plague of rainbows

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-28T13:51:00

2009-12-28T18:51:08Z

Here I am at the doctors office, shitting my pants.
There are some things I don't think I can allow. Blood test, I guuueess I can allow but. I am gonna need some serious sedatary drugs to make me calm enough to not rip the needle straight out of my arm like last time..
The kids screaming in the halls are just vocalizing my fear. Dad is playing with his phone's world clock as we wait for the doctor to come in and listen to the screaming..so much screaming..
I understand completely.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-28T12:11:00

2009-12-28T17:11:20Z

Ok. Today I go to the pediatrician to talk about:

1.) the beetus

2.) why i vomit all day err day

Scared. Blood test better not be today, i need bars first.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-28T04:23:00

2009-12-28T09:23:12Z

watched Vampire Killers at Alex's with Alex, Ove, Pascau and Brian.
Good times.
Finished off the wine.
I am such a faggot.

is it worth it can you even hear me

2009-12-27T14:34:26Z

Just talked to cracky on the phone, and i am crying like an alabaster retard again.

Christ, I am so easy to give in to guilt.

He guilts me, uses me for drugs,money and car rides, then makes me feel like a piece of total shit for some reason.

It seems there are less nd less people who want to actually be my friend, instead of just use me for something.
Chris and Cracky and Erika all just used me for one thing or another and then drop my feelings on the floor and fucking crush the shit out of them.

I think Cracky's back on the rock, for starters.

Fuck this feels bad. Maybe I'll see it more clearly when i start sleeping again. Or when i can start eating again. Everything I've eaten for the past two days I've thrown up, just like..what was it? Last week?

Shit is really going downhill. I need to get the fuck out of here..

After graduation?

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-27T09:24:00

2009-12-27T14:24:16Z

andrew storper is a piece of shit.

remember.

Yeah I'm Down, But Not Out, and Far From Done

2009-12-27T13:29:08Z

My Dad actually just said to me
"Don't go partying around tonight"

They are under the impression that I stay out late nights ... "partying" ?

And this morning when my mom woke up, i was just getting in from my third, yes third (yay) morning bike ride of the week.
And she says to me "You know, if you sleep during the day and not the night, it will make your diabetes worse."

Okay, well then diabetes can suck my dick.

Last night I was at AJ's with Andrew for like ..what like fifteen minutes. Enough for two rounds of Smash on 5 Stock. Then I went to Pascau's. We watched Breaking Bad and ate chips (hint of lime with salsa) and talked about music until..well until his alarm went off at 5 for him to call Chris and go biking.

He is mighty fine, that Pascau.

I need to rethink his CD I'm making for him.

Gosh Gosh...

On my ride today I chased a cat away from a threesome of tiny baby ducks and a momma duck,
I saw a squirrel dead with it's fucking stomach and intestines coming out of it's fucking mouth.

The animal world is scary and fucked up and I can't stop trying to help all of the little animals who are food.

I realized moreso that Andrew is insane yesterday when he talked to me about wanting to go hunt wild boar in the everglades.
What the fuck.
"I thought you wanted to help the animals, Vince!"

But he dresses like a woman, so it's ok.

To clean Weemaus cage in a little..

someone ought to buy me

2009-12-26T15:04:25Z

http://6dollarshirts.com/product.php?productid=11194

http://6dollarshirts.com/product.php?productid=11140

http://6dollarshirts.com/product.php?productid=11260&cat=250&page=1

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-26T09:17:00

2009-12-26T14:17:10Z

Chris
Chris
Chris

Hates me

street light manifesto

2009-12-25T00:47:09Z

i feel like I'm already dead.
The disease is spreading all over my body..
It's on my inner thighs, it's on my neck, its on my armpits, it's on my ankles, soon it will be on my knees.
I'm definitely not passed being afraid.
I don't even think I've gotten there yet. Now, I'm still in shock.
No one is ever going to love me now.
No one will even fuck me now...
meryl streep's skeleton..

taking baths and watching 80's movies for the rest of my life.
i might as well buy Total Recall for five bucks at blockbuster.
I can't do anything with my life if I'm always going to feel like I'm alive for no reason.
What do i do?
Join the peace corps?

