i've made headway on the home front!
yesterday i kicked ass doing a million things (all at the same time, even!) and reminded myself how awesome i really am...heh heh...or how much of a SLACKER! there were so many little things that i never have the time to do, what with all the enthusiastic picking of my nose [read: voracious reading] and smelling honeysuckle dew drops [read: smoking] i do on a daily basis. i regularly employ contemplation of using my night owl super powers - pulling all nighters to accomplish things such as totaling receipts, cleaning the basement, computer upkeep/catch-up, or organizing the 15,964 toys we have so they're not just a jumbled pile of crap that can't be played with. and man, this place needed a dusting! in my defence, though, this is THE dustiest house i've EVER lived in - and there have been many abodes. approximately 15, to exactly guess while hedging a bet. i lived in the same house with my parents between the ages of one and when i got the hell out, so most of the nomad-type behaviour occurred in the first 5 or 6 years sans apron strings.
i suppose i could figure it out....i actually have them all written down somewhere in one of my lists. i moved out about 42 seconds after i turned 19 on january 1st, the year nineteen ninety-wicked! my first place was the apartment my best friend and i had fantasized about for three years. we naively explored our ideals and made sisterhood promises never to be drawn assunder. yeah fucking right! it took the hussy patrol only a few short months to annoy the fuck out of me.
eating my food, not paying bills (including a phone bill worth 8oobux) or rent for two of the four (4!) months, showing up to mess the place with her cock du jour, using my laundry soap and stealing my clothes approximately once a week, and generally fucking with my impression of people on a whole. i mean, this was supposed to be my BEST friend, right? and we were...oh my god, were we ever! we were always together since the day we met. even still, though she offered to return my UNDERWEAR, i just could not continue in the farce. i was pissed righteously off. and let's be clear - i have zero problem being righteous when it comes to shit like stealing my much stretched mother love bone tapes. you don't fuck around with a girl's 90's love rock! she (let's call her.....regina) had criticized my love of seattle based ear fodder many times. she looked me up and down with my mudhoney t-shirt, lovingly frayed cut offs worn over black tights with 18-hole doc martin's throwing my feet forward on every beat matt cameron ever threw... and scoffed.
in re-jay-jay's defence, that was coming from a girl who had influenced me at one era in my life to wear white short tights over a white thong while sportin' a teeny cropped cherry red sweater, slouch socks and black l.a. gears & boppin' to either skid row, britny fox, or l.a. guns . i may not be over endowed with jiggly northern slopes, (thank GAWD) but thanx to several years of gymnastics, dance, free weights, and not being a lazy fucker, everything i did have was in exactly the right spot. yes, i am one of the original and rare pre-millenium early 1990 thong wearers! (- but i wore them even before that cun- oops, i mean regina came around...haHA, just not after she 'borrowed' them! *pickle face* ew!)
i met regina in foods class circa mid-september, grade 11. i was up to my usual shenanigans of not attending classes the first week or so of every year -
"pardon me, where was i? well, my class got switched, so i think i might've been in mechanics at that time yesterday, sorry! i've got things straightened out now, don't worry..."
- and i sat at the only available spot left....beside regina. okay - first impressions? she's super fox hot, seemed cool and was lookin' at me the same way i was lookin' at her. a little bitchy and territorial, but with a swift recognition that combat would be futile - we were equals. it was l-u-v luv at first sight. (i'm not usually competitive, but if someone wants to pull rank on me? oooee, mama, you'd better be good!) for some reason probably also relating to attendance, i had wound up with one of the much coveted huge lockers to myself and moved her in promptly. we were then inseparable for the next few years, save for time spent with respective boyfriends which came and went.
