I'm back

Thankgiving I was home. I was surrounded by friends from high school I was smiling and they were asking all these questions. I get a text from a friend in New York "so how is it?" I text her back later and say "I dont fit in here. Everyone is the same and I'm so different." This was the thesis statement of me trip.

I still love my friends from home, and I miss them terribly. But being in New York has toughened me up. Made me less afraid to step on toes, made me less afraid to be me. My parents were great. They having seen me in New York mode, kicking cabs and telling tourist to "please get the fuck out of my way?" they know that I'm different then my brother and sisters because I need to be. Life in Michigan is simple. You grow up, get married, have kids, and then die. I cant do that. I cant follow that time line, life is too short and precious to spend pushing a shopping cart around Wal-mart for 20 years.

My mom told me on the way to the airport that my life was too big for two penninsulas. Its true I want to much out of life and I know it. But I'm not going to sacrifice my deepest and most important dreams because of someone else. Unless I'm so in love that that person that at times I cant sit still.

The trip reminded me why I felt I needed to leave, but also why I call Michigan home. I still love the space, the elbow room. But thats not what I'm looking for now. I dont know if thats ever going to be what I'm looking for but now its good to know its there to go back to.

I got to see my car! Now I have alot of friends and I love them all. But my car...he'll be with me forever. Jefferey Talbot III I named him myself. My green saturn coup. I didnt get to drive him this time, but I will in the summer when I got a

Thanksgiving Part 1

So I flew in yesterday. Everything was great, a little turbulance on the east coast but after we got over the Adriondacks it was smooth sailing. Except for one thing, I wasnt on my schedualed flight. My flight was cancelled and I was rerouted...to St. Paul. There I had a 3 hour layover before I flew from St. Paul to Grand Rapids, MI.

The whole trip sucked. I cried in the airport, on the phone with my mom. Who by the way was absolutly histerical. Luckily I got to the airport super early, and they could reroute me on an earlier flight. I read alot. A hell of a lot.

On the first flight to St. Paul I sat between a french man who decided to sleep on my, drooling on my chest. The second flight I talked to a guy about New York Versus Miami. I was defenitly winning until he said the "S" word: Snow.

My family is great. They survived without me for a long time. My room is still the same, except I can see the floor.

They Say it's my Birthday!

So this morning, 12:01 am to be exact, my brother woke me from my slumber and yelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHIT HEAD!!!!!!" into my ear. I love my brother and I love that he remembered the day I started to ruin his life, but dont yell about it.

So it is my birthday, and I am 19 years old. If anyone here is detective(Mr. HK) I'm fairly certain that from my openess about person details such as the day I was born, my first name, and not only borough but neighborhood that I live in, you would be able to find me in some archive or other.

But on to the events of the day. I'll spare you the Proustian details and give you the highlights:

1.)I woke up.(A commonly overlooked yet vital part of everysingle day.)

2.) I woke up in time to make myself a pot of coffee and watch the Today show, props to meredith but I do miss Katie, she was perky.

3.)I went to class. In my english class my professor wants us to write a memoir or short semi-autobiographical story from our lives. We went around the room and everyone said what they wanted to write about then it got to me.

Frumpy: I know you have a ton of stories. Anything you havent written about before? Are you saving something special for me?

me(casually): I'll probably write about when I used to be into prescription drugs. I'm kind of tired of writing about my sexuality, ya know?

Class(in unison): You're gay!?!?!

Me:...Really you didnt know?

Spoiled little rich girl: But you dont dress well?

4.) I got my new phone today. Its very nice and shiny.

5.)I went to Bergdorff Goodman. The most intimidating experience of my life.

6.)I saw Al Sharpton on 5th Avenue. Probably going home after a long day of bitching about American and thinking about how to fix it.

7.) I bought myself a cd. The Waterboys are amazing and they deserve more mainstream notification. And Keane needs to stop stealing their sound.

8.) I got happy birthdays. So many happy birthdays. But at the same time, it wasnt that big of a deal. Just any other day.

9.) I'm about to go to dinner with Michael. Japanese food...mmmmmmmmm.

10.) I'm going to go home and pack because I'm leaving for Michigan tomorrow. Turkey day is just around the corner.

