I'm sitting in my bed looking out the window, in the middle of taking my pants off. i hear weird noises from upstair, like somebody moving boxes. suddenly i see a figure falling through my window. looked like "munecos de trapo". people in peru burn these in new years. life sized stuffed figures dressed in old clothes.
atras lo viejo y arriba lo nueno.
i stand up and walk towards the window when suddenly a dude with a hat stands up from the floor. we share a second: me looking at him and he looking back at me with an aloof face. i leave my room, half naked, with my new stolen american apparel shirt and bra. I go towards the common space. "somebody was trying to steal shit" i said, but when i'm really exited my English doesn't work very well. so probably i just made weird noises. in a couple of minutes the word runs to everybody in the house, there is a fuking sketcher around! i come back to my room, put a dress on, look outside the window and decide that I no longer feel safe in my room. i am scared and paranoid. i might have to start sleeping with a knife next to me pillow again.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Thursday was crazy in such a bad way that ruled.
I got fired, though i punctured my uterus, went to 16&mission, realized that I have no place to live, got really drunk, sang a made up a song that goes "LET'S MAKE A BABY IN THE BACK SEAT" on the streets of SF, saw the arrest of a child molestor(a homeless guy told me that the dude getting arrested was a pedophile. but he also said "how old are you?, like 16?. You are pretty!": so i don't know if i should believe him or not), overslept/passed out on the transbay bus and ended up in richmond with a drunk japanese man(i was thirsty and could hardly keep my eyeballs from moving everywhere. i asked him if he saw a water fountain anywhere and he said "no, but i have some wine in my bag").
Fridays was Collin's birthday! I made her cookies. THE FATTIES. aka made up cookies. People were completely memorized by them, they kept asking me if they had a little bit of orange in them. when they were asking me they made a wine-tester kind of face, "mmmmm....this taste kind of woodsy. wet pine trees with a pich orange in it"
So now is saturday and I should be studying for a midterm monday that i haven't even opened the book for. why CAN'T I CONcENTRATE????!!!!, Jeff from the Pentacles told me yesterday that I couldn't because I wasn't interested in my major. I told him that I was. and he said "believe me, I m a doctor". I don't believe in doctors. My dad is a doctor and everytime he asked me if I wanted to cook with him I never really cooked with him, he would just ask me to bring him the ingredients.... I don't believe in doctors!!! Plus I already know I am not really interested on anything specific. Although I could say Im interested on rolling tabacco. At least the only time when I can concentrate is when I'm rolling a cigarette.
-La Loba Que Se E sta Volviendo Loca
I got fired, though i punctured my uterus, went to 16&mission, realized that I have no place to live, got really drunk, sang a made up a song that goes "LET'S MAKE A BABY IN THE BACK SEAT" on the streets of SF, saw the arrest of a child molestor(a homeless guy told me that the dude getting arrested was a pedophile. but he also said "how old are you?, like 16?. You are pretty!": so i don't know if i should believe him or not), overslept/passed out on the transbay bus and ended up in richmond with a drunk japanese man(i was thirsty and could hardly keep my eyeballs from moving everywhere. i asked him if he saw a water fountain anywhere and he said "no, but i have some wine in my bag").
Fridays was Collin's birthday! I made her cookies. THE FATTIES. aka made up cookies. People were completely memorized by them, they kept asking me if they had a little bit of orange in them. when they were asking me they made a wine-tester kind of face, "mmmmm....this taste kind of woodsy. wet pine trees with a pich orange in it"
So now is saturday and I should be studying for a midterm monday that i haven't even opened the book for. why CAN'T I CONcENTRATE????!!!!, Jeff from the Pentacles told me yesterday that I couldn't because I wasn't interested in my major. I told him that I was. and he said "believe me, I m a doctor". I don't believe in doctors. My dad is a doctor and everytime he asked me if I wanted to cook with him I never really cooked with him, he would just ask me to bring him the ingredients.... I don't believe in doctors!!! Plus I already know I am not really interested on anything specific. Although I could say Im interested on rolling tabacco. At least the only time when I can concentrate is when I'm rolling a cigarette.
