1. Sunday, November 9, 2003

    someone emailed me 

    and told me that i was too punk rock for prime time, which is why nobody is offering me jobs to write blogs for them.

    she said that even when im not saying motherfucker and shit and pussy i still have an edge that major decisionmakers would be a little nervous about.

    and i knew what she was ment.

    but then i said, jessica, is it less acceptable to write the things that i write in the way that i do it or be a dumb fake tittied bleach blonde who marries a boybander?

    she blinked.

    and then she said, are you talking about me?

    i said no baby, i could see why people would want to pay you money for being cute and slow and lazy and shallow, and i can see why major companies like viacom and now abc would want to associate with you: because they think that you’re the type of young woman that

    she said, excuse me.

    i said, no really, ani difranco has sold shit tons of records basically out of her truck, but you dont even see her on mtv.

    and then i woke up.

    it was all a dream.

    i hadnt gotten any email saying anything.

    jessica simpson hadnt been talking to me

    and when i turned on mtv, there was ani difranco singing one of her little songs.

    such a righteous babe.

    and the phone rang, and it was bill gates saying thanks for the offer to write a blog about him, but he was pretty shy and he really just wanted to focus on his job.

    and i said, hey, its cool, thanks for the phone call.

    and he said, no problem.

    but the scary part is, i never gave bill gates my damn phone number.

    and i hardly ever dream.

    kill poets + filchboy + i would like to meet bunnie