a million little bitches

I'm currently reading A Million Little Pieces for the second time, despite all its shitty press about being "a million little lies" (picture me quoting that with the utmost bitter mockosity).
I just don't get what the big deal is. Yes, James Frey exaggerated some things, like how long he spent in jail, and changed some others, such as the way his to-be-girlfriend commited suicide (to protect her identity, i might add). I just think Oprah was a little (read: "way") too sensitive and emotional and uptight about it. The point of the book, as i see it anyway, wasn't how many days he stayed in jail or whether his confrontations with the rehab counselors lasted five or fifteen seconds. It was about an intelligent, fucked-up addict saying "fuck you" to AA and finding a better way (specefically, the Tao Te Ching). It was about taking responsibility for your actions and not just 'letting go and letting god' because you feel like there's nothing you can do about your own life.
Here's a quote i really like from the book:

"I have been to AA Meetings and they have left me cold. I find the philosophy to be one of replacement. Replacement of one addiction with another addiction. Replacement of a chemical for a God and a Meeting. The Meetings themselves made me sick. Too much whining, too much complaining, too much blaming. Too much bullshit about Higher Powers. There is no Higher Power or any God who is responsible for what I do and what I have done and for who I am."

Also, i think it's pretty much fucking ridiculous (refuckingdiculous if you're into infixes) for thousands of dumbasses who bought the book to demand a fucking refund in a court of law because the poor babies were soooo insulted that they were under the impression that they had bought a memoir when they had, in fact, bought a fucking memoir. Frey's publisher said this to Oprah (i read the transcript of the show where she was all whiny to them) and i agree: That Frey's book is a memoir, not an autobiography. He took a lot of it from hundereds of pages of his journals, and the rest from his memory--hence, memoir. The human memory intrinsically faulty, and when you read a memoir, just as when you hear a story, only fucking idiots don't understand that parts are GOING to be exaggerated and changed, and that's a fact.
The book's message and inspiration don't change just because details have.

Here is a funny quote from the book i like a lot, from when James is about to have a lot of dental work, including a double-root-canal, with no novacain or painkillers.
"The Babar the Elephand book is sitting in front of me. I pick it up and start reading it. I remember reading it as a small Boy and enjoying it and imagining that I was friends with Babar, his constant Companion during all of his adventures. He went to the Moon, I went with him. He fought Tomb Raiders in Egypt, I fought alongside him. He rescued his elephant girfriend from Ivory Hunters on the Savanna, I coordinated the getaway. I loved that goddamn Elephant and I loved being his friend. In a childhood full of unhappiness and rage, Babar is one of the few pleasant memories I have. Me and Babar, kicking some motherfucking ass."

This book made me curious about the Tao Te Ching, which is the most amazing book I have ever read. Everyone should read it, period. "amazing' seems like such a lameass way to describe it.

Fun etymology fact of the day: 'decimate' originally meant "the removal or destruction of one-tenth" from when Romans would line up the citizens of a rebellious city and kill every tenth person...as one can guess from the 'deci', but it has come to mean TOTAL DESTRUCTION. (Thank you Steve and the Online Etymology Dictionary.) Anyway, the Romans are badasses. That reminds me (yeah i know they were spartans not romans but it reminded me anyway, HOKAY?)
300 ROCKED MY FUCKING WORLD.

you, sir, are made entirely of dryer lint.

So steve and i are writing a book about the whole lance thing...it's pretty fun sitting down every so often and bustin' out a chapter about some specific event, like when lance and i met, started dating, when i found out he was missing, my last night with him...
I think i'm going to try and self-publish it, and i think the marketing will do itself....the cover will be my tattoo, which'll be sweet.
i guess i wonder where he is sometimes, but it's not like not seeing/hearing from him was ever an uncommon thing, so i got over missing him pretty fast. plus, it's easy to stop missing someone when you realize...well, i'll save that for the book.

Speaking of tattoos, i still want to get the little spaghetti man from that painting in Pasta Jay's tattooed on my calf or something. Whenever i tell people ideas like that however, they don't typically don't think it's funny or cool, they just go "what if you get sick of it? what if you want to dress up or hide it?" Steve pointed out that my current tattoo can be very elegant, say with a sleek black dress and heels, but a tattoo of a little man in baggy red clothes and a mask, tipping a gigantic spoon twirled with spaghetti noodles into his mouth just wouldn't be as classy. but that's why i LIKE it---it's so unorthodox that it reminds me of me, and i'd LIKE that i wouldn't be able to "cover it up should the occasion call for it" because even when i'm wearing a dress and heels, i'm still my goofy, burping, un-elegant self and i don't want to pretend. i want a neck tattoo also...unlike the majority, it seems, whose priority for tattoos is their hideability, i love the idea of having a highly visible tattoo. hello world, here is me. i think a sweet tattoo for the side of my neck would be my old necklace that i wore every day for several years before i gave it to lance.

Apparently most people don't think in words. Like, i have to know how a word is spelled in order to be able to remember it and to have it make sense in my head. For instance, the names Kate and Cait are very different in my mind....i guess that's why i like languages and linguistics.
Speaking of linguistics, i think it's fucking awesome that a language can be created in one generation...when 2 cultures speaking different languages have to communicate with one another using crude language like "you hammer hit"--the kind of thing that americans do when trying to order food in a foreign country (when not only speaking LOUDER and SLOWWWWWERRRR)--anyway...when the kids of this generation grow up hearing this impoverished, improv language, they actually unconsciously create a grammar and a make their own full-fledged language, with themselves as its only/first native speakers.

i was walking up the Hill to the coffee shop the other day after class, and the sun was low in the sky and was in my eyes (one of my biggest fucking pet peeves in the fucking world) and i was walking fast and kinda squinting, i guess. anyway, one of the homeless dudes that sits all day on the benches watching college girls yelled at me as i went past "HEY!" And i ignored him and kept walking because no, i'm not going to engage in conversation with some guy who smells like Savers and gets hard-ons watching college girls walk by. and he yelled it again and finally made his point: "YOU'RE TOO YOUNG TO BE SO ANGRY!" and my reaction time for shit like that is slow, because basically all i can think in situations like that is "what the fuck, asshole?" Maybe i should've pulled a "I HATE MY LIFE!" and made slashing motions at my arms like i did to the chicks in the bathroom at fairview back in the day....Basically i think it's funny when people think i'm angry, because whenever i stare off into space someone asks me if i'm alright. maybe i just have a FUCKING ANGRY FACE, YOU GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM? but then i'd burst out laughing because i'm just silly. i mean angry. so very angry.