Sappy, maple-syrupy vagina face

omg. i guess rights abouts nows is the time when we all get super-nostalgic about this last summer.

whenever i get all sappy about shit my friend shayna tells me that i am a vagina. when it gets really bad she tells me i have viscous liquids dripping from said orifice. right now i could cover every pancake and waffle known to man. holy crap i miss you guys. it's so bad that i refuse to go to butte because you guys aren't there. seriously. russell invited me to go last weekend. it made me sad that i had literally no one left to hang out with. besides cordel, but he's not much for conversation. this shit is depressing.

on a better note. i now have two jobs. i love them both. i am currently logging this post from the computer at the tattoo shop that i now work in. it's manned by a wicked ass crew that make me guffaw on a second to second basis. and sara martin rocks. check her shit out. and those are just the photos she takes. if you want to see her skin art, come down to the shop.
also. organic coffee shop. the shit. too much fun. i get to harass yuppies and i get paid for it. win.

and then there are other things too. i suppose i could write about them but that would force me to sift through the magma of emotions and various data to try and find some sort of cohesive way to explain shit, but i've been up since 7 am (due to coffee shop job) and i'm fucking tired.

sam... prease don't exprode. i'm going to send you care packages. i need your address.

max... i'm not sending you shit because your host family spoils you. well, maybe some pepper spray :)

jules... maybe you would be willing to hang out with me in butte sometime???

i'm getting a GSS tattoo. no jokes. that's how much you guys mean to me.

one love.

I did it, I guess

Howdy, pardners. I'm fucking living in fucking Chicago RIGHT NOW! It's... terrifying. My dorm is all empty cause I'm a loser and I guess everyone is hip to what's up besides me. That's what I get for being older than all the baby children here.

I rode a train here and here's my take on that: never, ever ride a train. They go like horse gallop speed and old ladies want to talk to you. It's just as creepy as a Greyhound and the only bonus is they'll heat you up Veggie Burgers in the meal car for like seven dollars. I've also never smelled worse than I did getting off the train. Like a freaking garbage man or something. Garbage ass.

But now I'm here in a dorm (I guess I forgot dorms sucked???), showered, and working up the energy to go to bed so I can be stressed out for the next 3 months. I don't really have much to say about this on account of my emotions are still oscillating and I still miss a ton of people (but not Ryan Hunter, who thoughtfully came to pick me up at the train station so I wouldn't GET LOST AND DIE). Here's what's outside my window:

It's that dumb Chicago sign or something. It's pretty cool. Someone move here with me :(

More importantly

I miss Sam. I said goodbye to him at 6 am this morning in my underwear after closing down the Dollar and being so epicly drunk I texted my boyfriend and I quote:

"Its because butte is a ture cowboy sity."

And after he told me to sleep well and drive safe:

"I will or something. ??? i just so miss you"

Butte brings out the best of me and I'm sad I have nobody there left to visit. See you you on New Years you douche bags!



But actually what I came here to say is that I forgot the most important shit being fucked up beyond my personal bubble: there is literally a potato blight up around Flathead. You remember that shit that like ruined Ireland? Yeah that. I'll investigate further and update you all on whether we'll have to start eating babies or something.

My ass is exploding out of the top of my head

I'm like pretty much upside-down today. I'm straight up like that mother fucker at the end of 2001, all looking at that hyperspace old man/baby/crazy light shit and tripping balls

me circa right fucking now

The last week and a half or so has been a sort of full-throttle, breakneck effort to deep-fuck this state right in the fun hole, mostly initiated by my good friend Olivia Who Is Not Blog Olivia. I've accidentally ended up hours away from home like three times this week and criminally trespassed on to a lot of old, very hazardous mine yards. I've basically been handling toxic waste: Sorry Future Children.

Also:

Public Urination

Vandalism

Littering

More Trespassing

And if there are still laws against Perversion, I broke those too and continue to break them right NOW!

Now I'm grappling with the fact that I'm sort of the last man standing here, having watched those near and dear to me disappear into the misty Land Unknown. I've been sitting in front of a blank notebook all day trying to get over my shell shock and make something creative out of it, but my mind-load is blown. My mind is strip-mined.

...but stay tuned now more than ever. I get on that train in two days and then who fucking even knows what will happen. I'll really start cranking out material for my red-headed stepchild blog, I figure (I'm refocusing my Pancho and Lefty strip in to something actually readable, for starters), so these may be exciting times for Fans of Sam.

apropos of nothing, just a sweet as heck picture

I accidentally found this neat-o site just now.

bye.

On why shit is fucked up

SO. I haven't written in a while and if you're an avid reader you'll know it's because things are out of control over here in Juliatown. Forgive me. School starts next week and I'll undoubtedly need something to distract me so I'll be really funny in a couple days I promise.

Less of my things are fucked up as of this week including housing (I am moving in somewhere cheap in a sick location with a buddy of mine and his three other male roommates- don't worry, Mom, it'll be an adventure and I'll survive) though I'll be one of many say that property management types are total buttheads and maybe when I have more time and energy I'll tell you all about the nonsense I've dealt with the last month. At this point all I'm going to say is that I'm considering seeking legal counsel. Brad Roe can fucking suck my dick.

Things I'm still hurdling over unsuccessfully: Car (about to drop over 400 bucks to get that shit taken care of), hours being cut at work (that place can suck my dick too), bike (Clark still promises he's going to fix it and I guess I believe him) and computer (my consultant told me the other day he only had one more thing to try and beyond that it seems the ole gal has given up at least part of her techno ghost). Shit ass balls fuck. All of it.

