fergie's Diaryland Diary
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HAPPY HALLOWEEN
Fergie as SIN:
HAPPY HALLOLWEEN!!
5:43 p.m. - Oct. 31, 2003
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aww puppy!
9:09 p.m. - Oct. 28, 2003
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smells like chocolate
Tonight I supervised as my friend Ernie rebuilt his closet and added storage space. Is a fag with power tools a lesbian? My job was to drink beer and sit on the bed, occasionally saying things like "That shelf is totally crooked!"
It came to leveling the bottom tracks for the sliding doors and Ernie asked for a suggestion. I told him to glue the fuckers to the floor, that would keep those bitches level. I learned from Papa Fergie that when it comes to talking about home repairs, you swear as much as possible.
Ernie took out some super-powerful adhesive shit and loaded the base of each bottom track, holding the fuckers in place with rubber bands, also my idea. Handing me the super glue, he told me it smelled like chocolate and that I should take a big whiff. So I did.
I should explain. Last week I was watching a friend of mine do laundry, and he handed me a bag of Tide and told me to smell it. So I did. Prepared for the chemical odor of laundry soap, I didn�t quite catch any significance. After a light sniff, I didn't catch any Tide smell either. Actually, it smelled yummy. I noticed the bag had Japanese writing all over it. "Japanese Tide smells really good," I said. My friend confided that he caught himself taking a big whiff of Japanese Tide the other day and contemplated eating it. I confirmed that this was a horrible, terrible, awful idea, and to let me know how it worked out in the end.
Now, I would never want my Lesbian friend Ernie to eat super-glue, so when he told me it smelled like chocolate I thought I should investigate. And, sometimes I like sniffing glue. I immediately became light headed. Ernie laughed. It didn't smell like chocolate after all. I took another pass just to make sure. It still smelled like super-glue, but by then I was so high I didn't care.
8:08 p.m. - Oct. 26, 2003
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eat candy till you puke
Today I stopped by the office and thought I'd bring some festive holiday candy. "That's so sweet," said one of my colleagues as he stated the obvious and proceeded to bury his arm up to his elbow in my grab bag looking for his favorite treat. "Did you just stop by to bring us sugar coated confections?"
"Well," I replied, "I am employed here."
"Oh, so that's why you�re always around the office on pay day." A physical light bulb actually blinked on above his head. Here I thought it had burned out long ago.
Later, I tried to answer the phone but had been so busy stuffing my face with caramel chews I couldn't speak. I had to leave early because all the candy gave me a tummy ache.
5:43 p.m. - Oct. 23, 2003
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mr. bill pt2
mr. bill pt2
In a suicidal act of repressed homosexual angst, mr. bill flung himself off our penthouse balcony and impaled himself on one of the one hundred and twenty seven "rent me" signs on the quad below. Or kitty may have tripped him while he was pissing over the railing. Either way, no one will ever know for sure why his lifeless body was found with his pants around his ankles. Some mysteries may never be solved.
One can conclude, however, that he's not going to pay the rent this month.
11:23 p.m. - Oct. 20, 2003
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mr. bill pt1
mr. bill pt1
My ex-roommate, Mr. Bill, was a straight-gay boy who worked at Banana Republic. Although I cannot confirm for a fact that he took it up the ass, all signs pointed to homo. Perfect blond hair with salon highlights, well dressed, diamond earring in each ear, went to gay bars, and his only friends were girls. Pretty girls. He also said I had a nice body, asked where I went to the gym, and only wore boxers when he was at home.
Some straight guys think that getting a blow-job from another guy doesn't make them gay, since they're not the one with a cock in their mouth. That's a fine rule. I'd let a hot girl blow me. It would get me off but it wouldn't make me straight.
The difference is being able to admit to it.
7:07 p.m. - Oct. 15, 2003
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My little bro, the sports superstar
Sometimes I worry that I don't spend enough time with my family, especially my little bro, the sports superstar. My older brother was an incredibly positive influence on me, and helped to shape me creativity. If Lee had been into racing, I would probably be writing for Auto Monthly or designing his car.
The connection with our youngest sibling was slightly different growing up because of our age difference (seven and ten years, respectively). Still, we did our best to help him blossom into a little hellion, or at the very least how to attract the attention of the local authorities (* see "The One About the Dead Body," below).
BentItLikeBeckham:
are you coming home this year for xmas
Fergie:
i'm thinking Thanksgiving
BentItLikeBeckham:
well that's good
Fergie:
so you'll be around?
BentItLikeBeckham:
yea, i'm still shacked up with mom and dad so Ill be here
Fergie:
well that's not a bad deal. my rent is big $$
BentItLikeBeckham:
its cali though - everything is more expensive
Fergie:
nothing comes cheap
Fergie:
I'm getting ready to head to a friend's b-day dinner. just wanted to say hello. how are you doing?
BentItLikeBeckham:
good
Fergie:
cool same here....i'm in a towel and have to get ready in the next 10 min, fight LA traffic and go about 5 miles to get to the restaurant within the next half hour.
