My slow descent into alcoholism

One bottle of wine down while scrubbing years of age from the house.
(Cutting hair while intoxicated...rarely a good idea. Remind me of that more often.)
Five hours until the parents arrive.
Ten hours until I want to stab myself in the largest artery possible.
Two days until one, or both, of them is dead. That's my estimate. Wanna take bets?

Anywho...I'll be taking off work until Wednesday. And I can't leave you empty-handed...or, um, minded. So here's a brief sampling of a few of my favorite black and whites...either for the image itself or the moment it attempts to capture.

48 hours w/o internet access...

...makes Lauren a VERY pissed off, irritable, pseudo-maniacal, waste of primordial juice.

Day 2:

8:32 - Dre calls to remind me I owe China a bribe of 100USD. How do I always manage to find myself in compromising positions with communist regimes?

9:01 - Half an hour gone. That pair of scissors looks sharp enough to...

9:20 - The science teacher is shaving at his desk. I find that irritating. Wait a minute. I find EVERYTHING irritating. And YES, I'm YELLING!!!

9:43 - Looking for an explanation as to why I deserve this punishment. "You want an explanation? GOD. IS. PISSED!" Anything can be answered with a Family Guy quote.

10:22 - There are eight paper shredders in this office. Eight! I counted. Who needs eight paper shredders, other than the US Government? At present, they're all being used. Hey-let's set fire to the Amazon while we're at it.

10:27 - Hand creeping towards the rusty scissors....just about there...

11:03 - MacGuyver would know how to escape this situation.

11:32 - Self-hypnosis is possible with extreme overplay of Radiohead. Try it.

11:34 - KILL ME!

KILL ME!!

KILL ME!!!!!

11:42 - Reading the JET Handbook. Starting to think it would have been more beneficial to read in the beginning, rather than the end.

11:46 - "Each neighborhood has a designated area where citizens can gather when a natural disaster causes fire or disrupts the gas, power and water supply."*


*Unless you're a failed American and then you shall be subjected to a week without gas and two without hot water. Rite of initiation. You understand.

P.S. I do not count as a natural disaster...despite the number of fires I may start.

12:37 - ::putting glasses on::

::taking glasses off::

::putting glasses on::

No, no difference.

12:41 - How dues dust accumulate beneath the bed?

1:02 - The hottest ring of Hell would be more entertaining than this.

1:47 - New Record! 17 consecutive games of Spider Solitaire.

2:00 - I need coffee!

2:01 - Revision: I need vodka!

2:15 - Two hours left. Six episodes of Family Guy? Another nap? Stab myself repeatedly in the jugular so as to diminish the internet cravings and rising insanity?

2:16 - D. All of the above.

2:18 - There's a vegetarian restaurant in Bangkok called "Cabbages and Condoms."

2:23 It's back! It's back! And now you can suffer my unbearable experience. Abridged, that is.

Incongruous

I warn you: This post goes nowhere, like the little man above.

I still confuse the names of my father's nine brothers and sisters. Occasionally I call them by the nicknames by dad coined for them back in the day when ripped up grey sweats were the height of fashion. So...classy nicknames.

When drunk I make it a habit to rave about Ken Kesey to disinterested English majors, stick my tongue out far more than appropriate (especially for pictures,) offend foreign exchange students by labeling their homeland an EU defector, and fall down flights of stairs.

I want fluoride in my tap water....put it back Japan, PUT IT BACK!

Yesterday I taught my third grade students, as photographed below, to high-five. Not that it requires formal English training, but this I know.

A man in the 7-11 this morning wouldn't keep his eyes off me, trailing my every move with a disdainful look. What can you do in those kinds of situations? Other than cuss at yourself to make up for the fact that you can't walk up to him and tell him to fuck off. So now, not only does he think I'm a despicable foreigner, but a despicable schizoid foreigner who not only talks to herself, but yells and lets slide a string of obscenities, occassionally rolling her eyes and shaking her head in anger... all. at. herself., while buying coffee in the 7-11.

Once I was forced to play the role of an Amish phone sex operator for a Spanish presentation. Yeah....yeah, clearly I was absent when choosing roles AND writing the script. They don't even have an Amish population in Spain...who thought of that crap?

Kids in the hall

Earthquake in Japan Kills 1, Injures 381

Make that 382. Being true to my ungraceful nature, I stepped on shattered glass and dishes from the initial quake....and now I'm limping.

I love my life.

But I'm okay.

