCKS! [SFW guys]

I like it when you meet people on twitter, and their avatar is of their cat,

and then you find out hat they're actually good looking, and the cat isn't a cover up

for being fugly. Like that's one of my favourite things that happens online.

So thanks, Mizz Marjorie. You are one of the best.

alsohotgayvampiresex.

#drama

2011-09-21T17:32:00.001-07:00

So on Monday, I spent a long time in a teahouse. I just sat there, with iced tea, looking out the window. Eavesdropping on the trio of fellow twenty-somethings talking behind me.

First it was Gay Friend Drama.

Then it was Married Friend Drama.

Then I Used To Date A Fat Girl Named Patricia Drama.

Then it was I Was Trying To Show Him My Tumblr And He Was Kissing My Chest And I Was Like That Makes Me Uncomfortable Drama.

And this was all a good distraction for what I could've put in. For why I was sitting in a teahouse for hours instead of going home.

I've Been Sleeping With My Ex For A Little Over A Month Now and I Just Told Her That We Need To Stop Doing That Because I'm Falling In Love With Her Again Drama.

I love drama.

my new toothbrush

2011-09-19T01:27:00.000-07:00

I have one of those toothbrushes made out of recycled yogurt cups.

I bought it because it's pure white. All of it. Bristles, the handle, the neck. That's an entire tooth brush right there. Not much to a toothbrush, really. And it's all white, and all plastic and all supposedly yogurt cups.

I like minimalism, hate bad design, distracting and mismatched colors, which is why I bought the white one. White's not that obtrusive. It won't make a mark.

They also make a green one, I think, and a navy blue one, this company that makes these recycled toothbrushes. I like this company just because they sell one toothbrush. They don't sell a thousand different kinds of tooth bushes, and you won't see hide or hair of a Disney character anywhere in that line.

Just one model. No affiliation with anything outside of the world of teeth. What the fuck does Nemo have to do with your teeth?

That's right--nothing.

He's a fucking fish. He doesn't even have teeth. He can't even comprehend what a toothbrush might be for.

Somewhere out there, I guess, there are people or machines or wizards digging around for yogurt cups and doing magic that turns them into toothbrushes.

I guess they would be wizards, due to the magic aspect of plastic transfiguration. DON'T TRY TO EXPLAIN IT TO ME I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

I am okay living my life thinking that a wizard made my toothbrush. A wizard who knows good design and that cartoon fish know nothing about the needs of human teeth.

FBGM

2011-09-19T00:16:00.000-07:00

Praciticing my calligraphy hand (because I found my pen & ink.)

This was the first phrase that came to mind, so, eh, why not?

never admit

2011-09-18T15:36:00.000-07:00

to your girlfriend that you used her lip wax to try to wax off some of your pubes because you were bored. She will look at the wax and paper strip still stuck on you, that's been under your clothes all day because you were a baby and couldn't rip it off, and she will laugh.

Then she will rip it off.

things we're doing that make us a couple

2011-09-18T03:20:00.000-07:00

We're having sex. That's how it started. Good sex, great sex, I'm-tired-so-make-it-quick sex, we-should've-watched-TV-instead sex. We're kissing when we do this, and laughing (sometimes too much), and feeling fuzzy and romantic sometimes; we're playing "Japanese Game Show" and "The Music Game" and referencing all these other inside-jokes from the eon that was our first five years together.

We're cuddling on the couch. We're holding each other under our clothes, you're falling asleep against me during the zombie slaughter in the Winchester, I'm falling asleep against you while Mr Darcy professes his love to what's-her-face. We're both yelling over commercials about juice.

We're spending the night together. We're falling asleep intertwined when we haven't even had sex. We're locking our toes together. Your cat or my cat is purring somewhere near our feet. We're staring at the other person as they sleep in the morning. I'm slowly remembering how in love I was with the sleep in your eyes, the gentle swoop of your blonde lashes.

We're dining out, dressed up, and dining in, dressed down.

We're calling the other person when we're at the grocery store, asking if they need anything. You're buying me my favorite candy, I'm buying you tampons.

We're not drinking becuase I'm not drinking. Neither are we smoking cigarettes, or abusing prescription drugs. (We are smoking pot.)

We're getting along and not getting along. We're annoying the fuck out of each other, and fighting over things that don't matter.

We're hurting each other. We're being passive aggressive. We're intentionally forgetting to do things we said we would.

We're being lonely. We're being melodramatic, we're blaming the other person for things they never said and did. We're digging up the past and beating each other up with it--you saying I expect too much, that you're not going to solve all my problems; me saying that I never wanted to you, that all I expected from you was to be faithful to me.

You're reminding me you don't want to talk about it, I'm reminding you how much it hurt me. That I can't trust you now, probably never will again, because of it.

We're having make up sex. We're not using a condom because we're in a real relationship, right? I mean, we're not sleeping with anyone else.

Right?

Which brings us to the one thing we're not doing that would make us a couple:

Admitting that we're a couple.

you will speak away the loneliness

2011-09-18T02:25:00.000-07:00

It fucking sucks when you're alone. When you're really alone--the kind of alone that a very casual, this-is-a-bad-idea-but-let's-do-it-anyway affair with your ex won't change. The kind of alone that makes you alone even when you hold her.

You can't speak this loneliness out of existence. You think you might be able to--hell, you've tried three or four times before. Earnestly. Every time you think it'll work. It doesn't matter the history, the past results. You've spoken and laid your heart out, gazed into eyes in the silence afterwards, wondering if it will go away, and it doesn't. It never has.

And even after that, you still think you can speak and change it. Because you're speaking from truth, from your gut or your heart or your soul, it has to work. In that moment, when you're trying to speak it away, you are You. You are so You it's painful and embarrassing and you wish you weren't You. You wish you didn't have to be You to do this, but you want to speak away this loneliness, so you go through it, no matter how stupid it makes you feel.

You think--all this honesty. It's so real to you, and somehow, persistantly unreal to the loneliness. The loneliness doesn't feel the same way. Somehow it doesn't work. But how can that be? It has to work.

But it never has.

Now, months after the last attempt, while you hold your ex girlfriend in the dark, you think you might try again. You go over the facts, all the words you're going to use, the different lines--no matter that they never made much sense because they started feelings and will always end as feelings, no matter how many words they slip through. But they're true. They're real--they're not like this, this person in your arms that doesn't make you feel less alone.

You tell yourself you'll go back to her. To Her.

You tell yourself it will work. You will speak away the loneliness.

You will look into her eyes, You will speak, and she will tell you she loves you, too.

But you had crippled vision. Months from now, especially if it does seem to work, even if She does love you, the lonelines will creep back. You didn't see that that's not how it works. You've held someone and felt alone before. You're doing it right now.

The loneliness is not in you. It is you.

dream

2011-09-17T15:55:00.000-07:00

had this rather realistic dream last night about Rachel dying. It was kind of like an episode of Dead Like Me, if you know the show.

I was only going to go in if she was, but she was outside, on the lawn with the other group. She hadn't crossed over yet, and stood there, dim in the universe. She didn't look dead, but that's because she wasn't, really--her body was somewhere else, laying miles away on sooty grey tarmac. I wasn't her guardian in this world, before her spirit finally left, but I could still see her, and she could see me.

"I thought you were going in." I said.

She shook her head, her dark hair moving over her shoulders. She wore a plaid flannel shirt that stood out, rusty and warm, against the smoky grey-blue darkness of the late afternoon sky.

She was gloomy herself, like the thick air. There may have been a cheery gathering of film-goers behind us, but the air was heavy, swarmed with latent storm energy.

She would not be going to the film. I would, but she wouldn't. She knew this. She stood with her arms crossed tight, her dark eyes glistening.

Heartbroken.

"You're not dead," she said with quavering lips, and I started to shake my head. "I thought you were dead--"

We flung ourselves into an embrace. Her cheek on mine, and I could feel the smoothness of that cheek sweeping past mine as she leaned back to kiss it.

Just do it, I thought with her lips on me. She's dead. She shouldn't even be here--do it--

I kissed her cheek, her mouth, over and over.

We had kissed before, but not like this.

We should've been together, but something held her back. Now we never could.

So she kissed me, holding my body tight against hers, as her last act on this earth.

paulie has been gone because

2011-09-14T18:49:00.000-07:00

of reasons.

This weekend I'm two months sober. I don't know how to celebrate without alcohol, so it will probably go uncelebrated. Then again, I'm kinda sorta sleeping with my ex again, so who knows, right?

Right.

Pretty sure she still hates me.

I might move.

