Spin Spin Sugar

I'm everyone – hang your label on me

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On the day you were born

I remember wanting you here before you got here, my sister, my other half. I knew Mom was having a girl, I just knew it even though I was only eight. They were sure you were a boy and even had a name picked out for you and everything, but I knew, you were my sister.

Sometimes Mom would fall asleep and I would read to you while you were kicking it in the MomCondo. You probably don’t remember that, you were all fetal and shit at that moment but I knew you were coming out of there.

When Mom went into labor with you she and I were grocery shopping, her water broke at  Food For Less (classy, this family) and Mom, being Mom even asked me if  I could drive home. Well no, I couldn’t, I was 9 but we got home and Mom was Mom up until the minute you came into the world.

My grandma woke me up to talk to y(our) dad on the phone that night and they told me I had a little sister (duh, I knew that) and later on I helped Mom name you.

I helped Mom with your baby book because she hates her handwriting. You were “mine” from the minute you showed up, even when you threw yourself off the porch or cried like a lunatic constantly. I was there when you said something for the first time, when you stopped pooping in your own drawers, all that. It was me and you.

Because you were a mean little shit when you were a kid you and your friends used to wake up hella early on sleep over party weekend nights and climb all over me in bed and beg me to unleash the Pepsi or cookies or whatever it was that Mom said you couldn’t have and just to get you little shits to stop bothering me, I’d do it. But I also used to stage some pretty dope games of “pretend” for you and your friends and Barbies and whatever unwilling participant was around. We made a movie once with your best friend and you guys were the best (worst) actors in the world but it was super fun.

You went to college in the town I lived in. You met your now husband there and I remember the phone call, when you were still new and nervous at life, about if you should go on a date with this guy and I listened to you tell me all the nice and wonderful things he did for you and told you a million times, yes, go out with the boy, if he sucks, don’t go out with him again and I’ll have him killed.

You went out with that boy.

You married that man. You got an amazing second (or in our case third family) I cried through the whole thing because you feel more like my daughter than my sister. And it’s always felt like I’ve known your husband and his family my whole life. Like when I met the lot of them on your graduation day I felt like they were my family too.

And so today, my darling, my bowling ball head, the absolute true love of my life who isn’t a cat, is your last day in the town your fell in love with your husband in and ironically the apartment complex you used to live in. And you, my darling, my fearless, elegant, seriously insanely smart and perfect baby sister, my baby… you’re off to another state and I am sad, because I will miss you. I hate that you’ll be too far to see whenever I want. I hated that when I left this area the first time. But I know you’re in good hands (your own, although you husband does make me feel like at least there is another set of eyes on you, because if anything happens to you, someone’s getting seriously injured) and you’re moving to a wonderful place and I am no more than a text message/phone call/facebook post away and if anyone looks at you funny, you know I’ll be there in like less than 10 minutes, space, time, physics be damned. Ain’t no one gonna hurt my baby.

I love you and I am proud of you and I am proud of your husband, excuse me, my brother. I love you both and wish you the best in the Emerald City.


little sister



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The Grover Beach Crack House

A long time ago, me and my bestie Jen-Wa The Destroyer lived in this place.

Home was where our hearts were and all

We moved in over a long rainy day almost entirely by ourselves after spending about two months living in what we affectionately called the Shell Beach Homeless Person Squat House, or the House that was Managed by a Sexist Insane Person. Or the House With The Stomping Elephant Psycho Neighbor upstairs. Or you know, our first home together. Anyway we got very very sick of sleeping in the same room or sharing a 1 bedroom 1 bathroom apartment for the rental price of a palatial resort so, we moved. Ideally we wanted to move up into San Luis Obispo but there wasn’t anywhere to live and being a college town it’s crazy difficult to get a house/apartment/shack there when you’re in your 20’s. Even when you’ve been living on your own since 18 (Jennifer) and 23 (me) respectively. So when we were at our wits end, a very kind elderly lady called us to come look at an apartment over at the Sunset Terrace.