Name me

That's just for you guys. I don't take moronic pictures of myself for pure entertainment. C'mon...how much of a loser would I have to be to do that? ::RHETORICAL:: (I'm well aware of my loser status.)

There are vending machines in Japan which sell "used schoolgirls' panties." Yeah...this is where I live.

Jean-Paul Sartre's optician is still alive. I always wanted a pair of existentially replicated glasses like his.

I found out from Bruce that Social Distortion will play my next birthday bash for the amount of change I keep in that ceramic piggy bank I could never throw away because some relative somewhere was thoughtful enough to engrave it for me, even though I thought it was hideous, and when much younger, the stuff nightmares are made of.

I just ended a sentence with of. And there...I did it again.

My local 7-11 sells fish flavored ice cream. I've also seen tofu and seaweed flavored, though not recently...must be seasonal. What is that? Why ruin a good thing? Why yell at me when I accidentaly hand you Thai bath instead of yen? Why expend an entire world's supply of argon for Pachinko parlor, epilespy-inducing, neon signs which adorn every public facility from "Snack" bars to the public library, yet deny me central heating? Why negate the existence of Croatia? You just killed an entire nation. Why denounce a war in 'Iraqi' as you call it, yet support Bush? One or the other. It can't be both. IT CAN'T BE BOTH! This isn't a Mexican jazz club...or a Japanese country festival. This is one genre.

That being said, M&Ms in popcorn is good. Go on, call me a genre hypocrite.

Experiment

Randleski: have you ever wondered if you were adopted?
HoagieL: yes, but more a, where-did-i-come-from scenario, rather than, i-think-the-milkman-looks-more-like-me-than-my-father scenario
Randleski: so you've seriously considered it?
Randleski: or were you just teasing?
Randleski: have you made your parents convince you that you weren't adopted? that could be sort of fun
HoagieL: ha ha....no...but i think i just might try
HoagieL: that has potential to get ugly though
Randleski: not unless you are really serious about it. or if they come clean
HoagieL: could be a fun dinner convo. see how long you can keep on the subject without them admitting to having had sex
HoagieL: then dinner would be over


After some very careful consideration, I hypothesize that my parents would claim I was adopted before admitting to having sex. Let's see if I'm right...they're coming to visit in two weeks.

Open letter to NTT

My dearest NTT "International Communications" (ha, are you serious? that's the name you're going with? oh...o...okay. no, it's fine):

I’m not happy. Not happy at all. With you. With your shoddy service. With your ignorant personnel. With the flashing lights on my phone receiver that make me feel as if I’m perpetually blitzed. No, not happy. You started off strong, and for that I applaud you. But now, and no offense, and by no offense I mean serious, potentially ego threatening, therapy inducing, offense, you’re sucking the life out of international phoning you sick, money-grubbing fuck.

I’m sorry, but I refuse to pay a bill for six cents. You claimed it was an oversight from a previous bill. In the land of civilization (for which I’m still searching) the company at hand would have overlooked their mistake and fired someone in middle management to use the annual salary saved to render the six cents unnecessary. I know, I know…it might potentially break the bank, but the sum is not the issue. The principle is the issue. THE PRINCIPLE IS THE ISSUE. You call me at work, politely, assuming Japanese fluency. What makes you think I speak the language? Oversight there, I feel. And once you’ve learned I don’t speak the language, why do you continue to call me, at home nonetheless? I’ve grown rather close to Imamura-san, one of your representatives. Nice lady. All I understand is ‘oname’ (name) and ‘okane’ (money) so really, I have no clue what this is about. But DAMN, is she nice. We have this game we play for kicks. She starts out sweet and pleasantly, (translated for the ignorant schmucks like myself) “name blah blah blah, money, blah blah blah, name, money, money, name.” Then, then…it gets better, I promise, just hold on. I go “Um, ha, I don’t speak Japanese. Sorry.” Her: “Name, money, etc.” Me: “What? Name. Lauren. LA-ren. La. Not RA. Damn you! What’s going on? Who are you? I’m not giving you my money. My name’s not ‘wine’ for the umpteenth time.” Her: “Name. NAME! NAME NAME NAME!!!” Me: “What the fuck?!?! I need an adult. I NEED AN ADULT!!!” And the rest of the conversation cannot be repeated for the sake of censors. Suffice to say the phrase, “Suck it, cunt face!!!!” is heard in seven different languages.

