Relocating.

After a ridiculously long hiatus, the blog has risen from the dead and moved to Tumblr. 

Old posts live now there, new posts will also live there. 

 http://spitfirehussy.tumblr.com/

xo

How To Reply To A Collection Agency.

I'm mailed this shit yesterday.
_____________________


Dear Bay Area Credit Service, LLC,

When I saw your name, I got really excited for a second, because I’m always so nostalgic for San Francisco. I’ve had so many great times there. Have you been to Dolores Park? I love that spot! There’s this one taqueria in the Mission, I can’t remember what it’s called but their pork tacos are to die for. My friend Phil took me there a month or two ago. And I’ve caught some rad shows at Thee Parkside. Oh, San Francisco, how I wish I could afford to live there some day. I just love that place.

All of these things went through my mind when I saw your name on this collection notice. But my smile was short-lived as soon as I read the next line, which was your address- Antioch, California. I had to Google Maps that shit to see where it was. Bummer, dude. You guys are kind of off the grid. I can understand though, how you might want people to associate your name with the tough streets of the big city.

Anyway, let me apologize for this account landing in your lap. It’s really not your fault, and despite the fact that I think all collection agencies are about as respectable as meter maids and child pornographers, this is a raw deal for you guys.

Wells Fargo Dealer Services thinks I should give them $951.78. This is a huge load of bullshit, and I’ll never pay it. Here’s the sitch:

I totaled my vehicle, which was financed originally through Wachovia Dealer Services, in August of 2008. Since I had full coverage as well as gap coverage insurance, I knew that whatever I owed on the car would be taken care of after the accident. In fact, every involved party told me that it would be taken care of after the accident. Don’t worry, Dajah. You’re covered.

Well, it took THREE MONTHS for the geniuses at Wachovia Dealer Services to properly communicate with my auto insurance company and my gap coverage company to get the claim resolved. I did everything I could on my end to expedite the nightmare of paperwork and cross-referencing that this ordeal entailed while those nitwits flailed wildly and never got their shit together. This whole debacle goes in the file under “N” for Not My Problem.

Meanwhile, my car had been towed away to the wrecking yard within 48 hours of the accident. So naturally, I quit making payments. Seems reasonable to me and everybody else who is hip to this story.

I did not have the car. The car was totaled. The car was covered completely by insurance. Thusly, I did not continue to pay for a car I did not have for three months.

When Wachovia Dealer Services told me I owed them money for those three months, I laughed out loud. Because this is exactly what they said:

“If you would have paid for the three months it took us to get this handled, we would have refunded all the money you paid. But because you didn’t pay it, now it’s in collections.”

So, let me make sure I’ve got this right. Go stand in front of a mirror, look yourself in the eye, and repeat this. I dare you to keep a straight face.

“If you would have paid it, we would have refunded the money because you don’t owe it. But because you didn’t pay it, now you owe it.”

Are you for real? Am I getting Punk’d right now? Where’s Ashton?

Sorry, guys, that is ridiculous and it’s just not going to happen. I won’t pay you. Not $951.78, not $1. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not even in Monopoly money. Not even if I were a multi-billionaire and had a thousand dollars to wipe my ass with. I’d rather light one thousand dollars on fire than give it to you for that damn car. It’s the principle. It’s not fair, and anybody with an ounce of common sense is able to figure that out.

If I cannot dissuade you from continuing to annoy me to death with letters and phone calls by appealing to your common sense, I guess I’ll have to just to give it to you straight. Real talk. Get your supervisor over here, or your accountant or whoever is in charge of determining whether or not someone is worth harassing.

I’m unemployed. No prospects. I have no assets. (Not even a car!!!) I just got divorced, I’m sleeping on a couch and my water got shut off the other day so I had to go to the Chevron down the street for a quick whore’s bath before heading downtown to turn some tricks. Last time I was in San Francisco, some hustler told me I could make myself “a lotta cash, honey” so I’m gonna explore career alternatives in the seedy underground sex industry. I’ve heard Portland is mostly just for strippers but I bet I’ve got more charisma than those trick-ass hos, so we’ll see who starts making the big bucks around here. Yeah.

