U-N-I-T-Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

So I just got back from my first Pride “08 in S.F. with Fea A.K.A The Ugly One, A.K.A. little Maria.

I guess I should preface this in saying that we we’re only there for a couple of hours, but that I am also super fucked up. Like even now.

We got into town, and I knew shit was gonna be dope cuz I saw none other than Mr. Bobby Trendy as I was waiting in line for the port-a-potties. (Side note: I used the b-rooms %300 more than I have in my entire life, cuz I’m a pop & squat kinda girl. I learned this essential lesson 3rd year at UCSD and I’ve never looked back. However, Maria is a little bitch and refused to deface the side of condos with me, so I waited. I almost puked on myself because of the diarrhea shits in the stalls. Some old Bear was like “Oh Sweetheart, I don’t think you wanna go in there, this is for pee-rs. You’re a poop-er. And he made sure I didn’t stay, cuz the shit was errrrrrrrrrrrrrwwhhhereeeee. Thanks man. I appreciate it.) And yes, B. Trendy’s lip gloss was poppin.

I little later I saw my most favorite person of the night, Ms. Cordelia herself. But she was already stumbling down MUNI, and I didn’t wanna confuse her, so I let her go. But I vowed to myself if she returned, the picture would soon be mine. She never resurfaced…and I died a little inside. BGC fo’ life…I poured a little Corona light out for you.

I also saw Irene from Real World: Seattle, you know the bitch that got popped in the face by the homo-sex-ual Steven. I didn’t stop though cuz little Maria has never heard of any of these people, her being from T.J. and all, so I figured they weren’t famous enough to piss my pants over. But they were my quasi-famous sitings of the day.

I also saw some chick from Suhi out with her chick. I remember here cuz there were two African twins at my school, and they were at some school assembly one day when B.S.U. was performing like “Yo, where’s so and so,” and the other one was like “she’s right there, she just took out her weave.” and the other one was like…”oooooh.” And silence ensued. Before this she had like a 4 ft. train. I could’ve died when the last African was introduced to the concept of fake hair. Anyway, she was there, and N.C. was in the house.

I bought 4 medicinal cookies of this dude for $10 bucks, and proceeded to get lit off my ass. Moral of the story, I love the gays, I can out dance any hipster on Folsom, and I’m drunk.

More of shaking my ass to follow. Kbai!

Oh yeah…the picture reflects all of the cholitos walking down Market hand and hand. I’m from the hood for real, and that shit doesn’t happen. It brought a tear to my eye, and joy to my heart. Yeah PRIDE ‘08!!!

Pet Peeves pt. deux

It’s funny how some things can just trigger that feeling, that gut reaction that makes you pull a face and your blood boil. That happened today. Twice. So without further ado, here are more of my pet peeves:

Organic Blah Blah Blah

I don’t shop at Whole Foods, I probably get most of my “groceries” around the corner at the market that sells Caffeine infused candy bars. Or Safeway. Whatevs. Anyway, I don’t buy organic. I feel like it’s a catchy phrase to persuade hippies to buy your overpriced hummus, and I call bullshit. My boss brought in “organic grapes” today (which are fucking delicious) but the fact that she had to throw in the “organic” part and walked away mumbling something about “no farmworkers were hurt during the production….” made my skin crawl. Okay, maybe she didn’t say that, but I haven’t grown a third leg thus far due to pesticides, so yeah. I ALSO had the unfortunate luck of buying an 1/8th for $15 more than the usual price cuz it was “organic o.g. kush” or some other bullshizz. And this kid had no other options. And neither did I. Organics 2, Shannon the big goose egg.

The Word Fantastic

I have a lot of words I don’t like. Namely “moist,” “ointment,” “necessary,” “fork,” and “sure.” After reading a bullshit email, I’ve officially added fantastic to my shit list.

Note: I don’t have anything against Toronto. That place is fucking rad.

Oh Great…

I love the Bay. Don’t get me wrong. But I just don’t get this whole fascination with kiddie shit. Dudes are going dumb in their Spiderman Backpacks, and now New Era released this stupid collabo with Sesame Street. I can’t wait till it hits the streets of Oaktown. Excuse me, I just threw up a little in my mouth…and again on my shirt.

In A Love/Hate Relationship with Bloc Party

So Bloc Party is my favorite band. Like ever. Like “This Modern Love” is going to be playing at my wedding. Like, I just love them okay?!?!

However, I have yet to see them live. I would give my left nut to see them, and yet they continue to be so callous with my feelings. The first time they were set to play S.D. the Matt Tong’s lung collapsed, so they canceled. That’s fine, I get it… I guess…I mean…don’t we have two lungs? I was soooo pumped. *Sighs*

The second time they came to town was last summer, when I was getting ready to move to the Yay and didn’t have enough money to rub two cents together. Foiled, again.

Now BP is supposed to play the Fillmore next month. July 30th at 9pm to be exact. But when you try to buy tickets, stupid fucking Ticketmaster says they can’t find what I’m looking for. I am livid at this point. When oh when will I get to see my boys? Prob never.

I just saw that Ratatat is playing the Fillmore early September. They ripped Porter’s Pub last time, and you can’t go wrong with the ‘tat. Maybe I’ll just sing along to “Seventeen Years” with all the little scenesters and call it a day. *humph*

Guess Who’s Coming for Dinner?!?!

And lunch, and breakfast…AND PRIDE!!!

I hope I don’t get arrested this weekend.

P.S. LOLOLOLOLOL


I pray the ugly one never finds this. Yeah right…find it…hahahahahahaha. Ghetto ass. But I doubt she’ll ever trust me with a camera again.

The funny thing about wounds is…

The memories of them hurt longer.

They also hurt more.

UPDATE: Does PMS start weeks in advance? I’m having a pretty emo night here. Blech (face).

ALSO: I took my (cute-ass Linea Paolo) shoes off at work today cuz my toe felt like it was falling off, only to discover that my feet were in fact, bleeding. I am not, repeat, NOT a ballet dancer, and I didn’t sign up for that shit.

ALSO ALSO: This font conveys the woe in my soul. It’s supposed to be difficult to read, complex like my thoughts. Yeah, yeah. I know. Pushing it.