Join ALF?

I guess i could check that out.

Traveling all over the world will do nothing for me. It will just help me learn about the different kinds of suffering in different places all over the world.

Fuck yeah i wanted the white picket fence and the husband and the house decorated to look like a 1920's sideshow. Yeah i wanted to learn to fold laundry at record speeds and yeah i wanted to have someone to sleep next to at night.

i don't want to be single forever.
i fucking lied when i told myself there was nothing to worry about, because everyone needs to learn to be alone and its the most important thing and i could get used to that.

It's all true, but goddamnit it's too fucking scary.

i don't want t come to terms with death. i don't want to accept everything.
i want to die when i least expect it, i want someone to shoot me in the face with a shotgun while I'm standing in my front yard wondering why i am still alive.

I think there is really nothing scarier than watching yourself become hideous.
I sit in the bath tub and just cry because looking at myself is fucking gross..

pascau calling

No Small Affair

2009-12-24T06:28:19Z

People used what they called a telephone because they hated being close together and they were scared of being alone.

More and more, it feels like I'm doing a really bad impersonation of myself.

Our Generation has had no Great war, no Great Depression. Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.

I wanted to write about the moment when your addictions no longer hide the truth from you. When your whole life breaks down. That's the moment when you have to somehow choose what your life is going to be about.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-23T14:15:00

2009-12-23T19:15:20Z

"whatever you're gonna do is what's gonna happen"
-amanda palmer

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-23T14:00:00

2009-12-23T19:00:55Z

last night i went to Brendan Britto's party.
I brought him an awesome sticker with a stormtrooper on it and a bottle of italian red wine from '81.
A good year.

The food was the shit.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-23T13:58:00

2009-12-23T18:58:55Z

"the whole world was my kingdom
and your love bejeweled my crown
then I saw you glance at a new romance
and my love came tumbling down

well you treat me kinda coolish
and may never let me know
that you think I'm being foolish
because I love you so
I’ll still get lost in a fool's paradise
lost with you in a fool's paradise"

"Yes, you'll be sorry for the times I cried
you'll be sorry for the times you lied
well, you're gonna miss me - early in the morning
one of these days - oh ya

Well, you know a rolling stone - don't gather no moss
and you cross that bridge when it’s time to cross
well, you broke my heart - when you said goodbye
and now the milk is spilled - but you're gonna cry "

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-23T13:50:00

2009-12-23T18:50:06Z

"No dude, everyone's gonna be doing that when the zombies come."
"No, everyone's going to be dying."

-me and.. horus?

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-22T12:53:00

2009-12-22T17:53:17Z

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt

Just came back from the dermatologist.

2009-12-22T16:38:46Z

i guess a good blog never starts with that subject.

so the shit on my arms is acanthosis nigricans.

It basically means I'm a total fatass.
Sometimes i wonder if i forced myself into having this disease when i decided to never get off the couch in that amazing life revelation about a year and a half ago. When i was at UCF, and i realized leaving the couch was horrible.

So anyway, the stuff means I'm fat as fuck, and that i have pre-diabetes, basically.
It's due to some insulin problems, and being morbidly obese.

I guess i have to rethink some things.

i feel like I'm going to die. My heart hurts and my stomach is twisted.
Nothing like a bad diagnosis. You never think you'll be one of those people.

So, i don't think i should ever count on getting in a relationship, because i'll just fucking die.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-21T05:45:00

2009-12-21T10:45:50Z

today i chilled with Ashley and Alex. I got the urge to go somewhere, anywhere again, so i think i will look up prices for tickets...

There are flights leaving for Texas, Seattle, Portland and Los Angeles this morning..

Tickets for this morning are in the thousands.
Haahahaha

I tremendously want pasta with sauce the way Chris makes it.

I am cold. And i am wanting to jet, and i am really really wanting a hug.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-21T05:26:00

2009-12-21T10:26:47Z

Vomiting is one of those subjects people often try to graze over when discussing drinking.

