yep, bob dylan wrote this song, she belongs to me, where i am she. what, you don’t think so?

Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
For Halloween give her a trumpet
And for Christmas, buy her a drum.

it’s just three days until my birthday so that’s proof that song was written about me. undeniable proof, bitches.

yes, i grow older, not more mature. i regress in maturity.

i got to thinking a drum wouldn’t be a half bad birthday gift. then dufmanno and i could rage on bongos on the beach with bones in our hair. stewart copeland would run across the sand and jump into place to join us. and bugginword would play me this song on her ukele.

jubilation!

i was born on friday, november 13, the day of the diva. and you thought it was a bad luck day? have i not taught you anything, punkers? well, this year my birthday is on a saturday so that’s still YAHTZEE!

and here are some of the people and moments that have made me happy to be alive. (it’s only 30 seconds long, so indulge me. it’s mandatory during birthday week.)

wicked shawn, you are conspicuously absent from this video which is just wrong. we need to remedy that and then all will be floating skulls and crossbones in my world.

there’s a gaping hole where my soul used to be. i need to get out of corporate america. mostly because of the pudsuckers i talked about in my last post. it just makes my blood boil that these princesses executives are grossly over compensated and they’re not even doing anything great. they’re not changing the way the world does business, saving lives, or doing anything to prolong the female erection.

au contraire! too many of them are actually running businesses into the ground (e.g., the american bankers and automotive execs).

i have to believe the execs at the likes of franzia and apple, whose companies are doing great things, don’t behave like the rest of these corporate asshats by taking their money for nothing and chicks for free.

the other reason i have to get out is because my mental illness isn’t really compatible with corporate america. there isn’t a name for my mental illness, other than “my mental illness,” because it’s a mixed bag of mental maladies, including but not limited to:

blushing disorder– i hate the spotlight and have issues with authority figures. you have to lovvvvee the spotlight to succeed in corporate america. substance not required.

high-low disorder — i could conquer the world during my manic phase, but i could junk punch a bitch during my low phase.

german disorder – i hate my lack of perfection and criticism thereof. believe me, i’m my own worst critic so i don’t need any help in this department.

irish disorder — i believe drinking and occasional recreational drug use should be part of the creative process. “The problem with some people is that when they aren’t drunk, they’re sober.”  ~W.B.Yeats

punk disorder– i despise conservative clothes, jewelry and hairstyles. why can’t a girl wear rock tee shirts, jeans, and doc martens to work and still be taken seriously?

night owl disorder– i prefer to work when i’m inspired, which doesn’t always occur during the set hours of 9-5.

UV disorder– i’m wilting under fluorescent lights. i need frequent doses of the UV rays to thrive.

george carlin disorder — there’s rarely a sentence formed in my mind that doesn’t have shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits so it’s a little hard to get anything out of my mouth because it requires reprocessing. and let me tell you, my filter is deteriorating with age.

so i’ve explored two alternative ideas, but they have flaws:

photographer– i’d need to be a fine arts photographer, like nan goldin, cindy sherman, diane arbus, robert frank, robert mapplethorpe or larry clark. i wouldn’t want to do babies, weddings or sports. commercial photography might be good if it was fashion or portrait photography like the work of annie leibowitz or richard avedon. but i think it’s a little late in the game for me here.

greeting card writer — hello, have you seen 500 days of summer? but here’s the rub: print is a dying breed in the wake of facebook, twitter, and free e-greetings. ideally sommecards would be a target but often, they’re too mean. hilarious to read, but not sendable.  i would need to start an edgy online greeting card company, without the insult and free factor. anyone in? designers, email me.

if you have any other ideas for me, let me know.

on the up side, everything is well in my little blogosphere. i’ve felt the bloggy love and have bestowed it on those whose writing continues to inspire and entertain me. recently, i received this award, from not one but two beautiful bloggers, sister merry hellish and the barreness.

the rule is i’m supposed to name 10 others to give the award, but the truth is i couldn’t pick just 10. everyone listed in punk places is worthy of this award, so read them all!

cuz i have a exceptional taste in writers and they’re all dougie like that.