The Gutter Trash Mafia’s first Christmas, taken in Bakersfield about a month before moving into our “dream home”

And how excited were we! The building reminded us of Los Angeles area 50’s styled apartments. We’d get a PARKING SPACE! There was a pool! If you stood on one foot and leaned this one direction and craned your neck you’d see the Pacific Ocean. There were windows and counters and light and TWO COUNT THEM BITCH, TWO BEDROOMS. It was a whopping 150-200 dollars cheaper per month. There was more than one set of washers and driers on the property. The carpet wasn’t fugly shag green. We thought this was going to be the best thing ever. And best of all no one would live underneath us.  Holy balls, it was like we were the Beverly Hillbillies.

Every bit of our happiness had a price and I ended up in this dump for 4 years.

Dump you say? Why would something so wonderful ever be a dump?

No offense to the landlords, who were very kind to us during our stint there at this hell hole but they were really too kind to a lot of our neighbors as well, to the point you’d THINK the damn building was built around these freakshows. For one there was the naked cat lady. I can’t remember her name now and she was pretty freakin’ nice but holy crap in a building where you’re not allowed pets, to have 3-5 cats at a time that you 1-don’t even try to hid and 2-have taken your screen out and allow them to wander in and out at all hours of the day, who bless their furry faces, just YOWL at all hours of the day… well that’s pretty extreme. And oh yes, the naked part….

Remember how we had a pool and I gotta tell you, pools are scarce on the Central Coast. I mean the ocean/beach is right freakin’ there. But having a pool saves you from all that driving and public restrooming and paying tourist prices for a simple day in the sun. Naked Cat Lady had a little spot next to our pool. It WAS fenced off and originally intended for people who like to line dry their clothes, but Naked Cat Lady built herself kind of a clubhouse back there with her little radio, a camper shell to store her special lawn chair in and god only knows what she was drinking but it was either Pink Wine or Scotch most times I saw her. She’d go in this little area and just get butt naked and lay out in the sun listening to the radio and drinking something god awful, with her cats any time the sun was out. Let me just remind you that Naked Cat Lady was about 70 years old. I’ll probably turn into Naked Cat Lady when I’m 70 but it was pretty disconcerting to always be talking to a naked lady surrounded by cats through a fence. When her kids came up to take her to her retirement home around the time Jennifer moved away, Naked Cat Lady “gave” me her fort back there because I’d always been nice to her and she knew I liked the pool area. I never used it because, that’s weird, but what a nice gesture.

If there had just been a Naked Cat Lady we would’ve been fine. But oh no the cast of characters at this place went much deeper. For instance there were the Truck Driving Lesbians down the hall from us. If you’ve read this blog for five minutes or more you know I LOVE me some lesbians. Except for these two who seemed to only have two activities in their life: beating the shit out of each other and getting the cops called on them and leering in an unflattering way at Jennifer and I when we’d go to the pool, do laundry, leave the house, not be wearing burkas, etc. There was one night I walked past their apartment to get to the laundry room and they were out there being all butch and smoking and drinking canned beer and I had sweats on and they were sort of slipping and I yanked them back up pretty quick. It’s rude to show people your butt crack or whatever. One of these gals says to the other one “Stuck up bitch doesn’t want us to see what she’s got.” Since I was about 10 feet away I heard the rest of the conversation. I just went about my business and put my laundry in only to find ALL of my wet clothes on the floor of the laundry room when I went to change over to the dryer. When I finally LOST my mind and told the landlord (we were so poor then, and the 1.50 it cost me to wash those clothes was lost and I only had enough change left to dry them and they were dirtier than when I put them in…) basically I just got handed a roll of quarters and told I was a nice renter. Also to stop walking by their house because they were trouble and “nice” girls like Jennifer and I didn’t want to get mixed up in “that.”