They prefer to center on the glamorous aspects of drinking, the cerebral impairment, the fights and mishaps, the staggering around blindly and the cool hangover cures.

But let’s face up to reality: while many a boozer likes to brag he never or rarely reverses the flow of alcohol, truth be known, even the most accomplished drinker finds occasion to vomit. Even if it’s just to make room for more booze or to impress fellow imbibers with the distance he can launch the meat loaf he had for lunch.

Personally, I believe every aspect of alcohol should be celebrated and elevated, the good and the bad, the pleasure and the pain, the hooching and, yes, the hurling. And if you’re going to do something, even something that may ostracize you from polite society, you should do it right.

Never Retreat, Never Surrender
First off, public puking is something you should never do halfway. It’s very bad form to bolt out of a room, hand clasped over your mouth, chunks of half-digested Dinty Moore frothing between your fingers. This behavior is akin to a barely wounded soldier fleeing the battlefield in disgrace.

If you have sufficient warning, tell your companions: “Do excuse me, but I must vomit,” and stroll casually to the restroom to relieve yourself. That is not retreating, that is merely retiring to the rear to refit and regroup, so you may later return to the front and continue the gallant struggle.

If you cannot exit with that bare minimum of dignity, however, you must stand in place like a soldier chained to a machine gun and let them have it.

Ralphing the O'Maolain Way
Once you have decided that, yes, you are going to hurl, and no, you’re not going to make it to the restroom in a respectable fashion, try your best to refrain from spewing in a haphazard and sloppy manner. No matter how drunk you are, it is never cool having food and stomach acid jet out of your nostrils.

One of the biggest mistakes a vomiter can make is bending over. This puts pressure on your diaphragm and makes the act of expulsion much more difficult and painful. Hanging your head at that angle is not only unflattering, it virtually guarantees a nose full of something you don’t want. Stand up, tall and proud (yet leaning slightly forward so you don’t get any on yourself). After all, you should be proud. You just drank enough booze to make even an experienced drinker as yourself regurgitate. And while you’re standing there, upright and dignified, realize that where you aim that puke is of vital strategic importance.

Select Your Target Carefully
One of the greatest afflictions of the novice drinker is a hair-trigger vomit reflex. One minute you’re humping the bejesus out of a Tijuana hooker, the next you’re hosing her down with recycled Herradura.

So you have to be ready at all times. You must precondition yourself so your target selection will be a thoughtless, instinctual act. And I do mean target, because once you pick a direction to let loose, you gotta stick with it. If you start puking on something (your girlfriend’s shoes, say), then try to redirect the stream somewhere less likely to earn you a knee to the groin, you will most likely inflict collateral damage on a wide assortment of targets. Each of which may earn you an additional knee to the groin, not to mention punches to the head. So take aim and get your money’s worth. Hold down the trigger and empty the magazine because, after all, there’s no such thing as half a knee to the groin.

Try to avoid white and unwashable fabrics. The same goes for valuable and sentimental objects owned by people who give you booze, money, or sex. Aim for porcelain or tile, point the stream at hard, smooth surfaces that are easy to clean. Hurl the bile at enclosures, such as planted pots and empty pitchers, even a pint glass will reduce collateral damage and, more importantly, will signal to observers that you are an experience puker.

If you do have to target something valuable or unsalvageable, don’t be to hard on yourself. Any place who lets humans drink more than a normal ration of alcohol has to accept the possibility of intestinal retribution. It’s practically a law. A fine example is what occurred at an infamous 1976 New Years Eve party at the parents of a high-school pal of mine. The parents thought themselves fiendishly clever by stocking their home with eye-poppingly white couches, chairs, and carpets, thinking it would surely prevent teenagers from making Purple Jesus Punch (with extra Everclear, because we were teenagers). Well, it didn’t, and when the inevitable vomiting started it was like Barney the Dinosaur had lost an argument with a propeller blade. Who’s fault was this? The teenagers? No. The kid who threw the party? No. The parents? Check. They knew that kid was going to mutate into a teenager when they had him.