P.s. I'm eating turkey dinner at sister 1's house. Shit. shit. and double shit.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVERYONE

Bad in bed

I'm having trouble sleeping again. This time I fear I may actually be developing insomnia. This isnt good for many reasons, mostly because I really love to sleep. I used to be a professional. I would sleep in the car, in my bed, in someone else's bed, on the floor, in the shower.(This sounds like all the places I've had sex in the last year, just missing the airport bathroom). All I'm saying is that I was once good in bed.

All that has changed. First it was the stress of not having a job that kept me up for almost 50 hours straight. Now its because of the job that keeps me working about 40 hours a week. The problem isnt work itself that work shifts are really fucked up. There's the normal 9-6(hour lunch included) and then theres the 5-1:30. Now usually during the week I close. So I'm used to going to bed at around 2:30, but on the weekends they've started making me open. This basically fucks up my entire life completely.

I dont get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep on Friday night as it is. Saturday is usually just as god awful. So I read, and work on papers until about 1 in the morning when I say fucking A and take 2 Tylenol PM and even then I cant sleep sometimes.

But now I'm going to go home and watch Angels in America for the 47th time. I will eat Oreo's because they make me smile, and I will sketch a painting by Dali because I have to. Then I will climb into bed and fall asleep. Luckily Angels in America is 6 hours long so I should be spot on when I finally hit the hay.

Ba-ba-birthday

So I'm turning the big 1 9 on Tuesday, and I'm freaking out. Why? How am I only 19!?!?! I dont make. I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day and he said " I really wish that in at least one respect you would fit you demographic profile." PEOPLE DONT EVEN TALK TO 19 YEAR OLDS THAT WAY!!!!!! I'm to upset at the idea of being only one more year older. Christ, I cant even take my own youth seriously...shit.

Yo!

I really dont know what to use for titles half the time I swear, I know that they're kind of shotty, I apologize.

So folks, what's new? Well My birthday is coming up in about a week. I cant wait, even though it seems alot less important this year, probably because I forgot about it until someone asked me when it was. I have to go home the following day, to Michigan. Thanksgiving dinner with the familia. Its going to be very interesting and I will keep you all very well informed. My brother and I are sort of planning all out war with my eldest sister. Sister #1. I also have 2 papers to write this week, because I wont have time to procrastinate and turn them in when they are actually due( 3 hours after I get off the returning plane). But today I have many glorious things to do with my time, like clean my apartment, do the laundry, buy food, and maybe a book.

I will let you know how the reading is going.

I'm still having trouble sleeping some nights. I think its because of my job. Working 9-6 on weekends, then working 5-1:30 on weeknights, its kinda messed everything up. I'm considering finding a new job, after I come back from Christmas Vacation, but I still dont know, my job does kick ass still. Any suggestions? I'm all ears.

Switching out

I've decided something very important: I'm transferring schools.

I need to get the hell out of my school, now. Its a good school, really it is, but I dont want to waste 2 years taking core classes when I can just get onto my majors(art history and english lit). I want to do something really interesting with my life, and I dont think that the school I'm at can give me the education I want. Plus its a really great reason for getting out of where I'm living now.

Being awoken by gun shots is an experience, so is people on my fire escape at night. But my favorite part, more than the roaches, more than the mice, more than the crazy super who thinks he's Moses, the look on peoples faces when I tell them where I live.

My favorite was my friend Lady L.(in true form I will digress.)

Lady L: So where do you live, near the school I hope.
Me: Yeah just south of prospect park, about 2 blocks south.
Lady L: East of west?
Me:&%^%
Lady L: HOLY SHIT YOU LIVE THERE? Is it scary? But then again it seems like one of those places that seems more unsafe than it really is.
Me: Its unsafe. I havent been robbed, and there's really nice people in the area, but there are better places to live.
Lady L: And worse.
Me: Very true.

Its just that look on the faces, ya know? But I dont want my blog to be the bitchings of a boy in the big city. I dont want it to turn into Queen in the big city. (Dont you know that when you clean youre suppose to pick up the plants and clean UNDER THEM!?!?!!?!?!) I'm no diva I still shop at the GAP.

big decisions

I've made a decision, I'm going to India.

You're all probably wondering what brought about this crazy idea, and I'm here to tell you. I need adventure. I knew from a very early age that I'm not one of those Americans to sit around in the same...country for the rest of my life. I need to get out, stretch my legs, keep moving. I blame having watched "Angels in America" 60,000 times for my fear of keeping still.

I want really kickass stories to freshen up my life. I want my parents to able to brag about me, for example:

Mrs. H(my mother secretly hates her): Oh hey there Jesse's mom how are you?