she and i had quite a time, we did. starting at 16, we went to many, many concerts, stayed in the city, went to bars, had musician boyfriends, and had an avid common interest in rear of the stage festivities that seemed to happen after shows. that would turn out to be the bane of our relationship. i can honestly tell you that not even one boob was flashed, nor cock was sucked by myself to get anywhere i ever got to go. that was regina's department. some of her more notable fucks range from popular local rock stars (unnamed with purpose for protection of my secret identity) (hey, where's my remote control?...) to the likes of sebastian bach and jason newstead, among others. a new generation of pamela des barres, groupie-dom if you will...as a matter of fact, that's what i should've named her! lol, but regina suits her, trust me.
most of the reason behind our demise was one mr. newstead, sadly enough. she was calling him in places like fucking ohio and fucking missouri in the fucking afternoon, damn it! and she was gone half the time because she was driving all over who knows where to follow him around with some other chick she met in alaska doing the same thing, only the other cun- oops, i mean regina's friend was with lars and multiple roadies.
regina and i went to metallica's 1990(?) snake pit tour show and got spotted by roadies playing hackey sack out back of the venue. of course we were back there by the busses, 'cause that's where the cool kids hung out. they asked if we wanted pit passes for the big area in the middle of the stage reserved for vip's and high cash customers. after calmly and rationally discussing it we said in perfectly coifed unison:
"FUCK YEAH!"
fast forward to near the end of the show and jason newstead's guitar tech came and introduced himself while holding out two round back stage passes. we kinda looked at each other in disbelief - nay, SHOCK - and came out with another perfectly coifed, all be it sweatier (thank you, i.c.e. mist):
"FUCK YEAH!"
fast forward to us sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting and almost wanting to head home 'cause we still had a long drive. we actually got stopped by the same guitar tech dude (i keep thinking his name was rick. no, for real...) when we got up to go. he told us we had to stick around, and not long after, their royal metal majesties graced us with their presence. well, everyone but james. we never did see him again outside of show times through our adventure, at least the time i was around for, anyway. he had taken off to go on a fishing trip at a nearby popular stretch of river just outside the suburb i grew up in. same spot i used to fish with my dad, actually.
anyway, to slap on another thick layer of shock, jason hands his tech a room key and says, "just in case," then turns to us and asks if we would like to join them at their hotel for a party. uhhhh, as soon as i picked my jaw up, i said:
"FUCK YEAH"
so, the next little portion is a bit of a blur, but it mostly consisted of regina and i running and leaping to her car and squealing. we pulled into the underground parking at the hotel and when we put the card key up to the thingee, we heard:
"good evening, mrs, case. will you be needing assistance to your room this evening?"
well, smack me up and call me a whore. jason didn't say 'just in case.' he said, 'justin case', get it? mrs. justin case? just in case.....just in case you wanna make some little metal girl's dreams come true, hand her this key and give her a week she'll never forget! while straightening out our autographed slash-sided spandex shorts and half tops, we got into our room and tried to calm the fuck down. we stayed with them that night, drinking with jason and lars and their crew in one of their rooms. the next day we hung out mostly with jason going shopping and eating, all the while with two to four bodyguards with us who even stood outside bathroom doors and escorted us to the ice things in the hallways. weeeeeeeeird. cool, but weeeeeeeeird.
there was another show that night, so after while we were waiting , instead of sticking around in the mess of other fans in the reserved area, we got to go for a totally insane cab ride with rick. he was giving the cabbie 20's to go through red lights and make other such illegal moves while cranking his stereo. it was hilarious! i hope he wasn't too terrorized. though the probable extra 200 bones he had in his pocket by the end of the ride made it all worth while.
the next day we had to head back home, but had plans to meet them in seattle with rick's personal cell brick #, then onto portland and oakland, ca. we had so much fun that week on such a surreal level. sometimes it still seems like it was a dream or something, even when i look at all the autographed passes, t-shirts, programs, and hotel stuff. we didn't have a camera to use, so we bought a couple throw away ones. one of them had fucky film, but we got 5 good shots(which the cun- oops, i mean regina also scooped when she left our apartment the last time) and the other one disappeared into the void on our travels, so i have no visuals, save for the plays in my head. regina had quit school the previous year, actually not long after we met, so she was free to go to alaska and a couple others dates. i, however, had to resume my previous career as a scholar. one day i'll tell you about my high school experience, but right now i'll just throw in the brew that i was an honour roll student. none of my escapades stopped me from letting anyone think i was stupid. usually.