BentItLikeBeckham:
have fun tonight
(I pause here to put clothes on. When I return to sign off, my little bro is on "away," so I leave him a message)
Fergie:
talk to you soon
Auto response from BentItLikeBeckham:
"A friend is someone who bails you outta jail. A best friend is the one sittin next to you in the cell, laughing their ass off, sayin, "Dude, that was fuckin SWEET!"
(Yep, the kid's alright. No need to worry.)
2:34 p.m. - Oct. 12, 2003
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bad costume ideas
11:12 p.m. - Oct. 09, 2003
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Grandma Fergie breaks it down
Grandma Fergie breaks it down:
"Personally, I think all politicians are buffoons, and we sure don't get much of a choice. I support anarchy, and maybe it would take another couple of hundred years to achieve the mess we have now."
-G'ma Fergie
Now y'all see where I get it from. Crazy runs in the family.
7:27 p.m. - Oct. 07, 2003
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write fergie in
Yes, he's an idiot. What's new?
My mock run for Governor has prompted some to question my motives. I ask them what's wrong with cold hard cash being a motive?
In reality, I'm voting to stop the recall. It's a farce. Sure Davis is an idiot, what's new?
No one has really had the time to come up with a platform, which is why mine was based on lies. That's all the other candidates can promise anyway. "Porn for Guns" may be the most brilliant initiative I've ever heard of, but if I were a betting man I'd say no one on Mary's camp knows how to pass something into legislation. Perhaps a few screenings of the Schoolhouse Rock "I'm just a bill" video might be in order.
At the very least, Davis has an understanding of the inner workings of state government and comprehends his role. Despite what anyone think of him, he has also recently signed some bills into law that makes California one of the minority states that supports Domestic Partnership (i.e. Gay Marriage). The economy isn't quite in the sad state that some media sources would like to tell it, and despite their best efforts anyone that's done their research or listens to public radio knows Davis certainly didn�t single handedly cause the current state of affairs in California.
Admittedly, he does make a fantastic target. For awhile, there was even a take off ebay called egray, in which users could buy a part of the Governor's influence via the web. What politician doesn't take money as a bid to turn high paying political views into policy? It's the American way, after all.
But when it comes to dismayed citizens, the pervading lynch mob mentality of this country wants to chase the monster out of town with torches. This is provided they aren't allowed to actually burn the monster to death, in which case death is always preferred.
Generally speaking, we like to admonish our own and leave the killing to our foreign policy experts.
This is the case with Davis, and rather than bomb his house a small, bitter republican crew set out to turn his constituents against him. Very little was needed to put a recall on the ballot, and soon everyone from action stars to porn stars were tossing their name into the political race.
Why not write in Fergie?
7:27 a.m. - Oct. 07, 2003
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the one about the dead body
The one about the dead body.
Raising three boys isn't easy, and I really give my parents credit for not beating us on several occasions. They might have been tempted to, save for the fact that they were usually laughing at our antics too hard to pick up the whipping stick. A prevailing trait among the Fergie clan is our sense of humor. Although my brothers and I did our share of hell raising, even a teepee was always good natured and meant in fun. Other kids our age drove out into the country and got shitfaced; we made a dummy for Halloween that looked like a kid on a bike who'd been hit by a car.
I just happened to have an old bike in the garage with a front tire missing. We quickly found material to stuff the dummy with, and used large clothes pins to hold the clothes together on the inside before we filled them up. We went outside to set the scene, complete with ketchup on the handlebars.
Our house sat on a one-acre property on the outskirts of the little village we lived in. The three of us placed the dummy at the edge of our backyard, about twenty feet from the county road that separated our yard from the neighbor's field on the other side. I had a friend that had broken his leg in the fourth grade when he sped down a hill and slammed into a car, and he'd flown eighteen feet in the air, so twenty feet seemed within the realm of possibility. This, while not being too close to the road so that it might cause a real accident. Like I said, we were devious, but it was all in fun.
Later, when the novelty had worn off watching the expressions of those that drove by, we retired to the basement. As planned, we could see our creation from the window down below. When you're underground, you feel safe, like nothing can touch you. Low and behold, that feeling quickly sank into our collective stomach when thirty minutes later a police cruiser was pulled over in the backyard. Our back-up plan immediately went into action.
Operation: DENY
Spider-like, we crept upstairs and turned off all the lights, then hid back down in the warm, carpeted basement. The plan was brilliant. No One Was Home. We were certainly not going to answer the door. Ever. When the doorbell started to ring, we knew he'd gone around to the front of the house. The second part of our plan sprang into action.
Operation: What Dummy?
It was time to retrieve the body from the side of the road. Clearly, we couldn't get busted if there was no evidence. I don't know what we were thinking, here, actually. Remember, we hadn't been drinking and yet this plan still made sense. Somehow I was elected to sprint out into the yard, pick up the lifeless sack of clothes, and run back into the house where we would hide any proof of our involvement.
To this day I've never been caught in the act, except for that time I was giving some dude a blow-job and his girlfriend came into the bedroom. That was completely different, because they were trying to set me up for a three-way. Otherwise, my involvement in any debaucheries or illegal activities can only be inferred, never proven. Such the case, I managed to accomplish my mission and ran back into the house, all with the officer still at the front door. We knew the law, without any evidence we were home free. Fuck the police!