That's it, really. I'm still here and awesome and things and yes.

calculation theme

2011-09-14T18:34:00.001-07:00

tonight your ghost will ask my ghost,

"Who put these bodies between us?"

seriously, I just want to get to use the carpool lane

2011-08-28T00:50:00.001-07:00

me: "Carpool lane! Carpool carpool carpool lane! SADIE THERE ARE TWO OF US CARPOOOOOOL LLAAANNEEEE!!! AAGGGHHH you missed the fucking carpool lane. Look, look, there it goes. Bye carpool lane. Say 'bye' to the carpool lane."

Sadie: "Shut the fuck up."

the sweet nothings of Sadie Goldman, aka my ex girlfriend

2011-08-28T00:46:00.000-07:00

"I'm going to crush your skull with my thighs if you don't shut up."

"Hey, so I know you're lazy, but do you want to try moving? You know, like I'm not fucking a corpse or something?"

"Leave me alone. Stop. Stop it. Leave me alone."

"I'm going to hit you."

"Shut up and take it, bitch."

"Jesus, you bother me."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I could beat you up."

"You're going to be a really creepy old person."

"You definitely told me you thought Old Gregg was sexy. Why would I be making that up? I can't come up with disturbing shit like that on my own."

"NOT MY CLEAN SHEETS! WASH YOUR GODDAMNED FEET OFF, PAULIE. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST."

"What? Yeah, you were choking. I was supposed to do something? You're fine."

the white rabbit

2011-08-24T16:16:00.000-07:00

we went to a concert
last night,
at the White Rabbit
and I was sober
and you were sober
and that was a first
at least for me

the music was good
and the bass
wasn't
frightening through
my bones
like it usually is, slurring
out lights, and the blips
didn't break my ears
out
and I didn't end up
in the bathroom
a hundred times
for one reason
or
another

I enjoyed it, unconfused
all of it, like you
and that was a first

we went back
to where we used to live
(together)
and the bus ride
was so clear
in the night
all the dirt particles
and scratches on metal
so plain
and so grey, without the shroud
of alcohol
and cocaine

the bus lurched and
shifted gears, like it always did
in the mornings,
no longer a midnight beast
to who knows where
(my place?)
and that was a first

you did not offer me a drink, and
I did not offer to make you one
but we sat on the couch
pretty close
not drinking
and decided to make out
anyway
though it was a 'bad idea'
and 'we knew how it would end'
and even without the shroud of alcohol
and cocaine
I still didn't care

so we had sex on your bed
which used to be our bed
but isn't
anymore
and when it was over,
it was still a 'bad idea'
but just because
it had to be one
not because
either of us really thought so

waldeinsamkeit - (german) the feeling of being alone in the woods

2011-08-21T22:30:00.000-07:00

I still hate being myself, only I've been so busy with work I've forgotten about it.

Now I just want to curl up with someone and have them make it better.

Talk about yourself or something.

Tell some dirty jokes.

Just keep talking so I don't have to hear myself anymore.

I wish I could ask you to do this.

I miss drinking.

I miss being a myself I knew inside-out.

I might kill myself later. Later. After I sleep.

This music makes me miss you so much, so much that I shouldn't be listening to it.

But I have it on repeat. You know how I am. With feelings.

I want to hold you forever. I want all our limbs entangled, pressing, savagely, so I know that we will not ever be separate. I want to run my hands through your hair, smooth my thumb over your brow, kiss your closed eyelid, all those soft black lashes pressing into your skin.

Why the fuck don't you love me?

I just want to be with you.

I just want to get blisteringly drunk, so that every cell is swamped, spicy, swarming. And I will march over to your place, hang out in front of your door crying because you won't let me in.

I want you to know just what you do to me. Not just how happy you make me, but how sad.

How disastrously sad I get over you. Over being alive without you.

Do you know what I've done?

I've stopped drinking, and I've stopped smoking, and I've stopped watching porn, and I've stopped sleeping, and I've stopped missing my ex, and I've stopped sleeping around, and I've stopped remembering what day or month it is.

But I have not stopped loving you.

This is such a waste of my time. Every demon pales in comparison.

I just want you.

I haven't posted in like 100 years

2011-05-03T14:30:00.000-07:00

Aw man, what's goin on?

What is going on?

Not a damn thing.

I'm at work. A client took some of us foxy designer lads out for lunch. Me, Matt the gay guy, and Lucas, who is mostly boring. At this lunch I had some alcohols, and I'm kinda . . . eh . . . kinda . . . you know. AT WORK.

Aaaaaahhhhhh I love my job sometimes. Most of the time. Most of the time this is the best job ever.

But I am poor as fuck right now. Taxes, medical bills, more medical bills, and cat food.

Alls I spend my money on. Cat food cat food cat food.

I got my hair cut on Saturday. I forgot to announce this to the world, but I did, and my hair looks good, and damn do I look good today.

Cinco de mayo's coming up, which means that no good is going to happen. These are the kind of holidays I celebrate, the ones that are basically excuses to get shitfaced in the middle of the week. This is not entirely by choice; I'd do easter and christmas and shit, but you need a family for that, and the cats, while being family, don't understand the idea of Jesus or why he likes chocolate eggs or cookies or presents or putting trees in the living room.

So, but cinco de mayo -- we'll see. We'll see.

this one has photos in it

2011-04-30T14:11:00.000-07:00

From earlier this week, a chocolate Easter bunny massacred by Paulie teeth.

AND THEN THIS SHITTY PICTURE ☝

Remember that halloween sweater I posted about? Well, I decided that it was too beautiful and too gorgeous and I needed it too much, and, no, this doesn't mean I bought it. It means I'm making one myself.

You see, Paulie . . . actually . . . does know how to crochet. I learned when I was like eight. And being that it's really simple, I was able to pick it back up.

Sad thing is, because I've never actually crocheted anything before, I don't entirely know what I'm doing, and I didn't know how much yarn to buy, so I've run out of yarn at the moment and am now stuck with a 10" tube of black wobbliness. There are some weird lumps and shit in it and I don't know why. But I don't care. It'll be shitty, and it'll be ironic and I'll love it all the more.

What's really cool, though (and this is something I didn't expect) is that working on this sweater has helped me cut down on my smoking. I know, I'm in a constant state of trying to quit smoking, and I can never really do it, but by golly this might be some kind or miracle cure. It keeps my hands busy and my mind (slightly) occupied, so the cravings are easier to get through.

So this is good.

shit that went down when you weren't here

2011-04-30T00:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, let's back up a minute.

When you delete things in iPhoto, they do not actually get deleted from your computer. (Who knew? Not Paulie.)

This means two things:

1 - all the photos I thought I'd deleted of me and my ex are, in fact, still on my computer. Every single one.

2 - as are the naked pictures of me that I didn't even remember existed.

On point one (WE'LL GET TO POINT TWO YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND WAIT A SECOND) this is sad, and of course nostalgic, and I'm fortunate to have discovered this now, instead of earlier, when viewing these photos would've been like having my little indie heart ripped out by the Killeroo's bare hands (does he have hands? little . . . roo paws? What do kangaroos have?) and also big teeth.

Big Killeroo teeth + Paulie's heart = BLOODY MAYHEM HURTTIMES

Now, on point two, yes, okay, I did not remember at all until this very night that these existed. IN FACT (and this is always how stuff works), I was thinking to myself earlier today, naught hours ago, that I could be pretty sure, and pretty proud of the fact that there are no pictures of my dick online.

THEN I FOUND THOSE PHOTOS.

And, because of who took them, it's probably safe to say that 19/20 year old naked Paulie is probably somewhere on the internet.

LUCKY YOU, AMIRIGHT?

But, I dunno, I was kind of shocked. It's like, who is thiiiiiOH MY GOD THAT'S ME.

There are highs and there are lows . . .

2011-04-29T00:44:00.000-07:00

I would like to sleep without really weird/disturbing dreams. It doesn't feel like sleep with all that going on.

ALSO WHAT THE HELL ITUNES RRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEPEAT.

I SWEAR I PUT THIS ON REPEAT LIKE FUCKING HOURS AGO

WHAT THE HELL

WHAT

WHAT

WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO USE A COMPUTER, PAULIE

WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT.

I can't stand myself anymore. I can't seem to remember to do anything.

You guuuuuyyyyyyssssssss.

if we are ever in a committed relationship

2011-04-29T00:41:00.000-07:00

you can totally call me "sugartits." I won't mind one bit. It'll be legit.

But I get to call you "candycrotch", and I can't promise I won't accidentally call you that in front of your parents one day.