the following year metallica came back on a tour with guns and roses and we got a call from rick, if you can believe it! we had tickets and a room waiting for us! tres cool, non? say it with me now:
"FUCK YEAH"
so anyway, long story short, this was when regina racked up my phone bill and went to butt fuck, iowa with her new friend that had latched on to her in alaska. luckily, i had a friend who had just bought a 3 bedroom house in a 'burb closer to the big city, which is where i ultimately wanted to be. in the city sucking all the energy in and spitting it out frantically onto a page - paper, a napkin, anything i could find. by that i mean writing. alot of poems and prose, specifically. i rented a room at my friend's house for a few month until i got a place in the city, and moved on.
i've only seen regina a few tmes over the many years since then. at one point we attempted a reconciliation, but she wouldn't pay her fucking phone bill, so i took her to court for it. then she didn't like me very much. awww, poor regina had someone make her be responsible for a change....aww, oobie fucking boobie. eat me. there's a few other tales i could spill about why i named her cun- oops, i mean regina, but i don't feel like it. i wouldn't feel that way without good reason.
so! let that be a lesson to my life mates:
watch your treatment of the fine teague, or you shall be emblazoned with a moniker suitable for many, many jests. for example:
dick, peter, twaterelli, or fuckface.
or regina.
you know that rhymes with vagina, right? and a vagina is sometimes referred to as a cun- oh, never mind.
yesterday i kicked ass doing a million things (all at the same time, even!) and reminded myself how awesome i really am...heh heh...or how much of a SLACKER! there were so many little things that i never have the time to do, what with all the enthusiastic picking of my nose [read: voracious reading] and smelling honeysuckle dew drops [read: smoking] i do on a daily basis. i regularly employ contemplation of using my night owl super powers - pulling all nighters to accomplish things such as totaling receipts, cleaning the basement, computer upkeep/catch-up, or organizing the 15,964 toys we have so they're not just a jumbled pile of crap that can't be played with. and man, this place needed a dusting! in my defence, though, this is THE dustiest house i've EVER lived in - and there have been many abodes. approximately 15, to exactly guess while hedging a bet. i lived in the same house with my parents between the ages of one and when i got the hell out, so most of the nomad-type behaviour occurred in the first 5 or 6 years sans apron strings.
i suppose i could figure it out....i actually have them all written down somewhere in one of my lists. i moved out about 42 seconds after i turned 19 on january 1st, the year nineteen ninety-wicked! my first place was the apartment my best friend and i had fantasized about for three years. we naively explored our ideals and made sisterhood promises never to be drawn assunder. yeah fucking right! it took the hussy patrol only a few short months to annoy the fuck out of me.
eating my food, not paying bills (including a phone bill worth 8oobux) or rent for two of the four (4!) months, showing up to mess the place with her cock du jour, using my laundry soap and stealing my clothes approximately once a week, and generally fucking with my impression of people on a whole. i mean, this was supposed to be my BEST friend, right? and we were...oh my god, were we ever! we were always together since the day we met. even still, though she offered to return my UNDERWEAR, i just could not continue in the farce. i was pissed righteously off. and let's be clear - i have zero problem being righteous when it comes to shit like stealing my much stretched mother love bone tapes. you don't fuck around with a girl's 90's love rock! she (let's call her.....regina) had criticized my love of seattle based ear fodder many times. she looked me up and down with my mudhoney t-shirt, lovingly frayed cut offs worn over black tights with 18-hole doc martin's throwing my feet forward on every beat matt cameron ever threw... and scoffed.