Now, I understand you’ve threatened to cut off my phone line, once again, but I’m calling your bluff. Stupid, maybe. Naïve, maybe. Especially considering the last time you threatened to cut off my phone line you really did cut off my phone line. Of course I didn’t realize until I returned home from Thailand and the majority of my friends and family were worried, assuming I was dead--washed out to see by tsunamis, to never be heard from again. (And I know what you’re thinking. ‘So, like, the minority of your friends could give a flying fuck as to whether or not you’re alive?’ And to them I say this, YOUR UPPANCE WILL COME!) I had to call home from my cell, a four minute international call. Do you know what that costs, NTT? No? No clue? I’ll tell you. IT AIN’T FUCKING CHEAP! The specifics elude me. Something like my right pinky finger and my first born. Let’s just thank Confucious it was the right pinky. But I digress. That is another beef altogether, with AU….oh don’t get me started on AU.

I’ll cut this short (too late) and just say this. I’m not paying. You pay, bitch! You can send your henchmen after me, call me at 6am, cut off my only means of communication. Go ahead, do it. I dare you. I’ve just sent away for a carrier pigeon…let’s just see how you stack up to that! Who needs your false claims of international communication, voice mail messages that can’t be changed, mealy-mouthed crotch pheasant (had to throw it in somewhere Brian) representatives, phoney phone monopoly anyway? Not me. That’s who!

Eat my shorts!

Lauren (LA-ren. LA-REN, damnit! Not Raren.)

Top ten reasons...

...why I love my iPod:

10. It doesn’t talk back when I slap it upside the face and call it a dog-faced, dasypygal, two-bit crack whore. And that makes me its pimp.

9. It holds a fuckload of music. For all practical purposes, a fuckload equals roughly, 15 days. That’s over two weeks. Two weeks of my auditory life, on something small enough to fit in my hand…and that proves technology will ultimately render humanity obsolete.

8. Because it knows I like it when it switches from Marvin Gaye to AC/DC to Billie Holiday.

7. It doesn’t slap me upside the face and call me a two-bit crack whore when I put Groove Armada’s ‘Purple Haze’ on repeat for hours on end…and it fears the day it will. But really, can you blame me? That and Rusted Root. Or maybe I’m just fiending. Holy crap, did I just say that? No Buddha brownies in Nihon people…that’s a one way ticket to decapitation (Tangent: My dad freaked when he found out I was hitting up a Rusted Root concert three years back, claimed there might be “illegal substances.” This, from a man who let me attend my first concert, Bush, at the ripe age of twelve, alone save two friends, and some creep pulling hash outta his crotch. Power of denial.)

6. It takes a coffee licking and keeps on ticking.

5. The i is lowercase. That’s universal advertising my friend. It’s claiming that any ignorant, non-identifiable fuckwit can conform to the masses, even if not worthy. You don’t have to be important to dole out cash, you’ve gotta be as lowercase as they come...preferably balding, unoriginal and using your 2.5 kids as collateral for the third mortgage on your Midwestern ranch house spattered with inflatable pink flamingo yard decorations.

4. Because it makes me feel that I, too, can conform to the masses, that I belong to some realm other than the one, or two, I’ve created for myself, when we all know, I belong nowhere (aka Eastern State)…or else stranded on a desert island…with Rivers Cuomo.

3. Because if I were stranded on that desert island with Rivers Cuomo I’d inevitably grow tired of his Harvard drop-out, emo geek, cardigan-wearing, silent genius sorry ass and wish I’d brought my ipod instead.

2. Because it drowns out the little kids yelling at me…and the indecipherable adults staring at me…and the uber-pervert Big Titsu attempting to grope me.

1. Because it drowns out the voices in my head.

Translation please

"hi Lauren(n.n),today i`m very happy because the weather is warm don`t cold like yesterday.this week is so bored and tried (=.=)! because i have to read books too much to answer the question of my teacher and i hav to get up early everyday around 6.30 that make me don`t have a time to play internet but i have something to make me to happy that is tomorrow i havn`t to get up early because i dont have lecture or practise and U how about this summer hope u have a funny everyday (^-^)"

Have a funny everyday!

Three years in the making

I just found a note to self reminding me to email my grandmother. It took me a solid five minutes to realize she's been dead for three years. This is the pace at which I work people. I keep my promises, oh yes, even if it takes three years and you've died in the interim...but so help me god, I keep my promises. So the question is now, does an email account expire along with it's owner?...or does it simply remain idle for eternity? Essentially I could still email her, for the sake of my own conscience, right?

I have, by far, the most f'ed up musical tastes of anyone in the history of those that once had f'ed up musical tastes.

Blasphemy

How, I ask, does a simple Barnes and Noble search for Rock Against Bush bring up Live at Red Rocks by John Tesh? How? HOW!?! Damn you, John Tesh! You shit on my house, man! You shit on my house!

