Chronicles of L. VonDeadly

Nature Vs. Nurture.

Why do I insist on censoring myself to fit inside your box? Why is your way the better way? The right way? Why does your life make more sense? It makes you comfortable. The way I live makes your skin crawl. It goes against everything you've been taught. And your words. Your dirty, condescending words make me smack my forehead when I want to do something fun. They ring in my ears, though you've never said them.
    When I do what comes natural,
        When I do what feels right,
            What I'm good at...
                I feel:
                Wrong.
                Bad.
                Dirty.
                Naughty.

Being myself makes me want to smack myself because you and the like decided this is how life was supposed to be lived. These are the moral things, the immoral things, the okay-to-do things, the not-okay-to-do things. You can do this in the privacy of your own home, but you better lie about it. You can't do this under any circumstances, even though 80% of people do it anyway. Acting that way on those terms is unforgivable and very, very bad.

Riddle me this, masses of "unquestionable intelligence and knowledge": Why should I listen to you? Clearly I don't. I do those things. Those bad, bad things. Those decisions that you dream about having the opportunity to make. I do them all, night, long. I do them under varying levels of intoxication and damnit I do them well. And I enjoy it.

Stick that in your pot pie and bake it.

Word to your motha,

VonDeadly

Hokay, So.

What asshole really creates computer viruses as a hobby? Are you really that poor that you need to attempt to steal my personal information? Clearly you have the skills in information technology that you should be able to get a job somewhere. Also, I am not stupid enough to keep documents on my computer with social security numbers and bank account information in them. Besides, you don't WANT my credit information. Apply for a credit card with my name. I dare you. Please record the conversation and let me listen to it later because I can bet they would laugh in your face. Do you really want all of my passwords? Oooo, MySpace, Facebook, Flickr, Hulu, YouTube, Typepad.... There are some interesting websites that no one else in the world uses. Very important information on there. Are you really that bored? Go see a fucking movie. Go bowling. Visit a friend. Are you really that friendless? Join a fucking club and/or organization. Go talk in some geek chat room or post your Yahoo Personals page. But staythefuckaway from my COMPUTER you flaming sack of giraffe shit.

Oh, P.S. hacker freak, I restored my system to a week ago and reinstalled AVG. No more Feedwater virus pour moi. Suck on them dry powdered milk titties.

Dear Sue:

Almost a year has passed and here we meet again. You are so sweet to me this time. I have all my liquids in a hideous freezer bag and they are all 3.4 ounces and under. I sure stuck it to you this time, didn't I? ...Sue, are you kidding me? The perfume bottle is clearly small enough. Sure I can take a step into this awkwardly public metal cubicle as you take out my transparent, per your request, toiletries bag and display it to the rubber-necked public. Sue, I do hope they taught you how to read the 3.4 fluid oz label on the base of my perfume bottle. On I'm free to go? Relatively painless this time. Was it my military ID, backpack and t-shirt? I will surely tell my husband you are thankful for his service. No there is not a gerber in my backpack. I am getting respect for my husband's profession everywhere I go in these airports. Interesting. I'll take it, Sue. I will take it.

Peace to your motha.

PEOPLE WATCHING:
#1. Dear sweet thang, those heels seriously defy physics and they aren't even attractive. WIth four kids in tow? Calling you Grandma? I almost want to give you mad props. Almost.
#2. Dear liberal activist, yes I am wearing an Army t-shirt. Yes I did just hear you bad mouth the military. No I will not be sitting here any longer. I feel as if going home is more important than sitting in an airport jail because I broke your nose.
#3. Dear G-Unit, multitasking is a great skill and I understand that business doesn't stop because you're traveling. But there are 6 outlets and you are currently occupying 3. Blackberry, cellphone and laptop. Dude, have a heart.
#4. Dear peanut butter mouth, it took you double the amount of time to get through the airline directions that no one is listening to anyway. I'm desperately hoping that this is some joke between you and the pilots and you aren't seriously that annoying. For your sake.
#5. Dear sock challenged, this shouldn't need explaining because you are a grown woman. But socks pulled up to your calves with tennis shoes and a skirt. Even if that is comfortable, why?
#6. Dear annoying Delta agent on loudspeaker, Eugene Wang clearly isn't here. Yet you page him vigorously. Why couldn't you page the flight that just took off with my iPod still on it? Or the person who kept it instead of turning it in? "Paging dirty thief? Diiirrrtyyyy thief, please locate the nearest bridge and jump the fuck off it."

