fergie's Diaryland Diary
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refrigerator mutations pt2
My roomie, Whitney, just moved out and that leaves me to cleaning the refrigerator for what must be the second time since I�ve lived here.
Items added to the wall of disgust:
Carton of low fat milk, sour since June 5, 2003
Chicken Franks, exp. April, 2003
Knott�s Berry Farm Jam, exp. Jan, 2003
Can of Classico pasta sauce, expiration Dec 2002
5:21 p.m. - Jul. 30, 2003
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super powers
UK_boy:
oh, I almost died today
fergie:
gang shooting?
UK_boy:
no, the power from a camera flash discharged into my arm & chest
fergie:
ouch
UK_boy:
I have burns & blisters on my hand where the charge entered me
fergie:
do you have super powers now?
UK_boy:
I've not tried
fergie:
well check it out. if this were a TV show you'd totally have super powers
UK_boy:
Yeah, unable to die like captain scarlet
fergie:
I don't know how far I'd take that one. Wait for the cross walk light and pack your parachute...just in case...
fergie :
I was actually thinking along the lines of being able to shock people with some bio-electrical beam or something.
UK_boy:
hmm.
UK_boy:
Nope, nothing. Ok, try this; think of a color and I'll use my special powers to guess it.
12:21 a.m. - Jul. 28, 2003
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bellybuttontattoo
I love email.
To: fergie
From: Brains
I�m so excited. I�ve finally decided on my new tattoo. This is what I�m gonna get, take a look at it here.
To: Brains
From: fergie
Don�t you already have one of those between your shoulders?
8:08 p.m. - Jul. 26, 2003
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All about Barbie
All about Barbie.
I�ve never admitted my toy fetish until now. It started simple enough, as a child I liked stuffed animals, and some of them established an emotional connection, such as the Kermit the Frog doll my late grandmother had given me. Later, my interest in arts and comics won me several cartoon-character inspired gifts, all of which started to add up. Along with gifts of affection from boys, who thought they would appeal to my softer side, the kids were soon cramping the bed. The stuffed animals, not the boys. I had to set up the plush creatures in their own permanent space.
One day, while getting some cheap booze in some super market store thing, I came across an isle of toys. I detest these stores with their bizarre meshing of products, ripe fruit smell, and bargain discount florescent lighting. Generally even Target is too low on the retail cool scale for me. But here, between the cat food and cleaning supplies, sat the most irresistible beach Barbie with red hair and a tone, sun kissed navel, which was revealed by her hip hugger shorts, complete with their own little belt. A repressed urge came over me at that moment, and I had to have her.
As a child, I had never even been allowed to play with dolls, owning one then would be like some secret sin I�d have been forced to keep in a shoebox. Not that the opportunity often presented itself, I didn�t have sisters and my cousins were rough and tough boys. The only time they played with dolls was in effort to torture their little sister. I remember watching Barbie�s perfect synthetic hair flow in the wind as she was dropped from the roof to screams of protest below. The few other times I�d even set hand on a Barbie, it seemed some sort of invisible alarm went off, sending the closest adult into the room.
Now, almost twenty years later, I beamed with pride and excitement at the checkout line. I had finally found my inner freak, and he was standing in Rite-Aid at 1:30am with canned cat food, a bottle of Absolut, and Malibu Barbie.
Now I have a small display on my top bookshelf, which features the red head. She wears a blue dress, looking ever so much the vixen type from a classic Hollywood film, and is delicately propped up next to a scene marker. She fits in with the other random plastic crap that catches my attention. It�s just one shelf, but it�s crammed full of pez dispensers and Wonder Woman artifacts, there�s Flick from A Bug�s Life, some dinosaurs, Queen Aamidala from Star Wars, along with other innocent playthings ranging from figurines plucked out of McDonalds happy meals to flashing, electronically enhanced yo-yos. Hidden somewhere in this display is the original Barbie that started the doll craze, a hot blond number with torpedo tits from the 1980�s that I got off ebay. It�s a wonderful life.
4:48 p.m. - Jul. 24, 2003
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how to masturbate correctly
Do you know how to masturbate correctly?
There are few things that actually make me take pity on someone, mainly because I�m a superficial elitist with little care for the rest of the world. But, if said individual has gone through their entire life without knowing how to play with themselves it�s cause for concern. I feel for those who can�t feel themselves up.