It's important to get these things sorted out early on, you know?

You know what I'm sayin, candycrotch of mine?

What the hell am I saying?

You guys should be reading Marjoram's blog, cause this place has gone to shit.

saint paulie & the witches

2011-04-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

I did it.

I'm on tumblr.

http://saintpaulie.tumblr.com/

Penny (@triplecherry) helped me come up with the username/address. I'm tired of everything being called "This is Paulie" so she came up with "this ain't paulie", which turned into "saint paulie" (do you get it?)

It's definitely not because I think I'm saintly.

On another note, this sweater:

OH

MY

GOD

Okay, so I like halloween shit a lot. I'm honestly, really, truly, completely not shitting you when I say this, contemplating teaching myself how to crochet or knit so I can make myself this sweater.

I'd wear the shit out of it.

It's a damn miracle out of yarn, guys. HOT DOG!

Anyway, if you're on tumblr, you can follow me and I can follow you and you can see all the shit I'll be reposting and blabbing about.

And, oh yes, if you know how to crochet or knit and want to make me that sweater, well . . . I'll pay you to do it. In MONEYS. For serious. I need me a witch-on-a-broomstick sweater. I mean, halloween's like . . . what, six months away?

GOTTA GET READY.

On slightly similar notes, my birthday is now officially under a month away, and somehow I'm not completely freaking out about it. I'm doing alright.

Also Rachel is back from Idaho, and I swear I haven't seen her in like three or four weeks. I miss that lady. Hopefully she's over the fact that she tried to sex me last month and things will return to normal between us.

Anyway.

Tumblr. Witches.

I really miss my best friend [sad face]

2011-04-24T22:24:00.001-07:00

and if I ever treated you mean
you know that it was only because,
I'm sorry, I couldn't have you for my own

- "To Go Home" by M. Ward

howlin' jimmy jefferson

2011-04-24T20:05:00.000-07:00

So, new cat?

Not really. Sadie moved out of the place we used to have together, and since she can't have pets at the place she's moving in to, she had to get rid of Mr Owls, which was really my cat, even though she named him (and something horrid, I might add) and she got to keep him when we broke up.

So now I have Mr Owls back. He's a hugely fluffy maine coon who likes to shed everywhere, make me sneeze, and lick his balls. Mostly all that cat does is lick his balls and sometimes his creepy little cat penis.

He's finally getting along with Boxie. Or, really, she's allowing him to use the litter box (it's been a stressful past few days) and is keeping her claws to herself.

The only bad thing about the new cat situation is Mr Owls' name. I mean, his name is Mr Owls. When Sadie and I were together, I called him Mr Jowls, because I thought that was funny (she didn't), but Mr Jowls isn't really that good of a name, cause the cat doesn't even have Jowls.

So I've renamed him Howlin' Jimmy Jefferson, which is the name of the Spirit of Jazz from The Mighty Boosh.

It makes sense becuase Howlin' Jimmy Jefferson (the cat) does a lot of loud meow-crying, which is basically like cat-howling. He likes to follow me around, crying at the top of his cat-lungs for food.

Also the name is hilarious.

HOWLIN JIMMY JEFFERSON.

"I'm gonna creep inside you like a warm kitten."

changing how you think about things will make you less depressed about how hopeless you are as a human being

2011-04-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

Yeah, well, these are things I've learned lately.

For instance, I just (as in five minutes ago) found out that another pair of friends got engaged (to each other, oddly enough). That's the sort of thing that's likely to put me into instant depression mode -- the moping, the wallowing, and the crying into the cat because I don't think I'll ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever be loved again.

(I have issues)

BUT INSTEAD I am going to think -- hey, yes, I am not hopeless(?) and one day someone will love me AND WE'LL GET MARRIED AND HAVE BABIES N SHIT. No, she will not cheat on you, she will not do that.

She will not.

Anyway, so I'm using all of my brain power at the moment to not go into depression mode.

I am fucked up, but I'm going to find someone else who is also fucked up, and it will work.

There will be no cheating involved.

Because that someone will think I'm too cool to cheat on.

ONE DAY.

Staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic staying optimistic.

Fuck, I need a cat to cry into.

it took me five or six years

2011-04-21T19:25:00.000-07:00

to realise that in Daft Punk's song "Robot Rock" they're saying "robot rock" in the background.

I think that's the stupidest I've ever been.

some things

2011-04-20T23:19:00.000-07:00

Got into a bike accident day before yesterday. Monday? No, it was last night.

It was yesterday evening. On the way home from work.

Anyway, I hit my head on the ground and I swear I was only out for maybe a second, but it must've been longer because I woke up on my back and there were people everywhere.

So I got a grade 3 concussion. Don't remember getting home. I do remember how Sadie came over to drop off the cat, which was weird & confusing.

Then I went to wade's, and he got worried and took me to the ER.

I kept on veering to the left. No balance. Still have very little balance. I feel weird, though. Kind of off. Confused. Nothing's funny. I read white ninja earlier and just didn't get it.

white Ninja is the best. My favorite comic and I couldn't figure it out.

I'll be okay.

Nurse at the ER said I did a good job cleaning the wound on my head, though. there was gravely bits in it.

So there's success.

Obviously I didn't go to work today, but I did work from home as much as I could.

The new cat, his name is Mr. Jowls, and he's still trying to get along with Boxie. they've been gorwling at each other all day.

I broke two glasses at wade's yesterday because, well, my brain is swelling? something. Motor control isn't very good.

Also it was 4-20 all day and I didn'tknow it! I just foudn out. I didn't know that. No one told me. i need someone that will tell me these important things.

Music makes me dizzy. I have no lights on. The light in my bedroom went out like a week ago, and I just realised that like probably it won't change it sefl. I gotta do that myself. Right? Who knew.

that's it.

uhm, but Eisley's new album s really good guys, you should watch it.

Lisa might actually be legit insane

2011-04-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

I sent Lisa that King of the Deer drawing I did of myself, and this is what she did to it -- PUT IT IN A MOTHERFUCKIN FRAME.

Aw yeeeaaaahhhh.

Now all her friends be like "Dayum, who's that cutie in the drawing?"

That's right, I'm getting hit on and I'm not even there.

some old stuff I never got around to posting

2011-04-19T00:35:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of this stuff lurking around. So I'm posting it.

OLD SHIT PART 1

A SELF INTERVIEW from June 2010, probably

1. What time did you get up this morning?

in the fucking afternoon.

2. How do you like your steak?

Not on my plate.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

Uhm . . . I can't remember. I never go to the movies.

4. What is your favorite TV show?

The Mighty Boosh.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?

In your mom.

6. What did you have for breakfast?

I have yet to eat anything.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?

Thai.

8. What foods do you dislike?

Anything made out of corn is awful. Cornbread, corn tortillas corn . . . stuff. Candy corn. It's all shit. I'll eat the actual stuff, but not any of its inbred children.

9. Favorite Place to Eat?

That one Thai place.

10. Favorite dressing?

Honey mustard.

11. What kind of vehicle do you drive?

I don't drive.

12. What are your favorite clothes?

My favorite clothes are not wearing clothes.

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?

Iceland.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?

Half full, but only the top half.

15. Where would you want to retire?

The country.

16. Favorite time of day?

I'm not much of a day person.

17. Where were you born?

Fresno, California

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?

Sports are for gays

19. Bird watcher?

Yup.

20. Are you a morning person or a night person?

Night

21. Pets?

Boxie, the cat. She's pretty retarded, but she has good intentions. She will never, ever leave me.

22. Any new and exciting news that you'd like to share?

Go grow a dick and fuck yourself. Stop grubbing around in my life.

23. What did you want to be when you were little?

Probably something stupid and overambitious.

24. What is your best childhood memory?

Sexing your mom.

25. Are you a cat or dog person?

Cat person. I believe my grandfather was full cat. That makes me quarter cat.

26. Are you married?

No

27. Always wear your seat belt?

When I'm sober.

28. Been in a car accident?

No

29. Any pet peeves?

Bad grammar.

30. Favorite pizza topping?

Beer.

31. Favorite Flower?

Honeysuckle smells nice.

32. Favorite ice cream?

Cookies and cream.

33. Favorite fast food restaurant?

I really miss In-N-Out. Washington really needs to get on that, man.

34. How many times did you fail your driver's test?

I never took my driving test because I don't drive. So . . . zero times.

35. From whom did you get your last email?

Twitter.

36. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?

THE CANDY STORE.

37. Do anything spontaneous lately?

Probably, yes.