Just kidding. About that last part. Totally serious about not paying you though. Sorry. I’ll go to my grave kicking and screaming about this one. My headstone will say, “Wachovia Dealer Services Can Shove That Totaled Kia Up Their Ass.”

I look forward to receiving a new statement which reads:
TOTAL DUE: $0.00
SORRY YOU HAD TO DEAL WITH THIS FIASCO DAJAH, YOU CAN TAKE THE GUN OUT OF YOUR MOUTH NOW.


Sincerely,

Dajah B.

2000 Miles Later

The last six days have been kind of a huge blur but here are some highlights.

We left Portland on the 4th at around 9 PM. Way late, of course. I drove the entire 650 mile stretch by myself, from sunset to sunrise for 11 hours. This marathon drive was brought to me in part by Adderall and the fabulously productive time vortex it comes equipped with.
Finally made it to Mike and Lindsey's place in San Francisco just as Lindsey was leaving for work and Mike was leaving for tour. Had every intention of going out for Cinco de Mayo but we were exhausted. We did at least make it out to Lindsey's sailboat for a drink.

Left in the morning for Huntington Beach and 8 hours later met up with Get Dead and Compton SF at Jen and Deans. Alison took off with the car to go visit her family in Riverside. I walked to the beach and bought some liquor. Finally met up with Joe down the street, then managed to puke in the middle of the road as we all walked to the show later. (Hey, after 6 weeks of sobriety I did NOT expect a graceful transition back to the land of drinking.) Lost the most valuable item in my purse at the bar without realizing it and had it gloriously returned by a stranger after I had already left. Drunk stagger back to the house, couple hours of sleep, then off to Vegas for Punk Rock Bowling 2010.

Everyone managed to leave on time in the morning except us, which was the last thing I expected. Alison arrived back from Riverside shortly after everybody else had departed, so we got some Mexican food for the road and then duly hauled ass to Nevada. Four hours later we swooped up Jon up at the Vegas airport, drove to and then checked into the hotel just long enough to turn around and drive back to the airport to pick up Andrew and Dylan. Before returning to the hotel we swung by the store to pick up 2 cases of beer to go with the 2 bottles of Jameson which were already in the car. Incidentally- all of these items were gone by Saturday morning, except the whiskey I stuck in my own bottle and forgot about, but was delighted to discover later.

Sunset Station is technically in Henderson and not off the strip in Vegas- and as one facility, contains a hotel, casino, pool, bowling alley, amphitheater, a million bars and restaurants, and a million places to get into trouble. The good news is that because it was off the strip, everybody was in the same general location. The bad news is that because it was so huge, we could never keep tabs on anybody so it didn't matter anyway. Even text messages were getting sucked into limbo where they'd arrive hours later and became mostly useless for finding people. Most of our group didn't get their Sunset Station reservations made in time before they sold out, so everybody was a little bit scattered around different smaller hotels next door, which totally amplified our difficulty in finding anybody at any given time.

When we first arrived, there was a HUGE line of people, wrapped all the way down the sidewalk and around the building. It was the Will Call line for everybody to pick up their show tickets for the weekend. Alison managed to jump the entire line of like 200 people in the sweltering heat and score ours in less than 2 minutes. Amazing.

Later on that night, Alison was so smashed we decided it would be a good idea to write our hotel name and room number on her arm in sharpie, to assure she'd make it back. I think she had the best time, and how the hell she didn't get into any serious trouble is beyond me, but totally rad. We lost her for a while in the casino and when Andrew saved the day and found her, I just held onto her fanny pack like a leash as we walked around. I think the highlight was her laying on the casino floor singing "I can't be faded! I'm a honkey from the motherfuckin SUBURBS!" I've got video of this stuff but I don't know that she'll allow me to put it on the Internet.

Joe and I discovered the beer supply for the ENTIRE CASINO & HOTEL at the end of an unmarked and unguarded stairwell near our door. Open refrigerators the size of dumpsters, lined down the hallway, filled to capacity. No shit. For real. I wish I could get the security footage for me quickly loading my purse up with Miller Lite only to stop, realize there was Guiness, unload my purse and re-stock it with the other cans. For the next three days I had an endless beer supply as I walked around. It was glorious.