When People Puke on People
It happens. You find yourself in a tight crowd and no matter which direction you turn, there’s some poor sap standing there, gaping at you when he should be leaping out of the way. Start bulging your cheeks at me and I’m already halfway across the room, smoking a cigarette.

I can remember just one occasion in which that fine instinct failed me. I was standing with friends in a tightly packed bar and suddenly a friend starting making with the bullfrog impression. While everyone else stood there, gawking in terror and thus deserving a good drenching, I lunged gracefully backwards into the crowd. Seeing an open corridor, my friend followed, hosing me down as he went. Like a faithful puking dog, he followed me across the entire length of the room, spraying me with vomit like it was not only his job, but a job he took extremely seriously.

I forgave my friend, even hours later when I was still finding vomit in different pockets, but not everyone is as laissez-faire about it. When you realize you must vomit on a fellow human being, you must immediately choose between friends and strangers. The decision rests entirely upon how good a fighter you think you are. A friend is more likely to forgive you, but he is also likely to stop buying you drinks. If you must choose between a man and a woman, go for the man. He may clobber you, but if you puke on a woman, first she’ll knee you, then her boyfriend will clobber you.

If you’re the self-sacrificing type, you may gallantly leap upon the grenade you’re about to drop and puke on your own chest. I’ve seen it done, but I don’t recommend it. While it may seem noble and save you from a punch, a vomit stain down the front of your shirt is as the mark of Cain. Bartenders will not serve you. Girls will not wish to make out with you. Friends will mock you. For you, the party is over.

The Aftermath
When it comes time to clean up the mess, a word of advice: don’t. That’s what dogs are for. You’d probably just grind it deeper into the carpet anyhow. Behave as if it’s no big deal. Apologizing profusely may spare you a thrashing, but your dignity as a drunk will suffer a graver injury. There is nothing more pathetic than a man who has just puked crawling around in a puddle of vomit with a paper towel in his hand, trying to make amends. You are a sick man, after all, and sick men shouldn’t be subjected to such humiliation and cruelty.

Do not feel guilty for puking. Stand up for your rights. If pushed, ask them if they really wanted you to keep that (make a subtle gesture towards the ejecta) inside of you.

Or you can brazen it out. Act unabashedly proud and point out interesting food chunks while hoping the hosts have servants who are even now approaching with hot water and disinfectants. If caught red-handed, I always opt for this bold approach. Sometimes, if the room is drunk enough, I try to really brazen it out, insisting that I did not just vomit, that it was (insert the name of likely scapegoat here) who did it, then demand an apology. On some groups it works. The upper-crust British, for example, are such slaves of etiquette you can vomit on half of Burke’s Peerage and get away with it by employing this method.

If you puked on someone and they possess the ill manners to remain standing, perhaps even seething, before you, say, “Terribly bad form, I regret it deeply.” Then wipe the puke from your lips with the nearest available absorbent material (resist the urge to use your victim’s tie) and always remember to smile. Too many people don’t smile enough, and the world would be a better place if we smiled more. Make the most of this opportunity, let the warmth of your smile increase the human bond between you. Offer him an Altoids, even before you eat one. Then gracefully stroll away, as if on the way to an important, but not pressing, engagement.

If this bold approach is not your style, you can either pretend to pass out (the Possum Gambit) or make a face like you might do it again and make haste for the front door (the Rattlesnake Ruse). By the time you come back (in twenty minutes or twenty years, depending on severity of the episode), it’ll be all cleaned up and you can plead drunken forgetfulness of the whole affair.

Of course, there a limits to what lengths you may go to save face. To venture beyond those limits is to risk severely damaging the minds of those unfortunate enough to witness your misguided efforts to mask your misstep. To illustrate the point; I offer this disturbing personal experience:

While attending a party, I watched a foreign exchange student chug an entire pitcher of Coors. No big deal, we were young and did crazy things back in the day (the Coors part, not the chugging of pitchers). Shortly thereafter, he got the “Oh shit, I have to barf” look. He goggled at the throng of people between him and the restroom, his eyes darting back and forth for a solution. Suddenly, quietly, he puked into the empty pitcher. I think he was one of those British-educated exchange students, for he did it neatly, silently, and didn’t spill a drop. So far, so good. He glanced around furtively, thinking no one had noticed. He was in the clear. He’d pulled it off! Then, suddenly, inexplicably, unbelievably, he drank the pitcher again, in an attempt to conceal the evidence.

