My daily commute

I absolutely love my daily commute. I get on, zone out and best of all, I don't have to sit in traffic. I find that the Bart is so wonderful in its borderline soap opera mass transit world, that someone surely should devote a blog to it. Here are just a few of my favorite missed connections.

1. Would be rapper drunkenly promoting release ep
Your brash in-your-face-attitude marketing approach to the fair riders of the Richmond line of the late night Bart, found me enthralled. More so when my heart raced when you wiped your shoe smegma on the seat next to me. Was this a simple rouse for my heart or are you toying with my emotions?

2. Lover’s quarrel
Granted, I was in my own world of iPod musical pre-coffee morning commute haze, but when I heard the shouts from the other passengers over Radiohead, I must confess confusion. My all too American overexposed love of reality gore implored to missing the guy on girl fisting action-not of the vaginal variety-which lulled the train to a 15minute wait time until you both fled the scene

3. Not too young, yet too bold
Your beautiful chiseled face and model good looks kept me in rapt attention. Your willingness to disclose the fact that you, 24, have already been married and divorced to someone my age, hitched from Brooklyn to New Orleans braving the possible sexual trucker act/rape to your purdy mouth and would love to hitch again only this time with your beloved fixie, addiction/sobriety and free love openness attitude…in a mere 10minutes to myself, a total stranger, kept me from disclosing my real number

4. Poindexter
Don’t take offense to the title, a well dressed nerd is attractive, as was an obviously case in point to me eye fucking you for a good 3 stops which thusly caused you to jump ship in an almost Olympic speed sprint to another train in what I can only assume is fear that I will bite off your head after copulation. For this, I am sorry

Coulrophobia

So I've gone and done it...joined the circus, became a carnie and gave up my corporate threads to live life as a vagabond, hustling unsuspecting spectators as the incredible tattooed lady, living a peaceful life with my incredible tattooed boyfriend and tattooed dog. Never mind that I secretly draw on more tattoos than I actually have with my Prismacolor markers; just don't get me wet, kthx!

In this circus, they have offered me an opportunity to improve my lifestyle by studying art and fashion. I think they're secretly hoping I will design and produce all new costumes for the troupe. Perhaps a classier look will bring more ticket sales, but in all honestly, I'm not sure I can make the fat lady attractive; not to mention the amount of fabric they'd have to buy for her costume...lordie.

(my sister Carla, makes the best fried chicketn)

So I have started classes online, yes, the carnie's have wifi, it is 2009 after all. Classes seem to be going well, I'm not favoring one teacher in particular and I've had to turn down offers from our resident snake charmer to leave her a slithering present...

(Thurston's Ironic mustache gets all the ladies)

(Bob is popular in the gay community)

You thought I was joking...

In my previous post, I thought I was joking too...


low and behold, my little discovery under my bed...


UNICORN BITCHES!!!

North American Scum

If you’re in need of some upbeat music you can shake your booty to, while doing the tediously horrendous task of packing your living quarters…

May I suggest?
LCD Soundsystem
Sound of Silver


I have written about this group before, the brain child of James Murphy…I believe it was one of my first posts, in fact. Any who…highly recommended you see them live, all instruments played and a wee bonnie lass on the turn tables. WORD

I would also like to give a big “WHAT UP” shout out to the FREE Seattle periodical “The Stranger”. They are being highly supportive in my move by supplying me with their loving arms of FREE paper to wrap my stuff in.

So here’s to you, tranny section: for wrapping your loving crossed gendered legs around my breakables

Here’s to you, tranny section: for laying your testical-breast-living-cohesively-on-one-body, around my sentimental crap because I’m too much of a pack rat to truly just throw my shit out to the less fortunate...who, lets face it, could CLEARLY use, a porcelain unicorn on their nightstand

Here’s to you Stranger: for providing me with the too perfect asses of those trannies with the horrific boob jobs, bad make up and sometimes surprisingly big packages, for my entertainment while I handle the shitty task of once again, packing my brick a brack on the road to nomad land.

You’re supper duper

Random rant...Christmas Eve

Tis colder than a witches’ tit here in Seattle…yeah, I’m not sure what that really means either. Are witches prone to being chilly because one assumes they’re godless heathens? Is it because their houses are made from candy of which I’m pretty sure, that shit doesn’t provide proper insulation. Or perhaps it’s because they like to frolic about naked and have lots and lots of sex and drink themselves silly…or so I’ve read in the history book, but I’m sure things get lost in translation…

Where was I? Oh yes, its fucking cold here and we’ve been getting pounded with snow in the city. Lucky me, my wagon is stuck under a healthy amount of snow and I have been banished to the busing system, yet again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m dying to drive with the rest of the witless wonders of this city, but a 3 hour commute to work is a bit much. A little bit of snow and this city shuts up quicker than a virginal teenage book nerd clamping her knees together at a high school party. Prude.