Get Dead played at Hooters inside the hotel, and between the show and the other hours spent running around in various stages of drunk, I woke up Saturday morning in a lot of back pain. Alison scored a wheel chair and Joe cruised me around the casino, then to a restaurant where we got breakfast. We won a steak and a pie, then ditched the wheel chair and went to the pool. For reasons unknown and unacceptable, the pool was closed at 3 PM every day. So while I had been dreaming of laying by the pool all weekend, I actually only clocked like 2 hours.

The hotel rooms didn't include refrigerators BUT Lindsey gave me the hot tip a few days prior that if you called the hotel and told them you had medication that required refrigeration, they'd bring you one. So we had a fridge full of beer for 3 days. Yesssssss.

On that note, Joe and I decided it would be a good idea to drive to the store to re-stock the beer supply in our room since the ones I was swiping from storage weren't totally fulfilling our inventory needs. I still had a pina colada in my hand so he said he'd drive. I put the keys into the ignition from the passenger seat after I'd set down my drink and closed the door, but they fell out of the ignition and then disappeared. We tore the car apart trying to find them. All the doors open, the floor mats pulled up, sticking our heads under the seat, getting heat stroke in the parking lot and being totally baffled by their apparent disappearance into thin air. Eventually I reached back in the car to grab my drink, and as I went to set it back on the roof I noticed that there was something in the bottom of the cup.
It was the keys. Best thing I've ever had in a drink, right there.

Despite the money and bullshit we all put into acquiring amphitheater tickets for all three days, we didn't really make it a point to be anywhere at any particular time, with the exception of seeing Against Me! and The Dickies and a couple other bands play. There was all kinds of security lined up for the show and they were searching people and being dicks to everyone on the way in. We noticed that the re-entry line was moving faster and nobody was being hassled, and I was then further delighted to see that all we needed for re-entry was our ticket stub and a sharpie mark on our hand. So we just skipped the bullshit hassle line and breezed through the other way with a bag full of beer. This whole weekend was really just one example after another of lax security.

Saturday night was THE show we were stoked about- at the Double Down, not too far away from the hotel. But we got smashed during the day, passed out at 10 PM and COMPLETELY missed the entire thing. I'm still really bummed out that we all simultaneously managed to blow that one. Really. Like, if you're in Vegas for the weekend to party, the one time period of all that you should NOT sleep through and miss is generally between like, 10 PM and 3 AM on Saturday. Go figure.

Sunday was Mother's Day and all the girls got free champagne all over the casino. Then I just started buying the bottles of champagne and carrying them in my purse. Therefore I don't remember much other than meeting up with a bunch of people for lunch, running into Naomi outside, stumbling across Stacey and watching her bowl a champagne bottle between slot machines, and then getting lost in the casino by myself later when I was hammered and announced to my friends that I was going to bed. I made it as far as the bathroom to puke, then ran into Mike and Lindsey and made my way back to the central bar 45 minutes later. I don't remember going to bed.

I was supposed to take Alison to the airport at 5 AM that morning. I anticipated the possibility that I wouldn't be able to make it though, so I managed to find another person who was flying out the same time as her and coordinated the sharing of a cab ride. Thank god.

Joe and I packed up for a late check-out. Had lunch. Then as we were walking out of the casino, this chick and her boyfriend who were sitting with all their luggage at a slot machine stopped us. "Are you guys driving or flying?" I was going to blow her off because I assumed what was about to follow was a request for transportation, but when I said "Driving" I was rewarded with THREE BOTTLES OF ALCOHOL, for free. They were like "We can't fly with these and we can't drink them and we don't want to throw them out, so you should take them." One full bottle of whiskey, a mostly-full bottle of vodka and another half-full bottle of tequilla. So after not winning ANY money during our 3 day stay, we scored this delicious treat as we walked out the door.

From there we cruised back to the pool to lay in the sunbeams for a while before hitting the road. Had 1.5 drinks. Joe is rad and drove pretty much the whole way back to Huntington and I got to sleep in the car which is a totally foreign concept to me on road trips. I'm always driving. Dropped him off in HB, then another hour and a half drive down to San Diego, to my aunt Stacy's house.

