Rants About Me

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And Now... A Little Reverse Psychology

Sometimes I hate all you people.


I hate how you fall on my every other word, often missing the point of what I was trying to say.

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I Remember You Too, Sebastian Bach




I'm about 2 1/2 years old in that picture. I remember that day, a weekend where my mom, aunt and uncle and two cousins all went to a parade that was going on during rodeo days in Santa Maria. I remember sitting in front of the local Winchell's Donuts, picking the rainbow sprinkles off the icing on my chocolate cake donut.

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"And the people who loved you will ask why oh why oh why oh why..."

Every year, there are an estimated 18,000 homicides in the U.S. Not a huge number when you apply it to the fact that we just crossed the 300 million mark in our population.

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"That joke came from the top of my head and the top of my head ain't funny."

My mother thinks people with tattoos are trashy. A fairly typical statement for someone within her age demographic. Back when she was in her youth, the only people who had tattoos were members of the military or the Hell's Angels.

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"You're as pretty as Princess Leia and as smart as Yoda..."

By now, most of you have read at least part of my profile. There seem to be a few key things that people pick up on out of all of that jargon I've spewed. The biggest one, strangely to me, is the one I thought would be the least offensive statement I could make about myself.

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50 Awesome Things You Might Not Know About Me

I got issued a challenge by Donna, one of my readers and myfriends. The challenge seems a little difficult.

50 things people might not know just by looking at you.

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"You Always Have to be a Pessimist, Don't You? Little Miss Doom and Gloom..."

I found myself in a rather odd position yesterday. I was standing around, overcome with emotion. For some reason, it took me more than a minute to properly identify that emotion. I chewed on the knuckle of my thumb and knitted my brows together. Suddenly, it dawned on me.

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A Zara By Any Other Name Would Still Be as Awesome

Shiloh. Suri. Grier. Apple. Pilot. Audio Science.

Such are the names for some of the babies born to celebrities recently. They've been doing it for years, those wacky celebs. From Frank Zappa (children named: Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan, and Diva Muffin) to Bob Geldof (children named: Fifi Trixibelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, Little Pixie and the daughter his previous wife had with Michael Hutchence, Tiger Lily Heavenly Hirani) to Demi Moore and Bruce Willis (children named: Rumer Glenn, Scout LaRue, Tallulah Belle) to good old George Foreman, who decided to name all of his children George, ranging from George Jr to George the Sixth and including Freeda George and Georgetta, his two daughters.

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Your Dad Had to Tie a Porkchop Around Your Neck Just to Get the Dog to Play With Ya

In case you haven't heard me bitch about it enough, let me tell you again. I get a lot of e-mail. While I get a majority of positive feedback from sincere people, I also get a sizeable amount of hate mail. I inevitably end up pondering the hate mail much longer than I do the positive stuff. Maybe it's because I've never quite known how to properly handle praise. In any case, the insults always stick with me longer.

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"Lies, Lies, Lies, Yeah...."

I would never lie.

Ok... So that was a lie. I would, I have and I am capable of lying. I usually end up lying about little things to avoid, say... getting written up at work.

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You Can Tell Me ANYTHING

I don't know what it is about me that makes people want to confess their inmost secrets. Do I really have the look of someone who gives a shit? OK, OK, so this whole BADASS thing is just a fucking front. But I still think it's odd that I only know people a short amount of time before they are telling me how they cornholed their cat when they were 12.

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Yeah, Because YOU Know What's Best For MY Kid

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Truth or Dare, Minus the Dare

Whenever someone asks me what the kinkiest thing I've ever done is, I have to scratch my head and think for awhile. "Come on," they'll taunt me."You of all people have got to have done some kinky things."

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Off to the Midget Ballet

Today Midget is participating in her first public performance. She's enrolled in ballet classes, and is going to get up on a stage with a bevy of other 5 year olds and pretend like she knows what she's doing. I took her to her dress rehearsal on Thursday and got some priceless footage of her fidgeting in between minor bursts of involvement. Made me remember grade school.

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There She Blows!

The following is going to be somewhat difficult for me to share. I've been toying with the idea of writing about this for some time now, but have continually stopped myself from breaching the area that even Zara deems as "too much information." After explaining some of the issues with orgasms though, I now feel ready to explain myself a little more.

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I'll Never Need More Than Just One Midget

I miss my free time. I miss going to the bathroom in peace. It always seems like no matter what time of day it is, the moment I close the door is the exact same moment that you need something from me. Or else you just want to come in and talk. I never thought that I would be sharing my tinkle time with anyone other than myself.

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Memorial Instructions For AwesomeZara

I am not a fan of the memorial services that I have been to over the course of my lifespan. I do not care to sit (or in yesterday's case, stand) for 2 hours while the deceased's minister, preacher or voodoo shaman proselytizes to the room.

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Get Lost!

I hate losing weight.

Sounds stupid I suppose, but bear with me here.

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Behind My Ears are Bananas... B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

I officially adore Howie.

Here he is, getting set up.




