June 2005

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Allergic to Minnesota

Filed under: Imported

Perhaps I'm particularly sensitive after having spent four dizzying days in the land of sun, frolic, and $12 vodka martinis with olives the size of regulation volleyballs. All I know is that right now, Minneapolis is looking uglier than a Koosa's ass. (Or a Koosa's face, for that matter. Did anyone actually own a Koosa, or were they designed exclusively for blind children?)

The Minneapolis skyline reminds me of a neurotic's thumbnail: short, jagged, hard to look at. Clouds the color of dryer lint, the unofficial screensaver of June '05, are a fitting backdrop. There are a lot of wonderful reasons to live here, but I'm blanking on the specifics. I think I need another night out in Nordeast!

Right now I'm listening to "Who Made Who" by AC/DC, which is probably the best song off the Maximum Overdrive soundtrack. (Are there other songs on the Maximum Overdrive soundtrack, or is it just 45 minutes of "Who Made Who" with highway noise overdubs?) Strip club imprinting makes it impossible for me to listen to the 4/4 pyrotechnics of drummer Phil Rudd without writhing in my chair. I'm finally getting a stripper pole for my house, which means I'll be bitching about my broken femur in no time. You guys can send me flowers, OK?

Did you hear that? I'm finally getting a stripper pole for my house. Something must have changed in my life, but what?

 

 

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 30, 2005 3:56 PM

 

I'm still here, I swear.

Filed under: Imported

I'll blog soon. I apologize for the lengthy absence.

In the meantime, here's a tantalizing blind item: Which douchelike black-and-white cat BIT MY FUCKING NOSE last night as I was drifting off to sleep, leaving a swollen toothmark on the bridge of said nose and inspiring unspeakable rage in the victim?

Guess who! Don't sue!

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 29, 2005 8:14 AM

 

Fuckin' Russia!

Filed under: Imported

The Rainbow grocery store in my neighborhood is like Russia. There's a pervasive air of desperation, pathos, and general clamoring for spoiled foodstuffs. They only keep three checkout lanes open at any one time, even during peak shopping hours, and the lines snake all the way back to the deli case. I frequent this store because it's a stone's throw from the bricks n' mortar Pussy Ranch, but my patience is dwindling. I bought a donut there this morning and the frosting had calcified into an impentrable saccharine mantle that crunched. Frosting should not crunch.

Enough bourgeoius angst: I had a blast last night with the imcomparable NordEast Blog Lit Club. They got me drunk, they gave me presents(!) and they enabled my strip club jones by taking me to the Deuce Deuce for the latter half of the evening. (A lithe brunette peeling off her Spandex  to "We Are All On Drugs" was a highlight.) All in all, it was a wonderful time and I shall be forever grateful. And judging by the way I feel this morning, forever hungover. WORTH IT.

Tonight I leave for L.A. (movie business fun!) and I'm scared witless or shitless or some variation thereof. Traveling alone is weird. The last time I went to L.A. alone, I was meeting Jonny for the first time. Now I'm returning as Mrs. Jonny. I'm going to miss him the first couple of days, but he's joining me on Friday, at which point we will set up camp at the Rainbow and reemerge on Sunday. Aging hair metal dudes + mobsters + '70s ambiance= fun.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 22, 2005 2:00 PM

 

POSTIN' RECORD, BITCHSNIFFERS!

Filed under: Imported

Crush on Michael Showalter persists. Zach Braff exiled to D-list of masturbation fantasies. Just kidding, I never think about celebrities when I masturbate, or any boy besides my husband, for that matter. I think about AMATEURS, baby. The loosey-goosey garage sale blondes with the frayed Wranglers and the Caesarean scars. The gals who, in the space of 45 minutes, graduate from "I've never done this" to "Plug my ass, both of y'all!" Women with acne and underbites. Women with hot tub lung and honeymoon cystitis. Bitches.