I suppose it's kind of good that I don't remember everything about this weekend, because that means I had fun.

Now, to Albuquerque this weekend.

Get Dead @ The Galway Arms

Seattle. February 13 2010.
It's currently March 2nd and I STILL have bruises all over my legs from this show. Yikes!

More stuff to follow once I get the other bands photo sets finished.


But for now, all photos are here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157623543678602/

We're All Gonna Die

(... maybe).

I didn't write this diatribe for this particular blog but I'm putting it here anyway. It's kind of long, but it's got pictures and swear words in it so it should hold your interest for 3 minutes, so read it.

I'm gonna be dishing out a lot of info specific to Portland, but all of this stuff applies to everybody in the Northwest. Seattle- this means you (especially West Seattle). In fact, it applies to everybody on the west coast since this regional disaster could trigger movement on the San Andreas Fault. Hey California, pay attention.


The west coast is due for a Cascadia Subduction Zone earthquake of massive proportions.


Before you skip the rest of this post and think, "yeah I already know all about our earthquake risks" let me tell you that you probably do NOT. This is new information. So shut up and read.

In case you missed the Willamette Week cover story this week entitled "Quake Up Call", click that link and check it out.



The Cascadia Subduction Zone is off the (mostly northwestern) US coast, and is where the oceanic crust scrapes under the continental crust. Every once and a while, it gets pretty gnarly. Hundreds of years of scraping causes strain on the continental crust (that's the ground you're standing on, smarty pants). This strain is eventually relieved in one incredibly powerful megathrust earthquake, which will really fuck up your life if you're anywhere near it.

We're near it.

Remember that 2004 tsunami in Indonesia that killed over 220,000 people? That was caused by a megathrust earthquake. And for the record, the subduction zone responsible for that shitshow was WAY farther offshore from them than the Cascadia zone is from us. How does a 30-100 foot wall of water wiping out entire western coastal communities sound? In case this sounds unlikely, The Pacific Northwest Seismic Network has some REALLY interesting reading, as does this guy who knows what he's talking about.




So why haven't you heard about this?

Well, up until pretty recently we didn't realize that the Cascadia Subduction Zone was causing megathrust earthquakes more than every 500 years or so. Since the last magnitude 9 event was in 1700, nobody was particularly freaking out about it. But recent evidence shows that these megathrust earthquakes happen more like every 300-350 years. We're at 310 years right now. Chris Goldfinger, associate professor of marine geology at OSU, says that earthquakes occurring in this area “Don’t often go past 300 years, so one is about due.”

The recent earthquake in Haiti lasted less than one minute. Revel in the horror of destruction there if you haven't already. 200,000 people are dead. "Disaster" doesn't even describe it. Now consider that when (not if) this megathrust earthquake hits Portland (and Seattle, and Vancouver, etc) the ground will not shake for mere seconds- it will shake for several minutes. This event will be the largest earthquake disaster in North American history. The ensuing tsunami will travel globally:




But wait, there's more!

A megathrust earthquake isn't going to be our only problem. In addition to ground motion amplification, we also have to worry about liquefaction (North Portland and the airport, I'm lookin' at you), as well as massive landslides (West side, holler). While we're at it, let's not rule out seiche.

The neat thing about earthquakes is they trigger so many other disasters. Even non-geological, secondary disasters such as uncontrolled fires. For even more information on the multitude of risks, check out some USGS hazard maps for our area. It pretty clearly outlines where the most dangerous parts of the city are. Suffice to say I'm glad to be on the east side.

For lots more critical info about this very real impending disaster, including details about how the subduction zone works and what you should do when it goes bad, check out the Cascadia Subduction Zone Earthquake Scenario Project




All that scary stuff aside, the point of this note is to tell you one thing:
BE PREPARED.

The chances of this happening in the next 50 years are around 20%. Which doesn't sound all that scary. Until the ground you're standing on crumbles and you've got no plan, no escape route, and no supplies. I just watched a CBC documentary about the CSZ megathrust earthquake situation, called "Shock Wave". One scientist said: "We can't tell you exactly when it's going to happen, but I can tell you we are one day closer to it than we were yesterday."