Clearly something must be done. I�m not sure where the idea sprang from that there was some sort of masturbation manual out there to teach young and old alike how to satisfy themselves in the proper way. Nor do I have any clue as to what tips those who go searching for it hope to find. I�m certain they�ve discovered no such instruction here, yet surfers often land on my page when they look for this information.
Are we really that concerned about what other people think of us that our masturbation practices have to mirror one another? Will there be some sort of j/o backlash least any nonconformist genital manipulation is discovered? Everyone does it, but not like that you freak!
4:20 p.m. - Jul. 23, 2003
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old people shouldn't drive pt 1.
QTPie:
I was thinking of you this morning as I was leaving the house...
QTPie:
There has been this box sitting on my table that I've been meaning to send to you...
QTPie:
It finally made it out to my car...
QTPie:
I just have to make it to the post office now...
fergie:
hmmm.....
fergie:
now I'm curious....
QTPie:
... it was supposed to have been for your birthday, so you can imagine how long it's been sitting there.
fergie:
now I know how the thong contest winners feel�
QTPie:
LOL� How are ya...???
fergie:
I�m good. Got up early, did some errands, went to the gym & worked out, then took an abs class
QTPie:
More abs? On you?
QTPie:
sheesh, you working on a 12 pack or what???
fergie:
the midsection is important in helping with back problems, so I'm trying to make it stronger
QTPie:
Ahhh... That makes sense..
fergie:
plus it would be a really good trick if I could crack a walnut with my navel.
QTPie:
Yeah, that wold come handy around x-mas time as we sit by the fire...
QTPie:
So have you found a new roomy yet?
fergie:
Yup
fergie:
a friend recommended someone to me... works with him on 3rd street
QTPie:
Cool Cool...
QTPie:
When my roomy leaves I don't think I'm going to replace her.
fergie:
I thought you were moving...??
QTPie:
No, I really like my place and I don't want to give it up.
fergie:
yah, it is a pretty sweet place... although it constantly sounds like it�s raining b/c of the waterfall thing outside
QTPie:
LOL...
QTPie:
it's a claming sound and you know how high strung I can get.
fergie:
.....no comment.....
QTPie:
LOL...
fergie:
not that I'm one to talk....
QTPie:
true...
fergie:
spike was just telling me about the old guy who ran over a bunch of people at the farmer�s market on 3rd street yesterday
QTPie:
10 people died...
fergie:
I better make sure my new roommate wasn't involved..... that would be just my luck
QTPie:
I wonder what made him snap
fergie:
well I guess the guy was really, really old and hit the wrong pedal... his reflexes being poor, he didn't recover correctly. Sounds like some bullshit to me. That man shouldn't have been on the road
QTPie:
So he didn't snap? It was an accident?
fergie:
yah, scary stuff. Old people should not drive.
fergie:
Kinda reminds me of the time, one Halloween, my brother and I thought it would be funny to put a dummy by the road on a bike, like it had been run over..... and some old woman called the police and said she thought she might have hit someone!
QTPie:
OMG!!!
QTPie:
you were a bad kid...that explains everything!!!
fergie:
yah, well.... I hardly ever got caught, so I was a smart little bad ass. THAT time, however, the police officer that came over to the house not only bent down to check the dummy's pulse, but parked his car in our driveway
QTPie:
LOL
fergie:
Mamma fergie was ever so pissed about that one.... imagine, if you will, coming home on your lunch break to a cruiser in your driveway and your children hiding from the law in the basement
QTPie:
You guys must have been LAUGHING!!!
fergie:
we refused to answer the door...
QTPie:
once a bad ass, always an ass!!!
fergie:
well, I never did that again, that's for sure.
QTPie:
Wow, I can't beileve it's already 11:00
QTPie:
time flies when you're hardly working.
fergie:
yah, I'll let you get to work.....
QTPie:
Do I have to?
6:56 p.m. - Jul. 22, 2003
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your friendster, weed
A note from my friendster buddy, Weed.
Weed just wants to say how thankful she is to have all of you as friendsters and true life companions. I am nearing 100 friendsters and am so happy that tonight I am going to smoke a piece of myself.