There were a large parade of nuts moving in and out of that place. It was one of the 3 places I lived on the Central Coast that didn’t seem to do ANY kind of checks (I know because they never did a credit check on us, something us broke asses were so grateful for) on anyone who moved in. So there was a lot of moving out under the cover of darkness in trashbags in the building. So anyone that lasted a year seemed to be loved by the management, no matter what sort of assery was going on in the place. They installed Jen and I between two of the oldest, crankiest, biddies. One was just MEAN. She scared off trick or treaters, telling them that there was no candy and that Halloween was the work of the devil and gave me the dirtiest look when I walked out in costume to give these kids a candy bar. One was old as the hills and deaf as a box of socks. She actually was pretty cool once I sat down and talked to her or the time I helped her with her groceries. She told me “that old bitch next door has it in for you girls, don’t be surprised if the cops keep showing up here.” Sylvia was right, we had the cops called on us for a myriad of offenses in the  years Jennifer and I lived together. I can only think of two times we actually deserved it, one when we were getting ready to go out and probably had the radio up too loud in the living room and another time we DID have a band living with us for a couple of days (whoops, hey they cleaned the pool and the managers didn’t give a shit) but we had the cops called on us by this bag for reading in our rooms wearing headphones, watching the 10 o’clock news with the sound on, existing etc. We were nearing noise fine territory according to Grover PD, but one cop told me we lived next door to a crazy woman, she’d done the same thing to her last neighbor and oh hey my show on that radio thingy was pretty good. Bye bye Officer Joe, you were kind of cute by the way.

One day, after Jennifer moved to Boston, I snapped. Even though every other looney in the building was “allowed” to have pets because they moved in before the pet policy (WTF) they said I had to get rid of Lily if I wanted to stay. I’d been cat called by the mean ladies down the way one too many times during my 4 year stay. I didn’t need a 2 bedroom apartment to live in on my own. I’d had my electricity turned off by accident by our sweet old landlord transposing numbers of the latest asshat to move out in the middle of the night. One too many people ran into my car. One too many people had called the cops on me for breathing. I got really tired of the other sweet doddering old man who seemed to think I lived in his girlfriends apartment and kept trying to use his key on the door and almost destroyed my screen door when I started locking that too. I got sick of my own key not bloody working and having to get into my house through the window in my bedroom/finally computer room. Sylvia, my other crazy old lady neighbor finally  just put an upside down flower pot outside my window so I could get in. She got used to it like I got used to her watching tv at maximum volume until 4 in the morning. At least she was pretty cool in the end.

I moved out. I found another little dream home in my favorite part of the coast. I could walk to the beach. I could have a cat or 12 if I wanted. It was close to my girlfriend Kris’s work. I had a parking space. My neighbors were cool, and everything was going to be awesome… so I thought.

Getting ready to go to the Red Fox at the Crack House

The Jennifer Lentil’s going away party

Crack House birthday Party

Crack House New Years

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So it’s the time of the year again.  It’s National Blog Posting Month.

Oh here we go


Basically if I do this I’m supposed to blog EVERY DAY in November. Crazy right? I mean who wants to read my thoughts that often? Isn’t this what twitter is for? Where are my handlers? You know the last time I did this I was woefully unemployed and still couldn’t do the entire month without missing a day or two and I was a SERIOUS blogger back then. As of right now I just sort of suck to be honest. I hardly ever get on here any more.

But I’m gonna try. Because as of right now I have the creativity of a stump and it’s depressing. I used to be doing 40 things at once that were creative or interesting and now basically I work and sleep. So I’m gonna try. Hopefully I entertain someone other than myself but at the end of the day, who cares? If I can prove to myself I can be committed to a project for 30 days that is JUST FOR ME then I will be happy. I don’t do anything for myself anymore and it really is about time that I do. So wish me luck…

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Bidwell Bark

So next month I’m walking in a fun run to raise money for the Butte Humane Society here in Chico, CA.  I am trying at this point to raise 300.00 dollars but if I get to that, I’ll probably raise the goal amount again. I am doing this as part of a team for the radio station but I’m also doing it because I love animals and I can’t bear to think of homeless cats and dogs not having a safe place to go while they wait for their forever home.

I know, I know, big softie.

So if you’d like to donate to me or my team you can click here!

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Seahawks time!