Sounds a little unprofound and obvious, but that's the point. It didn't happen yesterday, so it could happen tomorrow.



Infrastructure will collapse.
There will be no fire department to save your house.
There will be no ambulances to take you to the hospital.
There will be no immediate cavalry to escort you to safety.
There will be no store to go buy supplies at.
You will be on your own.





So tomorrow, this weekend, your first available time, get your shit together. Stop putting it off.

You have financial insurance in case you get into a car wreck. Do you have any planning insurance to keep yourself and your family alive during a disaster? If the ground started shaking right now, if you're on the coast and a tsunami is on its way in 15 minutes to annihilate your whole community, if the bridges across the Willamette river snapped, what would you do? If you had seconds to get out of your house, if you had minutes to evacuate an area, how would you do it? Most of Portland (hell, most of everywhere) is not earthquake-proof, so in case you had that idea, go ahead and forget it.

Be prepared.
You have time to do this.
You have money to do this.
There is no price in dollars or hours for the life of yourself, your kids, your spouse or anybody else you care about.



Don't let anybody tell you you're over-reacting by making a plan and an emergency supply kit.

You're living in a hazard zone. I think you're great, but you're an idiot to pretend this isn't going to happen eventually.



So here's some suggestions:
1) Make a plan. If you're home, what do you do? Howabout at school? Work? Where do you go? If you're in Portland, the west side is going to be a nightmare. Plan accordingly. Establish a safe and reasonable meeting place with your family in case you're separated. Choose a single out-of-town contact for your family to report to.

2) Make a 7-day survival kit for your home. A single Rubbermaid storage tub could save your life.

3) Make a "go-bag" you can run out of your house with on 30 seconds notice.

4) Have a kit in your car, if possible.

You can do this on the cheap. Ebay is a fantastic resource for survival gear. You can get a pound of calcium hypochlorite which can sanitize 10,000 gallons of contaminated water for less than $15. You can get MREs for a few bucks each. Flashlights? Radio? Space blankets? It's all there. And it's all worth it.

Here are some great resources for what to pack:
http://72hours.org/go_bag.html
http://www.gobag.org/

Please check these out. There's shit on these lists that you'll probably never think of on your own. Like copies of your identification. Spare keys. Medication. Calling card. Some cash, if you can. (Sorry, ATMs will be down after the city collapses.) In my go-bag I've also got a short, easily-accessible list of other important things to grab from my house at the last minute if I have time (like my laptop).

Survival kits are good for more than just an earthquake. They're good for anything. Including storms that knock out your power or water supply for extended periods, house fires, and other assorted emergencies. Remember when the city of Portland shut down during Snowpocalypse 2008 and 1,000 people abandoned their vehicles on the highway? Shit happens. Really. To every-day people, even when they've got warning.


I'm not asking you to build a bomb shelter. Just make a backpack and a Rubbermaid storage tub, and have a conversation with your family.

Don't rely on somebody else to take care of this for you. Do it yourself. Now.











The USGS is the authority on all this geological stuff. So go check that out as well.


One more thing:
Forward this post to your friends. Get the word out a little more. More educated people means less idiots asking me (and you) to share critical supplies when the shit goes down.

The Pinnacle Of My Awesome Existence

This one gets its own note.

While at Knott's Berry Farm, we went on The Ghost Rider. Which, as it turns out is my favorite ride EVER in the history of the Universe. It's long and wooden which means it is extremely janky and terrifying and isn't one of those bullshit short-thrill rides that only last 20 seconds. This is the real deal. This is where it's at.



We rode that shit. Twice.

On the ride, they have the cameras that take a snapshot as you hit the first jolting drop/turn, and this was our shining moment:




This post is exclusively to illustrate how inconceivably rad we are.

Also when I move down to the LA area I will be definitely acquiring a season pass so I can ride that sucker on a regular basis.

I love you, Ghost Rider. I'll name my first born after you.

Sincerely,
Dajah Renee

Knott's Berry Farm

Basically I felt the need to regress to the age of seven and go to KBF while I was in SoCal.

Best decision ever.










Misc. California Adventure photos are here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157623164475806/"

Country Club Malt Liquor

Are you in The Club?








Stay classy, Buena Park.