My mom: Oh Mrs. H I didnt see you there. I'm good. Yourself?

Mrs. H: I'm great. My son just graduated from Yale Law School.

My mom: That's wonder! You (treacherous bitch) must be so proud.

Mrs. H: I am, Soooo proud. So how's Jesse doing in big old New York?

My mom(sneering): actually, Jesse's in India taking some time off and volunteering for a relief organization. But dont we all?

Mrs. H: Thats right we do. My son met the President, at a school function the other night.

My mom: Jesse fucked his son last month, he's a total nelly bottom bitch in bed, but he puts up a great front, no?

Mrs. H: I...uh...well that IS news isnt it.

My mom( digging deeper): Yes it is, and aparently Jesse won an internship with Howard Dean, but he turned it down so he could focus on writing his next book.

Mrs. H: I didnt know he was published.

My mom: well his stuff isnt for the Daniel Steele audience. He uses the pen name Gore Vidal. Sorry Mrs. H I gotta run. We're throwing Jesse a huge welcome home party, but we wanted to make all the signs in Hindi, you know? Oh well toodles. Tell your son I said hello.

Mrs. H: Sure thing, bye bye. (To self) what the hell is Hindi?

* Disclaimer: This would never happen, my mom would never say nelly.


I just want my life to be interesting, ya know?

I'm back!

So over the past few days I've been trying to get back into the swing of this whole blogging deal. I took a vacation aparently just as more people started to read it. Sorry about that. I've had to put writing on the back burner for the time being. Maybe when I go home for turkey day I'll get some interesting new stories. I know you're all dying to hear about Thanksgiving dinner: the fighting, the yelling, the swearing, the crying, the throwing soup spoons at my sister's so called face.

To be honest what I'm really dreading is seeing James again. I dont know if I want to talk to him, dont know if I want to see him at all. I havent seen him since June, I havent seen anyone since June. I'm hoping New York hasnt turned me into a total asshole. My parents were suprised by the number and speed at which I can string together swear words at cab drivers who try to run us over.

I'm also worried about my apartment. I dont live in a safe neighborhood, and leaving it alone for a week is going to have me going nuts. I was thinking of letting a friend have the keys, to check up and stuff, but do I trust my friends that much? Am I a paranoid uptown hussy? Well I've certainly done nothing recently to recieve hussy status. But I am considering prostitution, if only I had time for it though. And crack makes your lips are crackly. Not so good.

I must go however, I have a paper to write, and hours of sleep to obstane from.

But if anyone out there is a "pro" feel free to enlighten me with story via email.

deepest apologies from me

I am so sorry!

My folks are here, they arent driving me nuts like before. But they are driving me nuts.

Things have gone haywire in the last few days, hence the lack of entries. But I promise that I will post more when I get time. I have piping hot dish for all of you.

I have a story to post as well. Unfortunatly I must take my leave at the moment.

I love you all.

Thanks for hanging in there.

The sickness

I'm really sick. Its not like super sick, which would be better. Its sick enough to feel like crap but healthy enough to go about my day. And thus I spend the whole day feeling like crap. I dont really have anything interesting to say. Nothing written lately that hasnt been for school, and I assume you dont want to hear about Marxism in a pluralist democracy. I dont even want to hear about that, and I wrote it.

I found a great bookstore on West 10th st yesterday. But seeing as my blog is such a pop culture staple, I'm afraid that if I tell you the name it will become packed and I wont be able to get mi libros.(I completely forgot the name)

blah

So this week seems to have taken a nose dive. (How's that for a first sentence?)

I didnt get the purple chair. It became an issue, a catalyst if you will for a larger problem. In the end it was decided that the chair should go to someone who could actually pay for it. So after considerable shuffling of furniture for the chair I now have a more spacious looking apartment. It always seems larger when other people are there.

I took night off on Thursday. I went to a party at the Met for college students, thinking that it was a casual thing. So not only did I go alone with hopes of meeting interesting new people, I went casually. As I walked up the stairs that are so comfy in the spring I realized I was the only person in jeans. Ripped jeans no less, with a hole in a place we neednt mention. The kicker for the night however was this: I'm standing in front a painting by Cassat, its a woman sitting at table or something like that. A guy and his girlfriend come up behind me and he sounds very snooty, like he's III or a IV or something. He looks the painting over, gives a "hmph" and then says to his girlfriend "I love Lee Krasner."