38. Love your job?

All kinds of hell no I do not.

39. Broccoli?

Yeah, she wants it. She hasn't said it, but I know. I know.

40. What was your favorite vacation

I like camping.

41. Last person you went out to dinner with?

Not so sure about the "went out" part, but Rachel and I had some thai food the other night.

42. What are you listening to right now?

The traffic and the construction guys that are dicking around, doing shit to the balconies here.

43. What is your favorite color?

Black and grey. I don't really like colors.

44. How many tattoos do you have?

One.

45. Coffee drinker?

Yes yes yes.

46. How many children do you have?

None.

OLD SHIT PART 2

THINGS I LEARNED ABOUT SEX FROM MY FRIENDS IN GRADE SCHOOL

There is kissing involved, and long hugging.

You can do it behind a tree.

And standing up, from behind.

Pencil is a euphemism.

Crevice is a euphemism.

Cleveland sounds like cleavage, therefore is a euphemism.

Jake and Katie did it in a the bathroom stall once. We should spy on them.

That's all I remember.

OLD SHIT PART 3

conversations with myself (and cat) while browsing the internet

"What."

"Boxie, I love you. Come love your father. NO NO COME LOVE ME BEFORE YOU -- YOU ASSHOLE! You don't love me. I don't love you. I do. I do."

"This is . . . this is stupid. It's just -- UGH"

singing along to music

laughing

"where's my stupid remote?"

"Oh, NO! PAULIE! NOT ANOTHER!"

"do not want to read. toooooooooooooooooooooooo long; didn't reaaaaad"

"that's . . . not even funny. It's not."

"why is that funny?"

"ugh, I've seen this like a thousand times."

(disapproving tone) "narwhals . . ."

(slightly singing) "coooooookies and cuuuuuuuhhhh-reeeeeeaaaaammmmm"

"I'm not reading this."

"it's, like, ugh --"

CRAZY LAUGHTER

"Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie Boxie!"

girly laughter

"FUCK"

"It's just a rock."

"These all look fake."

"Watermelons?"

"What is this bollocks?"

"Spell checker doesn't know 'bollocks' is a word?"

"That's stupid."

"Five minutes!"

"Eugh, I hate bananas. Eugch."

(shrieking laughter) "AAAAAAAAHHHH LOOK AT THE LAPELS!"

"awwww yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeah Jake and Amir."

"SERIOUSLY?"

"AHA LOOK AT HIM LOOK AT HIS HEAD!"

"aaaaand that's how it's staying."

UNCONTROLLABLE LAUGHTER

INSANE, UNCONTROLLABLE LAUGHTER

"I don't even care."

"Oh."

"NO, IDIOT!"

"What is this even about?"

"Who is that? Oh."

"I could become a hit on the Melbourne art scene!"

"Supa'moon?"

"She's not a chef."

"AHHHHHAAAAA LOOK AT HIS FACE!"

Okay, no go back and read it while imaging these are things said while watching porn.

Now it's funny.

OLD SHIT PARTS 4-7

Are all about Abigail, and therefore will not be shared.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's it for now.

we decided it's bitchin, this chinese chicken

2011-04-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

From my next tweet.

It just sounds like me on drugs.

YAK COUNTRY

2011-04-17T18:10:00.000-07:00

Me and Mizz. Marjorie McAtee (@marjoriemacatee) started talking on twitter about the cat food I found in my laundry earlier (I don't even/don't ask) and the next thing you know, we've invented the one and only Yak Cult. I mean country. Yak Country, where everything is made of yaks, except the RVs and the love of PBR.

And the PBR. There's no yak in that.

Being that I didn't really want to do my laundry anyway, I made these:

And that's exactly what Lou did.

There's more to come.

And yes, that first one I drew all by myself, with my eyes open and everything.

(The second one I just stole a picture of a yak from teh internets. DON'T TELL ON ME.)

And also, you should read Marjorie's blog because it's all kinds of good. How do you know? She gets hella comments, guys. Nobody's fuckin around over there like they are here, posting shit about yaks.

No sir. It's all yak-less kwal-i-tee.

So, moral of the story: talk about random shit on twitter and you might just stumble upon an idea for a really bad web comic about yaks.

thank god

2011-04-17T17:37:00.000-07:00

I live in the right city.

married life sounds like fun

2011-04-17T14:03:00.000-07:00

This phone conversation just happened:

ME:     "[blah blah blah blah] what are you guys up to?"

WADE: "Grace is napping, so I'm just in the living room -- dammit! -- playing with myself."

ME:     "Playing with yourself?"

WADE: "Yeah, cause Grace is napping. Are you doing anything? Do you want to come over?"

ME:     "I . . . don't know what's going on."

WADE: "Bowling."

ME: "..."

WADE: "..."

ME: "..."

WADE: "YESSSSSSSS, STRIKE!"

Turns out he was playing Wii bowling against himself.

Poor guy.

2011-04-17T12:25:00.000-07:00

from a beautiful revolution

This was my entire 2010.

brefixt o' CHAMPIONS

2011-04-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

OH MY GOD it's like an orgy of nicotine and happiness and all my problems going away in a goddamned COFFEE CUP.

Alllllllllls I think about anymore.

Smokes

Smokes

Smokes.

When I was a kid I couldn't say "breakfast." It was always "brefixt." Some days I just give up and let the word happen.

Time for brefixt, kids.

Time for brefixt.

I figured this out all by myself

2011-04-15T20:18:00.000-07:00

BECAUSE I AM A GENIUS

LOOK AT THIS SHIT:

Basically, Chloe Sevigny and Andrew Vanwyngarden are the same person.

If you don't know who Andrew Vanwyngarden is, don't speak to me ever again.

p.s. I still have the stomach flu. But I feel better today than I did yesterday. Weeeeeeeeee.

ghosts of the past

2011-04-13T14:44:00.000-07:00

Yes, "remember" is spelled wrong.

Still not 100% sure what happened earlier, but I went a little out of my head for a while. The only cure seemed to be freaking out on twitter and then drawing these. I got stuck on the idea of going back to California, where I grew up, where I'd no doubt see old friends from high school, or at least long to. You see, the second one is my friend that died my senior year. It's been a little over ten years now, and I still miss him. He was the first and only man I've ever been in love with, and I never got to tell him that.

They're wearing masks because their faces are secrets. It's just how they wanted to be drawn.

as cliché as it sounds, it really does feel like a past life

2011-04-12T22:50:00.000-07:00

Found, lost, re-found just now.

Post-it from Sadie. I don't know how old it is. At least two years.

(I should point out that it's not on the wall, but the drafting table.)

crazy train? GET ON IT, MY BIRTHDAY'S COMIN UP

2011-04-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

So, birthdays, eh?

Mine is not today, or, like, soon, really. (<-- comma overload. Stop saying "like" all the time, you're not a 12 year old girl)

My birthday is May 19th, which is . . . is . . . over a month away.

I have always, always, always, always obsessed about my birthday. It's starting now. It's going to get stronger and crazier and I'm going to go apeshit right before my birthday, then just like go into a coma, knock myself the fuck out the day of because I can't handle it.

It's not that I don't like getting older. Part of me likes getting older cause then all those shitfucks that mistake me for a teenager get super extra shocked to find out that I'm not only over 21, but I'm like fucking TWENTY SIX YEARS OLD.

THEY CAN'T HANDLE IT THEY SHIT THEIR FUCKING PANTS EVERY GODDAMNED TIME.

Basically, I have age issues. Then again, you would to if you grew up being a very small and very young-looking person and were teased relentlessly about it. In second grade there was this kid that bullied me and asked me, like every day, if I was a preeschooler on a field trip to the elementary school. Which fucking pissed me off, but also made me cry a lot.

Anyway.

So I like getting older because me being older than I look is kind of this great big FUCK YOU WORLD Y'ALL DON'T KNOW ME N MY AAAAAAGE.

But now? I'm reaching an age of . . . of . . . actual . . . adult-ness.

Twenty-seven's late twenties, guys.

Late twenties.

I AM FREAKING OUT.

I'm doing my best to ignore all the inside voices that are going "oh man, Paulie, by this age you thought you'd be this" or "you thought you'd have that" or (from long-ago me) "you seriously haven't gotten any taller since you junior year of high school?"

(I haven't. It's sad.)

I'm not going to listen to any of that, because it'll make me feel like shit. By the time the actual day comes around, hopefully I'll be able to face it and be okay with being twenty seven years old.

Man, that age isn't fucking around, you guys. It's some serious business.