I got a video camera for my birthday. Now I just need to find some amateurs. I can't put myself in such a film, because I'm afraid Bill Cosby will appear, point to my jiggling haunches, and make some pithy comment about pudding. I need lean, mean, scrawny AMATEURS with a genuine desire to MAKE IT in Codywood. I will promise them 14k gold, elaborate feasts at Red Lobster, and the finest foreign-made espadrilles Payless has to offer. They will be shaved in the dank, reeking downstairs bathroom that we never use. They can borrow my clothes for the shoot. I'll make them fit with pins and chewing gum.

I really need to get one of those electric knives my dad used to have. I love the sound they make. GRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNGH! Who wants pot roast?

I'm laughing so hard I'm crying right now. Going nuts is like vacation!

 

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 17, 2005 3:01 PM

 

Can't stop posting. Manic phase. New meds on Tuesday.

Filed under: Imported

Remember when you were a kid and the community pool would host "adult swim"? And the lifeguard would officiously blow his whistle and all the kids would have to scramble out of the pool? And then the adults, clad in their frumpy L.L. Bean SlimSuits and sagging Chicago Blackhawks trunks would rise, groaning, from their towels and chaises and slowly migrate into the pool like parched hippopatami? And once the adults got into the pool and immersed their huge, sun-scorched bodies in the chlorinated water, they didn't actually do anything? Sure, a couple of them would swim laps, but very slowly, as if they craved the monotony of lap swimming without the cardiovascular benefits? And most of them just bobbed there, staring vacously into the late afternoon sun? And all the displaced children watched enviously from the fringe, dripping wet, neglected, wondering why Adult Swim existed in the first place when the adults clearly didn't deserve the pool and didn't enjoy it and none of them even bothered to attempt a can-opener off the high dive? And it seemed like having a swimming session for adults exclusively seemed as counterproductive and pointless as having a cheese-tasting party for children? Because adults don't appreciate pools and kids don't appreciate fine cheeses, and nobody enjoys themself?

Yeah. I remember that.

They should have "Child Swim," where all the adults have to haul their office-flattened asses out of the pool and their brown, shrieking progeny can enjoy the piss-tainted waters in peace.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 17, 2005 2:46 PM

 

Katie Holmes and the Yucky Blucky Fruitcake

Filed under: Imported

(For those of you without kindergarteners underfoot, here is the book I am so coyly referencing in the title of this post. That's comedy.)

Seriously, bluck.

Katie Holmes' sweet, sweet mams are wasted on a scrote-groper like Cruise. Have you seen The Gift? She has stealth boobies*, my favorite kind!.

*Stealth boobies: noun. Breasts that look modest and unremarkable in clothing, but are revealed to be surprisingly large when bared. Usage: "Scarlett Johanssen whipped out some major stealth boobies in A Love Song For Bobby Long. I had no idea they were that big." There is also such a thing as reverse stealth boobies, a term which applies to breasts that look much smaller once the bra is removed. Also known as "cheating."

See? Look at that. Who knew?

I mean, I guess it's possible that they're madly in love and deserve well-wishes and blah-de-bloo, but I just feel weird about all this. Plus, the Eiffel Tower is so played out. All the cool people are getting engaged in Turkey.

 

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 17, 2005 2:25 PM

 

Douchepacker

Filed under: Imported

"Yeah, it's me. Diablo's cat. No, not the incredibly fat one. He's somewhere face down in a bowl of coagulated Fancy Feast. Me, I'm actually svelte by comparison, though the vet described me as 'somewhat obese' during my last checkup. Fuck that vet. Fuck everyone. 

 Try to pet me. Seriously, try it. I'll bite your fucking face off and chew it like a baguette. In fact, when Diablo tried to remove me from this desk so she could write, I meowed shrilly, swatted at her with my ineffective clawless paw and sank my teeth into her tender wrist. Diablo regrets the last four years she's spent feeding and sheltering me, seeing as I turned out to be a total douche and all. But that's okay because that guy she married thinks I'm really cute. I've got him totally snowed. I let him carry me around like a doll (if Diablo tried that, she'd need a blood transfusion within moments). I even sleep on his naked body at night, purring raptly in a sick bestial charade of human lovemaking. Yes, Jon will make sure that bitch never 'accidentally' gets rid of me. Haw! Now I'm off to lick my own anus, bully the dog, and groom myself compulsively. Jon will be home soon and I want my paunch to look its whitest."