i’ve been on a bender lately punkers. last weekend there was nyc and last thursday a late-night concert with four bands (rogue wave, midlake, peter wolf crier and philadelphia’s own, restorations). then a pretty heavy weaning period this weekend. i realize i need to dial it down a notch. i’ve been partying like lilo. which made me think, i wonder what goes through her mind when she has fallen down the rabbit hole and is all tripped out from the crazy binging.

it was easy to channel lilo in my recent state which felt like something created by oliver stone with freaky angles, hallucinatory sequences, and a vaguely surreal feeling. i shared lindsay’s thoughts on twitter with the hashtag #thingslindsaylohansays. only one fun girl played along. i can always count on wicked shawn when it comes to an ingenious hashtag. she’s the diva of them.

well, it’s sunday, i’m in detox mode and feeling lazy, so here’s a quickie. things i imagine lilo says:

really, a white bra, lindsay? i thought you knew better.

my mug shot is kinda bangin’

they tried to make me go to rehab, i said ‘no, no, no’

my publicist told me the betty ford center is where you go to audition for dancing with the stars.

i thought those were pop rocks, how was i supposed to know it was crack? (wicked shawn’s cameo)

partying like a rock star is for pansies.

i blame the slammer for my being a lezzy come lately.

can i bedazzle my alcohol-detecting ankle bracelet?

feeding the homeless is a good deed because i might be one of them someday.

not bathing is my body’s natural way of masking the smell of alcohol.

sometimes the coke causes the sinus infection. sometimes it clears it up.

i don’t want my mom or dad as my conservator. i choose paris hilton.

what’s a conservator?

i plan to tell the judge this was all research for my role as linda lovelace.

it’s only right that i play her in my next film because her nickname is lilo too.

feel free to play along in the comments . . .

i finally had a little spare time today and was able to catch up on some of my favorite bloggers. i should have started looking for a new job because i really want to make more money. i figure if i’m going to wilt  in the corporate world away under fluorescent lights, i should at least be compensated better for the ass raping my pain and suffering.

also other people are moving up around me and i just keep thinking what the fuck am i doing wrong? frat boys and ass lickers who work part-time hours are getting promoted to the likes of assistant vp positions.

my title: piss ant.

also if you really think about what i just said you’d realize the senior vp doing the promoting likes her ass licked. doesn’t that say it all?

i need out.

but looking for a new job is just too heavy a task for me today. i was in nyc over the weekend looking at art. went to the matisse show at moma. it’s been too long since i’ve been to moma. damn, that’s a fun museum. i really love modern art something fierce. it lifts my spirits and makes me feel less alienated. that’s huge, punkers. cuz like major tom i’ve hit an all time low at work and really feel like a space oddity lately.

but then again some modern art leaves me flummoxed. for instance, i think this installation was just too modern even for me.

yeah, i don't get it either.

anyhussy, i also partied like lilo in nyc and am rendered useless today. so job hunting is out and reading my bloggy buddies is in. like modern art, they make me happy. they calm me down. distract me from the dissonance in my head.  (btw, that’s two motherfucking awesome words i’ve used in this post. flummoxed and dissonance. count with me.)

they show me love. they give me shelter from the storm.

recently three of them gave me props on their audacious blogs.  (yep, we’re up to three) midwesternmama, dufmanno, and wicked shawn all turned my frown upside down just by mentioning me.

then one of my all-time faves, midget man of steel, visited and commented on my blog for the first time ever.  i was like SCORE!

and one of my most loyal followers started a blog on turkey trading and alluded (four or no?) to my having been an inspiration for her blog on facebook. ok, it’s not really about turkey trading, it’s about stock trading but you need to read her to get the background.

and the greatest love of all came from elly. she learned a song for me on herbert the ukele and gave me shivers all down my spine.  i’m not kidding, i was so moved i cried listening to her sing and play it.

so maybe i don’t want a new job after all. with a new job comes more responsibility and less time for the blogosphere. and that would make patty punker a very sad girl.

also to every single one of you on my blogroll: thank you for making my world a happier place and bludgeoning (definitely four now) my demons on a regular basis. you are all so original and inspiring to me. i love you all. 

take me away with you my loves.