So, I'm begging you guys, for the next month plus, to bear with me and my freaking out. I try to fight it every year, but I can't help it. If you've been, or are twenty seven, you should tell me nice stories about it and how it's not going to be awful and terrible and I won't have to stop being myself (ie, "grow up") because of it.

ALSO I totally know what I'm getting myself for this birthday. It's going to be awesome (and mostly secret).

Don't worry, it's legal.

FUCK YEAH.

d.a.r.l.i.n.g

2011-04-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

I WANT TO MAKE LOVE TO THIS MUSIC

Hung out with Em last night, at hers, which is nicer than my place and there are better eats nearby.

So? We got eats, had a carpet picnic, listened to heavenly, dreamy music called Beach House, lounged around on different pieces of furniture, smoked hookah, became parts of said furniture & floor, cuddled with cats + each other, clothes stayed on. Before I knew it, I'd been there for six hours.

I'm not worried anymore. Relationship? Love/no love? Nothing needs to be official, nothing needs to be rushed into. We're just enjoying each other.

if I keep letting people hug me like this, I'm going to get shanked one day

2011-04-07T17:55:00.000-07:00

This is weird, but, well, I guess that's why I'm talking about it.

I took the bus home today, and when I was getting off, some one right behind me tapped me on the shoulder, and when I truned around it was like, Hey give me a hug!

It was some random lady, maybe like in her fifties, and I was like, okay, I guess I'll give you a hug. You know, whatever. She didn't look crazy, didn't have a knife on her.

Then, when she was hugging me, she told me in a very sincere way that Jesus loved me and that I had a beautiful soul.

It wasn't that weird, when she said it, but after we'd split, I was kind of like, what? I just hugged some random ass lady and she did the whole "Jesus loves you" thing on me.

But what's really strange is that that's the third time that's happened this year. Yes, random people are constantly hugging me and telling me about Jesus and I have no idea why. The first time it happened was . . . like the first time I'd been to the grocery store (or "out of my apartment") since being in the hospital, and I was just standing there looking at the yogurt, being depressed, 100% that whatever kind of yogurt I was going to buy wouldn't matter because I was still going to die and no one loved me, and there was another random person, hugging me and telling me it would be all right because Jesus loved me.

I tell you what -- weird.

I'm not really a religious person, if you can't tell, but I did grow up going to church. Hell, I was baptised when I was eight. Bet you didn't see that coming, right? Church was a way of getting me out of my Uncle's hair and a chance to hang out with my buddy Nate, so that's why I went (and got in trouble because I liked to cuss and chase girls and bite them.)

I don't know what the point of all of this is, but I know I have some residual . . . belief that there probably is a god. I don't know what to do about that, really. Mostly I ignore it.

But Jesus always seemed like a pretty cool guy. You know, the fish thing, the healing people the . . . other stuff . . . he did . . . yeah. Like, it's cool if someone wants to think he loves me. You know, whatever.

Anyway, that's it.

tips to take to the grave, part three

2011-04-07T12:49:00.000-07:00

1. Boxers = NO

Just no. No, no, no, and more no. They're sad, their ugly, you're not 12 and self-conscious about your junk in a locker room anymore, so whatever. Get over it. Oh what? Blah blah blah sperm and body temperature blah blah blah my testicles OH MY GOD JUST SHUT UP. No one wants your babies anyway.

What to wear instead of boxers is completely up to you. If you know me in real life, you know I'm fond of not wearing anything.

FREEEEEDOM!

2. Reserve some words to be the Really Bad Words.

Okay, I say "fuck" too much, so, you know, I sound like an idiot maybe like I'm uneducated or whatever, don't care, fuuuuuuuuuck you. But even with all that going on, I've reserved "cunt" for when I'm really angry. "Cock" gets similarly little use. Those two are for when I mean serious business.

Also, I picked up saying "fucky" from Penny Goring (@triplecherry) and I likes it.

3. Let other people do what they want with their pubic hair.

Damn, people get so opinionated about this. It's mostly a what-men-expect-from-women kind of thing, and the way I see it is, while it's okay to have a preference, the bottom line is, it's not yours, it never will be, and they can do whatever they want with it. Waxing, shaving, trimming, not trimming, dying, or, fuck, letting it run for president -- let other people do what they want. What's great is that, hey, we all have our own pubic hair, and we can confine our Tyrannical Absolute Laws to that.

You have absolutely no right to look down on other people because of what they do or don't do/like or don't like. If someone likes Brazilians, it doesn't mean they're "rejecting their womanhood" or are "into prepubescent girls", and similarly if someone likes letting it just do its thing, that doesn't mean they're gross or unkempt or, heaven forbid, not sexy.

Let others do what makes them happy. If you have that much of a problem with it, chances are you're not going to be getting yourself into a situation where you have to be faced with it. So shut up and stop making other people miserable with your opinions.

On a similar vein, stop hating on girls who don't want to shave their legs or armpits. Seriously, what's wrong with you? Did you not hear the "it's not your body" thing?

It's pretty sexy, actually.

4. It's important to have someone you can tell any- and everything to.
We all need this person, a neutral kind of third party to dump all our thoughts, to spew out those "this is what I actually think but would never admit" things to. There's a fine line between bothering someone and discussing issues, as there's a fine line between personal problems and just straight up malicious gossip/hating on people.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's talking badly of others behind their backs. I will not stand for it.

For me, whether she likes it or not, Lisa Stull is this person. I end up sending her these long-ass emails about my personal life; who I had sex with, how awesome it was or how miserable it made me feel, how drunk I am/was, how I'm trying (and failing) to stop smoking again, and how I'm completely confused about my best friend who I am sometimes in love with.

Then again, sometimes I just send her links to weird shit when I'm stoned/drunk at one or two in the morning.

What's nice is that she doesn't know the people I'm talking about. She's perfectly neutral to the situation and is able to be much more objective than I am. She doesn't know how hot my ex is (actually I did send her a picture once, but she used to not know), she can't be biased towards certain people because, unlike a person in your real life, she's never met them before, they were never nice or not nice to her. I tell her what I really think, and I've told her stories I'd never, ever tell a soul (MARDI GRAS LISA DON'T YOU TELL A SOUL ABOUT MY MARDI GRAS).

Whether she gives me advice or not (and whether I take it or not), it's just nice to have someone to dump all these thoughts and start the process of sorting them out. I'm drastically muddled and out of touch with my feelings, so maybe if you aren't like that you don't need this. But I find it helps. And I know, for a fact, that S blabs all of her problems to Robert James Russell. So I'm not alone. Or something.

And I am totally willing to be that person for you. My email's public for a reason -- you can email me about anything you like. From deciding what to have for lunch or which bridge to jump off of, Uncle Paulie will help you out.

Uncle Paulie is my agony aunt persona. I like the name cause it's kinda creepy.

That's it for today. And remember -- "Behind every woman is a man who just wants to do it in the butt."

TRUE STUFF.

Stay classy.

tips to take to the grave, part two of possibly more than two

2011-04-06T16:20:00.000-07:00

1 - If you want people to come to an event you're having, invite them personally.

NO FACEBOOK INVITES. That shit basically equates to finding a flier on the ground and being like, dude, I know the kid who's havin this. SHOWIN UP FO SHO. (Yeah right)

People like it when you single them out, corner them in an alley/the men's room, and make them say you'll come to your party. Talk to them. Stalk their ass and ask them in the flesh.

Or just call them and ask them after a few minutes of heavy breathing. Facebook requests just can't compare to that kind of attention. When it comes to facebook, I always say "maybe" and then don't go. UNLESS . . .

FREE BOOZE.

If you don't feel like calling people/making personal contact, just say that there'll be free booze. Label your event Free Booze For All Ages, and people will come. People no one knows will come.

The great thing about this?

You don't have to follow through.

Your job is getting people to your lame-ass party, not actually making them happy about being there. Once you've got them there and the doors locked from the outside, party's on, man. You do what you want.

And then you thank Uncle Paulie for the advice. Unless you end up in court.

2 - NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF THE SOCK - I was talking about socks on twitter yesterday because they are important. I feel like I shouldn't have to point that out, because everyone knows I only discuss the most important things ever on twitter, but -- nevertheless, I'll point it out cause summa you is idiots.

So, socks eh?

We all know that shoes are important. Shoes send basically two messages:

I-have-zero-idea-what-sex-is-and-I'm-never-going-to-find-out

or

Get-it-here

Mmmmhmmmmm.