-La Loba Que Se E sta Volviendo Loca
Thursday, October 22, 2009
minding my own business and some dude skates up next to me. Whats your name? You are colorful. I'm a photographer. Can I have your phone number? wow. you dont waste any time do you man? sure why not, maybe you'll skate away if i give it to you. So you have midterms? You wanna come over to my house and makeout? It will relieve stress. seriously. are you really saying these things to me? I'm so ready to kill all of these self-entitled pricks that think since they don't slap you across the face with their dick you should be responsive. I dont HAVE to do anything. And i'm not going to give your ego a blowjob. so dont ask. Not everyone I meet deserves to know me.
Now if you had been attractive I might have considered your offer. But I'm not shallow, just realistic.
Now if you had been attractive I might have considered your offer. But I'm not shallow, just realistic.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I don't want to leave my room. I want a new lover. I will keep him locked up in my room and he will make love to me, watch movies with me, drink coffee with me, give orgasms to me, smoke cigarettes with me, make more love to me, tell me naughty things in different languages, make more love to me and pretend with me that we live in a little cottage in some deserted island in the middle of the pacific where all there is to do is eat eachother OUT.
La Loba Que Se Volvio Loca
La Loba Que Se Volvio Loca
Someone Else's Boyfriend
fuuuuck. I've have been waiting all day on this damn balcony to get an illegal tattoo. These people come and go but the conversations are all the same: "How do you feel about bottled water? The balcony is a free space man, we shouldn't be restricted here. The party tonight will be sick, I hope too many people don't try to crash it. Cocaine is fucking mind-expanding. Yea I just got off a train from Arizona and the street is my home." Fuck these people. I just want to lay in the sun and let Saturday fuck me. Its been about 3 hours and I'm laying on my only friend's bed thinking about sex when someone knocks on the door. He says it will be 2o minutes. 20 minutes later I find myself laying face-up on a love seat staring at the psychedelic ceiling listening to weird instrumental music with my shirt off and this man's elbow in my crotch. Good tattoo.
Now that I can escape this place I don't know what to do with myself. To the City I go. He said he'd be here, but I had a feeling he wouldn't. Either way I can find someone I know in the City and I've got a water bottle full of vodka so I will be OK. He's downtown. I run as fast as I can from the Montgomery station but I still miss the fireworks. damn. I finally get there and I see him: someone else's boyfriend. Why should I get my own if I can have yours? He doesn't ask me to come back with him right away becasue he never really does. That would be admitting he has a mistress and who wants that on their conscious? Another Saturday spent smoking too much and drinking too much with college students. Another Saturday night spent in someone else's boyfriend's bed. Another night spent trying to suck someone else's boyfriend's neck quietly. Then after what feels like forever, its Sunday. Wake up at 2 in the fucking afternoon. Someone else's boyfriend makes me breakfast at 3 in the fucking afternoon. Bluberry banna pancakes covered in Nutella and bacon on the side. yum. The rest of the day is spent in a dark room with fingers and other appendages in vaginas and tongues on stomachs while a kitty purrs and Kacey Johansing talks about summer and Jeff Buckley talks about heaven. Perfect Sunday. What?! its already 9:30?! Well you might as well stay. fuck. What's another night? The weekend ends on Monday now.
I might actually feel bad about someone else's boyfriend if I wasn't such a cunt and she didnt deserve it so much. Whatever, maybe i'll plant a tree or something to help my karma because I believe in that bullshit. So I leave without a word and catch the early bus and laugh quietly to myself while I sip the last bit of that vodka and cross the bridge that leaves the city behind. I lift my shirt and peek down at that fresh tattoo. Its a wolf paw. Viva La Loba Loca.