So Pre Season football kicks off this week.  Which means it’s Seahawks time! Yay! As I do every season I have been scanning the Pro Shop at seahawks.com and trying to decide what it is that I want from the shop this year.

This looks super comfy!


I’m in love


Actually I’d wear the shit out of this hoodie. I like it because the colors are closer to vintage Hawks colors and it just looks so soft and comfortable, not to mention SUPER cute.

Beast Mode!

Look I know a lot of people were disappointed in Marshawn Lynch getting a DUI earlier this summer and I am in the capacity that it might have an affect on how many games he’s able to play etc. But I still think he’s a hell of a ball player and at least in his case he didn’t hurt anyone. I’m sure his Momma gave him a whooping too after the fact, so there you go. BEASTMODE.

I may just give up and buy this one now

I LOVE the old Hawks logo, totem poley and not neon and stuff. This shirt would be in heavy rotation if I owned it. OMG the sleeves. Omg the color. I love green!

this one is pretty good too


I had contemplated getting a youth jersey this year with the redesign of the unis, because my jersey I have now is a kids jersey and kids jerseys are about 20 dollars cheaper but I noticed something while browsing, the jerseys they’re selling this time around aren’t replicas of the player jerseys which are cut more narrow and tighter with the new Nike design, they’re the same baggy assed ones we’ve been getting pushed at us for years. The women’s jerseys are closer to the cut of the players but they’re also about100 dollars so I think I’ll be happy with a player t if I decide to go that route.

Another time we’ll talk about what I think the purpose of  T.O. joining the team is. For right now, if you’re feeling generous you can find all this gorgeous stuff I want at seahawks.com I usually buy a large since all the women’s things are actually juniors and everything shrinks like crazy.







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Thirty Three

In a few days I’ll be 33 years old. But what does that number even mean?

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“fashion” sucks these days

Ben and I went out this weekend in pursuit of clothes for me, specifically something for me to wear to Social Distortion tonight. We came home empty handed for the most bit, aside from some DNKY leggings and a couple of Calvin Klein t-shirts. All of which we got at Costco. So I wonder what that says about where I live that even to get quality basics, I have to go to Costco…. Anyway, after our Costco trip we went downtown to shop the boutiques and for the most part I found absolutely NOTHING I would actually put on my body.

Last night during the Grammys some outfit I liked came up on my Facebook feed and I showed it to Ben and he said “Oh so you like more conservative clothes then?” And it sort of threw me for a loop because I don’t think anything about my sense of fashion is conservative other than the fact that I WEAR clothes instead of hankerchiefs.

So in honor of this horrific revelation that I’m “conservative” here are some looks I like:


Timeless and sexy

I am actually most likely too short for this to ever “work” on me, but Jennifer had one I borrowed often and it really did me justice. Hers had verticle pin stripes that really made look taller though.

Gwen Stefani is fucking flawless

Gwen Stefani is not much taller than me. And I could kiss her for the Harajuku Girls line because she does seem to remember what it was like to not be a millionaire. But this outfit is so classy and edgy, if I could get my hands on something similar I’d be all over it.

the pants a million times yes

I would wear everything this woman is wearing

By the way the above outfit is what made Ben say my tastes are conservative.

Miss Sixty Jeans

My favorite jeans in the world were Miss Sixty jeans.Yes I can get other brands of 100+ dollar denim up here but thanks to the Jersey Shore, they’ve been blinged. No thank you.

trash or class?

I would rock this skirt eight ways from Sunday.

I’d also probably sell a kidney for this dress from ModCloth

I guess as I was when I first moved to SLO, I’m just a victim of not knowing where to go even though I have been EVERYWHERE. Our Forever 21 is like some derelict homeless shelter’s cast off closet. We don’t really have a high end department store. Our thrift stores pretty much straight up suck and the boutique stores are either importing clothes from New Jersey or fashion for us “common people,” is just a joke of the highest order these days. I don’t know, but I’m not plunking down 50 dollars for a blouse that is less structurally sound than a napkin.

I must be getting old.