But even the best of shoes can be brought down with the wrong kind of socks. And it's simple; there's only one kind of wrong sock, and that is the white sock. Crew or knee or ankle or whatever, they're all bad. A white sock adds a "oh-yeah-I-might-still-live-with-mom/drive-a-minivan" to your shoe message.

AJKLDFJKLDFJKLDFJKLDJKL WHYYYYYYYYY?

JUST WEAR COOL SOCKS THEY AREN'T HARD TO FIND.

Go for interesting colors, stripes, patterns. Argyle is okay, a bit overdone and might be too "schoolboy" depending on the rest of your outfit. I know a young woman (ahem you can probably guess who) who goes nuts for guys in striped socks. She says it makes her consider developing a foot fetish.

I kinda get it.

So all your lazy ass has to do is, when you see socks that aren't white, or grey, and have some kind of pattern on them that's not a holiday pattern, BUY THEM. That's it.

I make exceptions for Halloween socks because, come on, how bitchin is Halloween? VERY BITCHIN WITH BATS-N-SPOOKY-SHIT-ALL-UP-ON-YO-FEETS.

So wear cool socks. People will catch a bit of that creepin around your ankle, over those supasexy shoes, and suddenly objectify you, and who doesn't want that?

They might even follow you home.

a list of the qualities of an ideal woman:

2011-04-05T02:26:00.000-07:00

- boobs

- not bald

That's all I could come up with on the spot. I mean, and we're talking really basic stuff here. This list utilises the argument that gender is determined by genitals, not your brain, which is why having a vagina is not on the list.

If I decide to ascribe to the "brain makes the gender" train of thought, then having a vagina should be on there.

Then again, if "brain makes the gender" you can be a woman with a dick.

Fuck, now I'm not sure what we're talking about anymore.

Oh.

Oh. Ideal woman.

You want more points? Okay more points.

- blonde (want to see some serious "moth to flame"? get me drunk and show me a blonde. Aaljsjddsjkldfjkldfsjkl)

- not taller than me. All of my girlfriends have been at least 2" taller than me. Not much of a feat, but still, I'd like to be taller than someone someday.

- sense of humor

- sense of likes to be drunk and/or stoned

- sense of likes to make me sammiches.

OH MY GOD I'm an asshole.

It's not true, I like making sammiches too. For others, for myself, for, you know, old people and shit. Volunteering? EAT YO PEANBUT-BUTTAH AND JELLY, OLD LADY! That's me volunteering. Also: make em for Small children, lap dogs. People with one leg. People with two legs. People who believe in democraxy and who don't believe in democracy. Second group? BETTER HAIR. Crusty punk, but, you like sammiches? who doesn't. Turkey, chipotle, spinache, waffles as bread. Bread as waffles? It's alled cic xfrench toast.

these are all the good things the world has. for us humans.

what time is it?

2011-04-04T21:19:00.000-07:00

always and forever

tips to take to the grave: part one of possibly more than one

2011-04-03T22:04:00.000-07:00

This is how to be awesome.

[point 2 is not really family friendly, by the way]

1 - STOP WHINING - There's a reason there isn't a local whining group for tots/seniors like there is for soccer/bingo. That reason is the same reason it's not considered a hobby, isn't in the Olympics and isn't offered as a major at most nationally accredited universities.

Whining is boring and unattractive. It makes people not like you.

Oh, wait . . .

That's where all my friends went.

If you want to whine, do it to the cat or some other person that doesn't understand English. Whining is not for twitter. Did you hear that, Paulie? Not for twitter.

Or your blog.

2 - MANNERS ARE IMPORTANT - Women expect you to expect them to suck your cock, and this is why most of them do it. They'll pretend they like it, but here's the thing -- I read somewhere that most women actually don't like this. Some of them just couldn't care less. It's all a show and they DO IT ANYWAY.

The least you can do, then, is offer to return the favor. No, no, this does not mean you suck your own cock. Only like 1 in 400 people can do that (I am not one of those people, and yes everyone has tried.)

Returning the favor means you better be ready to go down on her. This is what gentlemen do. If you don't know how to do it, learn how to do it. Embarrassing to not know what you're doing? Yeah, but man the fuck up and get over it. Chances are your tiny cock and your unresolved issues with premature ejaculation aren't going to make her come anyway, so you should probably learn how to do that with some parts of your body you can actually see without a magnifying glass.

Then, with this skill in hand, you're suddenly handsomer, taller, funnier, and your girlfriends will stop dumping you.

I swear, it's like magic.

3 - DANCING MAKES YOU SANE AND HEALTHY - Seriously, man, if you don't dance you might as well be dead. Most guys, especially most white guys, are terrible at dancing. I happen to be blessed with some pretty good moves, but to all you elbow-wigglers out there, just remember this: you don't have to be especially good at dancing to do it. You can look ridiculous, but you have to know you look ridiculous and not care about it. You have to work it, wiggle around like you have so much self confidence you can look like a fool any time you like without suffering any ego damage. Do the Bus Driver, the Sprinkler, the Shopping Cart, laugh at yourself and make other people laugh. People like other people that make them laugh. Especially women.

Did you get that? Women like funny.

Then, once you have your favorite lady laughing at your rendition of the Scuba Diver, drag her out on the dance floor. This is when you swing her around. Girls love this and they'll love you for throwing her around violently and making her dizzy, and soon enough her hair-shaking and wiggling hips will distract everyone from the fact that you have no fucking idea what you're doing.

STOP MAKING EXCUSES AND DANCE.

4 - EVERYTHING IN MODERATION - Oh boy. We're still working on this.

Ideally, moderation is a good thing. The world is not going to end if you don't eat that ice cream cone, you are not going to miss out on the funniest/best/awesomest thing ever if you don't go to that party, and chances are, that drunk girl? I'm gonna say, no, probably not the best sex you're ever going to have. You are probably not going to die tomorrow, or in an hour, so learn to relax and don't force shit on yourself because "this might be the last" or you "might miss out on something". Listen, you can get baked later, when you actually feel like it and don't have work the next day. Chances are it's not going to lead to a creative rainbow of a brainstorm anyway. You'll just get the munchies, eat some weird shit, and then fall asleep.

Let it go, man.

5 - WORK LIKE YOU'RE VOLUNTEERING - I don't know how this works for me, but if I pretend I'm not whoring my services out for money -- ta dah -- I don't feel like I'm whoring my services out for money. I'm choosing to do this, and in return, my job just happens to pay me each week because I'm just so gosh-darned nice.

Also, banned from my mental vocabulary: "I hate working"

I don't. I ddddoooooo nnnnooooooot.

6 - DGAF - Don't be ashamed of anything you like (unless it's legit creepy, like stalking children). Get comfy with the fact that you like trashy tv or cheesy 90s movies, that you live for playing your favorite songs on repeat for days, that you like saying "hella" and "dayum", or, as a straight white male, the fact that you have a rampant passion for appletinis.

Embrace it.

This also goes for who you love. I'm going to plagiarise the movie Adaptation here a bit, but you are free to love whoever you want. It's not their choice, it's yours. You are what you love, not what loves you.

Basically, let yourself love what you love.

Don't

Give

A

Fuck

7 - ONE DAY, YOU'RE GOING TO LAUGH AT ALL THIS SHIT - Twitter? Blogs? Facebook? Don't get all hyped up about it because one day you'll think you were really stupid to be involved in all this voodoo nonsense and on top of that there will be days when you don't even remember such things existed.

So? Don't let it bother you. You didn't get retweeted? No comments on this post? No facebook notifications? So and so has more followers than me?

BOO-FUCKING-HOO.

The internet isn't even a real place. It's all make believe. So don't let it put its imaginary fingers in your shit.

Go outside and make some mad love and have parties and do things with real people in your real life. That you will remember.

-----------------------------------------------------------

That's all I have for now.

I fucking love you guys.

party party party

2011-04-03T19:33:00.000-07:00

This is my awesome friend Lisa looking stinkin adorable in the alien party hat I sent her.

FUCK YEAH PARTY HATS.

Everything to do with parties is awesome. All kindsa parties, all the time. But, you know, life is short, have lots of parties. Or at least wear silly hats with aliens on them. Who cares how old you are, this shit is some serious classy.

SHIZAM.

it's a dance jam!

2011-04-03T14:03:00.000-07:00

PHOENIX - IF I EVER FEEL BETTER

IF I EVER FEEL BETTER

REMIND ME TO SPEND SOME GOOD TIME WITH YOU

YOU CAN GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER

WHEN IT'S ALL OVER, I'LL LET YOU KNOW

THIS IS . . .