However I am not pleased with these boring, anal friendster executives. How dare they remove our pictures and attempt to kill our fun. Let us not forget that WE have made friendster a success and this bullshit cannot be tolerated. If we could just get those humorless jackoffs to puff on me this friendster world would be a free happy joyous place. I love you all and stay lifted.
2:01 a.m. - Jul. 22, 2003
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famous ice cream truck story
Never let it be said that I�m easily defeated.
Every mother has a story, one particular moment when their child was a growing baby that they retell over and over again when he or she has grown up. These stories have been the fodder for many embarrassing movie moments, but the tales capture the childlike innocence and vulnerability we all once possessed. My mother�s story is about me and an ice cream truck.
When I was a small boy, we lived in town by the local high school. In the summer you could count on the ice cream truck to pass by the school on a regular basis. Being almost the center of town at the end of Main Street, the school grounds were always open to the small community. Kids like myself played on the swings with the girls, while boys threw hoops and fetched sodas for us.
One particular day, I was inside the house when I heard the dreamy jingle of the ice cream truck coming down the street. I�d missed it at the schoolyard! By the time I grabbed a dollar from mamma fergie (who knew the drill and whipped out a fresh bill at the sound of my stomping feet on the stairs � love her), the ice cream truck had just passed our house. There was only one thing to do, so I ran after it waving my money above my head and yelling at the top of my lungs. Then, so focused on the passing ice cream truck, I tripped on the sidewalk and fell on my face.
Stunned, lying face down in the grass and bleeding from the knees, I thrust my hand back into the air, still clutching the now slightly crumpled bills. My amazing swan dive had caught the attention of the driver, and as I looked up from the ground his brake lights flashed.
And I�m sure, in all my life, that ice cream out of the back of a truck never tasted so good.
9:09 p.m. - Jul. 20, 2003
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yee-haw
Yee-haw! (for Tiffanie)
11:51 a.m. - Jul. 19, 2003
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ice cream truck pt1
I�ve mentioned my hometown roots in a few of the recent entries, and I just realized the reason for my nostalgia. The humid weather here in Los Angeles this past week has reminded me of a hot, muggy summer in Ohio.
I even ran after the ice cream truck today.
11:11 a.m. - Jul. 19, 2003
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circle of life
Something I wanted to add to post about pampering your pets.
I understand having a love for animals. Being a former country boy myself, it�s probably a part of my environmental make up. Everyone I knew had a dog or a cat, usually both along with other critters like rabbits, etc. My grandfather had a barn complete with a pony and everything. Of course, he was also the town butcher.
It might seem like a complete dichotomy to say that my grandfather the butcher was one of the kindest, most gentle animal lovers that I�ve ever known. However, this is absolutely true. I've never known him to be cruel to any living being, except for the time my uncle pissed him off by saying something threatning to his daughter (my uncle's wife), and he pinned my uncle to the wall with one arm, letting his feet dangle off the floor. That wasn't really cruel, but rather being a protective father.
As many of his customers could attest, when one of the cats that lived on his farm would give birth before winter, he would often sincerely implore them to go out behind the shop and take a kitten home, least the weather become too cold for them to survive.
Though many organizations would have you believe all animals are mistreated in slaughterhouses, his was an extremely small and privately run shop that operated without metal grates on the floor or over crowded stables. He had a personal relationship with the farmers that brought him their stock weekly, where they were housed in the comfortable old style barn for a few days before they were brought to the shop.
Having grown up with this fact of reality, it never seemed cruel or horrific, but rather just a part of life.
1:51 p.m. - Jul. 18, 2003
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what if?
WHAT IF -- fergie became a supermodel?
(Further proof that I am completely and irreversibly insane.)
10:36 p.m. - Jul. 17, 2003
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sad
I just realized the frequency at which I've been writing about my kitty here in these pages. I really need to get a boyfriend.
9:32 a.m. - Jul. 17, 2003
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is kitty stupid?
I love my mean kitty, but I don�t dress her up. She�d probably rip my fingers to bits if I ever dared to try.
I buy her expensive toys from the pet store and she looks at them blankly from across the room. I�m sure all pet owners have been through this, and in an attempt to make her comprehend what�s before her, I then play with the toy to show her how to use it. Usually she�s amused at watching me for a few moments, then promptly turns her attention to something else like her food bowl or cleaning herself.
Later, she finds a crumpled up gum wrapper and plays with it for hours. Why? Because she doesn�t know the difference.