After considerable pausing done by the other people around me I turned to look at him. He was wearing a blue blazer, and had a tie. The first thing to pop into my mind was "Breeders say the darndest things." I laughed to myself. And walked into the next room as he explained to his very dumb girlfriend about how Krasner's style was so obviously French.

In other news, I just got out of work. at 6:40. I was suppose to get out at 5:15, I made plans, but then they forgot to cash out my register. After this they got pissed when I asked them to cash me out because I was kind of in a hurry. Now, defeated, I'm going to go home and eat Ramen noodles instead of Beef Negamaki. ....I hate this.

Also, there are no more boys. No more boys for Jesse. It would seem that I had a brief, in not fake moment of good fortune. But the Brit turned out to be a toad, and the boy in philosphy is most likely a breeder. At least I have books though, right? A book will never let me down.

On A Sunday

We will wake to a fine Sunday morning; a bright sunlight happening into our windows, a cool midsummer breeze blowing the frail whit drapes. A new day will be at our fingertips. Life itself will be tangible.

I will open my eyes an be greeted with my favorite qoute. The words that helped reshape my life:"...More life. The great work begins." It is a constant reminder of the burdens life brings. My side of the bed will be littered with books, stacks five high. There will of course be the ever-present manuscript. Later in life it should hope to constantly be in the middle of this project or that project, or on some escape from the chaos of modernity.

"Coffee?" he will suggest, coming through the doorway. He won't expect an answer; he already knows the answer. The answer of, "but of course ." I will don a smile as I accept, grateful of his hospitality even though he helped buy this house. He will have brought the paper as well. It is a ritual; the habit of a relationship. We both fear the idea of rocking chairs and back porches. They are too reminiscent of our lives before the city; our childhoods spent hiding from bullies, and getting beat up on homecoming. They will remind us of the reason we escaped to metropolis, to modernity. However, the reason we escaped (not our sexuality itself, but its "fringe benefits") will be the basis of our love.

We will start with the real estate section, ogling all the houses we would really want to live in. We throw out auto and stock qoutes. When we finish our first cups of coffee, he goes to refill, and acquiesces to bring the pot back with him. He rests it on the scrapped sections of the news. We sit upon the bed passin sections back and forth. I linger on the book section and he furrows his brow, impatient. "What?" I ask, "I'm learning. Eat your english muffin."

Getting dressed seems tragic. Common knowledge states that morning pajamas are just about the mist comfortable form of attire on the green earth. But the sound of sirens brings us back from out dream of civil disobedience. The whole day in pajamas, could you imagine? We dress together. He isnt the kind of man who would suggest clothes for me, not even for my betterment. I'm a big boy, that's why he loves me.

Manhattan mornins remind me of Basquiat paintings. At once alarming, and at the same time there is something so fresh about them. Sun soaked bricks all covered with dog urine and chewing gum blackened by the soles of shoes. This is why I will love New York in the future, not because of its political correctness , or its constant avant-garde edge. No, I will love New York because in the summer it smells like urine and garbage before noon, when the sun burns off the haze. I will love New York for the same reason that those don't live here hate it.

We will walk along Bleecker, with no talk of the week ahead of us. Do we hold hands? Do we walk arm in arm? Do we need to make that kind of justification for our relationship? I should hope my fear of P.D.A. would have left me. We wil talk about our homes, the news, the trip we are going on before the school year starts again, and he is overcome with responsibilities at the university. He will tell me about his parents, I will tell him about mine. (They both say hello.)

I will force us to stop at the best coffee shop in the neighborhood. It will be a small hole-in-the-wall place, with no room to sit inside, and outside only a bench. The barista behind the counter will recognize me outside, my coffee waiting for me on the counter as I approach. I will get him coffee too, making up for the fact that he is the breadwinner half of the year. This will depend entirly upon how and when I am published. He will argue because it is the polite thing to do, but he is grateful.

The B-train (it will run on weekends in my fantasy) at West 4th street will take us up to Central Park. There will be conversation along the way. The friends who've called from far away, as well as business associated things, and the academic confrences that will darken our scheduals, our practical calendars. We will exit at 72nd street, remember the advertisment in the Times for a unit in the Dakota for $6 million. There will be an inappropriate joke about murder for those prices . The walk through Strawberry Fields will of course be a good one. And as always in Central Park there will be the far off odor of marijauna.

