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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #730
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "I Am So Sexy"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Phairgirl
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 7/6/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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I decided long ago that I am never going to have children, most
likely never marry, and live my life the way I choose and never ruin the
human race. See, every time I tell my mother this, she immediately retorts,
"Well, you say that now, but give it five or ten years and you'll be living
in the middle of suburbia with your husband and three kids." This is when I
give my mother a very evil nasty look.
She's lived with me since, hell, since I was born, if you exclude the
two times when I moved out. She tells me daily what a pain in the ass I am.
She can barely tolerate me. So what makes her think that I'm going to find
anyone who will willingly put up with me? Without that "unconditional love"
thing, I think my mother would be in prison for murder a long, long time
ago.
I know what you are thinking, reading this silly file, "Oh, silly
Phairgirl! Another one of those girls who think that NO BOY WILL EVER LIKE
THEM, well boo hoo!" No, it's not like that at all. Okay, sometimes I can
be like that, I admit, it's that damn estrogen. However, to prove my point,
I decided that maybe a list of non-compromisable issues and statements of
fact would be in order.
1. Everything annoys the hell out of me.
This is a rather broad and over-general fact of existence; it is also
absolutely and completely true. To narrow it down, in case you're REALLY
INTERESTED, I will list precisely everything that annoys me.
a. Scraping your teeth on your fork when you eat.
b. Getting out of the car before I turn it off.
c. Doing stupid macho driving thinks, e.g. peeling out, speeding
over big hills, taking corners at no less than 849 miles per
hour, spinning doughnuts.
d. Putting the toilet paper on the roll with the paper coming off
from UNDERNEATH.
e. Changing the channel during every commercial break.
f. Heat, in any way, shape or form. I prefer to live in a sixty
degree environment.
g. Baseball caps.
h. Leaving your shit strewn everywhere across the room, for more
than a week.
i. Leaving the toilet clogged.
j. Eating butter--straight.
k. Ketchup on eggs or macaroni and cheese.
l. The words "creamy," "meaty," "boost," "snack," and "hearty."
m. Smacking your lips when you eat. Yechhhh.
n. Leaving empty boxes/containers in the refrigerator.
o. Putting pop cans and paper plates in the sink.
p. Criticizing my music choices.
There are many more, but I must move on, or this will be a 100K file.
2. I like to argue, but only when I'm right.
I love to rip people's ideas and opinions to shreds; however, if we
are debating a fact, and I'm wrong (although obviously I'm pretty damn
positive that I'm right), I don't want to argue about it. I prefer to live
in ignorant bliss, maybe perhaps read the correct answer somewhere else and
learn, but I don't want someone to argue the point to my face. I prefer not
to feel stupid. However, I will stop at nothing to prove that you ARE
stupid, should you challenge me on a point, whether you are right or wrong.
I like to put something like this into an example: When I was about
12 years old, I was playing Trivial Pursuit with my neighbor (note: I AM THE
TRIVIA MASTER, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DEFEAT ME BECAUSE IT IS IMPOSSIBLE) and the
answer to some question was, on the card, "Judaism." Me, being twelve, did
not think to say "judaism" as my answer, but rather, "jewish," because,
criminy, I was twelve. My stupid neigbor said I was wrong. I yelled at her
for about fifteen minutes saying it was the SAME THING, and she wouldn't
listen to me. Finally my mom had to send her home because my whole face was
red and I was within inches of killing her. It was great.
Conversely, I was once having an argument (that I dare not repeat,
because it made me look stupid) about ethnic slurs, and I insisted that one
slur was for one ethnicity, while two people argued that I was wrong. Well,
as I found out two days later, they were right, but I called them every name
I could imagine that is synonymous with "stupid" and was ready for physical
violence. Now I feel stupid. I just wish they would've let me think I was
right and let it go, because obviously I learned better without looking like
an ass.
Don't call me a hypocrite, or I might have to kill you.
3. My stuff is my stuff. Your stuff is my stuff.
This one is easy; if it is mine, then nobody is allowed to touch it,
drive it, play it, or mess with it except for me. However, if you buy
something new, I want to play with it, drive it, turn it upside down, and
take it apart. If I cook something, you don't get any unless I am feeling
very nice and made a lot. If you cook something, you better share or die,
or at least tell me beforehand that it's not for me so that I don't get my
hopes up.
If you believe in astrology, or at least find it interesting, I am a
Taurus. In fact, if you read the description of a Taurus, it is me. My
possessions are everything to me. If you steal from me, prepare to die. If
you mess with my possessions, but don't ruin them, well, prepare to die
anyway. However, I want everything I see, and if it just happens to be
yours, you better at least let me play with it a little bit, or I might
want to steal it. I won't steal it, but I'll sneak around behind your back
and use it anyway.