sent my angel off to her first year of college. it didn’t come cheap, punkers. i had to blow my wad at bed, bath and beyond, target, staples and the iStore or apple store or whatever the fuck it’s called. here’s a breakdown for those of you who have to plan for college/dorm room in the future:

bed, bath and beyond (comforter, pillows, xtra long sheets, towels, storage units, bed risers, robe, shower caddy, hangers, iron, ironing board, hamper, adhesive shit for cement walls, lamps, bulletin board, trash can, fan, etc.) $1,000

target (bathroom shit, hair shit, makeup, medicines, first aid shit, coffee maker, commuter cup, picture frames, laundry liquids, tissues, snacks, water, etc.) $500

staples (desk supplies and school supplies) $200

iStore (macbook, printer, iHome clock stereo thingy, ethernet cable) $1500

thank god she bought her own clothes and jeans.

these are london circa the 60s. they are fucking cool.

so i say now it’s my turn for some back-to-school shopping. cuz i’m selfish like that. i love fall clothes. not winter clothes, bitches, but fall clothes. for one i love when it’s time to reboot. boots rock and allow you to express your inner badass like nothing else.

here’s one new pair i bought recently.

i do my best shopping with a hangover. you might think, fuck no, i don’t have the energy to shop when i have a hangover. you think wrong. i don’t have the energy (or the head) to do anything else but shop. shopping is an instant hangover cure. like hangover sex, it just sends the headache packing.

plus when i have a hangover, i have an i-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, which means i can spend money i don’t have without thinking twice. hell, i don’t think at all with a hangover. because i can’t. because there is an elephant stepping on my head or some shit.

the other way to shop (i guess this post is turning into the punker’s guide to shopping) is to avoid those ginormous discount stores. marshalls, ross, tj maxx. i say this not because i’m a snob. well, i am a snob, but i don’t mean to be. i’d much rather be one of these salt of the earth types, but it didn’t turn out that way. fuck it.

the reason i avoid these stores is because they hurt my hangover head. it’s like sensory overload. first of all there are women’s, men’s and children’s clothes, house wares, outdoor furniture, etc. all in one store. what the fuck mr. merchandiser. the clothes aren’t organized properly. there is winter and summer shit, dresses, tanks, skirts, slacks, all on one football field length rack. the sizes are all mixed up. i hate this most with the shoes. and what happens is i find something i like, i realize it’s not my size even though it was in my size area, then i can’t find another in my size.

what an epic waste of time.

another epic waste of time–shopping for clothes online without trying them on. my dove girl ass is hard to fit so i’m not a perfect size 6. mostly cuz i’m not a size 6. but there’s nothing worse than having to return online clothes and being out the shipping money to and fro with nothing to show for it.

so what i do is go to banana republic, the gap or express, where all the shit is displayed neatly and arranged in color and size order. some of it is hung and some folded on a table. the hangers all face the same direction and they even have people who fold the clothes with a folding board. so you never find things strewn about haphazardly like you do at the discount stores. plus there are styled mannequins offering you layered outfit and accessory ideas. this is better than garanimals and quite like a bloody mary for my hangover.

when i can’t find the article of clothing in my size some uber helpful salesperson, who treats me like julia roberts was treated after richard gere ripped the sales skank a new one, will check the backroom and the other stores near me for my size. (run-on sentence much?) they will even check online and let me order right then and there. then it’s shipped to my home for free. ain’t that the shiznet?

i’ll answer for you. it is the shiznet and it makes my hangover head swirl with the happy thoughts.

i’ve received another blogger award. this one is called the end of days award and it’s from this dick who knows how to insult a bitch and crack her up all at the same time — with gusto. it’s pretty awesome.

there are no rules for this award. the only thing i have to do is post a short summation of what i would do if  the mayans were right about 12.21.2012.

i can do this. why the hell not. i don’t have anything else to talk about. oh except maybe this blogher10 conference i attended in nyc this weekend. essentially, it just confirmed for me that i don’t have anything to talk about. i obviously don’t take my blog seriously. fuck, i didn’t even have blogger business cards to pass out.

there are so many bloggers out there who are way more talented.  i don’t even know what i’m doing in the blogosphere.