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 17, 2005 1:32 PM

 

Hyuk!

Filed under: Imported

Okay, that is not a "farmer tan" on that shot of me below. That freak irregularity on my left arm is some kind of technical glitch. I would never tan in cap sleeves, people. I don't wear a Victorian bathing costume to the beach to protect my frail dermis from The Fun'f Opreffive Heat. Give me a modicum of credit.

I had a kickass birthday, possibly the best I've had in years. I accidentally got chocolate cake on  my new whorish satin camisole, but there's something kind of endearing about that, isn't it? Whenever a baby trashes its first birthday cake, everyone acts like it's the cutest thing since the Olsens got their boobies. So therefore, it should be equally--if not more--adorable when a 27 year-old drunk ex-stripper smears birthday cake on her intimate apparel. I AM BETTER THAN A BABY, PEOPLE. I CAN TALK AND GIVE BLOW JOBS AND DO ALL KINDS OF THINGS THAT BABIES ARE TOO DENSE TO MASTER.

I got delightful gifts from Jonny, of course, plus a bottle of "Voovay Clickot" champagne delivered special from my awesome manager. I'll be popping that open as soon as I sober up from last night.

Ranch Experiment!: I'm growing out my pubic hair. I want to finally try getting waxed and I heard it needs to be pretty long to get a decent grip. I will be doing the wax myself (do not doubt my courage and fortitude) and I promise to document the process with photos of my howling, tearstained face. Meanwhile, I'm displeased with my new pubes. They're unruly and they're black. I've read so many issues of Playboy that I forgot that most people have dark kinky pubes, not the perfectly uniform strips of  bleached golden cornsilk seen on porn stars and titty models. Nobody has that naturally, do they?

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 15, 2005 1:32 PM

 

27

Filed under: Imported

Tomorrow is my birthday. I find that after age 21 and the obligatory tequila-soaked campus bacchanal, having a birthday is like watching the odometer roll over to 50,000 in your Corolla. You observe the milestone with interest. You're grateful the car's made it this far, but you don't feel the need to tie streamers to the antenna or anything.

Jon, however, treats each one of my birthdays as if I've just been expelled from my mother's womb on a wave of primordial slime. It's nice! I want to get a sign for our curb that says: "CAUTION: DEF HUSBAND." Because he's so def. He's deffer than the Lep.

So as of tomorrow, I'm a 27 year-old non-gravid Earth female. Ten years ago I was...I don't know. I have no memory of my 17th birthday, though I do remember my 18th vividly. I'm sure I was a very unpleasant teenager. I remember peacocking around in skimpy outfits, drinking, using extremely offensive language, pretending to ass-bang my male friends whenever they bent over and...wait, I haven't changed at all!

(Yes, that is an extremely obese cat lurking behind me. Yes, we've tried altering his diet. No, I don't know why he's that fat. Yes, he's happy. No, he can't effectively clean himself, but the other cat helps out in that regard. Yes, he's ultra-snuggly. Yes, we call him "Jabba the Gutt," "Ham Parsons," "SuShi Fats" (don't ask) and Tummaroo." I love him.)

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 13, 2005 9:07 PM

 

Cue the Ohio Players

Filed under: Imported

I want this. Badly. A single-rider private roller coaster would be the ultimate masturbatory toy for a ride geek like me.

I don't know why I love roller coasters so much, but I do. I have books about coasters, I memorize stats, I've made pilgrimages to remote parks. The best coaster I've ever ridden is the Phoenix, a double out and back Herb Schmeck at Knoebel's Grove. The negative Gs will lift your ass right out of that seat. There's only one classic woodie in Minnesota, The High Roller, and as you can see from the sleepy, unimpressed half-smiles on the passengers, it ain't that great. (I mean, I can't even tell if that guy in the front is happy or if it's just gas.) A good coaster should make you scream like Angelina Jolie is pounding your G-spot with a strap-on. Your "O face" should be in full effect.

