Got pushed into the ladies' room the other night only to find this:
Over the years, there IS or IS NOT a mirror in this bathroom. For a while, there was a tough-ass mirror that weathered the storm. Thank you, mirror. HOWEVER, I do not WANT or NEED to see myself when I'm in this bar.
So, hell wall.
It's nice to see you again.
There's a new blog in town that's a parody of 7x7's bold hyper-local experiment. It's pretty funny because let's face it NO COMMENT (KEVIN!?) but I have some suggestions for OMG the Mish! I mean, if I were gonna make a bloghomage to that particular site, I'd post many photos of myself dancing at some obscure show because i'm not fat anymore and LOOK THESE ARE MY FRIENDS*. That would be the only thing I didn't hate on or mock because OMG THEY LIKE ME. I'd also have some choice photos of blades of grass growing through the concrete and shit like that. Then maybe I'd move somewhere else that's not the mission and have some other people posts news 5 days too late. AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE COMMENTERS. If you want to rock a true blogomage, you're gonna have to get hateful brat commenters who hale from cities like Concord and don't have the balls to move farther away from home. That's the problem with the internet, it allows people who had no friends in high school to reign supreme(ish). It's totally embarrassing. I want to beat up the internet.
Man, my parody blog would be the SHIT. If there were 35 hours in a day, I'd be all over that. I can't wait until someone makes an Uptown Almanac blogomage. Please contact me for ideas on how to make fun of me.
And with that, I think I alienated half of the city of San Francisco. Good, I can't stand your ugly faces anyway, come back when you've plucked your eyebrows and combed that rat's nest. GOOD NIGHT!
*I personally am fat and LOVE IT. that is why i don't suffer from former fatkiditis and the need to be cool...that shit is the worst thing that can ever happen to a fatty. anyway, i'm just calling it like I see it. It coulda been bad acne too.
I strive to be as good as the girl in orange is at dancing at ANYTHING in my life. WORK IT, you little freak. I've watched this video so many times, I'm pretty sure I'm on some sort of sexual predators list now. What? She's AWESOME.
Because San Francisco sucks ass at appreciating rap music we don't have a Dre Day party like other cities (chicago, minneapolis, nyc, austin, philly) who know whats up. But fuck it that aint stopping me from appreciating Dr Dre on his birthday. So tell'em where you from and crack something cause early 90's gangsta rap truly is one of greatest eras for music and if you don't think so you probably get mad like a bitch is suppose too. Peep Jimmy2Times Dre Day mix that he did for Burlesque, they started the Dre Day parties. (beginnings of dre day here)
I was looking at some of the related videos to the epic DJ NOT SURE vid last night when I stumbled across this jam from MC Oroville. Not gonna lie, this shit is straight up genius. Brings me back. Growing up, my neighbors lived in a trailer and gave me a really skewed opinion of wealth because the majority of my friends lived in houses yet the Ricki's were the only ones around with a SNES. Plus their mother was the only one that would let us climb up on the roof in the dead of winter and sled off of it. Anyways, they're probably living in a methadone clinic now, playing Yoshi's Island and not giving me a turn with the controller. Enjoy:
Previously on Uptown Almanac
First things first: I am not your mother. If I was, you would have been born with severe Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and your tiny eyes and misshapen hands would make it very difficult for you to operate a computer and read the screen, thus rendering this entire post useless to you. But just because I didn't squeeze your ungrateful husk out of my vagina (FULL DISCLOSURE: I do not have a vagina), don't think for a second that I can't tell you how to live your life.
Look, I get that you are all teenagers and that you only have time to read one blog before you start nervously sifting through whatever magazines are available in the abortion clinic you're currently seated in for the second time in the past three months. Really, I get it. And I also get that you don't want to be lectured in that ONE blog, but maybe you need to be. You don't listen to your REAL parents, and if you keep letting your stepfather talk you into stuff, you are going to keep ending up in this waiting room hoping your name is about to be called. So maybe it is time you took advice from a complete stranger. I know you're thinking, "Oh God, this is going to end up the same way as the time when I took a stranger's advice to drink a Jägerbomb out of a dixie cup while he was giving me a ride home from the mall", but you're wrong, because if you follow my advice, you are more likely to cure a diesese than contract one.
