I want a new Ramones shirt, the original seal logo (size 3X) (Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Tommy, not Marky), because I never got my first one back after my nephew was murdered in it, 3.5 years ago.
I also want to start a fund to save-up for my Tater tattoo (memorial), that I've fucked-around and never managed to get in 3.5 years, because I owe it to him and I will never get over it.
My birthdays are, 89% of the time, DOOMED. Either nobody shows up at the parties that I've thrown FOR MYSELF, (ages 8, 13, 19, 28 & 30) when I thought that I had enough friends to actually HAVE a party, but as usual, overestimated my worth. I've had two and a half GOOD birfdays, when I was 22, and my roommate Miriam & suitemates & friend Julie surprised me with a cake in the bathroom, and when I was 24 (floor seats in the Dome for the Rolling Stones with Miriam, both of us drunk off of our asses and me in the hottest dress that I've ever been able to actually look good in); the half-a-decent-birfday involves a 21-year-old guy who could breathe through his ears, who my doomed 30th party not quite horrible. But he, like so many others, woke up, sobered up, and ran, screaming into the night, away from me. Well, actually, it was broad fucking daylight, which is SO much more fun.
In the past year, I've been fucked-over by a scumbag closet-case lawyer; treated like royal SHIT by the hypocritical catholics at the most feudal excuse for a "hospital" on the fucking planet; had the Fallen Uterus bring her CHILD-MOLESTING ALCOHOLIC COKEHEAD PIECE-OF-SHIT PRECIOUS SON-KING INTO MY MOTHERFUCKING HOSPITAL ROOM WHILST I WAS UNCONSCIOUS FOR A FIVE-HOUR SURGERY WITH MY GUTS SPLAYED OUT ON THE FUCKING TABLE, SO THAT HE COULD STEAL FLEXERILS OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING PURSE!!!!!!!!; had HIS eldest child, my FORMER niece, lie about me and fuck up not only MY entire life but also those of my cats; and I've lost six close friends in the past year, not one, not two, but SIX.
Al Hill, I (and the world at large) lost in June of last year, and if that shit wasn't fucked-up on every motherfucking level, I don't know what was.
But THEN there was the condescending closet-case who talked to me like I was a retarded dog, probably because I didn't have a penis. Then someone whom I still miss, who still sends goody boxes but no correspondence, pretty much just dropped-out of my life. One of the people whom I've most respected, as long as I've known her, but I'm not even worth an explanation or a severance letter. Then there was the guy who saved my computer (and probably saved copies of incriminating photos that are no longer on my hard drive), the guy whom I considered one of my best friends ever, who then instantaneously decided that I was less than human, because I believe that child rapists do not deserve to waste my oxygen. Wished that he'd never met me. That quick. In a fucking heartbeat. As usual, I obviously overestimated my worth to other people, I thought that I was his FRIEND, not his fucking ENEMY. Still fucking hurts, aside from being utterly ludicrous and otherwise against all tenets of reason and logic.
Then a former in-person friend, phone and e-mail after she went "home," DROPS OFF OF THE FUCKING PLANET FOR THREE FUCKING MONTHS, leading me to believe that she's either O.D.'ed in a gutter somewhere, robbed & gang-raped by her so-called "friends" up there who KNEW that she was being raped as a child and yet DID NOTHING TO FUCKING ***STOP IT***!!!!!!! Felt like somebody cut off a fucking limb. And then, magically, she POOF! reappears a couple of weeks ago, spouting shit that makes Scientologists look "logical"/"realistic", like she's been doing ALL OF THE *WRONG* DRUGS, and pretending that her DISAPPEARING OFF OF THE FUCKING FACE OF THE FUCKING EARTH was nothing more than a "minor inconvenience." Nope, sorry kid, don't fucking work like that. You give me a fucking stroke from worry, without so much as a note in a bottle or a fucking postcard to let me know you're fucking ALIVE, even if you don't wanna speak to me ('cause, y'know, I might FUCK UP THE MYTHOLOGY THAT THOSE BULLSHITTERS ARE IMPLANTING IN YOUR HEAD --- open your mind TOO MUCH, and YER BRAINS FALL OUT!!!) --- and no, I don't just "get over it." Fuck you. You fucked me, now fuck you. Loved you like a fucking sister, and no, not like the hate-mongering whores who allegedly "are" my biological siblings, like a REAL sister, and you just pissed that away like it was broken Mardi Gras beads.