New Years 2010

Huntington Beach, California

All photos here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157623127504398/

Quarter Million Reasons I Should Take Your Photo

So I've been using Flickr for a little over three years. I don't check my stats very often but I just did today and was totally blown away.

11,240 photos uploaded.

167, 407 views on individual photos.

50,951 views of my photo stream.

23,396 hits on the main photoset page.

Total = 248,460 hits on my pictures.

THAT'S A QUARTER MILLION TESTAMENTS TO MY AWESOMENESS.

Thank you to everyone who has facilitated this radness. Particularly Ava Shockley who supplied me with my amazing newest camera. Misty and Josh for gifting me with my amazing newest paid Flickr Pro account. And every person and band and organization who let me take their photos and put 'em up on the internets.

I am stoked.


www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets


www.fiascophotography.com

Against Me! and Other Rad Things

I got to shoot Against Me! (one of my all time fav bands in the Universe) in LA on Thursday. My friend Stacey Dee performed with them and totally killed it. Awesome show. Met Butch Vig (!!!). Pics are rad.



BTW the track she sang with them is the one with ONE MILLION plays on their Myspace page. Literally a million plays. Whoa.



Plus lots of other stuff at the usual location:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/


I'm on vacation till January 13th. Later.

Iron Bartender 2009

Benefit for The Giving Tree
Radio Room, Portland Oregon
December 10th 2009

All photos here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157622974066693/

Santacon Portland 2009

Santacon in Portland was on December 5th.
For some idiot reason it was held in North Portland this year (boooooooooooooring) so it was nowhere near as awesome as it has consistently been in years prior. But it was still good. We at least had a fun ride home on the Max at 2 AM.







If you're not hip to Santacon, then start here.

Kicking and Screaming

When I was a toddler, my mom used to keep my new diapers stacked neatly in delicate, easily-accessible and disturbingly OCD-like stacks in my room.

Having been born genetically predisposed to being a pain in the ass, by the age of two I had a passionate impulse to wreak havoc coupled with a natural aptitude to do so. I know most toddlers are natural cyclones of terror and destruction- but I'd like to believe I was a particularly cunning variety.

I'd go into my room and stand in front of my diapers. Neatly stacked. I'd pick them up, one by one, and throw them over my shoulders in rapid succession without even looking. Just one right after the other. Left, right, left, right. Flying diapers.

My mom would come in and I'd take off running. I knew I was being a little shit- that's always half the thrill of deviance- so when I was punished it was completely warranted.

Near the same age, I used to sit in the bathtub by myself and play while my mom was cooking dinner or folding laundry or doing whatever it is that single moms do at night. I'd sit there and pull all the towels into the water. Why? Because my mom told me not to. Drag the towels into the tub, then push them over the edge and back onto the floor, then back in, then back out. Until the bathroom flooded and there was nothing for me to dry my wily little ass off with.

One time while I was in mid-flood creation, towel in hand, my mom came in.
She picked me up out of the tub and stood me up on the bathroom linoleum. This was back in the good ol' days when it was ok to slap the shit out of your kids for not acting right. So in the time it took her to bend down and pick up one of the towels, I made a break for it.

I ran across the bathroom, naked, soaking wet, running for my life, running for my freedom, running for every kid in the world who ever got spanked. And as my mom turned around to capture me before I could make my crafty escape, I slipped on the linoleum.

As I slipped, my knees buckled and I came down on my right leg as my momentum carried me across the cold, wet floor. I slid across the threshold of the bathroom door and as I came to a stop I slid- fatefully- over a staple that some careless craftsman left sticking out between the linoleum and the hallway carpet.

I can remember my mom holding me on her lap in the bathroom, fixing me up. Me crying- not for the ass whooping I so righteously deserved and unjustly avoided, but for the giant, bloody gash on my tiny little three-year-old leg.


The point being- all checks get cashed some time or another. Sometimes it happens just when you figured it would and other times it comes when you least expect it. It might seem appropriate or it might just fall outta the clear blue sky. Either way, all debts get paid.

And I've got a big ol' scar running up my leg 23 years later to remind me of just that.

And guess what? This totally non-profound news flash applies to everybody.



You're welcome, world.