i don’t have an original bone in my body. i’ve never even coined a word/phrase. i don’t mean like sarah palin (aka shakespeare) who coined “refudiate.”  but actual usable terms like fucktard, crapstorm, cock knuckle or lame sauce.

the homeless people on the street have more words than me. and they’re not even degreed in this shit. and they sure as shit don’t do it for a living where they might stand a chance of having the discipline beaten into them.  and i’ll be a monkey’s uncle if they can’t throw an f bomb way more poignantly.

hell, i can’t even monetize my blog properly. i don’t know how to tell a brilliant story and then tie it to the brand’s needs like one famous blogger (who shall remain unnamed). sure, i figured out how to use google ad sense but that brings in about .000000006 cents per day. however, i think after attending the blogher10 conference i have a blockbuster idea for raking in the ad dollars. just you wait and see! i may reveal it in my next post. if you’re lucky.

i did meet these awesome chicks who can blog like nobody’s business. even though i was my shy and typically socially awkard self especially upon meeting people i adore and admire for the first time, i had a blast partying like rock stars with them.

bugginword and absence of alternatives

a vapid blonde, brilliant sulk, bugginword, for the birds blog, me (who cares)

shy girl wishes she could be a fly girl or spy girl, brilliant sulk, dufmanno

who doesn’t like a bad boy? but way more bad ass is the wicked girl. and i got one in my corner. her name is wicked shawn because she is wicked in all the right ways. recently (okay, awhile ago but i’ve been in a time cluster fuck) shawn presented me with this awesome award:

it made me blush and all giddy like a school girl. and who doesn’t like that feeling? no one doesn’t like that feeling, that’s who. so thank you my wicked goddess.

here are the rules:

1. i love polka dots. everything looks good with polka dots. shirts, sweaters, skirts, dresses, bikinis, thongs, scarves, hats … it’s just the happiest fashion detail around.

2. i’m obsessed with hot fries. if i’m going to consume all those calories and fat, and enjoy every second of it, my fries must be hot. cold fries are unacceptable. i will send back the fries even if they’re lukewarm. if you’re thinking i’m high maintenance, you’re right. what’s your point, bitches?

3. a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, i used to have short spiky annie lennox hair. and my grandma would say to me, “trishy trish, why don’t you grow your hair? you don’t look feminine with that short hair.”  i thought i was the bomb-diggety. but turns out grandma was right. when i look back at pictures of me with my punk do, i realized i could mimic annie lennox’s hair but i didn’t have her face. and short hair requires that you give good face.

4. i’ve always wanted to use the phrase ”… can suck my dick!” suck my dick has punch. i like punch. verbal punch, rum punch, punch buggies, punch and judy, punching bags, junk punch. suck my lady bits doesn’t have quite the same ring.

5. i live in nj and i don’t like bon jovi. especially that living on a prayer song. yeah i said it. it’s bubble gum rock. jbj is a better actor than a rocker. now keith richards, he’s a rocker. jbj is, well, cute and cuddly with tight jeans. but keith won’t remember your name and can’t keep his jeans from falling off his heroine-hot ass. after a night of debauchery jbj would say, “we regret the disturbance and apologize to the hotel guests and administration. we intend to provide full restitution for any damages.” keith would say “those bloody pigs can suck my dick.”

6. beignets and chicory coffee from the cafe du monde in new orleans is the perfect breakfast.

7. this song makes me swirl with emotion. it’s melancholy and celebratory all at once. it stirs pathos in me. it’s got crescendo. and it moves me to shout-sing. play it now and play it loud, people!

The Only Living Boy In New York

and if i mentioned music twice in my list of seven, it’s because i fucking love music. for some this is nothing new. for others, this is a bonus list item. and for those who don’t like music, you can suck my dick.

now here are the five bloggers i’m presenting with this award:

1. A Vapid Blonde
2. Absence of Alternatives
3. Annah Banana
4. Midwestern Mamah
5. Dufmanno

i’m pretty sure “important factoid” is an oxymoron. fuck it, the title stays.

here are 10 important factoids about your punker:

1. i dislike the serial comma. the less punctuation, the better. punctuation just slows everything down. and formalizes shit. i write like i talk and the only time i pause is when i go into an absinthe trance. (although the tilda~ might be good punctuation to represent that.)