(wagon is under there somewhere)

With long travels, comes my little retreat into my tiny haven of music being pumped through itsy speakers to my awaiting core …Lately, my iPod has been favoring Devothcka and its been getting me amped for the up coming NYE show. This morning thank god for the loud tuba, horns, violins and strong Latin guitar, because it mostly drowned out that of a demonic little bastard being, literally, dragged by his mother onto the bus. This little shit refused to walk and was screaming at the top of his lungs like he was being beat with barbed razor wire. She tried to sit him down and he refused to sit, of course, and thus pulled a perfect summersault over the side of the seat, worthy of Special Olympics gold medal, and landed squarely on his head. I laughed. Hard. She eventually took him to the back of the bus where he continued to wail, but I was sweetly involved with Devotckha and mentally figuring out how I’m going to dress up like a saucy wench for my big night out with friends. Woot.

Perfectly pointless entry, but I mostly wanted to remark on the spawn doing a flip onto his head. I’m still laughing; yes, I’m evil.

Hi, I'm Melissa!

So Saturday found me bored, sitting in the corner of the unusually Hip Hop filled bar of the Cha Cha with D; one less of our trash talk trifecta, the 3rd who was joining later…At any rate, sitting at the bar, having D wrinkle her OCD nose at the fact I was nursing my cocktail, we took a break from the lively mocking of misguided Seattleite attire for the evening to discuss the infamous “Seattle Freeze”. The theory that the fine people of this city are that of cold hearted superior asshats that don’t want to give you courtesy, the time of day, or the spit out of their own mouth to save you from thirst in the Sahara.

Now, I didn’t think this legend was particularly true, as I have a hard time making nice and meeting people in the first place; shocking, but true. I didn’t realize the Freeze was actual until I became single, at which point I noticed it wasn’t so much a freeze as it was people were just fucking passive. I’m thinking it’s the lack of vitamin D from the lack of sun filling up them up with joy joy joy; where? Down in their hearts.

So as I’m sitting at the Cha Cha, I decide to conduct a little social experiment to make the night a little more entertaining (by that point, the clothing choices had become a little ridiculous and sad-who wears an off the shoulder orange mesh top with a pink lame Rizzo jacket?). So I started introducing myself with a handshake, to random strangers that came into range of my monkey arm length reach, just to see how they would react.

Victim #1
Me: “Hi, I’m Melissa!” (This would become my power play opener of the night)
V1: I’m Joel
Me: beg pardon?
V1: Joel
Me: It’s nice to meet you!
V1: I just got out of a 4 year relationship…
Me: I wasn’t-no, I was just being nice. Um, wow, I’m sorry dude
V1: it’s ok, it ended on a good note and we’re still friends its fine
Me: super

Victim #2
By this point, several people were trying to bypass the bar line to get service, at which the tender was turning them away
Me: Hi, I'm Melissa!
V2: nice to meet you (no name given)
Me: (undaunted) the bartender has been telling people to wait in line; I don’t know if you’ll have much luck (big cheesy smile)
V2: Oh, well, I work here, I figured he would. I’ll go to the other side to get help (and thus he sprints off, I presume, frightened but proceeds to stare at me with coworker; great, I’m back in high school)

Victim #3, 4, 5
V3: (to V4) I have to piss, order me a drink (I fail to introduce myself)
V4: (whines) I don’t KNOOOOW what to get him
Me: get him a shot of tekillya!!
V5: that’s racist. You assume because he’s Mexican, he’ll want tequila?!
Me: touché fucker, but I suggested it because we’re in a Mexican themed bar
V5: (says something else, trying to be clever about being half Pilipino/white and his right to being racist-blah blah blah; at this point I start to lose interest in him)
Me: Hi, I’m Melissa! (To both)
V4: I’m Holly!
V5: I’m Ryan
(Friend returns, I ignore and turn back to D)

Victim #6. Not really a victim, as he’s the bartender and his earned tricks are based off of his ass kissing personality.
Me: What’s your name?!
Tender: Joe!
Me: thanks for treating us to great service-PEACE OUT!