in re-jay-jay's defence, that was coming from a girl who had influenced me at one era in my life to wear white short tights over a white thong while sportin' a teeny cropped cherry red sweater, slouch socks and black l.a. gears & boppin' to either skid row, britny fox, or l.a. guns . i may not be over endowed with jiggly northern slopes, (thank GAWD) but thanx to several years of gymnastics, dance, free weights, and not being a lazy fucker, everything i did have was in exactly the right spot. yes, i am one of the original and rare pre-millenium early 1990 thong wearers! (- but i wore them even before that cun- oops, i mean regina came around...haHA, just not after she 'borrowed' them! *pickle face* ew!)
i met regina in foods class circa mid-september, grade 11. i was up to my usual shenanigans of not attending classes the first week or so of every year -
"pardon me, where was i? well, my class got switched, so i think i might've been in mechanics at that time yesterday, sorry! i've got things straightened out now, don't worry..."
- and i sat at the only available spot left....beside regina. okay - first impressions? she's super fox hot, seemed cool and was lookin' at me the same way i was lookin' at her. a little bitchy and territorial, but with a swift recognition that combat would be futile - we were equals. it was l-u-v luv at first sight. (i'm not usually competitive, but if someone wants to pull rank on me? oooee, mama, you'd better be good!) for some reason probably also relating to attendance, i had wound up with one of the much coveted huge lockers to myself and moved her in promptly. we were then inseparable for the next few years, save for time spent with respective boyfriends which came and went.
she and i had quite a time, we did. starting at 16, we went to many, many concerts, stayed in the city, went to bars, had musician boyfriends, and had an avid common interest in rear of the stage festivities that seemed to happen after shows. that would turn out to be the bane of our relationship. i can honestly tell you that not even one boob was flashed, nor cock was sucked by myself to get anywhere i ever got to go. that was regina's department. some of her more notable fucks range from popular local rock stars (unnamed with purpose for protection of my secret identity) (hey, where's my remote control?...) to the likes of sebastian bach and jason newstead, among others. a new generation of pamela des barres, groupie-dom if you will...as a matter of fact, that's what i should've named her! lol, but regina suits her, trust me.
most of the reason behind our demise was one mr. newstead, sadly enough. she was calling him in places like fucking ohio and fucking missouri in the fucking afternoon, damn it! and she was gone half the time because she was driving all over who knows where to follow him around with some other chick she met in alaska doing the same thing, only the other cun- oops, i mean regina's friend was with lars and multiple roadies.
regina and i went to metallica's 1990(?) snake pit tour show and got spotted by roadies playing hackey sack out back of the venue. of course we were back there by the busses, 'cause that's where the cool kids hung out. they asked if we wanted pit passes for the big area in the middle of the stage reserved for vip's and high cash customers. after calmly and rationally discussing it we said in perfectly coifed unison:
"FUCK YEAH!"
fast forward to near the end of the show and jason newstead's guitar tech came and introduced himself while holding out two round back stage passes. we kinda looked at each other in disbelief - nay, SHOCK - and came out with another perfectly coifed, all be it sweatier (thank you, i.c.e. mist):
"FUCK YEAH!"
fast forward to us sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting and almost wanting to head home 'cause we still had a long drive. we actually got stopped by the same guitar tech dude (i keep thinking his name was rick. no, for real...) when we got up to go. he told us we had to stick around, and not long after, their royal metal majesties graced us with their presence. well, everyone but james. we never did see him again outside of show times through our adventure, at least the time i was around for, anyway. he had taken off to go on a fishing trip at a nearby popular stretch of river just outside the suburb i grew up in. same spot i used to fish with my dad, actually.