2. i used to be a catholic, a bartender and a smoker. not all at once. well i did smoke with my bestie in the cemetary while attending catholic grade school. anyhussy, the only one of the three that i miss is smoking. i just pray for one month’s notice before i die, so i can smoke my motherfucking ass off.

3. i always take the biggest, cheesiest slice of pizza. i have no qualms when it comes to my pizza. i’ll cut a bogarting bitch.

4. i don’t think farts, pirates or dane cook are funny. chances are you do but you should know that shit is not universal. and i won’t fake laugh or crack a crooked smile for it either.

5. i stockpile xanax just in case it all becomes too unbearable.  if my daughter dies or i get a horrible disease, i don’t want to live through it. i NEED control in this. sorry for the heavy, but that’s the way my brain works. i consider it forward-thinking and good planning.  also, i think i’m pretty clever outsmarting my doc to write me multiple scrips (i tell him they’re for the pms rage and no doc argues with that) and i get my insurance company to pay for them. you’re welcome.

6. i’m not a lesbian but i like to flirt with girls. especially foxy girls who give good blog like a vapid blonde, buggin word and wicked shawn.

7. i always liked yoko ono. even when everyone else blamed her for breaking up the beatles. not that i was alive then. okay maybe i was but i’m sure it was only for minutes. she makes good art. for realz. and this is one of my favorite songs that john lennon wrote about her.

Oh Yoko!

8. speaking of music, this is my favorite love song of all time.

This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)

9. i may or may not have tried heroin. but i if i had, i would have snorted it because it would have been the 80s and needles–aids… no thanks.  and if i had tried it i would have really liked the euphoria and heroin-sex but not the vomiting all night.

10. i think the jolly rancher should sell bags of the watermelon flavor 0nly.  i don’t care for the grape, cherry or blue rasberry ones. and i hate the sour apple ones. this is a huge miss on the jolly rancher’s part.

what’s an important factoid i should know about you?

yeah i know, the word “don’t” is a big negative. but in this case it’s necessary. in order for me, and it’s all about me, to have a positive experience at a group fitness class (spin, yoga, strength, boxing, cardio, pilates, tennis drills) these 10 rules must be followed:

1. don’t hoot and holla like you’re having an O. no yelling out Wooooh. Yeaaaahh. Owwwww. there is nothing orgasmic about this. this is agony. the high associated with working out doesn’t come until later. when it’s over. then we can relax and let go.

2. don’t come into class smelling ripe. what the fuck are you going to smell like over the next hour if you smell like a sweaty locker room mat at the onset? it’s much easier to tolerate your hoagie smell once i’ve been pushing it and my own soft gardenia-like aroma begins to turn a little onion-y. a little onion-y. as in barely noticeable. only discernible by me.

3. don’t deviate from what the instructor is doing. i’m not that coordinated. i can barely keep up with the moves as it is and your improvisation is throwing my ass off.  if you can’t conform, don’t do a group class. quit trying to stand out. attention whore.

4. don’t bring all kinds of gear. isn’t it commitment enough that i get my ass here and spend $180.9 bajilliion per year on membership and classes? then you come waltzing in with your high tech heart monitor, gloves, spin shoes and seat cover, wrist wrap, and designer gym bag. that’s too much commitment. i would clearly jinx myself with an injury the second i spent a penny more on this shit.

5. don’t look too pretty. your hot little coordinated outfits and tennis dresses make me sick. i want to scream like sam kinison when i see you. i look like a swamp rat and you look like a gym rat. i don’t need this kind of intimidation when i don’t even want to be here in the first place. and don’t be wearing pretty pastel-y colors either. i have to wear dark colors so the sweat rings around my boobs don’t show. don’t your boobs sweat? bitch.

6. don’t be fist pumping. i don’t care how energized you are. this ain’t no party. this ain’t no disco. this ain’t no club at the jersey shore.  ’nuff said.