Now that I can escape this place I don't know what to do with myself. To the City I go. He said he'd be here, but I had a feeling he wouldn't. Either way I can find someone I know in the City and I've got a water bottle full of vodka so I will be OK. He's downtown. I run as fast as I can from the Montgomery station but I still miss the fireworks. damn. I finally get there and I see him: someone else's boyfriend. Why should I get my own if I can have yours? He doesn't ask me to come back with him right away becasue he never really does. That would be admitting he has a mistress and who wants that on their conscious? Another Saturday spent smoking too much and drinking too much with college students. Another Saturday night spent in someone else's boyfriend's bed. Another night spent trying to suck someone else's boyfriend's neck quietly. Then after what feels like forever, its Sunday. Wake up at 2 in the fucking afternoon. Someone else's boyfriend makes me breakfast at 3 in the fucking afternoon. Bluberry banna pancakes covered in Nutella and bacon on the side. yum. The rest of the day is spent in a dark room with fingers and other appendages in vaginas and tongues on stomachs while a kitty purrs and Kacey Johansing talks about summer and Jeff Buckley talks about heaven. Perfect Sunday. What?! its already 9:30?! Well you might as well stay. fuck. What's another night? The weekend ends on Monday now.
I might actually feel bad about someone else's boyfriend if I wasn't such a cunt and she didnt deserve it so much. Whatever, maybe i'll plant a tree or something to help my karma because I believe in that bullshit. So I leave without a word and catch the early bus and laugh quietly to myself while I sip the last bit of that vodka and cross the bridge that leaves the city behind. I lift my shirt and peek down at that fresh tattoo. Its a wolf paw. Viva La Loba Loca.
rainy days
I'm so annoyed by all this assholes that start feeling all philosophical and sensitive when it rains.
The only thing that rain makes me feel is wet.
i had to leave my room for an hour and a half to go to class but i didn't have an umbrella. so i used my 15 dollar jacket as one. when i came back from class i decided that i wasn't leaving my room.
i got a bunch of gold fish and put on Garden State and the listen to the shins and then watched Boy's don't cry until the server stopped working.
i feel fat now and my only winter clothes are wet.
but it's cool, at least i managed to get through the day without updating my facebook profile to some cheesy overrated rainy day phrase.
The only thing that rain makes me feel is wet.
i had to leave my room for an hour and a half to go to class but i didn't have an umbrella. so i used my 15 dollar jacket as one. when i came back from class i decided that i wasn't leaving my room.
i got a bunch of gold fish and put on Garden State and the listen to the shins and then watched Boy's don't cry until the server stopped working.
i feel fat now and my only winter clothes are wet.
but it's cool, at least i managed to get through the day without updating my facebook profile to some cheesy overrated rainy day phrase.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Market & Spear
I knew that at some point in time I would have to become a porn star. Not only because I'm fucking HOT, but also because I do stupid things just to get a good story. After a couple of drunken hours with an ex-lover, I was sitting on the pavement enjoying my last unfiltered American Spirit. Waiting for my friend, William Blake(and yes, that's his real name) to get out of the movie theater and bike around the city with me.
Some trumpet is playing in the background, and I think I should be cold but the alcohol heats me better that after sex cuddling.
Suddenly a weird little bald guy walks towards me and asks me if he could sit down with me "for a sec". I am kind of drunk and slightly bored of talking to myself so I say yes. After making sure I wasn't a street kid, he offers me the opportunity of my life: an under the table Adult Entertainment gig... although most of the conversation has been erased from my mind since I am sober at the moment, I do remember the most relevant parts of the conversation and of course the trumpet on the background playing the same God Father song(???).
I soon let him know that I have done harcore sex shots (of course I forgot to tell him that this only happened in my mind, one of those crazy horny afternoons when you are 13 and you just wanna be rapped or become a porn star because sex in real life doesn't actually happen). He tells me he can't give me the name or the adress of the adult entertainment company that would bring me money and stardom. He tells me that if I work for him I would meet famous people that fucked for money. The only catch is that before being filmed or shot i have to show him that i am in fact fuckable.