4:20 a.m. - Jul. 17, 2003
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pamper ME
My question after reading this article is simple: Why pamper your pet when you can pamper yourself?
Why must we constantly pour out our emotions and pocketbooks on others? I know it may seem selfish, but I think if people practiced self-love a little more often that there would be less conflict in the world. Often, the reason people coddle others and devote attention to them is so that they get love in return. The reasons for this external sensitivity is self-motivated anyway, so why waste the time and energy?
10:01 p.m. - Jul. 15, 2003
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There is a big difference between being black and being a thug
There's a big difference between being black and being a thug.
I'm neither, so perhaps whatever I say about this subject might offend. I could really care less. I don�t know where the notion started that in order to embrace one�s urban identity that an individual has to speak in an uneducated manner and prance around like some kind of street pimp.
I�m not just talking about rappers or hip-hop stars that grew up in a middle class family and suddenly refer to their gated community as �The Hood.� Even the mighty assed J.Lo grew up in a posh suburban neighborhood, not the hard streets of the Bronx as she claims. We all know those people are full of shit.
It really baffles me to see people of other races putting on this front, as though they have to take on a new ethnic identity to be considered cool. �Acting black� is completely racist and perpetuates the idea of blacks being ignorant and uneducated.
It is so not cool to be stupid.
Every culture has it's own "slang" � growing up a country boy I can tell y�all some truths on this end of the spectrum. Some stereotypes are true, that�s why they�ve become stereotypes. However, when people deliberately act in a way that is untrue to who they are, it�s disturbing and sad.
Oh, and by the way, I don�t say African American. I don�t happen to know a single black person from Africa. They were all born here, same as me. Also, I�m white, not Irish American.
5:25 p.m. - Jul. 11, 2003
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practical thinker
I didn�t make the following story up so don�t credit me. Sorry, but I don�t know whom to cite as the originator of the tale. I also have no idea if it�s true or if someone made up. However, aside from the basic set up and solution, all the funny bits are mine.
Three Mensa members are sitting at a restaurant. No, I�m not one of them, because while it�s true that I qualify for Mensa based on a history of high aptitude test results, such as receiving one of the highest grade school proficiency scores in my home state, sick SAT scores in high-school, and a recent IQ test; I�m not an actual member of Mensa. This is mainly because smart people are always going on and on about some �genius� or �brilliant� thing they�ve invented or accomplished and it really gets on my nerves. It just seems as though I�ve wasted my time listening to them when I could have been conceiving my next truly genius, super brilliant idea, or at least jerking off or something else that�s fun.
And to be honest, when I think of fun, the first thing that comes to mind is touching myself (or someone else).
Anyway, this group of three sit together at a table in their favorite restaurant, each supposedly with an IQ in the top 2% of the population (we�re talking world population, here). As they wait for their food to arrive, one of them notices that the salt and pepper have been placed in the wrong shakers, as they are clearly marked by the generic, octagonal shaped containers many restaurants use with the silver dispenser marked �S� or �P.� Even though it�s totally unnecessary to mark them, of course. Anyone who understands what the �S� and �P� stand for surely knows pepper is black and salt is white, but it is this very detail that reveals the error, as a black substance is in the little bottle marked �S,� and the cocaine looking powder sits in the other bottle, marked �sniff me.� I mean, �P.�
Instantly, the three genius minds quickly devise ways to correct the error, which was now the focus of their entire existence, because aside from going on and on about some brilliant idea of theirs, smart people enjoy nothing more than pointing out the mistakes of others. When the waitress returned with their food, she couldn't help but notice the patrons at table five were so fixated on the salt & pepper shakers that they didn't even notice her.
�Everything OK?� she asked tentatively, secretly praying to her particular patron saint or object of worship that no harm will come to her from these strange people staring at condiments. Previous experience with two troubled teens on a bad acid trip had left her a bit on edge.
�Well,� answered one of the Mensa members, pointing to the containers as though the waitress was obviously so stupid she couldn�t even comprehend what was sitting before her very eyes. �We noticed that the salt and pepper are in the wrong shakers, as you can see. We thought it would be a challenge to see who could come up with the best way to take out the salt and pepper, then pour each into the proper container using only the objects at our table.�
They had not yet been able to determine who�s idea they would try, as inherent flaws presented themselves with each method due to the materials at hand, each lacking any resemblance to a much needed funnel. Like I said, smart people like to point out the mistakes of others, I didn�t say they actually corrected them. So the little bottles sat on the table, still marked incorrectly, with no genius solution, or any solution, but rather a debate on developing the best, most genius solution.