4. Children are evil little things.
I really despise children. Okay, that's a little broad; I don't hate
them all. I don't like kids before they learn how to talk and how to
listen. I don't like kids after they are old enough to challenge my
authority. Five year olds rock. After that, it's all downhill, and they
need to stay very very far away.
I am never going to give birth. First, it's yucky. I don't want my
crotch opened up to unattainable widths and viewed by a hospital staff. I
don't want to wear retarded looking clothes for nine months. But most of
all, I don't want to have to take a baby home with me afterwards and have
to lose forty pounds.
This, although scary, yes, is not my real problem with having
children: my mother has long since cursed me that I will have a child who
is JUST LIKE ME. I'm not taking any chances. I was a pain in the ass to
raise.
5. I am a psychotic recluse.
If everything I've said before is wildly exaggerated, well, this one
ABSOLUTELY IS NOT. I hate people because someone always pisses me off for
some reason or another. Either everyone around me is too stupid for me to
comprehend, or they're all high and mighty and act like they're so much
better than me that I'd rather kill them all than listen to their Honors
Biology drivel for another nanosecond. It may sound odd that I have a
wide range of friends and acquaintances. As my friends will gladly tell
you, they all piss me off all the time and I can only hang out with them
for a short period of time, followed by a week of recovery.
Then, there's that "psychotic" part. I have this really odd disorder
which is similar to manic depression, but it travels in superfast cycles.
Rather than days and weeks of high/low periods like bipolar disorder, my
moods will swing to extreme ends in a matter of hours... or less. If
someone says something that catches me the wrong way, and I'm not in a
decent mood, I will go psycho and need to be completely alone to deal with
my depression. Conversely, I have also found myself doing incredibly stupid
things because I have this insane natural high that makes me act obscenely
silly and hyper.
I suppose a bit of an example is in order for this one. Say I'm
hanging out with my SIGNIFICANT OTHER, watching a good movie (good meaning
lots of DEATH and BLOOD SPRAYING), and I seem to be really happy and
content. In fact, I might be sitting upside down in the chair, talking in
funny voices, and making up nonsense blues songs (I tend to do that a LOT
for some reason when I'm hyper). Suddenly, my SIG FIG turns to me and says,
"Will you knock that off? I can't hear the movie." Then, as the EVIL
RUINER OF MY FUN watches the movie, I get all doe-eyed and wonder what I did
wrong, and DO THEY REALLY LOVE ME, and AM I WASTING MY LIFE, and within
minutes, I am in my room flailing about, trying to not think about pills and
knives!#@! WHEE FUN!#@! Then my cat will do something funny, and I will
laugh a lot, and I will remember when Effy changed the lyrics in that
Stabbing Westward song to "I CAN'T EVEN SHAVE MYSELF" and in less than a
half hour, I am back to normal, and watching the movie.
Believe it or not, I am doing a lot better now than a year ago, and
although that never happened, it's pretty close to what did. I'm not quite
so off-kilter now, but then again, I don't have a SIGNIFICANT OTHER anymore
either. YET ANOTHER REASON.
6. I might kill you.
Now, just in case there's someone out there who is thinking, "Well,
Phairgirl, as idiosyncratic and hypocritical as you have painted yourself to
be, you still don't sound all that horrible. Hell, I'd do ya," I must
dispel all thoughts that I am attainable and tolerable: I have no qualms in
killing another person if they drive me to it.
If someone were to screw around on me, if someone were to lie to me
about something pretty major, if someone hit me or my cats (I almost forgot:
I am required, by virtue that I am alive, that I must always have at least
two cats), then they are privy to death.
When I was four, this friend of the family had this obnoxious
daughter who always used to hit me. She was five. I was taught never to
hit back. So, I told my mom that Keri kept hitting me. She got REALLY
ANNOYED after about the twentieth time. Finally she said, "If Keri hits you
again, beat her up!" Within five minutes, you could hear Keri screaming
halfway across the neighborhood, as I had knocked her flat on her stomach
and was sitting on her back, furiously pounding my fists on her.
They peeled me off.
It happened AGAIN ten minutes later.
Keri was lucky; she was bigger than me and I wasn't all buff.
However, I am fully aware that if someone were to provoke me, I would not
just knock them down. I am big enough now that I know WHERE and HOW to hit
someone. In fact, I would not be surprised in the least if the mortician
had to knock me off three days later.
As wonderful as this all sounds, I'm sure there will STILL be guys
chasing me down and wanting to spend their lives with me. Some crazy fucker
will most likely STILL want to endure a life with me as I yell at them to
eat properly and argue with them that Mewtwo is NOT the coolest Pokemon.
But then again, who can blame them? I'm a great lay.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #730 - WRITTEN BY: PHAIRGIRL - 7/6/99 ]