Pygmy Seahorses

My friend and I are across town, both watching Planet Earth on the Discovery Channel.

Text message conversation:

Me: PYGMY SEAHORSES!!!!

Nicole: Yes!! I'm watching the same thing!!
Nicole: Half inch!! Head-butting!!

Me: In a territory dispute. Omg.

Nicole: Their territory is 3" x 3"

Me: GET OUTTA MY TERRITORY MOTHERFUCKER!

Nicole: How adorable?

Me: Infinity.



The end.

Guil & Summer's Wedding

Looooooooooooong time, no update. Gotta start somewhere.

Just a few from Guil and Summer's wedding a few weeks ago.
All photos here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157622326294975

What Did You Do This Summer?

I was just being overwhelmed by the crippling terror following the realization that school starts in FIVE DAYS when I imagined back to being a little kid, going back to school. They ask you, "What did you do over your summer vacation?"

You know, I am forever accumulating wild stories of reckless times and close calls and assorted adventures and calamities, but this summer has got to be one for the record books.

I try and duly document as much as possible because
1) Due to the fact that I am deep down an emotional packrat and sentimental junkie, it's satisfying to be able to recall details of my own life later, especially when I'm locked into an impressive bender and have a tendency to get lost in the sauce and forget all kinds of rad things as they're happening around me.
and
2) Nearly 100,000 hits on my blog(s) have led me to believe that some people find this shitshow amusing and actually ENCOURAGE me to continue making an ass of myself by publicizing my exploits.

So here it is. What I Did This Summer, The Abridged Version

I drove a rock band on tour for 3 weeks, in the desert, in the mountains, in the rain, in a tornado, to warm beach houses and hot warehouses, from sea-level to 7,000 feet, in a van with no windows full of boys who don't shower, smoking cartons of cigarettes, drinking gallons of beer and vitamin water, couch-surfing, getting attacked by bees at a river, taking baths and shaving my legs in the ladies room at Jack In The Box, designated driving while GPSing directions on my phone while yelling at the boys and changing the song on the iPod while lighting my cigarette, while getting back on the highway after filling up the millionth tank of gas, still 23 hours straight-drive from home.

I shot a rock-and-roll wedding in Colorado, and then another in Oregon, where I spent most of the time doing morally reprehensible things.

I spent my days sitting on the porch with vodka snowcones and cigarettes, playing guitars with Luke and the other 25 boys who are always here at one point or another. I wrote a shitload of music. I smoked and ate and drank and abused myself till dawn. After dawn. Bike adventures, beer runs, be right back.

I shotgunned Sophia Coppola champagne in a can on the corner of 10th and Hoyt downtown, in a wedding dress and silver pumps.

I drove a bachelor party around town and had Smiley and Guil moon the entire population of upper Hawthorne.

I went to Soapbox Derby and was trashed by noon. Left with a bloody leg and a new respect for gin and pineapple.

I rafted down the river with the best crew in the world about a dozen times. Calamities, duct-tape holding boats together, totally disorganized, everyone's smokes always wet and nobody giving a flying fuck about anything other than sunbeams and good people and cold beers.

I spent a week in San Diego mostly drinking at the Del Mar Fair, climbed on strangers' cars, drank champagne on a party bus rented for my cousin's birthday, hopped in a car with a bunch of strangers to go swimming in the ocean at 4 AM, discovered Tapatio hot sauce in travel-sized packets and probably almost got my aunt arrested just for being in public with me on more than one occasion.

I spent 10 days in Los Angeles in the sketchiest part of downtown, where I stayed in (never left) an air-conditioned room with Brittney, beer and popsicles. Went to a party that Alexis Arquette invited Brittney to, where several trannies were picked up and brought back to the house and promptly stole my wedding ring and Brittney's Xanax and a shitload of her makeup. I blew $75 on my first night there at a random dive bar Brittney's probably unable to go back to now. Went to the LA Gun Club and blew shit away. Went to the beach, blacked out and woke up later with a little umbrella in my trucker hat.

