how do you exist when you're living in a dreamworld

My roommate is gone, and in his absents he has missed the following:
Me in the worst mood ever
My friend and I painting the kitchen cabinets
Alice in Wonderland
Jumbos
Good Luck bar, where I went undefeated at thumb wrestling. No joke. I was on a roll.
Across the Universe and my constant bashing of it.
Go-go dancing
Me meeting a Boris and flipping out
My new list-writing obsession and the lame stuff I write because it’s cathartic
Watching TV with the sound off and the music on.
Enchanted
Attack of the detergent monster than will eventually kill us in our sleep.
The fight that doesn’t exist anywhere but in my head and online and which I think is one of the funniest things I have ever done.
E.T. in Spanish

These have all become inside jokes now. Within four days! My roommate was gone for four days and now any time we mention anything like this, we will have to do a back story, which is never as funny as just the catchphrase. And I bet he doesn’t know that Hogan is now getting a divorce. Poor little guy.

Update:: Le sigh

Fun things to do at a goth club

My friend worked at a goth club and being the great friend I am, I went.
WOW-WOW-WOW
When I was in high school I was gothy. The reason I was gothy and not just simply goth was because I was Natasha. My high school boyfriend took me to a Peter Murphy concert and when I went I was told to stop smiling. Yeah, by him. That made me laugh harder…it was an awkward time. His loss.
Before we left to the club we had to figure out what I was supposed to wear. She was better at it than me. I ended up wearing diamond earrings and a pearl necklace. I ‘m like a Banana Republic goth. So we go and I’m immediately telling jokes and trying to blow out the dark goth candles. Then the game I started was trying to figure out what these people did as day jobs. As she is working, I am sitting in a corner of the club. Yes ma’am, this fun tidbit is coming directly from a goth club. I am writing in a corner and singing along. So they’re playing older stuff. I know my music. What can I say?
I told my friend I felt like Lydia from Beetlejuice (Betelgeuse) grew up and wanted to relieve her youth and has realized she's way better off now. Then I laughed too loud and got weird looks, at which I just proceeded to laugh louder.

Other fun things to do at a goth club:
While said friend is working, make silly dance moves. When she responds, gesture wildly. Mind you, this will take place across a large room and goth boys will run for cover when they can’t see who you’re playing around with and automatically assume you and said friend suffer from multiple personality disorder.

It feels like a Griffin and Sabine entry but in the best way possible.

Pretend you own the place and people will treat you as such.

There is nothing sadder than a fat goth girl.

Singing the White Stripes in your head and wanting nothing more than hearing any of their songs does not work in the least and you will feel like an idiot.

Ether moment: go to the bar adjacent to goth bar that shares a patio and they play the White Stripes. WTF. I am now in control of the universe! Let’s see what else I can conjure up.

I go through all this before you wake up

I either have been way too clumsy for my own good, or someone made a voodoo doll of me and is going to town. Yesterday, for some odd reason, I thought it would be rad to cut my freaking finger off. But common sense got the best of me and I didn’t quite go all the way through. Ew, I just made myself nausage. (It’s a hybrid of nauseous and sausage and I came up with a while ago and I still enjoy it.) My friend was with me and I was so ‘meh’ that I didn’t flip out…too much. I hate blood. Especially mine. It needs to stay in me. This vacation that it sometimes thinks it needs to take is not appreciated by moi. Stay in one place and enjoy it, Mr. Hemoglobin. Then last night I totally ran into the doorframe. So hard in fact that my roommate shot me a look because it made him look up from the TV. I looked at him and asked, “When the hell did we put that there?” It’s going to leave a bruise. I’m going to start naming my bruises. THEN…this morning, in my car, on the way to work…wait for it…wait for it…I got stung by a baby bee! While driving! On the one-oh-one! Are you joking me??? Where the hell is the camera? Am I getting punked? And because of this stupid encounter, I haven’t been able to get that “I’m taking home my baby bumblebee” song out of my head all day! Wow, re-reading this, I am on punctuation overload. Cereal. Serial. Syria. All I wanted to do tonight was have an escape from daily life and my new injuries and go to the observatory to walk around. But with the way that things are going one of two things are most likely going to happen. Either A: The Autobots will be holding their meeting and as they “roll out” I’m going to be run over by Bumblebee, or B: There will be some kind of cosmic breakdown and a black hole will appear over the observatory and I will be sucked out of this realm and placed in another. Wait, that sounds kinda amazing. Ok, observatory back on!
Side note: It's Bjork's birthday.