Then Mama Fergie came home for lunch on her break from work. At that point the police cruiser had moved from the backyard into the driveway. Every parent's worst nightmare. The emotions are a mix of dread and embarrassment. If their child isn't dead or severely injured, they soon will be.
At the sound of heels on the floor above, we tailed our sorry asses upstairs to face our doom. Abort, abort, abort! The littlest one was already pulling up tears in his eyes and saying it was all the brainchild of our older brother and myself. Being much closer in age to my oldest brother, this made for a great story, solid, believable, and almost completely true. If the little bugger hadn't helped us stuff the dummy, take the bike out of the garage, and giggled with devilish glee every time a car slowed down to take a second look, then maybe his plight would have rang a little more true.
Possibly, we had crossed the line. When the three of us sat outside watching, the cars noticed us and got the joke. Everyone we had seen go by had laughed and drove on, waving. We failed to recognize the punch line was realizing the dummy was a fake. Laying face flat against grass, hood folded down and stuffed with sox, arms twisted, bike lying askew with a tire missing, a bottle of ketchup soaked into the ground, I suppose the scene had some authenticity.
Papa Fergie sat crossed with his hands in front of him. It only seemed fair that we told him why there was a police cruiser in our driveway when Mama Fergie had come home from lunch. In no uncertain terms, we described our project in detail. It was no time to pull punches, and to be honest we were a little disappointed he hadn't been able to see it. Being one for the dramatic, I earnestly explained that we didn't see, hear, or even know the police officer was outside because we were down in the basement and didn�t notice a thing. Papa Fergie raised his hands and placed his forehead against his thumbs, trying not to laugh out loud. As a teen, Ol' Fergie had once been chased out of town by two police officers tearing after him for beating up some dude dad didn�t think was cool. I've always envisioned my father in his youth as my mother describes first seeing him; long hair, leather jacket, total attitude.
He didn't really have the heart to punish us after being busted by the long arm of the law. His comic book geek sons (at least Lee and I, the youngest being deemed too impressionable to blame) had failed to pull off a high-speed chase with the police, but we had still made him proud. Perhaps those art classes did give us a better outlet than baseball.
Admonished to our rooms, my older brother turned to me in the hallway, "Dude," he chortled under his breath, "Did the cop tell you he bent down to check its pulse? I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing!" I quickly ran into my room to cackle into my pillow.
8:31 p.m. - Oct. 06, 2003
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kitty doesn't like you
Easy e:
so ummmm I hear you need a roomy
Easy e:
have you talked to Weezy?
Fergie:
I'm gonna come into the office tomorrow to pick up some stuff and send a fax, so I'll talk to her then
Easy e:
k
Easy e:
so gothicRick, Td and I are going to see underworld on sat (and have din din before... would you and Minh like to go?
Fergie:
yah, we both want to see that movie
Fergie:
he taught me how to say "I'm going to bite you" in Vietnamese (sounds like tun-gow-meh)
Easy e:
cool lol
Easy e:
thats cute..
Fergie:
so I just had two boys
Fergie:
they both came at once
Fergie:
...to look at the apartment
Easy e:
and
Fergie:
one of them i know, he's cool
Fergie:
the other guy, well, kitty didn't like him
Easy e:
why didn't kitty like him
Fergie:
usually she's friendly with guests, rubs up against their leg, talks to them, etc.
Fergie:
with this boy, she stood in the doorway of the room for rent and screeched at him. imagine going over to someone's place and having a black cat with big yellow eyes stand in your path and screech at you.
Fergie:
really evil like.
Easy e:
lol
Fergie:
but he kind of had an attitude, so she wanted to scare him off. she's one smart pussy
Easy e:
funny
11:01 p.m. - Oct. 05, 2003
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F5: what do you drive
1. What vehicle do you drive?
I don't. I have a full time driver for my stretch limousine.
2. How long have you had it?
Since August of this year.
3. What is the coolest feature on your vehicle?
The mini-bar.
4. What is the most annoying thing about your vehicle?
Only seats fifteen.
5. If money were no object, what vehicle would you be driving right now?
Helicopter.
8:08 p.m. - Oct. 03, 2003
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A totally true ghost story
A totally true ghost story.
A voice flittered into his ear and snapped the little boy awake. Someone was calling his name. It was a voice he knew, but one he had not heard for some time. At first he thought it was a dream, that he had heard his grandmother calling to him from a memory. But now, as he sat upright and completely awake in his bed, she called his name again. Her soft, sweet voice was perfectly clear, though strangely distant, as if coming from the next room.
Sitting atop his bunk bed, he knew his grandmother had died before the younger brother that lay asleep beneath him had even been born. Once more he heard the voice, but it grew distant this time, fading.
Holding his knees to his chest and peering around the room from his birds eye view, the boy heard nothing more. She was gone as if it were a dream, as if he had imagined it. But he knew beyond all reason that what he heard had been real.
I can tell you, because I was the little boy.
4:20 p.m. - Oct. 03, 2003
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OCTOBER 2003
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