Just Sayin'.

Even the most primitive of society has an inate respect for the insane.

Blowtorch me, baby.

Wicked. Is the time honored idea true, that people are drawn to me because I am a predator? Everything about me draws you in. Then I devour. I am just me. I don't know if I was born this way or if a culmination of events created it, but it still stands true. The world is on fire and I am standing at the top with a blowtorch and a cigarette. I'm a freebird. I can't change. And to be honest I'm sick of trying. The facade is very exhausting. I'm weary. Try a little tenderness.

Today is April 13th, and I think I'll hold a press conference. I think I'll say a few words. You understand what I'm saying don't you? I'm going to spill it all. Jumping through burning hoops may be a skill of mine, seeing as I can do it while juggling all of your desires as well, but that doesn't mean it is fun to me. I want to be certain you understand what I'm saying. Okay? Eh hem. Hey guess what? I could give a flying fuck everyone! 

Oh and I'd also like to add a side of suck my dick, with a touch of lick my vag and dash of fiddle my fishstick.

And scene.

Damned Loopholes.

The world isn't really that complicated. It's designed for those who know how to use it. And for those it doesn't take long for them to recognize where they fit in the world. And then there are the people who don't even know what is going on. You are my favorite. You are delectable. I wonder if you stay like that for life. It'd be a fun experiment. Is that odd, that I think it'd be fun to watch a delusional person grow from birth to death? To see how naive they can be and watch others take advantage of them over and over. How entertaining. Reality television has nothing on that. For those who do know how to use this world to their advantage, well life just seems like a game.

Does life seem like a game to you?
Do you get over emotional situations a little too fast?
Are you nodding your head in agreement, kinda cocked to the side...afraid that you fit in this category?

Well then you are part of the first group. You know what the fuck is up, and what the fuck is down. I despise you because I am one of you. We're never going to be happy until we find our niche in the scheme of things. Which is frustrating, but true. I have found mine. My niche is matters of the heart. It is raw emotion. My niche is comfortable, and full of ooeygooey goodness. You wouldn't understand. Any pure emotion is good emotion to me. Pain, anger, sadness, hurt...They are like flavors of ice cream to me. Every single one completely delicious. If there were a swimming pool filled with pain and sadness I would float in it all day while asking my personal butler for another Bloody Mary.

So this, therefore, goes to show you that I would most likely eat your brains for breakfast. Because I own you. You are a fly in my face, no smoking sign on my cigarette break, flat tire, dog shit on my shoe, scum on my teeth and a bad dresser. Gross. I would help most people out of a burning building...you not so much. I think you are weak and annoying. I want to just swat you away or watch you burn in a bug zapper. You are corrupting my pond of matters of the heart. You are tainting my fish. Yet I give you so much power and energy by hating you so.

Damned loopholes.

"There's always loopholes in these sorts of things."
LVP

Simple Glance.

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you,
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you,
Don't you? Don't you?

I am not a monster. Please stop choking on your apple, you heard me right. I am not a monster. I also am not a helpless forest animal. I hate to repeat myself. In fact, I loathe it. But apparently some need this information pounded into their heads before they understand. I'm bored of this and am in dire need to finish my philosophy thesis so I'm just going to repeat myself.

"How can you say you understand what you have not experienced? You can listen to my words and you can feel emotions regarding them. But don't take what I say as your own. [I could be talking about my damn cat for all you know.] Unrequited love. I know nothing of it, so no that isn't what I'm talking about. You're so vain, I bet you think this blog is about you. Don't you? Don't you? Don't you? Starve yourself of human connection. Then you can relate to my words. Find yourself swirling around the bottom of a bloody mary glass and stuck to resin on the side of a bowl, then tell me every stanza I type makes sense. Scream at the top of your lungs in the shower only because you were out of shampoo, then you will have felt my idiocy. Take joy in finding a million ways to screw yourself over. Then you have crawled a million miles in my boots. [Black scrunchy flat boots.] Revel in the fact that yes indeed, you have done it again. And my pride for you will overcome me. Be. Smart. Sexy. Dangerous. Let passion wash over you at all the wrong times. Let the suffocation you feel standing naked in an empty room fill your soul with more pain. Allow your shame to envelop you until the pressure bursts like a blowhole. Suck someone dry, make them cry, let them ride to hell between your thighs, curve the edge of your smile and wink. Make them beg for you to do it again. Get in, get off, and get the fuck out. Break them just because you can. Take small pleasures in seeing the flame die in their eyes. Taste. Nibble. Bite. Desire. Eat. Relish in. Sample. Savor. Smell. Sip. Trace. Yearn for....the other. Don't fight it. Embrace it and become a master. It's the only way to survive."