We will walk, paying homage to Bethesda. We will qoute Tony Kushner, stressing the qoute above our bed. Up the stairs and through the rows of benches we'll proceed. I will tell him a story he's never heard; one I've been saving. He will laugh at all the right place, grimace at the bad choice of words, and say the perfect thing when its all over. The man with the saxophone will have been, by this time, taken by life. But the city will immortalize him with a statue.

The sunbathers will be out by now, getting their own jump on the day. We will continue south, to 7th avenue. I will tell him about the friend I used to have in Midtown, also taken by time. He will tell me about his days in Hell' Kitchen, barely surviving on Ramen and soda. I will retell my days in Brooklyn, in what is now a trendy neighborhood.

We will return on the B-train. I will tell him about my newest idea for some story. He will start laughing, joking about how I get into the zone when I'm working. When we arrive home he will got to work preparing for this or that. I will tell him head up to the attic, my office. My dest will be covered in papers, stacks unreasonably high. My computer will look used, though it will be realtively new. The paint on the "S" nad the "Enter" buttons will have been rubbed away. I will set into motion writing something that will seem profound as I initially put it on the screen, but will ultimatly haunt me for the coming months.(Writing is rewriting.)

In and hour he will knock gently asking me where I want to go to lunch.

Out of the Woodwork

For those of you who read this, who suffer through my bad spelling, poor acronims, my terrinle grammar, and most of all my bitching, for you I have good news: BOYS!

Its about damn time I say. I mean its not the utter lack of booty in recent months that has me down, its the lack of cuddle.

*To crowd: "Hi(cough) my name is Jesse and I like to cuddle."
*crowd: "Hi Jesse.
*To Crowd: "Sometimes when I'm lying in bed I cuddle my pillow and pretend its...its....
*Group leader more interested than concerned: "its ok, I know its hard but you can tell us, we're all here for the same reason. We're just like you."
*To group:" Sometimes I pretend its Colin Farrell, or George Clooney, and when I really want to cuddle I pretend my pillow is...ummm....
*anonymous cuddler: "Let it out man!
*To Crowd: "I pretend its a mormon missionary that I converted when he came to the door. And he's still wearing a tie."
*Crowd: "cough"
*anonymous cuddler: "That is so fucking hot. Why didnt I think of that?"

So yeah, thats my life now.

But like any prime time NBC broadcast I will leave you with this suspense filled notion for now.

procrastination

Do you procrastinate? I procrastinate all the time. Hell! I'm doing it right now. I have a 6(count 'em) 6 page paper due on Wednesday in Political Science(a class I've already taken) and no time to write it. Instead I'm using my only available time to write this blog post and bitch about how I dont have any time. Woe As Me.

The Purple Chair

If things work out(knock on wood) tomorrow I will be the proud owner of a giant purple chair. This chair is so big that I sat in a few months ago I stood up in the St. Lawrence river. Ok, its not that big, but its fucking huge.

Now I know what you 2 are thinking. (By two I mean the 2 people who read my blog still, myself included.) "But Jess (we're on a nickname basis), I thought that your apartment was tiny, the smallest apartment in Brooklyn?" "I thought you hated the color purple?" "I thought that you didnt want anymore furniture?" ENOUGH QUESTIONS! IT'S PRETTY! And I want a good napping chair, and an excuse to get rid of the three extra chairs I have in my apartment. Plus I want to start a hand-me-down thing with this chair. When I move, and I have a friend or new someone who moves to the city I want to give it to them. It will be a symbol of "making it" or somethign cheesy like that.

In other news

I have a problem with wearing my heart on my sleeve. Not because I dont do it, because its more like I wear it pinned to the front of shirt like a pre-schooler with a teachers note about heah checks. So heres my problem: I had a really great time with Bob the other night.

I know that may not sound like a big deal to some people, but here's not for me, and I'll tell you why. I'm young and relationship oppressed, I could have a friend with benefits relationship in MI because I knew that I would eventually be leaving MI behind, no hard feelings. But I'm here now, and I want to branch out. Do I want to branch out with Bob? Am I being stupid, or naive? Overly dramatic? Its possible, I do that from time to time. But I really need to figure shit out.

If there really are people who still visit my corner of the internet, and wade through my mindless muddlings want to impart wisdom upon me, they are completely welcome to do so.

Infamous

The movie screening was great. The movie was very well made, but it wasnt Capote.

