we're the stooges, our typical song has 11 words, and after an hour and a quarter you want us to leave

"I wanna be your dog" has exactly 23 words in it that are not prepositions or repetitions. oh, iggy. creativity win.

also, the drinky-drinky party is tonight. shane called me at ten o'clock or so and woke me up [I stayed up until 3 in the morning listening to the clash. as I recall I drew a picture to illustrate the smiths' "cemetry gates" too]. I did not answer. I will call her back and we'll see how that goes.

I should probably link to those songs, but I have the radio on right now. I'm not turning it off. I'll edit them in later.


edit:
when I called her she told me to bring a bag of ice and club soda. what...

a dreaded sunny day, so I'll meet you at the cemetry gates
iggy pop is feeling particularly intelligent today
I love that whole first clash album but this song is especially awesome to me at 2 am. have I mentioned I hate my job?



this cemetery needs more trees... well, I was tired.

non-alcoholic alcoholism

I'm on the phone with shane as I'm typing this

she's planning a sleepover revolving around virgin versions of alcoholic drinks. what. this would only fly at the gay table I swear to god.

she also just said "I was watching sex & the city, which is a surprisingly good show."

what

I don't understand

update fail

allegedly, since mary's birthday is coming up, we're having a surprise party. joy.

I got this information first from C, then from ava when she called me for the third time in one day. best part? apparently ava asked C if I was mad at the rest of the group for "the things [they] said at the sleepover". wait huh what?

I'm not mad at them for pointing out that I piss off the world... I knew that...

I'm more confused now.

it's a get-together! please let me survive.

the table called me yesterday. all of them. they're so fucking fond of 3-way calls. we had 5 people on the line, including me and C. [C hung up in the middle and they never noticed. this says EVERYTHING about them.] tomorrow we're all going to get together like good happy friends and have a nice harry potter themed sleepover.

that's what it looks like on paper.

by the end of the night I can guarantee at least 3 types of drama will be brought up, someone will refuse to speak [probably shane], something will be on fire [probably shane's ex-girlfriend's hair. it's happened before. for reasons no one but me could understand I'm calling her mary], and I will confuse someone [probably the host of the sleepover. long ago I decided I'd call her ava, so I am.].

hey, I just named the whole table! oh, I may as well throw in that there's also a freshman, who is of little importance right now, and two girls who left the school. but since they haven't come up... yeah. later. I'm still in contact with both of them, but most of the table isn't, from what I've heard.

jesus. yes, I agreed to it. and no, it will not go as planned. nothing ever does with these people. stunningly, they've left emma out. hmmmm. if she finds out about this more bitchface drama will go on. I like the sound of that, just so long as it isn't manifested in the sound of my phone ringing.

also, for the last 6 days I've been existing on a steady diet of ramones, dead kennedys, the cure, and depeche mode. add this to the upcoming harry potter fest and... oh god. I'm so screwed.

dial tone, dial tone, dial tone

I've not been forgotten by the Gay Table, it would seem, even though no contact has been made with any of them all summer thus far.

yesterday the only non-gay member of the table (besides C and I, but I don't think we count) called me. I've known her since second grade, when she latched onto me because I was The New Kid. and she has not stopped. let's put it this way, she thinks taylor swift is punk. [edit: I was raised to know the clash et al. before I was exposed to radio disney. the term punk should not be used lightly around me until I know you actually give a shit.]

so she calls me and like any good person I mute the phone. then my good samaritan brother of course has to answer it and I am forced to talk to this girl whose only redeeming quality is a pool. I only slightly exaggerate--she can find fault with ANYTHING. or anyone. I just looked up some generic names and I think we'll call her emma.

me: "hello?"

her: "I AM SO BORED."

I detest people who do this.

me: "really. well, it's summer..."

her: "what are you doing today?"

oh jesus. "working at the library."

indignantly: "you still do that?"

"I just started three weeks ago."

"oh." FAIL.

the rest of our one-sided conversation revealed not much, except that the gayest of the gays (we'll call her shane after that l word character she babbles on about so much) still might be leaving the school next year. this has been an ongoing threat for two years or so, because not only does the family not have enough money, shane doesn't give a fuck and her grades are terrible. so it's not a surprise.

eventually she said she had to go because her neighbor, who she hates "SO MUCH!!!", was coming over to take advantage of the pool. it was pretty fucking hot yesterday.

two of The Table down, two to go. I'll talk about them when they come up.

also, justin bieber + north korea = I love the internet.