Not only was I able to get my new ink done by one of the best looking and most talented bassist/tattoo artists in Ventura County, I also had one of the best looking and most talented guitarists/tattoo artists from the VC serenading me as I had my work done.

Jon... the one who isn't supposed to make me laugh while I'm getting tatted.





Random people floated in and out of the house as I got reacquainted with that loving sting that you get from a tattoo gun. The first to get done was my devil banana (behind my right ear), and after that initial reminder, getting my "bad" side done actually felt pretty damn good.




Then came my angel banana (behind my left ear). I was warmed up from the right side, and we'd taken a 10 minute break between the two, so I was eager to get that started. Everything was flowing just fine until that fucking halo. That was a bitch, right up in the tender part of the section of skin behind my ear. But it was small and over quickly, so all is coolio.




The above pictures were taken right after the work had been finished. This is a what they looked like (yeah, I know the shots didn't come out great. Deal with it. It's fucking LATE.) 2 hours later...






The whole concept of getting bananas behind my ears was sparked by My Shannon's banana tat. I love her so, I needed to follow in those lovely footsteps of hers.

Big thanks again to Howie. Remember that if you live in the local area or you're planning on visiting, he can customize work to suit your ideas. Plus he's absolutely one of the best guys I know. If you're going to pay someone to hurt you, might as well like the guy, ya know?


Have a great Friday!

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Pain = Clarity

I'm getting a new tattoo later today. I'm beyond excited, partly because I know that Howie is going to do another one of his stellar jobs, and partially because pain makes me think straight.

Emotional pain can wreck me, can make me do wild, unpredictable and dangerous things without thinking.

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No More Explanations

I am always explaining myself to everyone. I'm explaining why I did something, why I said something, why I'm constantly talking about hookers.

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I've Lost You, Haven't I?

I lose readers on a daily basis. I check my subscriber list every day, several times a day, and I always seem to lose at least a few with each new post.

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Lip Service

Back in high school, sometime during my junior year, I was sitting and letting a friend sketch me for a class assignment. It was sunny, we were sitting outside on the stoner's grassy knoll and I had my head tilted to the sky, beams of light cast down on my face. I was blissed out in the warmth of the afternoon, letting my mind detatch from my body when it was yanked down within me at the sound of one screeching catcall.

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How Depressing

So.... sometimes I get depressed.

Mainly I do it to myself. I'll start thinking about something that's long dead and gone and then my mind will shift into overdrive and I'll get on one of my little "coulda shoulda woulda" trips and start second-guessing decisions that I've made. Then... BAM! Tears and sniffling and emo-esque wallowing.

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The Divinyls Were Wrong

When I think about you... I imagine you touching me.

The only thing that I currently miss about having a significant other is that exhilaration I get from being touched by them. I miss standing in line to buy tickets to a movie and having someone's hand on the small of my back, their face sniffing at the top of my head.

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OK... You Found Me

I can't hide anymore.

Not like I was really trying, but somehow I'd managed to lose track of so many of the people that were a part of my life in my teen years. I miss quite a few of them, I've even been looking for some, but up until Myspazz, I'd drifted apart from so many of the people who knew me "back when."

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Hi! My Name is Zara, and I'm Obnoxious!

So, the following is an older blog of mine, but for the sake of the newer readers that might not have seen it and are contemplating friendship with me, I thought I'd repost it. You can't say that I didn't warn ya.

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Sometimes You Just Gotta Laugh to Keep From Going Insane

*Sigh*

I woke up today with that really shitty feeling. That one where everything rubs you the wrong way. The way people talk, the way you get stuck in traffic, the way Myspazz has become this all encompassingly necessity that slowly is driving me insane.

Not too long ago I made a friend that I managed to lose in record time, and the main complaint of his was that I was "never" positive. I take offense to that. I am positive. I fucking WORK MY ASS OFF at being positive. It is key to my survival in my profession. But after weeks of overlooking people's preposterous natures to be dickheads that insist on YOU pleasing them... well, yeah, I break down. There's only so much I can ignore.

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Moments of Emo Lore

The following was written about 5 months ago after yet another fight with yet another person who was speaking words that I'd heard so many people before them say to me. I actually enjoy having that depressed emo-esque emotion hang over my head. It's fantastic for helping one to achieve just a little more insight into who they are. Whoopee. More self-awareness! Just what I need!!

Journals, blogs, etc are essential for helping us get through moments that feel unbearable... or even just the moments where we think we've fallen too far into complacency. I look back on something I wrote during a darker time in my life and laugh uncomfortably at the raw emotion. As Screwy might say... "It's funny because it's true."

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Open Mouth, Insert..... Anything

Just a few observations from my day.

I have a serious oral fixation. I am constantly putting things in my mouth, lovingly sucking or chewing on them absentmindedly. I've always done it, from the time that I was a little kid, sucking on quarters and listening to my mother scream about how I was going to choke. I started smoking as a senior in high school because it seemed only logical to my dim-witted teenaged mind.

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