At least it's not chronic schizophrenia

I used to wear the ‘Laurel Canyon’ vintage AC/DC t-shirt to pointe lessons. My wardrobe varies from ancient soccer jerseys and shredded jeans to leather skirts and heels. I dedicated ten years of my life to piano. I bought my first electric guitar four years ago. I say 'rock on' as often as I say 'fuck.' I can recite the Presidents in chronological order, in addition to the extended version of Rapper’s Delight. I have play lists dedicated to punk, techno, classical, jazz and classic rock. I steal my father’s Queen and Cat Stevens records. I read Dante and Boccaccio in between Jon Stewart and Miguel de Unamuno. I live for coffee, tomatoes and pad thai. I wear a lot of black, but my room is painted in varying shades of lime green. My favorite movies include Fight Club, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Todo Sobre mi Madre. I rave about Ken Kesey when drunk, that is, unless I’m dancing on the dryer. I’ve seen more countries than states. I don’t watch tv unless it’s Family Guy or the Daily Show. I can handle whiskey, but can’t go near Captain Morgan. I study philosophy in my free time. As much as I love Rembrandt’s painting of Lucretia, I still find Lichtestein and Warhol to be artistically ingenious.

It’s official. I have personality schizophrenia.

And finally, here's a lovely drawing of yours truly by one of my second grade students. Ironically, it resembles me to a t, although, I think my eyes might just be a little bigger. Close enough....I mean, she got the blue swirlies (whatever the hell those are) right.

You tell me

Just got back from teaching an elementary class. An hour late, granted, but I figure I get paid enough to put in one hour of pro bono mingling with some sixth graders. It was a classroom full of boys, save two girls. Loud, obnoxious, mimicking boys. When they don't understand a word I say, I bust out the sarcasm and they tend to understand that. And then I just make stupid faces (not hard.) For this particular class I taught them to say 'sweet'...now tell me that doesn't rock. And then I was felt up four separate times. That wasn't on the lesson plan. Not sure if that's a positive indication of my teaching style. I don't really have a basis for judging my classes. Maybe this will be it...number of times groped by teenage boys. Easy way to determine the efficacy of my classes....but for the positive or negative? You tell me.

And fyi, here's what happens when you drink cheap Japanese wine...alone...on a weekday...in your pajamas...and then photograph it, largely because the number of season three Family Guy episodes you haven't memorized numbers ZERO, but more importantly, because you're obsessed with drunken photoshopping. You lose all sense of non-kitsch...and serious height on the social respectability scale. Because I care kids, because I care.

Narcissists and kleptos

The most common thefts in Japan are that of umbrellas and bikes. America: identity theft. Nine million stupid fucks alone last year. Considering the population is somewhere around 295,574,997, I’ve got to say, what the fuck?!?!? Americans, what ARE you doing? Clearly the importance of self-esteem education is making itself prominent. You’re so dissatisfied with your measly existence that you’re discouraged enough to steal someone else’s identity. And the lame ones at that. The middle aged, grandpa-sweater-wearing, 900 number frequenters living with their mothers and collecting vintage Fonzie photos. I do, however, applaud the sick bastard ballsy enough to steal Paris Hilton’s personal info. Knock her down a peg or two…but I’d be more impressed if someone just plain knocked her out. Go for the gold. At least I’m stupid/narcissistic enough to steal my own identity, or so MasterCard tells me. And that’s no crime, I don’t think.

So, that’s one more thing I enjoy about Japan. Added to the fact that I can say fuck as loud as I want, whenever I want. I’ll do it right now. Fuck. No, maybe a little louder. The principal didn’t hear me. FUCK!!!! And that I’ll NEVER have to worry about losing my job and being deported for the pitiful existence and content of this blog. Well, being deported, maybe. Incarceration is more likely…even more so after the stolen passport story…or did I mention that? But then again, I stole my own damn passport. Another social truth revealed; narcissism and kleptomania go hand in hand. I admit it, I’m a klepto. And I’m narcissistic. Sad though that I’m the only person envious enough of me to steal my own shit. Nobody really wants to be me. At least I love me, that is, when my ego doesn’t get in the way.

Dude...

By now I'm sure I've conned you into believing that I'm a pitiful, unemployed, homeless schmuck...but in reality, I make six figures! Yeah, I know. Who knew, right? What's more...I DON'T PAY TAXES...IN ANY COUNTRY! And this is when you start to envy me. So go on.