Because my advice is to STAY IN SCHOOL, please?
There are many reasons staying in school is a great idea for you, but, honestly, I don't know any of them because I didn't stay in school long enough to learn them. But I do have some guesses:
1. Manipulation of other people
Look, it is just a scientific fact that the smarter you are, the easier it is to manipulate people in order to get the things you want. Practice today on the smartest drug dealer you know. Using whatever reason/excuse/lie you can muster, convince them to give you free drugs. If it works, you get to go get high. As a reward for being smart! If it fails, you are a disgrace. A sober disgrace who probably can't even afford bootstraps to pull yourself up by. You need to sneak onto the bus without paying and go DIRECTLY to the nearest school and beg them to let you in. I would HURRY.
2. Getting laid
I don't know what kind of lies you tell yourself when you're crying to sleep at night in front of a muted tv playing a Project Runway marathon, but they simply aren't true. No one wants to have sex with you. They might do it as some sort of power move, or pity move, or because they're so drunk that they just don't care, but they really don't want to and they will surely come to their senses soon (unless they too are an uneducated ugly person, in which case you two will probably just concede that there is LITERALLY nothing else out there for you and pathetically cling to each other the same way a piece of trash sticks to a bum's foot, dragging along until one or both you tumbles into the dark abyss of the gutter.) So, if you want to get laid, you are going to need to intelligently talk a man/woman/Edward Cullen manillow into thinking it's a good idea. WIth proper schooling, getting your waitress at Hooters/waiter at Applebees to blow/fingerbang you in her Jetta/his Sonata will be a piece of cake. (Yay cake!)
3. So you don't end up with my job when I drink myself to death
This should really be reason number one, because my job is a perfect example of what you will be forced to do once you have repeatedly tried to flush your life down the toilet only to have it keep popping back up until you finally reach your hand in there, grab it, dry it off and decide to sadly parade it around town. I am a personal assistant for a group of potentially-deranged Germans. My pay-grade allows for constant eating out, if your idea of eating out is taking the crusts from thrown-away sandwiches to Dolores Park and covering them with ketchup from packets stolen out of the Burger King on Market Street. My direct boss, is a lovely old German woman who invites me to do fun tasks such as:
a.) take the olive oil she is using for her salad and cover a hammer with it. Then set the hammer by the door, where it remains for months until mysteriously disappearing one day when she is supposedly out of town.
b.) buy her stamps. Be warned though, if you buy her stamps with pictures of athletes or spiders on them, you will be forced to pay for them out of your own pocket, which will be tough because you can't afford to buy new pants every time your pockets become shredded from the sharpness of your work keys.
c.) painting white buckets white. This is a common occurrence when you have my job. You will be handed a white bucket and a can of white paint and you will be told to paint that white bucket white. If you attempt to reason with your boss, you will be screamed at and potentially be called "a gay". FUN FACT: You will also be called "a gay" if you admit to being cold, even though you work in a dark, damp basement without heat, because "gays are allergic to cold".
You will one day be working outside while people are spraying the apple trees with poison. Later that day, your boss will try to convince you to eat a rotten, poison-covered apple off one of the trees and when you refuse, she will begin to eat leaves off the tree like a giraffe to show you that you are a total pussy who believes too much of what you read. That very same day, you will be looking for your boss and you will find her squatting in an alley, urine streaming from her shriveled old body and she will look at you and tell you "this is where we pee when we're here".
I feel I have probably made my point by now, and you're probably desperate to finish reading this so Dr. Russel can Dustbust another unborn fetus out of your miserable vagina, so I will wrap it up. Your life is sad and getting sadder. School can make it better. Stay in school, please?
*don't forget to sext this blog post to all your friends and remember: The Twilight Saga: Eclipise is in theaters this June!!
[Ed. note: dropping out of school will also cause you to write really long-winded and potentially unreadable sentences. See above for multiple examples.]