Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Ressless Energy

How cool would it be if Justin WAS the father?!
How much more exciting would the world get if Christopher Walken actually did it?

I am better than my best self ten years ago, and that's still not saying much. I am lazy and filled with fear and stuff. Procrastination creeps in on every corner, debilitating me from every angle. I get it done but it takes the involuntary flexing of each toe a thousand times an hour, the stranglehold of my own fist by the other, the biting, gnawing and chewing of my inside cheek until the metallic taste of spoons mingles with my spit. I will stuff it in my mouth, I will heat it up, spit it out, lean down on my one bum knee that is spongy and numb until it is not and then it's a violent searing pain of a thousand needles racing toward my shoulder blade, and puke it out. It's teeth grinding in the middle of the night and two hour stare-a-thons at my blank TV wishing I had invested in the free box. It's checking e-mail, creating user ID's, baking cookies, making chili, taking holiday portraits of the cats. The closer it gets the tighter I wind. My mom was a long distance runner, marathon winner, athletic get up at six in the morning obsessive compulsive make sure the ovens off weirdo. Now she drinks champagne in the morning and walks on the treadmill while eating dinner. I can unflex this muscle all day long but I know it will get done. Don't ask me to do anything in the meantime, I'm paralyzed and not so much the good person you're hoping for.
Here is some delightful internet gristle.

Blog highlight: Video Deathray has taken an exciting new direction and it's being taken there by the wonderful Nicholas J. Katzban. Don't you wish you knew what the J stood for? Clicka me and and me for the first two. If you like this Ahnold commentary you will like Deathray.

My sister got married and we stopped in Joshua Tree on the way back. Oh sunset, oh underwater wasteland, beautiful mountains turned to a fine thin powder, you entrance me so.

Monkey suits.

My sister and her maidens. True story, the first time i ever went bra shopping I was 11 and with my mom at Macy's. We were in the dressing room and she was trying to harness me in. A sales girl came by and asked if she could get us anything else from the floor. I was trying on a Maidenform bra and needed a size up except I got the name of the bra confused and responded, "Yeah, I need a new Maidenhead."

The portraits in question.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Debbie Does Daylight Savings

Holy guacamole. Satan on a cracker. Two snaps and a butt plug, well look at this here. It's been two months since I blogged. What can I say? I lost interest, had developed a loving following of supportive grownups, well, grownups about thirty years my senior- see below post- and honestly, I couldn't drag myself into the place where I wanted to wait ten minutes for one picture to upload at a time. Even right now I struggle to finish this sentence. All I've had the stamina for these past few months is my internet boyfriend Michael K over at Dlisted, my TV boyfriend Jesse Pinkman over on AMC and TV links and Gawker to snort and half smile at Kimmy K's divorce and Baby Bieber's baby mamma drama. But why, you ask- no, I know you really don't- well, mostly I've been working on this PHD application that is like pulling my brain out of my ear, you know, like the Egyptians with the brain jars and the mummy organs? Like that. So that's that. I will now proceed to post random images and share with you the rainbow slide show of what you've been missing (nothing, I promise). Also, my computer says it's 9:30 but it feels like it's 10:30. Just when I thought i couldn't feel any more ancient.
First up is Halloween. I was Chairy and Nick was Larry. We were Larry and Chairy.

I painted my yard chairs blue and have been working on my garden. It's a peaceful endeavor.

Nick's friend Alex came into town because his movie was screening at the AFI fest and omg it's soooo good. You should definitely go see it. It's called the Color Wheel.

Biz had a birthday! xoxox

And so did Daniel! (he's in his Halloween costume)

Kate and I started the fourth season of 5 Points and this Sunday is the second reading in! Come by and check it out:

Halloween friend update:

Heather killed it.

Also, also, could Charlotte and her man friend BE any cooler? I am so in love with this woman. Tejas I'll see you soon.
Okay, goodnight sweet internet prince. I'm back? Let's never be torn apart again!