I wish you would have put yourself in my suitcase

Instead of painting my door, I do believe I have a better idea and a crazy new obsession. Instant photographs. Not just Polaroid’s, but the pictures that you take at bars and arcades and stuff. This was recently triggered when I was going through some things and found a fun quad pic of a friend and myself during my “I’m going to wear dresses every day” phase. All it made me want to do was rummage some more and find all that we made last summer. We would go into the booths with stories that we NEEDED to tell. Then we would come out and pound on the booth until our picture came out. As for the Polaroid’s, I do have a camera and actually bought a crap load of the film for an art project, but alas, I have yet to find them. Packing and moving crap sucks. I put up the one quad pic (patent pending) on my newly made dresser (my hand is so sore, you would not believe!) and just looking at it makes me feel better. Better? Hmmm, it makes me feel like I need to take more pictures and find my camera. Not in that order, obviously. The video is from Coconut Records and is called West Coast. It's probably not the best thing to listen to whilst rummaging through old things, but damn, it's freaking great and it makes me want to skateboard. (Side note, in one of my directing classes, I used the word "whilst" in one of my schematics and the teacher accused me of plagiarism. It's an awesome feeling when you're accused of being better than what you thought you were. After I proved that it was indeed I who wrote it, my teacher told me I need to hone my craft, because there was no reason a 25 year old female born and raised in Los Angeles should even know how to use the word "whilst." Damn, I should have taken a Polaroid pic of her to put on my wall.)

I'll take the physical challenge, Mark!

I am super competitive. Like disgusting. I am not a good loser. I love to play games and love even more to beat your ass. My roommate is now understanding this. Which is why he sent me a notification to be on a game show!!!! This is my new obsession. I HAVE to go on a game show. And if him and I go on it together, he can do the math and the…boy stuff, and I can do everything else. I think we can do this. I KNOW we can do this. The notification stated that they needed energetic, (Check!) charismatic (Check!!) people with a sense of humor (Check!!!) So far the only thing they didn’t say was, Natasha, we are waiting for your call. It’s all based on trivia questions, pop culture references, and physical challenges. It sounds like Double Dare for adults. I would so go through a nose to get a flag while being covered in slime. Oh my God, maybe Mark Summers will host it! Truth be told, I was on a game show in high school. I don’t remember what it was called, but I do remember winning. And that was during my Morrissey/ I hate everything phase. Ah, memories. And for the record, I could have SOOO beat these guys and won everything.

Once upon a time...

Last night all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I came home, had a friend over from school, (‘cause I’m five years old? That sounds so lame) we ate and I asked him what was the haps with his life. He gave me some pretty heart crushing news and we ended up talking for about an hour outside. I told him he is now the equivalency of a remote control that you insist on still using and try to make it work by pushing the buttons harder. Not admitting that you need to recharge the batteries or get new ones or whatever you crazy kids do now a days with you and your batteries. He got it and said, “Natasha, that is exactly how I feel! Damn, you are good!” I know. It’s a gift. Random analogies are my contribution to the world at large. Anyway, when I came back inside, I was a little worse for the wear and all I wanted to do was sleep. My dim sum and then some friend insisted on reading me a story. I don’t know why, I don’t get it, I don’t know what spawned this. But, I said fine. She ended up starting to read me the saddest bastard story I had ever come across. What the hell is that? I turned to her and said, “This isn’t going to work. I want a happy book. Let me choose a book.” She got more than a little irritated. As I’m looking, she says she wants to read some book about starfish. I tell her no. Then I start talking to her and I tell her a story about when I was in high school and she had the audacity to tell me to stop talking, she wants to read to me. At this point, I sit up in bed and tell her, “I didn’t want to be read to, I just wanted to talk to you!” She noticed that she was acting more than a little Mommy Dearest and said, “I’m going to the living room to finish my beer.” I am 26. My friend is 27. And yet I still somehow managed to have the worst night of my childhood with someone who wasn’t even present in my childhood. I hope she gets me a toy today to make up for it. Oh my God, that would SO make up for it! I need to go plant the seed of toy in her brain. Toys are so much better than flowers and chocolate.

Mornings at the Bodhi-Bakody-Abodie

Sometimes people do things that I REALLY don’t understand. I mean, just completely bizarre crap. For example, this morning I saw that my friend put up a menu for a veggie dim sum place on our refrigerator. The only reason I noticed was because I needed the magnet to put up a picture of a mermaid throwing up seashells. (I love that freaking picture!) When I asked her why she insisted on putting up the menu, she said it was because if we ever need dim sum, she was going to need the address and menu and number. Okay, fair enough. Until I saw that the menu was from a place in New York. We don’t live in New York. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to New York any time in the near future. And I’m fairly certain she is not going anytime soon either. I am also fairly certain this was not a joke. I ended up walking out of the kitchen, looking at her, opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it, walked back into the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee. Side note, this is my new favorite commercial. My roommate said it seems like something I would make. He’s also getting me an Alumni Cal Tech license plate holder because I think it would be funny considering my complete lack of math skills. At least he’s starting to get me.