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A Million Little Pieces, James Frey

Rent Girl, Michelle Tea

I just bought this today after lunch with Chiara. Pho and a new book, I got to say it was a good day (shit!)

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Come for the hilarity, stay for the R2D2 golden shower scene.


Shark fin soup! Get it? SHARK FIN SOUP OH I KILL ME.

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Earthbound Disco Ball


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Uncle Bob


Monday, January 31, 2005

Okay, I have a question, and I swear to god it's totally serious and I'm not just hoping for moist-lipped Googlers when I ask you this: what do you do when your, uh, high beams are on?

God, I'm sorry, I am totally ten years old right now. When your nipples are hard due to cold temperatures. Hee hee hee hee "NIPPLE" hee hee HAR!

Seriously, I will cut that right the fuck out. Ahem. You know, when you're in a grocery store freezer section or something and all of a sudden you're like Porny McDoublePen, what with your boobs that suddenly need their own ZIP code?

See, this is one of the hazards of living in the Pacific Northwest, along with that whole webbed-toes thing - the weather is constantly changing, so while the day may have started out all sunny and benign, by lunchtime: UNEXPECTED NIPPLE PROTRUSION, and here you are with no sweater, and the method of casually draping the ends of a scarf down over each boob? Not so much a Fashion Do.

I've tried crossing my arms, but that's awkward and hard to keep up. You can't just loosely grab the opposing elbows, the point is to cover up the nipples, right? You have to cross high across your chest, which ends up looking like a bizarre pantomime of discontent. Johnson, I'm very displeased with you. The only people that can cross their arms like that without looking ridiculous are drill sergeants and Mr. Dithers from the Dagwood comic strip. I'm just saying.

Like millions of middle school boys throughout history who have strategically arranged biology textbooks in order to hide their, you know, tumescent protuberances, a prop can be useful if you've got one handy. A magazine or similar is ideal, but usually all I have is my purse - and let me tell you, a person looks downright weird if they walk around clutching their bag over their breasts, as though its contents included the freaking Shroud of Turin instead of a few lint-covered pieces of Extra gum and an old cherry flavored lip balm.

While it may appear as though I spend way too much time thinking about this sort of thing, let me assure you, obsessing about the state of my nipples occupies only a portion of my brain at any one time! I mean, there's so much more to consider, like whether or not I have a piece of parsley between my front teeth, or whether there's dandruff on my back where I can't see it, or if there's goop in the corner of my eye - god, nipples are like, 5th or 6th on the list! Not that I'm convinced people are, ha ha, staring at me critically all the time or anything!

I think I should invent a bra that has little air pockets built in right over the nipples. That way, if I'm doing the thousand-yard-stare in front of the Ben & Jerry's section (Chunky Monkey? Or Chubby Hubby?) and my boobs threaten to aerate my cheapass Old Navy t-shirt, I could just give a few pumps to the tube hidden in the side of the bra. Fffft, fffft, fffft - hey, now I'm rated PG-13 again! Until I open my mouth, anyway.

You know what's funny? (WELL CERTAINLY NOT THIS JOURNAL ENTRY SUNDRY WITH YOUR CONSTANT TITTY TALK) Some people feel entirely differently about the whole subject.

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