All My Friends Are Dead- A message from our sponsors

Hi! Howdy! How goes it, mom, grandma, pops, boyfriend's mom, mom's best girlfriend, family members and other various oldsters? How were the sixties? Pretty great, huh? Yeah, I had some dreams, but they were just clouds in my coffee. Oh you guys get that reference, don't you? Of course you do, it's Carly Simon, she wrote kids books you bought me in the 80's and sang songs you saw in person with dad and you know, she's great, huh? I know you and Nora and Gail and Tom down at the golf course yuck it up about the good old days quite a bit. What about that time you all took the kids to Tahoe and got drunk on that bottle of red wine Barry brought from Mendochino? Man, he was so smug on that trip because he had just done that small walk on part in Thirty Something and remember no matter how hard you tried to get the kids to pass out so you could all hit the hot tub they just wouldn't? Gee, that was a good time. Amy kept coming downstairs to say she was thirsty, oh man, those were the days. Miss those early 80's, yup. Oh, I'm sorry, what am I doing here on Nikki's blog? What? Oh how did I get here? Wow, sorry, I must of been in a fugue state where I thought she took the 'Stay Out!' sign off her bedroom door. Whoops, my bad, I'll just mosey on out of here because I'm an OLDSTER.

Look, I get it, I'm an adult, but seriously, if you're in your 60's and at one time in your life you screamed at me to shut up, put my seat belt back on, and then handed me a bottle of water and a zip lock bag full of grapes PLEASE, STOP READING MY BLOG!!! New rule, if you were born between 1945 and 1955 and you've met me in person, please, visit The Hairpin, or perhaps, Rookie, both fine blogs that the hip kids read. Lots of jokes and tokes.
This goes for Facebook too. Don't you get it mom and dad? Your kids don't want to be Facebook friends with you. STOP ASKING. It's not because we don't love you, it's because we do. Look, the internet, it was ours first, obviously you're welcome here, but until a few years ago it was a bit like being under the bleachers and smoking a joint. It felt big and small at the same time and it was inclusive and safe. We could be ourselves and we didn't have to watch our back because you were watching Masterpiece Theatre and yelling at me to get a job. Now it feels like the PE teacher is trying to climb under the bleachers with us and is telling lame jokes and lighting the pipe with a gag lighter shaped like a dildo, its weird and uncomfortable, because you know, he's the PE teacher. That's what this is like now. Before grandpa sent me horrible political forwards and mom didn't know what an e-card was. I could be a public person because no one knew me on the internet. My blog started in 2006 in my Brooklyn bedroom and it was me and million strangers. I didn't give a crap about who read my blog because there was no chance in hell I would ever meet them. I appreciate that it has a large following and has grown over the years- no matter how much that continues to baffle my mind because it still feels like the majority of what I post is inane navel gazing, lady versions of he's hot and fart jokes- this thing also sort of acts as my website now, maybe it's time to get a real one of those, who knows. But that's kind of the other point, this lil bloggy blog is how I present myself to the world, editors and such, it's written in a persona, dontcha know? Even this post! Talk about meta, right? And I don't want to have to worry about offending you or embarrassing myself because no matter how much you say you do, you really don't know what that means. The whole persona thing. It's the same reason you aren't allowed to read my fiction, dad, because you automatically think it's about you. Even when the character is a twelve year old blind girl with tourettes. And that's the entire point on top of a bagel toasted point, I don't want to have to think about thinking about you when I'm you know, creating or whatever. It's great that writing from this here lil blog has even been anthologized. I love it! But mom, dad, it's kind of like my internet journal. Nothing on here is private, but boundaries, yo. It's seriously made it less fun and I feel kind of dorky and embarrassed having to hear that other members of my family and or spiritual extended love ones, recent and otherwise, read it. I mean, Schadenfreude, doods! ever hear of it? Obviously I can't stop you from reading my blog, no? But maybe I can stop you from talking to me about it? Possibly? That's the other thing, guys, the internet, it's sort of like those Vegas commercials, you know the ones, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Yeah, like that. No one actually talks about their blogs face to face. You talk about blow jobs, new tea at Whole Foods and trying to save money to buy a vintage couch on Craigslist. So you know, shhh.
The internet is littered with the carcasses of dead blogs, sad lonely blogs aging in the wind. I will bet dollar to doughnuts I know why.
Love- really, honestly, tons of love-, bratty brat face, who do I think I am, ungrateful smart alek, too big for my britches, narcissistic, you're no spring chicken yourself Miss 31 and getting older, Nicole

Here, this ones for you guys, I know you like the Willy J.
Actually, an amendment. If you can name the person below without doing a google image search, you can still read my blog. xo