ALSO. In the shuffle of moving out of my old place and folks going a thousand different ways, my old roommates took my goddamn houseplants. Who does that? Seriously. OH MAN I am tweening angsting the shit out of this blog and I'm real sorry for all of you but you know. Get it off my chest and all that jazz.

Final playing of taps for SAM who leaves for Chicago on Friday.


Okay someday I'll be happy again. I'm sorry for all this.

Hola

I would like to thank Olivia for defending me and letting the rest of the GSS know that I'm not a Judas. Yes, I did start a new blog, but it was only because all the other Fulbright kids were doing it and I wanted to be cool. It in no way, shape, or form is meant to detract from the wonderful musings poured out on this blog, the one and only headquarters of the Giant Spider Society. But Sam is right. I am sensitive and need validation. Said it.

So now that I'm in a foreign country and all I guess I'm doing the requisite soul searching one is supposed to do whilst alone in a new land. I'm actually not that alone. I live with a wonderful host family, and they treat me very well. They like talking to me about Colombian dishes, fruit juice, and how much they fucking hate Hugo Chavez. I politely nod and agree. My host dad is a bit on the conservative side and is a huge fan of both the Afghanistan and Iraq wars. I do my best to debate him...but arguing in Spanish is tricky.

Sorry for the digression. Back to the soul searching. Here's what I've learned: My soul belongs in Montana. I miss Montana. If I can't be happy there I won't be happy anywhere. It's not that I'm unhappy in Colombia, but Montana is truly the land of the free. You never have to worry about your security except in the rare case of a roving grizzly bear or mountain lion. You can pee in public with a 90% chance no one will see you. You can drink beer on the sidewalk (in Butte anyway), and you can drive way over the speed limit. You don't have to pay a sales tax. Montana is the American dream.

To float on a river, as Olivia so eloquently describes, is to live and be happy. And Rocket Man, even when it is partially mumbled, if fucking awesome.

I'm gonna take a page from Olivia's book and end with shoutouts:

Julia-I have no idea how you are doing but I hear your shit is fuxed up. I hope it gets un-fuxed up...maybe you should play your guitar on the sidewalk more often so more people can hear and they will throw dollars and good wishes your way.

Calvin- I'm assuming you're still alive and I know that you will never read this post so I guess I can say whatever about you. But I don't know what to say.

Sam- God Dammit. Just write the next great American novel already! You know you want to. I want you to, too.

Olivia- Keep floating on those damn rivers--both the real ones and the metaphorical ones. It will take you someplace good. Hopefully wherever it takes you there is coffee and tattoos.

Ok. I'm out. I have to make a power-point presentation about Montana to show to some Colombian high school students tomorrow. Not really sure how I'm going to explain the Berkeley Pit.

summertime...but the livin ain't easy

wow holy crap balls.

i guess we are all having our own versions of twilight zone-ism right now. julia's shit is all fuxed up. sam is wrapping his head around finally accepting how awesome he is. max is in a foreign fucking country teaching illiterates how to be literate (and with a rockin new hair cut at that) and me, well i'm just kind of floating. so while you guys are being all productive and shit... i spend the majority of my day pondering what's next, but never really doing anything about it.

there is an art to floating, river and otherwise. i feel like i have perfected my river floating techniques this year seeing as how i have not lost one pack of cigarettes to the water gods of the madison. not fucking one. and i can sing as loud as i want to on the river because everyone around me is drunk and either don't care, or will join me in a rousing rendition of "rocket man" even if they have to mumble some verses because they don't know the words. i have had many good floats this year. most of them involve my friend shayna, whom i call red or kitten interchangeably. here is a story involving her:

two or three weeks ago i woke up to a text message (which was around noon because i am a lazy, jobless a-hole) that read "float. dolphins. chloe. two." which i could only surmise meant that chloe was going to ride a dolphin down the river at two. then i started to wonder where chloe even got a dolphin? maybe it's a manatee and kitten couldn't spell manatee so she just substituted dolphin? but where in the fuck did they get a manatee????
i arrived at kitten's house to find that she and chloe were in fact constructing some sort of sea-craft out of blow up dolphins, an inflatable mattress, swimming noodles and duct tape. seriously. we videotaped it. it took them almost forty five minutes to make. red rode it down the river in what she refers to as an "adventure skirt" (which i can only guess is the skirt she has sex in) and smoked stogies and looked steazy as hell the whole way. only at the end when she decided that the craft probably wasn't the fantastic idea that she had thought it was several hours ago, did the integrity of the boat start to compromise itself. we like to think the SS triple C had a consciousness. it was probably just the duct tape being eroded away. nonetheless. we made it. and that damn thing is still shoved in the back of red's car.

as for life floating. well let's just say that indecisive is my middle name. and i have no idea what to do about it. hopefully the next time i write things will be a little clearer for me in that sense, but for now, thinking about where my life might be headed gives me gut rot. and i just ate a corn dog. from the microwave. which probably explains the gut rot.

russell oleary is terrifyingly awesome.

i might have a job at a tattoo shop.

i also might have a job at a coffee shop.

my insurance company employs only people who have an IQ of 38 or lower.

it seems like everyone around me is going through some sort of shift in their lives. i feel this year will be a year of change. in all the best ways.

sam, can't wait to see you on thursday.

julia, hope everything gets better for you man.

max, i don't think you are a judas just because your new blog is in english so i can read it. but i might not make you a t-shirt.

i'm thinking about a new tattoo?

posted by yours truly
the shit.