As one of the Mensa members excitedly launched into his theory about how the napkins could be used to hold the contents of each bottle and then be folded into funnels, the waitress quickly cut him short before either one of the other two could offer their solution.
�That won�t be necessary and would only make a mess.� The Mensa members shuddered as their waitress, probably only a high-school graduate, informed their collective four billion IQ that the switch could be made without the use any other materials at all. Dumbfounded, they could only stare, mouths gaping, as she leaned over and unscrewed the cap marked �P,� switched it with the cap marked �S,� and placed the containers back onto the table. She then pulled their check out of her apron and returned to the kitchen, feeling blessed not to be burdened by intelligence beyond practical needs.
p.s. � I realize I�m setting myself up for all kinds of comments in my guestbook from readers that may wish to attempt to prove their mental superiority over me for whatever reason, but there is really no point in doing so. As with everything else on this site, it�s a joke. Nothing is ever completely made up, as in this entry the part about being a good test taker is a fact, but I am in no way claiming to be a genius or any smarter than you are. It�s in my nature to poke fun at myself (along with everyone else), and this should be obvious by my sarcastic and self-deprecating commentary. I find qualifying for Mensa to be hilarious, considering that I can�t even remember what I ate for lunch today or where I heard this story.
2:21 a.m. - Jul. 09, 2003
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math is fun and good
Math is fun and good.
Once, in math class, the token smart ass / big mouth / annoying person who wasted everyone�s time with their antics asked our teacher why we had to study math, using the age old �is there any practical use for geometry?�
�To be perfectly honest,� our teacher, Mrs. Brown, replied, �it�s doubtful that any of you will ever use any of this information again, unless you become an architect or something. You will study this subject because the state mandates that you have to. If the only thing you actually learn is that sometimes you have no choice and just have to shut up and do what you�re told, then I�ve done my job.�
I had a feeling she�d either been practicing her response for that one, or was quick on her feet and choose an alternate snappy comeback every time someone asked such a moronic question. Obviously, problem solving took far too much mental energy for most of the world, and it was clear that only a few would see beyond the lesson in front of them and learn to apply it to other areas of their life.
But I have to give her credit, because she did try. One of the best examples I can remember was when she compared Math to the English language. Letters and numbers being related? Crazy talk. I�m not sure how many people were still tuned in when she explained that each had set rules, a set format, and (generally) one best possible solution. Perhaps a bit simplified, but the intricacies of language and math are subjects of high academic study and not really necessary for a general example.
Anyway, what the hell was this kid doing in geometry (or chemistry, or biology, or insert-subject-not-related-to-pumping-gas here)? Why even bother going to school? I think we waste time, money, and resources on those that clearly have no desire to learn. If they�re only there because they have to be there, then let�s change some laws, and make anything after the fifth grade optional. Since the national reading level is at about a third grade level anyway, this would also serve to improve basic skills.
My theory is that by concentrating on getting students to a seventh grade level, all the stupid bullshit like movie days that are used to fill time in the current school calendar can be eliminated. No recess, no field trips, no naptime, no gym, and no study hall.
What idiot came up with study hall? Does anyone seriously expect a child to use their free time, during school, to study? Its no wonder so many kids have a hard time with their school; it�s because while they may be given a great deal of information, they are never really taught an efficient manner in which to absorb that information. Instead, the only time they utilize study hall is for late homework assignments or to cram before a test, in which they will regurgitate names, dates, facts, and figures, most likely forgetting half the material by the time the results are handed back to them.
But you can�t fake it with math. You can�t forget 2+2=4 because you use this knowledge for future problem solving. Math builds upon itself, implementing techniques and formulas used previously for simpler equations, which are then used to break down more complex problems so they can be solved.
Or, something like that. I have to admit I don�t use math often, certainly not geometry, and I�ve gotten lazy and am in the habit of using a calculator to balance my checkbook.
