Showing posts with label the pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the pain. Show all posts

Monday, November 23, 2009

bite down harder...


Don’t be scared
I’ve done this before
Show me your teeth
Don’t want no money (want your money)

That shit’s is ugly
Just want your sex (want your sex)
Take a bit of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bite my me
Show me your teeth
Let me see your mean

Got no direction (no direction)
I need direction
Just got my vamp (got my vamp)

Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bit of me boy
Show me your teeth
The truth is sexy
Tell me something that’ll save me
I need a man who makes me alright (man who makes me alright)
Just tell me when it’s alright
Tell me something that’ll change me

I’m gonna love you with my hands tied
Show me your teeth
Just tell me when
Show me your teeth
Open your mouth boy
Show me your teeth
Show me whatcha got
Show me your teeth teeth teeth teeth

Got no salvation (no salvation)
Got no salvation
Got nor religion (no religion)
My religion is you
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bit of me boy
Show me your teeth
I’m a tough bitch

Got my addictions (my addictions)
And I love to fix ‘em (and I love to fix ‘em)
No one’s perfect
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bit of me boy
Show me your teeth

Monday, November 16, 2009

life is just like jr high school forever and ever amen*


A week earlier, I’d pretty much lost my shit, and in front of a lot of people.

Since what’s the point of having a full-bore meltdown if it isn’t public?

I ask you.

I guess I’m just soft. But when I saw her (shudder) flirting—with guys—some of which I like, know...

Well. Suddenly, the bottle of Jim Beam in my hand made perfect sense.

The shittier part is that it ruined what had been a fanfuckingtastic night and was on par to being one of those watch-the-sunrise epic mornings that you talk about in quiet, reverential tones many years from right now.

I’d already seen a sweet show with friends. That’s right, the lone motherfucking ranger went out with other people. A pretty old friend at this point, and his kind of staggeringly awesome girlfriend.

We hung out, and drank and chatted and laughed and even made small talk with the two Latinas in front of us that knew like every single factoid about the Strokes imaginable. Good. Times.

Onward to the birthday party. And it all goes to hell in a purple basket.


First, it was hot up in there. Then, the (shudder) flirting. At least I got to have my moment with the birthday girl, as lovely as ever. Sigh. 

I let the whiskey take over. I was restless. I couldn’t leave, but I couldn’t stay. I did laps. I tried to talk to people. A friend asked me if I was OK. “Because you don’t look OK.”

Awesome. Getting better all the time.

I try to leave, but just drink more and go back inside. I run into (REDACTED). Oh, great. This is beyond perfect. The one (REDACTED) always gave me shit about. 

“You want to fuck her. I know you do. Don’t deny it. Do you think she’s pretty? Do you think she’s hot? I fucking hate that cunt. She’s so stupid. Did I tell about the time she…”

I’m looking at a pretty girl. She smiles and touches my arm. I calm down just a little. We actually talk, and somewhere in there make a date. Like, a date.

Dazed, I stumble towards the door. Only one person between me and an early morning spent driving aimlessly around L.A., drunk out of my fucking mind, smoking the remnants of the night’s joint. (REDACTED). But of course.

I tell her I’m leaving. She gives me a hug and a strangely hard kiss on the cheek.

I make it to the bottom of the stairs without falling, crying or crashing into anyone jammed onto the staircase leading to sweet, blessed freedom.

Well. Two out of three ain’t bad.