This ride is fucking awesome, though. Look at that second photo. Glbrrh. I rode that one the day before my wedding; Jonny wisely abstained.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 10, 2005 2:35 PM

 

UNGGH me so horny!

Filed under: Imported

I don't know what's wrong with me. For days I feel downright monastic, and then I wake up craving dick like Mary Kate Olsen craves giant sunglasses. I need thick, veinous, baby-arm dick up in my situation and I need it now.

When I was a stripper (betcha didn't know that!) the DJs used to frequently spin 2 Live Crew. I never understood that selection, since neither men nor women typically find 2 Live Crew's music arousing. If you disagree, let me know. I'm sure someone thinks Florida porn-rap is the sexiest thing since Massive Attack.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 9, 2005 12:56 PM

 

Too Hot to Blog

Filed under: Imported

I'm really sensitive to heat this year for some reason. Like a trembling Victorian ponce, I've had to retire to my fainting couch anytime the mercury's risen past 80. It doesn't help that the Ranch isn't air-conditioned and I made the unwise decision to glue a pound of plastic hair to my scalp a few days ago. I've taken to bundling my extensions up in one of those claw clips that were all the rage in 1996. Just looking at that little doodad hurtles me back in time to my freshman year of college. It's awfully nifty though.

AC/DC rules. "Big Balls" is such a rad tune.

Here's a realistic photo of me swooning from the heat. This is the best I'm gonna do today.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 8, 2005 4:07 PM

 

Look out world!

Filed under: Imported

Am I officially a local celebrity? Please? I'm in CJ's column in the Star Tribune today.

Local quasi-celebrity status has been a fervent dream of mine since I moved here. O sweet fulfillment!

The best line, I think, is "Everyone's heard of Diablo Cody."

In your face, Mom! Your fantasy of an anonymous "grounded" child has just been dashed into the surf like an unsound sandcastle!

(struts, preens)

Edited to add: Yes, I'm aware of how ridiculous this is. I will now return to my regular routine of stammering self-flagellation and Catholic guilt.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 7, 2005 10:55 AM

 

Sound the alarm!

Filed under: Imported

Okay, not an hour after I posted that photo of myself yesterday--not an hour--my mother phoned from Chicago to declare that she doesn't like my hair.

It's like she has some kind of alarm in her house that gets tripped whenever  the time is ripe for a maternal diss. "Wooop! Wooop! Opportunity for criticism in sector 6B! Initiate disapproving telephone call!" 

Since my mother has never seemed to like my hair in any shade, style, or incarnation (save the perky Ramona Quimby bob I had in seventh grade) I had to ask "How would you like me to wear it, Mom?" She replied. "I like it red. Or brown. Short. I don't know."  The call ended with her advising me to "stay grounded." Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem.

 

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 6, 2005 10:55 AM

 

The whore hair is back!

Filed under: Imported

I'm going to be peeling gobs of extension glue off my fingertips for days, but it's worth it. See how happy I look? How blissfully dumb? Hey guys, we're all going to Spider Club! I'm riding with Fez, but we're gonna bump first. See you there! SNOOOORRRRRT!

The back of my head looks a little jacked up, but I expect nobody will point that out. Hell, I've seen exposed weave tracks on Britney and she's a quadrillionaire. I might have even outdone her with my cheapy-cheap WaWa synthetic hair and a bottle of viscous amber-colored adhesive.

I just realized that I have been totally assimilated to the Minnesota way of life: I'm blonde, I attend a Presbyterian church, I listen to the Replacements and I cook with Pyrex. It's horrifying. Now I need is a snowmobile and an unspoken grudge and the assimilation will be complete.

My dog Agnes of God, whom we adopted a couple of months ago, has begun shedding. Lots. Actually, "shedding" is a major understatement. The beast shrugs off her entire outer covering in the course of a day, then cunningly regenerates herself before I get home, leaving clumps of her hairy husk strewn hither and yon. I've never seen anything like it. Jonny marched Agnes of God out to the alley today and started removing fistfuls hair from her body, thinking he'd eventually get to the end of it. No such luck.