Then my one and only in-person best friend IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING STATE, someone who'd babysat my cats after the February fuck-over, who'd made my cat-wrangling possible, who'd made my LIFE possible by making me feel like I actually "belonged" here, unlike every other single motherfucker in this toxic-soup of a state. It was half my fault, half hers, but the fact that she wouldn't even talk to me about it, that she threw my things in the garbage (including the best nightgown I've ever owned, 100% cotton and softer than a baby's butt), that she wouldn't even let me properly apologize for my part in the tragedy... that damned near killed me, but of course, the fates are NEVER fucking merciful in my case, they never WILL let me fucking die and get out of this punitive "life." I still think about her all the time, still miss her, and as far as she's concerned, I'm dead to her. I should be so lucky.
Then there's the last person to haul-ass away from me, the one who rejected me in a way that makes my so-called "parents" rejection from CONCEPTION seem like a WALK IN THE FUCKING PARK, the one whom I thought was the most LIKE me, which is beyond unusual, because I'm a hyperlexic freak alien who's never fit-in anywhere in my life, though New Orleans came close. I've never met ANYONE who's actually LIKE me, but we shared PTSD, we shared horror stories and head trips put on us by others, we shared a lot of the same scar tissue. I was there for her, for everything. Two nervous breakdowns a week, on average, on the weeks that she actually spoke to me. I was always there, and I was ALWAYS on her side, willing to break legs and gnaw jugulars to protect her. So when I reach out to her about the hellacious depression that I've been battling for a fucking YEAR, without talking about it to ANYBODY, because really, who wants to hear that shit??!?! --- she tells me that Earl K. Long "enjoyed" being INCARCERATED IN STATE MENTAL HOSPITALS by his whore/social-climber "wife" and her relatives, and that I SHOULD DO THE SAME THING TO MYSELF.
KNOWING what I'd been through, those lovely 6 days in East, the most draconian "mental health" facility on the continent, at my last suicide attempt in 1997, she still tells me that shit. Knowing my claustrophobia and control issues and fears, she tells me that my feelings don't matter for shit and that I am inconveniencing her by asking her to be my FRIEND and just fucking LISTEN, and that I should become a WARD OF THE STATE OF LOUISIANA.
'Cause, y'know, THEY DO SUCH A BANG-UP FUCKING JOB WITH EVERYFUCKINGTHING ELSE!!!
So that's my pity-party for the year. There won't be a birfday party, there won't be any surprises, and with the Fallen Uterus in MONTANA (off on a little lark of a road trip with her massah Dick...), there ain't gonna be a cake or cupcakes. I want cash. I want my Ramones shirt, I want a carton of cigarettes, and I WANNA FINALLY GET MY TATTOO FOR MY DEAD NEPHEW. It won't fix anything, it won't make me a better person, it won't do a damned thing to support any REAL charities, but it'll make me feel a helluva lot better.
I've been addicted to tattoos for 17 years now, and I haven't gotten a new one in FIVE years, and need cover-ups on THREE different abortions that were TOTAL FUCKING RIP-OFFS, but most of all, I need my Tater tattoo. It's catharsis, it's an endorphin rush, and it's an homage. And if I weren't such a fucktard, I'd have found a way to do this on my own by now. His birthday is on November 12th, and I'd like to get it before then, if possible.
And thus concludes my narcissistic hissy-fit/whiny-baby bullshit for this doomed damned birfday. Contribute at the MOB PayPal button if you can, send me dirty postcards if you can't. Just remind me that I'm not a total waste of fucking oxygen, as the rest of the world seems to think. Yes, I'm pathetic, but we already knew that.
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