And I reiterate, you don't know what I mean by a simple glance of these words. Do not take what I say and put it into your interpretation of me. It is most likely way off the mark. It is most likely completely wrong. And you will most likely come out looking the fool.

Alas, I've gone on another tirade. Excuse the mess, I've been a little distracted.

Oooohh! I almost forgot!!
SUCK IT.

Etsy Fun.

Pretty fucking cool, because it allows me to make shirts like this:.

With the crazy cool detail of:

...I love working with my hands. Creating something is such a release.

Peace to your motha,

L. VonDeadly

Dear Sue:

Let's talk hypothetics here. Say you have a 16 fl. oz. bottle that is less than half full. That would then imply that there is less than 8 fl. oz. in that single container. You follow? Good. So now, if you have another semi-liquid cream that is roughly 1/3 of a 9 fl. oz. bottle, you have even less than the previous 8. You have 3 fl. oz. [Tell me now if that math is too difficult because if it is...I'm moving to Canada away from idiots like you.] Now that it's settled, lets discuss why it is necessary to threaten to check my bag because of these items. [You know, the bag with my $300 video camera in it]. OR I can simply throw away 45 bucks worth of beauty products. In this world of economic struggle and monetary strife, you are literally threatening to throw my shit away. Shit I spent money on. It's in your fat hands now. Nice. You see the label. Do you find some sick satisfaction in seeing my horror as you throw out my brand new bottles? Look, hefer, I know you're dying just to have your chubby fingers [decked in JCPenny's gold rings] on something that was bought at Sephora and not Rite-Aid. But I had that delivered to my door, and barely got to enjoy it. So congratulations, the skinny white girl terrorist has now been caught. Her cold cream and toner were definitely bomb components. No further statement will be made on this subject. Officially, Syracuse International Airport. [COW! Sorry, last time.]

Though I must now admit, it feels like most of my angry rants are fueled by people in airports which is sad because I love traveling. I'd fly every day. Doesn't bother me a bit. And surprisingly enough I also enjoy people. All kinds of people. They entertain me, ground me, amuse me, enlighten me....people rock. But if you get your jollies by taking out your frustration with your career path and general lack of positive self-esteem on me...You fucked with the wrong girl. Though it is important for every angst-ridden bad girl to remember the full body cavity search powers you possess. [And if you were slightly less pig-faced and a little more sweet, I'd go for it]. So I will be a cunning bitch to you. That way you have no excuse, and the power lies in my hands. Cause ohhh baby believe me, if you didn't own a taser I'd have you for breakfast, piggy.

Peace to your motha.

PEOPLE WATCHING:
#1. Dear sir, we are in Syracuse, NY. You are arriving, not departing. A polo t-shirt and chino cutoffs? It's 23 degrees.
#2. Lady, is that a Betsey Johnson studded purse and a pink studded carry on? You're 84? You go bitch. Til the death.
#3. Susan. I think I'll name you Susan. Does your child bark? Then leash, not necessary.
#4-#8. I drove an hour, and I was early and I was third in line to get my fruit, water, and newspaper. Just because I stepped out of place to reach for the bottle does not mean I void my place in line. I was getting my shit. Vultures.
#9. Lupone booty. 'Nuff said.
#10. You make me miss my nieces. Thank you for reminding me why all these hoops are worth jumping through to see them sooner.
#11. That better be faux...murderer.

El Tango Del VonDeadly

Can you hear the sirens? They're telling you to run. Fast. Away from me. You will be damaged. There will be catastrophe. "I still recall the taste of your tears," I say. People are screaming. Pleading. Don't go in. Don't fall.

You fell.

You think I make this all go away. I don't. I promise. You just want something no one can ever have. Back to black. You can't miss it. I just dream of vanishing into the crowd. Disappear so you can't find me. Hopefully my face will fade and you will forget who destroyed you.

You will find a nice, simple girl who wants to have some kids and own some property. A pretty enough girl who will not break you over and over again. You will hide in that existence. You will let "love" in. You will seem happy.

I will still be trying to find my way. Still a slob. Still coming undone. That's the way of the world. [Let it not go unsaid though, that I will always be the epitome of desire for you].

And that is the sound of settling.