2011-04-02T23:54:00.000-07:00

SPARTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAActually it's post 300.

DO YOU GET IT

I swear we already did post 300, but I deleted some way back from when I first started blogging, so that fucked up the whole thing.

Anyway.

Look at this:

Creepy google ad bot read the email I just sent Mizz LM Stull, and it decided, for some reason, to offer me the world wide web's finest in Voodoo magic.

And . . . country music?

wut

Self Portrait in Living Room Silhouette by P.W. E------, 2011

2011-04-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

This is from something I started drawing, and then was like "whatever."

Whatever.

I AM OKAY

2011-03-30T21:40:00.001-07:00

I AM OKAY

I AM OKAY

I AM OKAY

I AM OKAY

I AM OKAY

I AM OKAY

no, come on man

2011-03-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

Don't give up on anything.

Stop being an asshole.

Stop letting yourself use the internet when you're drunk. You're not even that drunk. I mean, your hands still work pretty well. Look at these goddamned words. You're barely drunk.

RIGHT?

Sobering up. Sobering up I swear.

yes okay

2011-03-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

I'm drunk and ooonnnnnnnline.

Nothing's wrong, I'm just drunk.

Just a little bit.

Pretty chill. Drankin drankin drankin.

I didn't use this flowchart, I just decided that the alcohol looked lonely and needed the company of each other in my tummy.

But

actually

I hate everything

uhm

I said I was doing good, then I wasn't. Then that completely left me and I definitely did not spend a while crying and feelings miserable instead of eating dinner.

NO I DIDN'T

DRANKIN

Where the hell are the groceries? I don't wnat to do anything.

Im not fixing any typos, bitches. BITCHES.

Ugh, I'm too much of a wreck to date anyone.

Going to give up RIGHT AFTER I get more drunk.

Drunker?

grocery shopping is probably something I should do

2011-03-30T16:28:00.000-07:00

This is all the food I have right now:

salsa
3 kinds of jam
rosewater
1 clove of garlic
sun dried tomatos
left over rice
half a Squirt (flat)
half a baked potato
coffee creamer
ketchup
heel of a baguette
soymilk
1 egg
1/2 stick of butter
salad dressing
cornstarch
hot fudge
1/4 block of swiss cheese
1/2 onion
1/2 head of lettuce
2 lemons (where did they come from?)
really old popsicles
frozen peas
box of Thin Mints
stale tortilla chips
quaker oatmeal
steel cut oats
1/2 bag of penne
peanut butter
lasagna noodles
honey
hot chocolate mix
coconut milk
canned peas
black tea
earl grey
maybe like 3 or 4 potatoes
balsamic vinegar
1/2 handle of vodka
cooking wine
rice
flour
1/4 bottle of mead
3 cans PBR

I can't even make a goddamned peanut butter and jelly sandwich becaue I don't have any bread.

How did I let it get this bad?

Probably going to go eat those girl scout cookies while starting sadly at the open fridge . . .

$700 cakes and double couches

2011-03-30T00:34:00.000-07:00

So I had tea with Emily today before she taught her evening yoga class, and the tea place was selling slices of cake, you know, like pastries and all that, for $7 a slice. So while we were waiting to order, I did some quick math in my head, and this is what came out of my mouth:

ME: Wow, that's a really expensive cake.

EMILY: Hm?

ME: It's worth like 700 bucks.

EMILY: What?

ME: Those slices are seven dollars a piece.

EMILY: What? No, there are only like . . . (counts slices) fourteen slices. That's ninety-eight dollars.

ME: . . . oh.

EMILY: . . .

ME: Oh. Right. Yeah. Uhm, I'm not stupid, I just can't add. I mean -- multiply. FUCK.

EMILY: Ha ha

ME: I swear I'm not an idiot.

EMILY: Ha, you're a complete retard.

But I guess, math skills (or lack of) aside, she still likes me. In fact she came over here after her yoga class to hang out, which was mostly sitting around with the tv on, trying to get Boxie in some sort of playful/amiable mood, and eating cookies, all of which was interspersed with almost making out, but not quite making out. Which was probably a good thing.

So things are going well. Most things are going really well; I'm fairly sure this is the happiest I've ever been, which sounds really stupid, but it's true. I've never been this not depressed, I guess. Like, it's at the point where sometimes I don't even recognize myself -- in a good way.

I mean, I came home today and first thing I did was start CLEANING.

WHO

THE

FUCK

DOES

THAT.

Normal people? I think I understand now what my ex was always saying, about how she couldn't really sit down and relax if things weren't tidy.

Eugh. I don't think I've ever said "tidy" before. It's kind of a gross word, right?

Anyway.

I cleaned shit. And I'm dating someone awesome aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I still have an extra couch in the living room that's just sitting there looking sad and middle aged. That's not a good thing, but it is slightly amusing.

Double couches.

Woah.

this isn't the kind of stuff that I shouldn't tell the people in my life

2011-03-29T15:10:00.000-07:00

Hence, I tell teh internets.

I'm very out of touch with, uhm, "feelings", so one way to figure out if I love someone, in any manner, really, is to gauge how sad the thought of me murdering them would be.

If it makes me really sad, then I love them.

If it doesn't then you're probably just like one of my exes or something.

Speaking of which, both of them (or the most recent two; it'd be weird if I talked to either of the first two) are now talking to me again. I got invited to Abigail's 21st, which I am totally not going to.

I don't know what Sadie's deal is. She wants to be friends or . . . just . . . I don't even know. I don't even. I don't. I . . .

Anyway.

Paulie's guide to feelings:

Think about killing people.

let me get excited over first base please, okay? Okay.

2011-03-28T23:38:00.000-07:00

I posted this exact same thing on twitter just now, but -- read the fucking post title again. It's called "I'm excited"

Okay.

Ahem.

HOT DAMN I DID IT. I kissed Emily. I demand a gold star! Ten gold stars! IT WAS AWESOME.

I don't care how old I am, I will always be excited about kissing a cute girl.

And hand holding.

FUCK YOU, I LIKE IT.

I'm going to be completely, utterly in love with this girl by the end of next month. She is amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing.

Amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing.

scarf cat

2011-03-27T16:27:00.000-07:00

Because Boxie must be held AT ALL TIMES, there's been a new development in the Paulie household. It's called The Scarf Cat.

She loves it, even though she uses one paw to claw my chest constantly, and it surprisingly has no influence on the amount of cat hair in my food.

Because Boxie's terrible at being a cat and has zero balance, she falls off a lot and, in the falling off, claws me mercilessly. So my chest and shoulders are covered in these long, shallow wounds.

It's pretty awesome and really attractive.

I love my cat.

2011-03-27T12:55:00.000-07:00

Being on antidepressants makes me really boring. I don't do any of the stupid shit that kept my life interesting before, which I suppose is a good thing. Like, I should realise that that's awesome, but --

I'M SO BORED.

Alls the tiiiiiiime!

I don't remember drawing this

2011-03-26T21:05:00.000-07:00

But I guess I did . . .

This guy, though, he has a point.

BETTER THAN A GOAT

2011-03-26T00:54:00.000-07:00

I marched over to Rachel's, basically to say, "Hey, sorry about Monday, we're going to go eat some BBQ and I'm going to tell you all about this awesome girl I'm dating but don't have the balls to kiss, okay? OKAY."

Then I was like: "Friday niiiiiiiiiiight!"

"AFTERPARTY."

Okay, tangent.

"Crazy beans, double the real gold!"

I'M LOSING MY MIND.

Rachel's still like my best friend even though she's mad at me half the time.

She's like legit crazy, though. I'm finding this out more and more these days.

I'm also crazy, but we're crazy in opposite directions.

Anyway, that's what I did tonight. Baaarrbsaque.

Basically this blog is like a sad, spastic diary, hence I have to write about most of the shit I do and maybe sometimes my feelings if those happen.

'm tirrrrrrrr'd

---> bed

When I get tired like this, or other things, I just speak strangely, and then up there you can see how I try to spell things out the way I say it in my head.

Not pretty.

It's, you know, whatever. It's okay.

Emily is great, though. The girl I've been on three dates with so far. She has two cats and is generally awesome. Though the generally awesome should've been before cats bit. The cats bit is less important.

Hm. I'm going to bed so the words will stop.

Blah blah balh.

Spacey as fuck. But it's my motherfuckin blog, right?

It's my blog, I post whatever I feel like.

Shadddup.