New bar, one last victim and the 3rd member to the trifecta, Anna, has arrived. Now, the last victim was by far the friendliest, but I’m guessing it’s because he was gay, and I’m not meaning in just the homosexual way, but in the intended way of the word’s roots, to be happy; cause fuck all, if he wasn’t one happy and friendly dude.
V7: I’m Chad!
And with that, he stayed and chatted with our table about chlorine, hair and a whole butt load of other stuff I can’t remember because it was close to last call and I was becoming quite sleepy with a tummy full of vodka and bad sushi.

I will conduct more tests, as this forces me not to sit in the corner with a “don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-carrying-Ninja-Stars-in-my-bra” look. And who knows, perhaps I will meet some new friends and end up with some crazy stories of pants pooping, cheesy domino's tattoos, puking and bar fights to share with my children someday

PEACE OUT!

Pandora, not the box, but the site

As the wagon is still broken and I ride the public trans with the rest of the Hellevue drones, I am developing quite the addiction to Mocha's; tall non-fat, no whip, extra chocolate-Mocha’s, to be exact.

How is this your problem? Well, you clicked on this page, so it just is…and now I get to offend your eyes with my incoherent caffeine rambling words and utter bullshit. Ramble On…

I know I’m behind the times and just recently discover the joys of Pandora. And I know it is there to introduce you to new music you may have never heard of based off of the music selections you input into their genome…and on that level, it’s fucking fantastic (like: waking up in your bed after a night of drinking, naked, and there’s a body lying next to you and SCORE, they’re actually attractive! Now only if you can remember if you actually GOT some) Although, the site has introduced me to loads of new music and as of late, is sadly replacing my uber radio crush, KEXP; there’s one thing it can’t do: dedicate an entire station to just one band. Sometimes I have a hankering for a particular band, and of those sometimes, I don’t fully have the album collection; and damn it, I don’t want to use up my limited skips and rejections in hopes of hearing this band. Like Veruca Salt, I WANT IT NOW! Is it so damned hard to satisfy a fucking itch?! Possibly if it’s in the unmentionable region and you’re out in public, so you try to do some sort of squat, leg cross shift, to make your clothing do the itching for you, without having to blatantly reach down and scratch.

Ok, time to ween off the java, seriously

So the pros: It breaks down bands/songs you choose, into key elements and determines other music that fits the style, thus possibly introducing you to cool new shit
It also has NO commercials; at least on air commercials that assault your ears
You like something, you can buy it now

Some of my gripes: Can’t make a station band specific
Sometimes there’s a glitch in the Matrix and the system will lag as it “tries to determine” the next song to play
You may have inputted Karate, and the thing chooses Black Sabbath to play next. How the HELL it got that from Karate, I’ll never know.

Overall, it’s good shit when you’re tired of the weird DJ selections or repeating top 40

My dream station...

(took me hours to get this combo. OCD is thy name)

Amy Whinehouse

I never paid Winehouse much attention due to the fact that she was over played. Not that I didn't think her stuff or her voice for that matter, weren't fabulous...but she was EVERYWHERE and I got sick of hearing her before I ever got to hear her.

While consuming some ESB's with a buddy last night, he decided to grace me with a train wreck of a performance by said lassie. I'm not sure where; some theater in England, sometime this year; I can't find any info on the performance; which is surprising considering she delayed the show a couple of hours with her fuck-uppery

Talk about hot mess...eyes rolling, swaying, not engaging the crowd, drinking between lyrics, spilling booze; and "while I'm at it-bring me another!"; a serious look of a "oh fuck, can I just get this shite over with so I can go pass out"; wondering if she was going to tug too hard at her hair and pull it out...and me zeroing in on a hicky on her neck; make up artist: you fail! The band looked bored, like they were performing a horrible chore; example: picking up horse shit on a farm... Half way through the performance she asked them to speed up tempo; they obliged, I'm guessing not only because the label pays them, but also because they just wanted to get out of there as badly as she did.

Some Brits are hard enough to understand sober, add the fact that she was clearly lit...I was left scratching my head a few times "what the FUCK did she just say?!" All the same, much kudos to the lass for actually being able to remain vertical in 4" heels when she was clearly stumbling. Poor girl...I really wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and force feed her some Big Macs; those poor legs looked like they would snap under the pressure.

I will say this about her...I've seen wasted performers barely make it through shows (Courtney Love comes to mind) but even in her state, she still managed to sing somewhat good...even if she did look like a glassy eyed zombie who occasionally waved to her friends in the upper balcony (which, thanks to her friends, was the only time she actually looked coherent). The show was enough, even with my permanent "WTF" stink face throughout, for me to see she's got some talent and I'll probably FINALLY check out her last album