anyway, to slap on another thick layer of shock, jason hands his tech a room key and says, "just in case," then turns to us and asks if we would like to join them at their hotel for a party. uhhhh, as soon as i picked my jaw up, i said:
"FUCK YEAH"
so, the next little portion is a bit of a blur, but it mostly consisted of regina and i running and leaping to her car and squealing. we pulled into the underground parking at the hotel and when we put the card key up to the thingee, we heard:
"good evening, mrs, case. will you be needing assistance to your room this evening?"
well, smack me up and call me a whore. jason didn't say 'just in case.' he said, 'justin case', get it? mrs. justin case? just in case.....just in case you wanna make some little metal girl's dreams come true, hand her this key and give her a week she'll never forget! while straightening out our autographed slash-sided spandex shorts and half tops, we got into our room and tried to calm the fuck down. we stayed with them that night, drinking with jason and lars and their crew in one of their rooms. the next day we hung out mostly with jason going shopping and eating, all the while with two to four bodyguards with us who even stood outside bathroom doors and escorted us to the ice things in the hallways. weeeeeeeeird. cool, but weeeeeeeeird.
there was another show that night, so after while we were waiting , instead of sticking around in the mess of other fans in the reserved area, we got to go for a totally insane cab ride with rick. he was giving the cabbie 20's to go through red lights and make other such illegal moves while cranking his stereo. it was hilarious! i hope he wasn't too terrorized. though the probable extra 200 bones he had in his pocket by the end of the ride made it all worth while.
the next day we had to head back home, but had plans to meet them in seattle with rick's personal cell brick #, then onto portland and oakland, ca. we had so much fun that week on such a surreal level. sometimes it still seems like it was a dream or something, even when i look at all the autographed passes, t-shirts, programs, and hotel stuff. we didn't have a camera to use, so we bought a couple throw away ones. one of them had fucky film, but we got 5 good shots(which the cun- oops, i mean regina also scooped when she left our apartment the last time) and the other one disappeared into the void on our travels, so i have no visuals, save for the plays in my head. regina had quit school the previous year, actually not long after we met, so she was free to go to alaska and a couple others dates. i, however, had to resume my previous career as a scholar. one day i'll tell you about my high school experience, but right now i'll just throw in the brew that i was an honour roll student. none of my escapades stopped me from letting anyone think i was stupid. usually.
the following year metallica came back on a tour with guns and roses and we got a call from rick, if you can believe it! we had tickets and a room waiting for us! tres cool, non? say it with me now:
"FUCK YEAH"
so anyway, long story short, this was when regina racked up my phone bill and went to butt fuck, iowa with her new friend that had latched on to her in alaska. luckily, i had a friend who had just bought a 3 bedroom house in a 'burb closer to the big city, which is where i ultimately wanted to be. in the city sucking all the energy in and spitting it out frantically onto a page - paper, a napkin, anything i could find. by that i mean writing. alot of poems and prose, specifically. i rented a room at my friend's house for a few month until i got a place in the city, and moved on.
i've only seen regina a few tmes over the many years since then. at one point we attempted a reconciliation, but she wouldn't pay her fucking phone bill, so i took her to court for it. then she didn't like me very much. awww, poor regina had someone make her be responsible for a change....aww, oobie fucking boobie. eat me. there's a few other tales i could spill about why i named her cun- oops, i mean regina, but i don't feel like it. i wouldn't feel that way without good reason.
so! let that be a lesson to my life mates:
watch your treatment of the fine teague, or you shall be emblazoned with a moniker suitable for many, many jests. for example:
dick, peter, twaterelli, or fuckface.
or regina.
you know that rhymes with vagina, right? and a vagina is sometimes referred to as a cun- oh, never mind.
2 comments:
*HAHAHAHAAsnorthahaha*
You truly ARE bloggerific!!
Kudos on getting loads of shit done. I've been working around the house today too. Guess what?? We're gross over here. heh
I can totally hear you saying, "You know that rhymes with vagina, right?" Keep 'em coming and I'll keep reading!
Seriously... keep typing.
it's amazing what i can come up with when i have a spare hour, hey?
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