I know tales of dog hair aren't exactly a thrill, but that about sums up my Sunday. If I'm not gluing hair onto my head, I'm sweeping it up. This is a hairy little ranch.

Guess where Jonny is right now? No, he's not checking out more incest porn at Video Universe. He's at his first rehearsal for Bye Bye Birdie. I'm so proud of the chap. He's playing Birdie, so soon everyone in the Crystal/New Hope area will be able to check out his massive package while he swivels and cavorts onstage. Hello, Birdie!

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 5, 2005 2:00 PM

 

Corpse Groom

Filed under: Imported

Does anyone actually believe the announcement that Jack White married Karen Elson? If so, I hope they registered for a tube of Jergen's Natural Glow gradual self-tanner. (That stuff is very insidious; apply it every day for months and soon you too will resemble a pair of Sunlit Beige L'eggs. Crispy!)

Anyway, the message behind this little stunt is clear: in your face, Zellweger!

Karen Elson was my favorite model in 1997, when I was prone to purchasing Vogue and Elle and wishing I could be like the merry topless waifs in those sputum-orange Clinique Happy ads. (Ironically, I dabbed Happy on my wrists every day during my suicidal period.) I even sheared off my bangs with blunt kindergarten scissors in an attempt to look like Elson, the willowy doll-like freak.

Of course, this could all be a scam, seeing as the press release says this is both parties' first marriage. And according to some interview I read with that tattletale Loretta Lynn, Jack married Meg White not once, but twice. Jonny and I both think (consensual) incest is hot, and fake incest is even dirtier in some vague way. Imagine Jack porking Sis in their nuptial bed while "Coal Miner's Daughter" crackles on the 45. I hope Karen Elson can top that. I think she can.

Congrats to the newlyweds, if they did in fact jump the broom in some exotic, ecotourist type-ceremony in South America. What is it with American poseurs going to Uruguay and shit and acting like they're totally down with the gaucho-shamans or whatever? There's no Krispy Kreme in Montevideo, fools. Stay here where you're wanted. And if you do insist on traveling to far-flung locales, please be bashful, assert your ignorance, and refrain from calling the natives "a simple people." (That means you, Cameron Diaz.)

 

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 3, 2005 4:57 PM

 

Links, At Long Last

Filed under: Imported

I am going to finally get some links up in this bitch. I need to compile a list...they should be up shortly. And if I forget you, don't be scared to drop me a message grousing about it. I will remedy the situation forthwith.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 3, 2005 9:42 AM

 

Holy Shit.

Filed under: Imported

Something very shocking happened yesterday, or rather, a shocking event was finalized. I officially sold my first screenplay. Yes, some obscenely wealthy Hollywood people (yeah, you've heard of 'em) are making a movie that I wrote.

 I wrote it at a Starbucks in a Target, a corporation nestled within a corporation like a sinister matroshka. Each day, the teenaged baristas asked me what I was writing. I'd say, "A movie," and they'd gaze at me with thinly veiled pity. Nobody writes a movie!  I must have been delusional.

But apparently, I wasn't.

I remember the day I got my book deal. I was working at an insurance company at the time, and we were forbidden to be human. My agent called me on my cell phone, which I had set on "vibrate" and wedged between my knees since an errant ring could be grounds for termination. I waited until my fifteen-minute break, then crept downstairs to the antiseptic, gleaming lobby of the office complex. I hid behind a large potted plant and sobbed for fifteen minutes. Then I went back upstairs to my cubicle and continued processing insurance claims.

 I didn't cry this time. I've just developed a constant head-shaking tic, a symptom of utter disbelief.

Now I just have to figure out how we get Patrick Swayze to play the dad. He would be perfect for the role, and perhaps he could teach me to mambo between takes. Our hearts would guh-gung in tandem. I would wear white Keds and knee-length cutoffs. Later, I'd ask him if he'd had many women.

Guh-gung.

Guh-gung.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 2, 2005 10:42 AM

 

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