Our eyes bugged with disbelief. Even more incredible was the fact he didn’t regurgitate again. But we did.

Like an insanely polite man attempting to hide an unfashionably hissing stick of dynamite, he set off a chain-reaction, Monty-Pythonesque, mass-pukathon that haunts me to this day.

The Astonishing Comeback
I’m ashamed to say that some drunks I know think vomiting sounds just like last call, when it should sound like the bar’s door being unlocked. You just made a whole bunch of room for more booze! I’m not saying you should go shake hands with the liquid fiend that made you puke in the first place (probably tequila), I’m saying you should ease into a nice stomach-soothing pint of Guinness. Maybe a nice White Russian to replace your stomach lining.

* * *

Special Bonus Section: The Secrets of Projectile Vomiting
Any high school punk with a belly full of Purple Jesus Punch can puke on his neighbor’s shoes. It takes a real drunk to nail a moving target from halfway across the room. Why would you wish to do such a terrible thing? Perhaps you don’t care for the quality of your company. Perhaps you’ve been informed your highly-prized keg privileges have been revoked. Maybe you just spotted your girlfriend making out with your best friend and can’t think of a better way of informing them of your outrage.

In the face of these circumstances, the projectile vomit is the ultimate weapon: it will clear a crowded room, it will demoralize the most upbeat bash, it will steal the desire to make out from even the most wanton of ex-girlfriends. Here’s how you do it:

At the first sign of trouble, stand up straight. Use good posture, you will find it much easier to direct your flow. I gleaned this lesson from opera singers, who know the value of being able to project.

Keep your mouth shut. Let it well up deep inside you, building the force and power necessary to clear the safety zone that may well be forming around you. Hold it as long as you can, let the power grow. When you can’t hold it any longer, open your mouth wide and let fly. Keep that posture intact, act as if you’re hitting an A note at The Met. You may arch your neck and head forward to give that extra little push, and make sure you use your lips to funnel the tail end of the comet well away from you.

For additional effect, aim the stream at a ceiling fan in hopes of initiating an unforgettable barf-fest of Stephen King proportions. It’s that easy.

—Marc O’Maolain

things said while playing video games

2009-12-19T07:17:22Z

"I'm gonna go back to where i died and reclaim my shit...is my machete still there?" - Alex

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-15T03:21:00

2009-12-15T08:21:09Z

today was rad except for one part.
i woke up, ate breakfast, then mom came home for lunch and gave me this rice.
Then, just like yesterday, it happened. I fucking started spraying puke everywhere.
I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.
My mom made a bunch of pregnancy jokes, but as we all know..that is completely impossible.

Still watching the shittiest movies ever, thanks to netflix.

anyway.
tonight Alex and Kyle came back, and me and her and Pasc went to Arielhaus cuz we love Pupper so much..they've been feeding it nutrisystem food cuz they ran out of money to buy it food..or medical care..
It's pretty fucked up when people get pets they can't actually take care of, economically.

i am too tired to write anymore

i want snuggles so bad =(

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-15T02:52:00

2009-12-15T07:52:45Z

(248): He was from Iceland of course I didnt sleep with him, havent you seen Mighty Ducks 2???

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-15T02:43:00

2009-12-15T07:43:12Z

(571): the last thing i remember is you screaming lets hunt humans.

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-13T16:41:00

2009-12-13T21:41:05Z

today i was forced to remember how horrifying i look without a shirt on

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-13T15:59:00

2009-12-13T20:59:50Z

"growing old is not for sissies"

kelbystellar420 @ 2009-12-11T13:38:00

2009-12-11T18:38:48Z

i want to go to a brooklyn dim sum house