fergie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please move, or I�ll fucking run you over Please move, or I�ll fucking run you over One of the first things I came to understand about living in a big city like Hollywood is that there are just too many people for anyone to care about your shit. Twenty thousand other assholes have already blown stink around before you got there, so nobody wants to hear your story. Keeping this in mind, everyone else can go fuck themselves. It�s my turn. I realized all this while crossing Melrose Avenue one morning before opening the little store I managed on the strip for a couple of years, before 2000, when it still had a little old school kick ass quality to it. So there I was, crossing on the light, with digital walking guy giving thumbs up. As a quick aside, ever wonder what prompted the famous adage, �nobody walks in LA?� It�s because pedestrian crossings flip signals from walking guy to flashing hand to flashing red everything as the light has already changed, cross-traffic pays no attention, California rolling over anyone foolish or slow enough to have their feet between two curbs when the signal is green. Back to the moment of realization: Attitude and a storm trooping supermodel strut are mandatory when working either side of Melrose, so you know I wasn�t lollygagging when suddenly caught in the cross walk as the little digital dude pulled a vanishing act. Without a moments pause, some asshole honked his horn and yelled at me through the open window. Two things happen when I�m faced with confrontations like this. The first is natural law of self-preservation, plain and simple. If jerk face had floored the gas pedal, I�d have leaped over to the other side of the street, or at least moved as quickly as possible to avoid being run over. Once, in my teens, some idiot redneck from a rival school, no less, was running around a parking lot and thought he could play chicken with my older bro�s car. What he discovered is, if you have it coming, an angry driver will run over your foot. Then they will laugh along with their passengers, who point at your newfound limp. Self-preservation is a good rule, but never chosen in the heat of the moment. In this circumstance, I was mid-catwalk stomp and about two steps from the curb when the light changed, so I wasn�t having any diva wannabe I�m-so-important-everyone-should-clear-a-path-and-kiss-my-ass-as-I-pass-by attitude. Stopping dead in my tracks, I locked eyes with impatient motorist asshole, not surprised to note industry insignificance (typical nobody wearing a blue button down shirt in a civic). He wasn�t sure what to do next, but I was. Raising my infamous single eyebrow arch of death, I extended my arm, presented a perfectly polished middle finger, and told him to fuck off, or go fuck himself, fucking something. He got the point, as other drivers zipped around in the other lane, scolding him for pissing off some queen and holding up the light, I casually turned and finished crossing the street. 11:12 a.m. - Nov. 29, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stop with the honking Stop with the honking As usual, about a million hilarious things happened this weekend, but I�m too hung over and can�t remember anything funny to tell y�all about. I�m often finding myself getting stuck with nothing to post lately, with class and work and personal projects and my fabulous social life, everything is such a blur the farthest detailed recollection I have spinning around in my head at this moment is driving into the office this morning. Although it would certainly be memorable, I don�t mean to imply I physically drove my automobile into the office, crashing through the front door or anything. I�m admittedly a little out of sorts, but I�ve never been that fucked up, at least not behind the wheel of a car, so don�t get any ideas. As luck would have it, this afternoon�s bomb scare provided weblog worthy material. Seemingly unusual congestion along the side streets surrounding Condomania HQ turned out to be an official road closing, complete with a police motorcade and several helicopters. Curious, Weezy and I decided to investigate, which amounted to yelling over the crawl of traffic at one of the LAPD boys directing traffic in the middle of the intersection. He couldn�t give us much information, he said, until the bomb squad finished with their inspection. Before we could ask, �Did he say bomb squad?� a booming roll like thunder cracked through the air just northwest. Horns went silent. Everyone sat quietly, exhaling with the baited breath of anticipation. Nothing, not a single cloud of smoke, no screams of panic. Nada. Within moments, the daily grind kicked forward, spectators and speculators alike went back inside, returning to their 9-5 duties here in Hollywood. Without a first person update, continued traffic jams, bloody bodies, or a related news item of any kind on the local airwaves, I�m guessing it wasn�t a big deal. 4:20 p.m. - Nov. 28, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day of Thanks Day of Thanks I return home after an essay exam and then running some pre-holiday meal errands. It�s 12:21 a.m. Kitty nearly tears my arm off at the door and gives chase as I enter the kitchen, pouring a handful of moist vittles into her bowl. Three nibbles. Fucking drama queen. I need sleep, then I will eat much food. 1:02 a.m. - Nov. 24, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- quotable Quotable �You know when old people are like, really old?� 2:00 p.m. - Nov. 21, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- liquid diet Last night for dinner I had a 40oz. of Corona mixed with Vicodin. Did I mention I�m on a new liquid diet? 12:13 a.m. - Nov. 18, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- kids without a chance This morning I almost ran over a baby. There was a man with a stroller standing in one of our much envied parking spaces as I pulled into the lot this morning. With extreme caution, I slowly began maneuvering so I could park the open space beside him. This would have been a solid approach had his child been seated in its stroller. Curious, I wondered what kind of parent allows their toddler to sit on filthy pavement in-between parked cars. Judging from daddy�s expression, I was an idiot for not knowing that crawling in the street is a common playtime activity. �You know,� I said coolly as I stepped out of my car, �homeless people and transvestite hookers shoot up drugs in this parking lot at night.� 8:42 p.m. - Nov. 14, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FERGIE: the musical! My life is a drama, in 3 acts Crappity! It�s been over a week since my last update. I�m like, rilly rilly busy with school and stuff. My computer, boxy DELL, is currently at the end of her trial run using Windows XP, adding further time constraints to my writing schedule. Quite unfortunately, dear reader, this month has already provided enough side-splitting folly for a full act in my upcoming stage production, FERGIE: the musical! While I note my regret for not being able to share these hilarious antics with you, it�s not likely I�ll loose any sleep over it. Besides, who the hell would buy tickets for a show if detailed plot elements eyeballs across the globe can take a peek at for free? Besides, why give away any surprises when blowing smoke out of my ass about the creative process serves to promote ideas in a similar fashion? Now, it�s important for audiences to relate to the star, otherwise they have no reason to invest in their story, therefore failing to develop interest in resolution of the conflict presented. A solid way to establish affection for said protagonist is to reveal forgivable character flaws, such as Homer Simpson�s single digit IQ. For the cast of Will & Grace, the �loveable character flaw flowchart� would look similar to my example, below. Audience members must find believability within the character, which for my purposes rules out all but alcoholism from the list above. Taken out of context, however, addiction isn�t always funny. Fortunately there are other ways to compel live viewers. Nudity, for example, almost guarantees a sold out show, especially if suggestive words like NUDE, NAKED, PENIS, PORN or CLOTHING OPTIONAL appear in flashing lights on the marquee. In the very likely event that producers and financial backers grow concerned about ticket sales, all promotional material will bear a slight variation of the show�s title, as follows: FERGIE: Live, Nude, and Raw - The XXX Musical! 11:12 p.m. - Nov. 12, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- November-05 Glitter Butt Mr. Bernard called to inform me he made a discovery. Several, in fact, as he�s been finding little disco sparkles stuck in the carpet all around his apartment. None of the silver sequins on my glitter ball hot pants seemed to be missing in front or on the back, however. Upon further investigation I noticed the sparkles went all around and underneath, through the leg and crotch area. The taint was bare, and therein revealed the missing elements of my costume. It seems every time I took a step or settled into a pose, the material rubbed together and left a trail of sparkles behind me. Sort of like fairy dust, except from my butt instead of a tiny wand. 9:10 p.m. - Nov. 03, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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