I Craigslisted a ride to San Francisco and spent the next 7 days moving my shit every 24 hours due to a cataclysmic alignment of lodging circumstances. Drank greyhounds on a roof in the Mission and watched the city, listened to oldies and smoked cigarettes. Ate hella Mexican food. Buses and taxis and borrowed cars and walking from Ingleside to the Mission to Haight to Inner Richmond and back again, with a purse, then a mouth, then a body fulla booze. Spent about $80 more than necessary in Chinatown.

Drove home for 18 hours in another van full of boys. Shenanigans. Cases and cases of beer I didn't get any of. Motherfuckers still owe me $40, actually. Scotty's naked in the van. Sammy's naked on the couch. Puking in the parking lot, molested by a swamp donkey, Adderall to make it home.

I watched 5 seasons of House, 2 seasons of Dexter, 2 seasons of True Blood and 2 seasons of 30 Rock. I have no idea how many hours of television that is, but since I was watching it while I was working I was technically getting paid to do it so it's a dual accomplishment. And yeah, watching TV is an accomplishment. Shut it.

Through all of this tomfoolery I managed to work my scheduled hours, pay my bills and otherwise be a responsible human being. Thank you, thankyouverymuch.

I'm moving on Friday and Saturday.
Monday I start school.

Then the boys (and girls) come up from San Fran the next weekend and I will pretty much wreck the rest of my entire following week just recovering from their stay. I can't wait. If this summer is really going down, it's going down in flames.


I probably forgot all sorts of shit, but that's the long and short of it.

Goodbye, Summer 2K9. It's been real. Hazardous.

What Happens At The Bachelor Party Stays At The Bachelor Party

I had the option of going to Summer's bachelorette party or Guil's bachelor party, so naturally I decided to go with the boys.

What happens at the bachelor party stays at the bachelor party, except for this:

We packed the van full of 10 boys at my house, and I hopped in the driver's seat at around 9. As I was sitting there waiting for everybody to get settled, I got a phone call. It was insanely loud in the van as they clamored around, half of them already drunk.

So I'm on the phone and I say "I gotta go, I'm in a van full of boys heading to a strip club right now."

To which Smiley yells, "DAJAH HASN'T HAD THIS MANY DICKS BEHIND HER SINCE HIGH SCHOOL PROM!!!!"

To which I reply, "Dude, I'm on the phone with my MOM."

I Left My Dignity In El Segundo

Today was good times at the beach in El Segundo with Britt and Courtney.

I remember sitting at a stoplight with the windows down and belting out "Anything, Anything" with Britt and Court at the top of my lungs and making the surrounding drivers nice and uncomfortable. Then I think it was "Hopelessly Devoted To You". Classic. I recall being really intoxicated, leaving the bar alone to try and find Mexican food, and getting lost in a 3-block radius. Finding the place, handing the carry-out menu back to the guy and just saying "I'm too drunk for this, it's too much. I just want taquitos. Please, please help me."

Woke up with sand in my hair and a little umbrella stuck in my trucker hat I was wearing, thrown into a pile next to the bed with my swimsuit and all personal belongings I had today. Somehow I managed to put on a clean shirt before I collapsed into bed. Seriously, a little umbrella stuck in my hat and a bikini next to my bed, passing out drunk. Like it's was fucking spring break in Miami or something. I'm probably on some Girls Gone Wild, Los Angeles edition somewhere. Yikes. My head hurts. Oh I just looked to the right in bed and found a little plastic monkey- some decorative shit they hang from the edges of fish-bowl size booze concoctions found exclusively at tiki bars. Surprise.

I should definitely wash my hair tomorrow. It's been 8 days and I have a 4-day-rule when engaged in any activities involving swimming or spilling whiskey on myself. That was 7 and 5 days ago, respectively. Mmmmmmm. BTW this is one of a billion reasons I do not have a boyfriend.

Valet Please

Today, I was in front of my friend Brant's house attempting to park my scooter while wearing platform sandals.

I couldn't get the kickstand locked in place because I wasn't pulling the scooter up by the handles hard enough. This rarely happens because I've got it down to a science (even in my Coach heels), but today it was not working for some unknown reason.

So I yanked harder. Too hard. Bike yanked BACK but not UP and just slammed into pretty much exactly where my vagina used to be but is now possibly just a giant bruise with no discernible features.


Stay classy, Daj!