I asked him if condoms are allowed, and he said that yes but then somehow the conversation turns into him fucking a beautiful woman al natural: without condoms. Then he shows me his arm to make sure I get a glance at this little piece of skin that was supposedly brused due to an STD test he had a couple of days ago. Then I give me a empty look because I have nothing else to say. He tells me that before anything happens he has to go back to his apartment and clean up and that I was hot and looked clean.
I think i told him to go to 18 & mission because some of my hot imaginary thirsty sex friends are at a cofee shop and they might be cool with all the fuking. Then I got on my bike and left. I did not turn around to see where this bald 5'5 littler chubby man with a white binder in his hads, offering "serious" porn jobs on the street went. But I wasn't gonna let him scape that easily. I realized that this is the time I had been waiting for forever: I dialed 911. I told the operator that a chubby 34 year old man had just offered me a porn job after he made sure I was fuckable. Then she transfer me to SF police and I said the same think. i didn't know how to answer when they asked me for his ethnicity, i said a combination of a "brown dude from iran". i hated myself for that description. BUt Fuck It, I'm not white so I can't be racist plus I ended up calling 911 drunk so it was a cool night. After that i ditched William Blake and decided that this guy's imagenary porn industry buddies might track me down and make me do unspeakable unconscensual things with out condoms...so I decided to make Oakland my Mexico. I hoped on the F and then biked all the way to The full full house to get some music flowing into my hears. Now that I think about it, calling 911 wasn't that cool of a story. Should had fucked the guy.
LA LOBA LOCA
Some trumpet is playing in the background, and I think I should be cold but the alcohol heats me better that after sex cuddling.
Suddenly a weird little bald guy walks towards me and asks me if he could sit down with me "for a sec". I am kind of drunk and slightly bored of talking to myself so I say yes. After making sure I wasn't a street kid, he offers me the opportunity of my life: an under the table Adult Entertainment gig... although most of the conversation has been erased from my mind since I am sober at the moment, I do remember the most relevant parts of the conversation and of course the trumpet on the background playing the same God Father song(???).
I soon let him know that I have done harcore sex shots (of course I forgot to tell him that this only happened in my mind, one of those crazy horny afternoons when you are 13 and you just wanna be rapped or become a porn star because sex in real life doesn't actually happen). He tells me he can't give me the name or the adress of the adult entertainment company that would bring me money and stardom. He tells me that if I work for him I would meet famous people that fucked for money. The only catch is that before being filmed or shot i have to show him that i am in fact fuckable.
I asked him if condoms are allowed, and he said that yes but then somehow the conversation turns into him fucking a beautiful woman al natural: without condoms. Then he shows me his arm to make sure I get a glance at this little piece of skin that was supposedly brused due to an STD test he had a couple of days ago. Then I give me a empty look because I have nothing else to say. He tells me that before anything happens he has to go back to his apartment and clean up and that I was hot and looked clean.
I think i told him to go to 18 & mission because some of my hot imaginary thirsty sex friends are at a cofee shop and they might be cool with all the fuking. Then I got on my bike and left. I did not turn around to see where this bald 5'5 littler chubby man with a white binder in his hads, offering "serious" porn jobs on the street went. But I wasn't gonna let him scape that easily. I realized that this is the time I had been waiting for forever: I dialed 911. I told the operator that a chubby 34 year old man had just offered me a porn job after he made sure I was fuckable. Then she transfer me to SF police and I said the same think. i didn't know how to answer when they asked me for his ethnicity, i said a combination of a "brown dude from iran". i hated myself for that description. BUt Fuck It, I'm not white so I can't be racist plus I ended up calling 911 drunk so it was a cool night. After that i ditched William Blake and decided that this guy's imagenary porn industry buddies might track me down and make me do unspeakable unconscensual things with out condoms...so I decided to make Oakland my Mexico. I hoped on the F and then biked all the way to The full full house to get some music flowing into my hears. Now that I think about it, calling 911 wasn't that cool of a story. Should had fucked the guy.
LA LOBA LOCA
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