There's a can of coconut milk on my desk and I'm not sure why.

fuck you normal camera mode

2011-03-25T14:33:00.000-07:00

macro forever and ever

GLYPHS, or "Paulie continues to be juvenile"

2011-03-24T16:52:00.000-07:00

Spent way too fucking long translating my name into Maya glyphs. Why? Because dabbling in dead writing systems is not a waste of time whatsoever. Especially not when you're (technically) supposed to be working.

But whatever. I finished my work early.

So, okay, that's my name.

It's not really set up in the way you're supposed to read glyphs, but whatever. No one around here's a scholar of this stuff, and at least I know it's wrong.

But, okay, so Paulie is broken down into syllables as pa-lih, written with the glyphs PA / LI H(I). The PA is the head, the LI is the weird angry birdish looking thing to the right, and HI is the hand and arm thing underneath. HI is used because of the synharmony rule of syllables and vowels and other magics.

After that is a title I came up with, inspired by finding the title glyph of Yoxat, which was offered without an exact explanation as just "penis title". Of course, I had to research it, and apparently it means "he/it of the scarred penis" which is related to some myth, and thusly is used in part of some god's name, but I wasn't really paying that much attention to what I was reading, so I can't tell you anything more than that.

So, anyway, my middle name is William, but I'd rather be known as "he of the great penis". That's what yo-ach-lakam (poss. / noun / adj.) means.

ARE YOU IMPRESSED WITH HOW I USE GLYPHS?

Then underneath is my last name, which continues to be none of your business.

Anyway, you can do it yourself if you want.

If you're stupid/lazy/can't read, I'll do it for you. And I'll come up with some bitchin title/nickname if you want.

cat-couches

2011-03-24T13:13:00.000-07:00

This is the couch I want:

And I can get it in any fabric, so I figure if I'm paying like $1500 for the thing, I can get it upholstered
in this:

GOOD IDEAS: I HAVE THEM.

Actually, I'm thinking of getting it in grey. Medium grey.

I tried to photoshop the cats onto the couch, but it was too much fucking work to make it look good. I mean, I'm supposed to be working anyway, not photoshopping cat-couches.

[insert joke about cat-couches getting you pussy, one way or the other]

[laugh obligingly]

Cooking With Paulie presents: How To Make Starbucks Drinks At Home

2011-03-24T12:24:00.000-07:00

1. Brew some really strong, really bitter coffee that you'd never ever actually drink by itself.

2. Put a shitload of ice cream in it.

3. Put a shitload of ice cream toppings in it.

4. Put a shitload of whip cream on it.

5. GO FUCKING NUTS.

Seriously though, it's not even coffee at this point.

I'm buying a new couch

2011-03-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

Yup.

I went and looked at some. Kinda stared them down. And? Couches are fucking expensive for just being something you sit on.

Then I came back here and saw the state of my couch, and fuck I am going to have to buy a new one. There's like food on it and noseblood and . . . probably every other bodily fluid.

It's probably a biohazard.

And it's in the middle of my living room.

New couch is going to be awesome, though. Hella classy.

That's the only news I have to share.

parallel lines

2011-03-22T16:43:00.000-07:00

THIS SONG

SO GOOD

Junior Boys!

let's chalk this one up to our perpetual bad timing

2011-03-22T01:01:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I do shit that's too stupid to blog about.

relationship advice from backpacking magazines

2011-03-19T18:58:00.000-07:00

For some completely incomprehensible reason, I was sent a backpacking magazine in the mail. I feel like I shouldn't have to point this out, but I'm not really a backpacking kind of guy. I like being outside, but I like sitting outside for the most part. Camping is okay -- basically, anything that gives me an excuse to not shower for days on end (being deathly ill, moving to a third world country) is chill with me, you know? I fucking hate showering.

I'm not gross, though. I still do it, it's just so damn boring.

Okay, so, this magazine.

I was flipping through it, you know, and there's like Destinations, Backpacking Mistakes Idiots Make and How To Avoid Them, Frostbite IQ, and all of this interspersed with pictures of burly men being burly. (I'm not into burly men, so that's like, whatever)

THEN I found something good in the Couples Camping 101 article.

Oh yeah. This is, according to backpackers, the "Top 7 Relationship Killers".

What's funny is this list doesn't actually specify that these are relationship killers in the camping/backpacking zone. Nope, just your everyday things to avoid if you're in a relationship.

Are you ready? Let's do some learning.

1. Embarking on scary/tricky terrain. Steep stuff that's fine for you might petrify your partner.

2. Treating your spouse like a pupil and correcting everything he or she does.

3. Letting your goals drive the trip. Don't succumb to summit fever if common sense cautions otherwise.

4. Acting like you know what you're doing when it's obvious you have no idea. That's a sure way to cause mutiny.

5. Boring meals. e.g. cooking ramen 24/7

6. Forgetting you're on a date. "It's easy to go into asexual mode on the trail." Waitzman says.

7. Using deet bug lotion as massage oil.

4, 5, 6 (and maybe 7) pretty much sound like "don't date a guy still in college."

Right?

#cat #cat #cat

2011-03-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I forget I have a camera.

I never forget I have a cat.

Never.

forgive me

2011-03-19T01:50:00.000-07:00

I don't really know how to blog about this kind of happiness. But I'll try.

I can't even get my head around how to write about this.

GOOD DATE.

Like, not "good date cause I got some sex out of it" but like "I just spent like four hours with an amazing enchanting beautiful wonderful amazing woman and I am tripping over myself now because I don't know if this is real life anymore."

OH MY GOD.

Something good is happening! I'm fucking off my tits!

OFF THEM COMPLETELY.

Thank you internet, thank you for your missed connections. Thank you awesome shoes for attracting said awesome woman so we could make small talk.

Dude, she's so great.

We're doing brunch on Sunday. That's because she likes me! And I like her! And we like each other!

Not getting any sleep tonight.

YAY!

BE STILL MY SHORT, REALLY CUTE HIPSTER HEART

2011-03-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

I'VE BEEN MISSED CONNECTION'D!

(you have to click on it to read it)

OH MY GOD my life is now complete. I've been waiting for this for years.

I remember this girl. She was drinking kombucha. I . . . think I actually will respond to this. I mean, she wants to hear more about my shoes! If there's one thing you know about Paulie, it's that Paulie Likes His Shoes.

A lot.

(PCC is a grocery store, by the way)

UPDATE: I'm leaving like right now to go on a date with this lovely lady.

Her name is Emily.

seriously, though, it might be an underwater snooze-fest

2011-03-18T11:22:00.000-07:00

I dreamt last night that I was in some strange late eighties, early nineties teen movie, where everyone's obsessed about who's dating who and the cheerleaders are definitely cool, but also bitches, and all the guys in leather jackets are assholes, but also really awesome.

It didn't make very much sense.

There was a girl who was obsessed with getting married. Someone made a lemon custard pie with halves of lemon just stuck in there (with rinds) and they weren't sure how good it was going to taste.

So I tasted it, and it was pretty good. No big deal.

Then the girl who was obsessed with getting married took this piece of lemon custard pie wrapped in saran wrap she had been saving for a few years (for her wedding) and put it next to the fresh custard to compare them.

So then there was this guy that I was in love with, or whatever -- not really sure -- and we were talking about us being together for the rest of our lives, and he was like,

"I dunno, I don't think it'll work, I'm a mermaid."

I was like, "Oh, that's cool. I am probably one too." (But I really wasn't, I just secretly wanted to be one) and then I said, "We can live together in the ocean."

He said, "Nah, I don't think you'd want to."

And I protested (can't remember what I said), and he was like:

"ALL THE OTHER MERMAIDS DON'T KNOW HOW TO TALK."

Then I remember thinking, oh wow, that might be boring, and then I woke up.

woah but like woah seriously woah

2011-03-17T23:22:00.000-07:00

THIS TUMBLR RIGHT NOW:

All Things Androgyny
All Things Androgyny
All Things Androgyny
All Things Androgyny
All Things Androgyny

OH MY GOD I GO CUH-RAZY CONSTANT BONERS ALL THE TIME.

FUCKING LOVE IT.

I went to that weird party. Had ABSINTHE. Too much. Too much for a hacking sicko.

Then I came home, found this.

Night complete.

boosh!

2011-03-17T19:15:00.000-07:00

I wish I could find an audio clip of this for you. Naboo's lisp is one of the seven wonders of the world.

Here we go here we go here we go. Found the scene on youtube.

WAAAAATCH IT

Okay I have to go to a weird party now.

Will update.

the latest two search terms for my blog are

2011-03-17T18:35:00.000-07:00

paulie sex
people following me around

AAAHHHHHHH

SO GREAT RIGHT?