tim reminds me that it’s not only Britney’s birthday today,

ut it’s jarret house north’s.

happy birthday!

i was lucky enough to see ms. spears this year. i had great seats and i was even inspired enough to come back home and do a photo essay for your ass.

i was disappointed by the lipsynching but i guess i should get over it since nothing is real anymore, it’s all just a beautiful dream and as long as they keep the fluid clean in these pods of ours we can keep believing the grand lie and float around in our ignorant bliss.

im getting lots of mixed reviews about Solarass, geroge clooney’s new movie.

some people think its fantasstick, some people, like karisa think its a piece of shit.

once i was walking down the street and i realized i was walking right behind mr. clooney, true story.

and he had a little bounce in his walk and he was taller than i thought and i was going to the bank and he was going to he bank.

and the teller blushed and tried not to stare at him and he just smiled and talked in that great voice of his and everyone was just so damned pleased as punch to be standing at the bank in westwood with george clooney and i’ll tell you, i was pleased as punch to be standing at the bank with george clooney too.

nobody really talked to him or asked for an autograph because we don’t really do that in LA which is why the stars like it here, but george seemed to be in such a great mood that he woulda signed anything you handed him, i bet. and i saw the deposit slip right there, and i had a pen, but ive lived here long enough to know that autographs are for the tourists, lets just let george enjoy his trip to the bank.

first motherfucker i ever saw who literally laughed all the way to the bank.

now, for our girl britney.

i think its about over for her.

i don’t see her being able to sustain this frenzy and christina is far sluttier, and the people seem to like that, and britney cant really sing all that well, and shes not much of a dancer.

i say shes in playboy in three years.

people send me fakes of stars all the time. fakes are ok. i can live without them. but a while back when i was doing a little more nudity on these pages in order to drum up a little traffic (it worked) i did some pages like this, but i warn you theres nudity

but mostly i liked that one because it sorta looked like my old editor amy.

anyway, im a christina, anna, and mariah fan. o-dub is all about britney, and he must be in louisianna right now doing the crawl with her because his page is mysteriously barren.

oliver, where are you?

oliver willis

Teenage Fanclub

13

Geffen Records

“Fear of Flying”

(Love)

Hey, I don’t look back on all the things I’ve done

I’ve never looked for answers in a song

Ain’t got no good ideas, I’m staring at the sun

Don’t always look for comfort in a song

This is your one-way ticket so don’t fuck it up

Your flight is boarding and you’re running out of luck

Add a new vibration to the situation

Add a new vibration

I’d love to save the world like nature’s only son

I’ve never looked for answers in a song

Don’t have to paint no words the thoughts that don’t belong

Don’t always look for comfort in a song

This is your one-way ticket so don’t fuck it up

Your flight is boarding and you’re running out of luck

Add a new vibration to the situation

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

hey, hey, hey

hey, hey, hey

hey, hey, hey

hey, hey, hey

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

to the situation

hey, hey, hey

to the situation

hey, hey, hey

to my foundation

hey, hey, hey

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

to my foundation

hey, hey, hey

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

to the situation

hey, hey, hey

to the situation

hey, hey, hey

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

Add a new vibration

hey, hey, hey

hey, hey, hey

hey, hey, hey

nydreams

even though i dont even know

what the chick from useless looks like or even if shes real, or even if shes a she, i still get sad a little when she leaves me alone here in america on one of her top secret treks to europe to do some of the badass nude modeling that hopefully she’ll send to me for christmas.

speaking of babes, went down the hall today. super cute girl who i really like is walking down the other way, turns off. i think to myself, “maybe you should go across the street to the drugstore and get some deodorant just incase you see her again.” i seemed to have forgotten to shower this morning. showered late afternoon yesterday, but, you know.

so i hop in the elevator. and guess who climbs on board? she is so damn cute. dammit! leans over to see if the correct button is pushed. im sure she got a terrible whiff.

elevator opens, i let her exit first, nice smile, maybe she has a code in her gnose. lets hope so. walks off with her nice skirt and tall boots. me? speechless.

so many things i coulda said.

hi mighta worked.

got to the store got some of the largest, most phallic bananas ever grown. then the gayest man in america wrote a check and took forever doing it.

i will drink every time somebody writes a check from now on.

quick shoutout: if my man MC Cridland is out there, thanks for the pictures! i dont have your email address!!!

the picture on the left is of the two sisters from madpony. they write about me because they think i will give them hits, i write about them because this time next year they will have four times the hits that i get and i will want that traffic.

they were bored over thanksgiving weekend and the younger one called me. my caller ID blocks calls from underaged girls but somehow they got through. damn security holes. anyhow, if you believe what they write, this is what a 15 year old girl looks like talking to me on the phone.

kristin, the older one, says that i like lauren better. its true. i like her better cuz she listens to my advice. i told them both to get a wishlist and only lauren got one and bam, first day, got something from it. somehow i need to get a cut of those profits.

kristin says that in 3 years when lauren is legal i will be the one calling her on the phone. i tell her no way am i gonna let some 18 yr old in on my social security.

see how we are?

speaking of x, kids write me all the time asking me if they should do this drug or that drug or they ask me if i really drink as much rum as i say i do, etc.

heres all you need to do in life, people: say hi to the pretty girl in the elevator. that right there will beat the hell out of any drug or mixed drink.

if you really want to go for it, ask for her number.

trust me, if i had gotten her number my heart would be beating, thered be a lite film of perspiration on my skin, and i would feel like dancing.

desert flower

had a rough night last night.

it started off fine, sopranos at this little dive bar where everyone is broke and no one talks to each other. quiet. dark. pool table is silent, jukebox only has a few old school jazz cds and doesnt really work. you give the bartender a buck and he lets you play a few tracks.

its in one of the worst parts of hollywood but its a great bar because it doesnt have any of those stupid Miller Geninue Draft or Budweiser bikini posters of chicks you’ll never meet. Just bottles lined up nice, peanuts, glasses, and losers.

They have a tv over the “stage”. Apparently the place used to have a go go dancer back when hollywood was a little more glamorous, because go go dancers are the epitome of class, but now the stage houses the old rack stereo system. turntable on top, double cassette deck, single cd player, records warping below.

most of us watched the tv. i had a hot cider and spiced rum. its getting cold in town.

cute alternachick always likes to try to fix me when she sees me in there. she reads this. hi baby. sometimes she’ll get on me about my clothes. she’ll say, every pay check just buy one new thing. a shirt. a pair of pants. a sweater. before you know it you’ll be dressing sharp.

i dont want to dress sharp. i want to look like i belong in a fucked up hollywood bar on a sunday night, i tell her.

she tells me i look like an immigrant from hondouras.

i look down at my bart simpson tshirt, old black cords, kmart sneakers, green flannel shirt, plastic sacks of oranges.

i tell her she looks like britney murphy’s stand in for 8 mile. she smiles. her gold tooth sparkles at me.

shes not so bad. really looks more like helena bonham carter in fight club, just not as classy.

arent you tired of being broke? she asks me.

who says im broke, i pay for all your drinks dont i?

do you have a grand in the bank?

no.

then youre broke. quit being an asshole.

truth was i was tired of being broke. i just didnt want to tell her. she was the best thing in that bar, next to the jukebox.

why dont you sell out and write like a normal human being? she asked and squeezed the lime into her wiskey sour.

why dont you sell out and become an administrative assistant.

we clinked glasses.

to keeping it real, she toasted.

we drank and she said real quiet, if you were twenty one again what would you do differently?

i said, i would go to photography school right after i got my BA.

i said what about you?

she said, i would get a boob job and become a publicist.

alison lives