Though I knew the question as to whether or not math was practical was idiotic, I also felt that the actual numbers wouldn�t have much of an effect on my life in the long run. No plans to become a designer and draft anything to scale. I was interested in the arts, and in my sixteen-year old brain, the arts had nothing to do with the rest of education. Unlike math and English, art is subjective and therefore not only is there no right answer, but skill, vision, and creativity can�t really be taught but are instead inspired.
Then I took my first stagecraft class. While painting the set for a play we�d been rehearsing, I realized that while no one was talking about using arithmetic or busting out with equations to figure the space out, we had to apply to the rules of math to create the perspective of a multilevel set, even though the stage was just a big, flat rectangle set several feet above the ground. No, we weren�t trying to figure out who would run out of paint first if Suzie used x amount of paint in 20 brushstrokes and Paul only used y amount in 30 brushstrokes and y = x � 3, and blah blah blah� but we were still bound by the numbers.
While some people, like former teachers, may not be in the closest touch, their impact is always there. There was no way I would have passed any of my math classes if that very same teacher hadn�t made damn sure I was going to understand each and every assignment. Not only did she offer her free time for study help for tests, she also had her home phone number written on the inside cover of our books. Yes, her home number, written in each and every textbook she passed out. We could call her whenever we needed help with the exception of Sunday night, which according to her was too late to finish homework we had time to get started on during class on Friday.
I loved studying from her.
And she�s still teaching, both new students and myself. I�ve learned far more from her than Pythagoras' Theorem. My little brother passed through her class, and I caught up with her at his graduation party. Of course, she couldn�t stay long. Many of her other students were also having parties that day, and she didn�t want to miss any of them.
Being from a small, country town in mid-west Ohio, everyone lived miles apart in every direction. Upon leaving, she told me she was going to drop by �Steven�s, Alex�s, Dave�s, and a few others� before returning home later in the evening. Growing up in a small town, you know everyone. You know their entire family tree, what their parents do for a living, and where they live. By order of the names she listed, it quickly dawned on me that she had her party route mapped out perfectly to get her around the entire county in the most efficient manner.
Practical, indeed.
4:20 a.m. - Jul. 06, 2003
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no pets
To: fergie
From: deme
I am interested in the apt. I do have a cat that stays indoors. I just wanted to know if you would consider a roommate that has a cat. Thanks
To: deme
From: fergie
Gosh, I�m so sorry but my cat would kill your cat. She�s evil :( �I�ve seen her attack large male cats, dogs, the occasional piece of luggage, even laundry piles...when not around other animals she is usually very sweet. I sedate her often.
Best of luck,
- f
12:12 a.m. - Jul. 03, 2003
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amazon plug
OK, I know it's an Amazon plug and all, but the Evanescence CD is awsome. I order from Amazon all the time, so much so that I'm on a first name basis with my mail carrier. And she knows my real first name.
9:45 p.m. - Jul. 02, 2003
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my own best friend
Recently I joined a roommate service to find someone to move into Whitney's soon to be vacant wing of the penthouse. It will be strange without her here, but she has to tour to support the new album. I'll miss the wigs and fights with Bobby. I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. I don't actually live with Whitney Houston, just a very confused drag queen.
Since no one in my network of friends seems to know anyone that's looking for a place that I haven't slept with, I liked the idea of ordering a roommate from the web. I quickly signed up as a Choice Member of Roommates dot com. I also decided to join as a free member to look for a place, just to keep my options open and be able to search for both. I came upon my own profile in the "rooms for rent" search, and sent myself this email.
"if only i could split myself in two we'd be the perfect roommate.
- ME"
Later, when I logged into my main account, I was excited because I had a new message.
4:20 p.m. - Jul. 01, 2003
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random
Speaking of random, the ".�." symbol, which I�ve added at the bottom of the page, is for a new diaryland feature. Now, in addition to going forward and backward through the entries you can also randomly jump around. It�s fun, try it today! ...and buy something from amazon dot com.
winks to this cute kid ;)
2:27 a.m. - Jul. 01, 2003
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JULY 2003
This email is a bit late in getting posted, but I just wanted to put something up to confirm that the thongs are getting out to the winners. As stated previously in the April Fools contest, prizes are awarded to the winners at my whim and fancy at a random later date.
"I just wanted to thank you for the thong. I (finally!) got it in the mail and boy is it snug! But I love it."
- erik
2:12 a.m. - Jul. 01, 2003
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