7. don’t respond to the teacher audibly as if you’re trying to impress me. when the instructor says, “it gets easier the more you do it,” don’t respond, “yeah if you never increase your weights,” then look at me to make sure i notice how much weight you’re lifting. i’m fucking focused here. focused on getting it over with! and when the teacher asks if we’re all feeling great, don’t say, “like a rock star,” then look at me to see if i think you’re funny.  i can barely breathe so i sure as shit don’t have enough oxygen to laugh. even if you are funny. but you’re not.

8. don’t save spaces or bikes for your posse. i like to be in the back of class. i like to minimize the number of  people who can observe my lack of ability. if your clique wants to be in the back, then they need to get their asses there before me.  or, to the front with the attention whores!

9. don’t be a badass. here i was thinking i was all cool by going to the gym then you come swaggering in with your gangsta bandanna, gnarly tank top and ink looking all tight and rad. thanks motherfucker. my inner badass dial just dropped to dowdy. and dowdy makes me want to run and hide out of sight until i can step back out right.

10. don’t zumba. ok this rule is just for me. even i have to have rules. and if i don’t zumba then you can all remain upright and moving.  my lack of coordination won’t cause me to spin in the wrong direction and flail about until i collide with you and take your ass down. see, i’m a considerate gym-goer, too.

what are your cardinal rules of group fitness class?

All has settled down on the home front. Thanks for all of your love, kindness, and insights. I’ve got all kinds of big love for each and everyone of you punks.

So with spring on the way, I’ve decided to go on tour and promote my new blog. I don’t have anything scheduled yet, but I’m sure once my publicist gets the word out, all of the very important magazines (VIM) will want in. To make sure I’m ready for my interviews with the likes of Playboy, Vanity Fair, and Esquire magazines, I’ve prepared some answers to the questions I am likely to be asked.

VIM: What is your blog about?

Patty Punker: Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Random acts of ridiculousness. Surprise and happy endings. The C word. V things. My raging celebrity crush on a certain male blogger. List making and other addictive behavior.

VIM: Why did you start blogging about this stuff?

Patty Punker: Because I’m really a chick bass player in my own mind. And that’s how we rock stars live. Write about what ya know, ya know?

VIM: Who would be interested in reading this blog?

Patty Punker: People who enjoy depravity and who believe engaging writing should contain superfluous use of the F word.

VIM: How long have you been blogging?

Patty Punker: I just started blogging in December 2009. But because I have an addictive personality, I can’t stop. My first blog was a beginner sitch and was hosted on wordpress.com (pattypunker.wordpress.com), but now I’ve gone Pro and am hosting my own blog.

VIM: Why did you decide to go Pro?

Patty Punker:  So I could sell some ads and make extra money to support my nicorette gum habit. That shit is more expensive than my street drugs.

VIM: What other blogs do you follow?

Patty Punker: I worship the words of MommyWantsVodka, The Bloggess, Tremendous News, A Vapid Blonde, Wicked Shawn, The Checkout Girl, Pointless Banter and Stuff-about.com.

VIM: Where do you get your inspiration?

Patty Punker: Aunt Becky of MommyWantsVodka is my own personal Jesus. I read her like I read the Bible. I learn from her like I learn from religious ed class. I wish she were a sacrament so I could receive her. She saves my soul everyday.

VIM: Why should we subscribe to your blog?

Patty Punker: Because I get my crank on without nicorette gum and I can’t afford nicorette gum without ads and I can’t get ads without subscribers. Oh and sexual favors may be bestowed.

VIM: What advice do have for your fans?

Patty Punker: Work hard and play hard. If the hard work doesn’t pay off, become a high-end escort so you can afford to play harder. In other words, never quit hooking.

VIM: What advice do you have for new bloggers?

Patty Punker: Yeah right, cuz I’m a veteran or any good at this shit. (Like how self-deprecating I can be?) But I do have something to say here. Be honest and be true to your punk self. Reveal your soul. Don’t water it down because you’re afraid of exposure. This is your chance to say what’s really on your mind, so do it full throttle or don’t do it at all. Safe is soulless.

VIM: So what’s next for Patty Punker?

Patty Punker: Having the Coen Brothers write a movie about a week in the life of blogger, Patty Punker. Frances McDormand (a chick who doesn’t bore me) will play me, obvs. There will even be footage of me writing songs and playing bass with the band.