I met Bob at his place, we went to dinner at the Eatery(great ravioli) then we walked up to 66th and Broadway. When we got to the theater there were a few people milling about, wearing the writer's Guild apparel(Bob doesnt own any, thank god). They spotted us and rushed over, talking about this movie and that movie, and Myspace(terrible) and the demise of Tower Records. Bob didnt introduce me, and I wasnt sure why, but it wasnt anything to get upset about.

We got out tickets, and headed upstairs. In the theater we sat almost directly in the center. My feet stuck to the floor. A joke popped into my head: Why do gay men hate the sticky floors at movie theaters?......Why?.....Its false advertising!( Can I get a cymbol?)

I was turning over this notion in my mind when Bob leaned over to whispered "Sorry I didnt introduce you, I dont remember any of those people names. "

"Dont worry," I said, "neither do I."

He smiled at my little jab. Then the movie started.

Toby Jones, Daniel Craig, Hope Davis, Jeff Daniels, Sigorny(sp?) Weever, Sandra Bullock, they really cast the hell out of this movie. The acting was great, it was funny, and touching. Gwenyth Paltrow does a cameo in the beginning, where she sings in a night club, and the song, oh. I sound like such an art fag. But then again I technically am one.

P.s. Daniel Craig, defenitly the wonderful to look at. And he can act! Really well!

So after the film there was a Q & A with the writer/director. He talked about his craft, people asked bad questions, I think I may have learned something.

On the walk back to his apartment, Bob and I talked about Capote's writing, then Fitzgerald, then Hemingway(closet case). I made some comment about how being a writer gave me free license to be a raging alcoholic, Bob was amused at this.

So we walked back to his place, and I wasnt sure if I was going back up, or if he was going to bed...alone. Then his neighbor walked up and couldnt get his key to work in the door. Bob assisted him, and then we said goodnight. Bob reached out his hand, looking rather embarressed. I shook it, saying, "Buenos noches, amigo." The neighbor was already inside, "I'm sorry." Bob mouthed, as he walked through the door. "Until next time," I said. I turned on my heel and walked to 57th and 7th. I rode the trusty Q all the way to Brooklyn.

Earworms

I love a good earworm, dont you? Etta Jame's singing "aaaaaaaattttttt llllllllaaaaaaaaaaaast, My loooooooovvvvvveeeeee has come home" do they get any better?

But I have a bad one currently, a very bad one. Four Non-blondes. "I wake up in the morning and I step outside, blah blah blah cause I get real high, I said HEY! what's goin on?"
That dirty dread-locked bitch! who does she think she is, with that " I can sing really loud even though I'm white" voice or that "you probably think I'm a Park Slope Lesbian" demeanor? And to top it all off, she uses marvyn Gayes words!!!!! I hate her. I think we should throw her in front of the 4 train. OH WAIT the 4 doesnt run in Brooklyn on weekends or holidays. shit.

Going to a screening INFAMOUS tonight with Bob. Another Truman Capote movie, I'm slightly skeptical. Plus I havent seen Bob since what, August. Again, I'm skeptical.
Will tell you all about it.

improve poem

In the morning there is the rustle
I stretch awake, wither and quake,
as I yawn.
In a moment it will begin
extremes of a Monday morning
coffee, paper, traffic jams
and by 5 o'clock I'll wish
I was anywhere else.
But with snooze in full effect
I have 15 more minutes
to pretend its
Sunday again.

10/9/06

Mrs. Frisbie and the damn rats of Jesse's Kitchen

So, I have mice. Just when I thought it couldnt get any worse in, I hear it, the clicking noise under my sink. I thought I had gotten rid of it. I threw it outside. But alas, in this city there is never only one of something(except Trader Joe's).

I bought mouse traps and Dcon(Spelling is bad), I thought for sure it was dead. I hadnt heard from it in almost a week. Then, another one. So I bought mouse traps.
*disclaimer: There is nothing scarrier than a mouse trap! Nothing!

So I set them, with peanut butter, put them in a few select places that I thought would be certain for sucess. What did I find? Three mouse traps, set, ready, and clean or peanut butter.

What the fuck?

And what happened when Itried putting more peanut butter on it? Ask my finger, I think the swelling finally started going down.
I hate rodents.

And to make matters worse, my upstairs neighbor started having a porno-style love making session as I nursed my wounds. The cruel irony of having to hear breeders getting booty in my time of pain and anguish(and humiliation) was a swift kick in the teeth.

Fucking mice, fucking Flatbush, fucking straight people. I hate life. But on the good side, I may be going to a movie premier on Tuesday. Will tell you all about it.