Monthly Archives: February 2016

Quotes by Me – Four

I play with words when I’m bored.



“Never underestimate the sex appeal of jeans and a plain white t-shirt.”

That is a photograph of my sister’s boyfriend that I made her take just for this stupid quote.


“Where dead ends meet is where us misfits will be.  Join us!  Everything will be beautiful, no one will fail and we will live like it doesn’t matter if we are remembered.”

I said this very recently, when I was fantasizing about starting a brand new colony.



“Let us go forth then, you and I.  We can burn our legacies down with cigarettes and moonshine.”

An old photograph of an ex-boyfriend and I.  No one freak out please, it’s just a fitting photo for the quote.


“Remember that the world does not give a fuck about your plans.”




“Please, ignore me when I whisper in your ear, “It’s okay to leave now, there’s nothing left for us here.”



“There is no meaning to life.  There’s no karma or fate or divinities or reasons.  Everything is just cells reacting.  It’s all just organized chaos.”

I took this photograph during a lightning storm in Arizona.



“The concept of war crimes is so extraordinarily ironic.”




“We humans with our vaccines and cryogenics and manipulations have been cheating death.  But the world is far more patient than we.  It will bite back in one swift blow, and we will remember that we have never been better than a virus or a storm or the mosquitos that bite our skin.”

Mark my words… nature will get us back and it won’t be pretty.

Please see my other quotes in Two and Three.

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The Boy I Never Kissed

I was a make-out whore for a good portion of my life.  When I was younger, I had it in my head that if you wanted to kiss someone, then you should.  That simple.  It didn’t matter if they had a girlfriend or if it would complicate our friendship or if it was pointless because it was just some random person and I knew that it wouldn’t amount to anything.  Those factors didn’t matter to me back then because I was very much living in the moment and kind of a free spirit (as fucking lame as that sounds, good lord).  If right then, it felt right, then it was right.  Due to this naive thought process, I’ve kissed a lot of boys in my past, but unfortunately, Frankie is not one of them.  I’ve calmed down on my love affair with the world since those days by the way.

Before I get to my main point, I’d like to note that one of my favorite things about being an adult is that I no longer want other peoples boyfriends and have also found that it is completely possible to have good guy friends who are just friends.  That was hard during high school and college when I didn’t give a shit if the boy I had a crush on had a girlfriend, and didn’t give a shit if kissing him now would lead to complications tomorrow.  I would still pursue him.  That’s called being an asshole.  Now, if I know that a guy is in a relationship, I don’t even a little bit think of him as an option; I immediately lose romantic interest.  It feels great.  It basically eliminates most of my male peers, so I’ve got less to try to juggle and manage.

I have very few regrets in life.  My main regret is that I stopped dancing, and another one is that I never kissed Frankie.  I’m morbid and weird and don’t have as much sympathy for the dead as most people do.  So what I am about to say, I’m not saying because he is dead and we tend to over romanticize the dead, I am saying it because it is true…  Frankie felt innocent.

There is a brilliant one act play by Tennessee Williams called “Mister Paradise.”  A young, enthusiastic girl finds an old, washed up writer that no one ever cared about, and wants to show him to the world.  At the end, she is leaving after their first and last meeting and says, “Won’t you kiss me goodbye?”  Mister Paradise says no, and when she asks why he says, “For the same reason I wouldn’t touch a clean white table cloth with mud all over my fingers.”

It’s brilliant.  I think that’s why I never kissed Frankie.  There were times when I wanted to, but I refrained because he was the clean white table cloth and I was the one with mud all over my fingers.  I still really miss him and I wish that he was around so that we could make giant bowls of macaroni and cheese with hotdogs and then listen to punk rock music on the floor of my bedroom together.

There were so many completely forgettable guys that I wasted kisses on, and I wish that I could turn all of those in like the tickets at an arcade, and exchange them for just one kiss with Frankie.  Why is it that we often end up NOT kissing or sleeping with the people that actually matter, and instead, end up on top of Joe Shmoe?

I went to high school with Frankie.  He was a grade below me and died a couple of years after he had graduated high school.  I should remember the exact date, but I don’t.  It was sometime around Thanksgiving of what I am guessing was 2007, but I could be wrong.  Sometimes I feel like a jerk for not remembering the exact date, but then the cold wind blows and I remember that the date doesn’t matter.

Cody was the one who told me.  I was away at college and got a phone call from Cody just as I was about to walk into my Lighting and Field class in Savannah, Georgia; 400 miles away from him and Frankie.  Ironically, I’ll never forget when Cody said, “Do you remember Frankie?”  I kind of laughed and was insulted and said, “Frankie Bentley?  Yeah, of course I do.”  I drove him home from school everyday and he was my date to one of my senior high school dances and we got together almost every time that I was in town, so of course I know Frankie, you dick.  As I stood in the hallway, Cody went on to tell me that Frankie had been killed.  He was hit by a car while on his bicycle, riding to the beach.

That night, I had work.  I always rode my bike to work, and on this particular night, it was cold and I didn’t bring a jacket.  Being a Floridian, I had been a pussy about cold weather my whole life.  Frankie is what changed me.  I rode home that night, and I was freezing but I remember thinking something like, Frankie went through death, so you can at least get through the cold.  And I did.  That has always stuck with me.  I have worked a lot during winter tours up in Canada, so I know what it is like to be in REAL cold, not Florida cold.  Anytime I am about to think, shit, I am cold, I just think about Frankie.  It’s a weird association, I know.  But whatever fucked up psychological reason it is, it helps me.  It reminds me that being cold is nothing.  All it does is make you cold and other people are taking on a lot worse.  At least you’re alive to feel it.

I’m currently up North, and sitting outside right now and the cold wind is starting to penetrate my jacket.  The wind is what kills me.  But tonight, I’m embracing the wind.  It kind of feels like Frankie is in my bones.  I think if souls turned into elements, Frankie would be wind.

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Is Your Name Yo-Yo-Mama?

I decided that I want to date a rapper.  Preferably by the name, Yo-Yo-Mama, but I won’t get into how I came up with that.  It involved me, my Nana and my Aunt while watching a soap opera from the ’70s, so I won’t bore you with more details.  I’ll settle for a rapper that goes by another name, but I think I’m going to stay away from any whose stage name starts with “‘Lil.”  I just know that I could never successfully sleep with anyone who is serious about going by a name that starts with ‘Lil.  (I’m sorry ‘Lil Wayne, you’re awesome, but I could never sleep with you.)  Even if this imaginary rapper that I am not going to sleep with is really good in bed, I know I would inevitably start laughing out loud right when the thought that I am currently sleeping with someone who has the fake word of “‘lil” involved with his identity crosses my mind.  This thought would probably cross my mind every few seconds because I am convinced that my brain has a forever diabolical plan to sabotage me.  Anyway, I’ve dated enough fucking guitar players, and I’ve had my fair share of drummers and bass players and lead singers, so I think it’s time to test out a rapper.  It’s possible that this is the worst idea I’ve ever had because lead singers often have this severe condition called Lead Singer Syndrome.

Lead Singer Syndrome- A serious social affliction with an unknown origin.  Theories suggest that it could be a birth defect, and a symptom of such is becoming the lead singer of a band.  However, the most widely accepted theory is that after becoming a lead singer, the subject develops feelings of self-obsession and superiority and has a tendency to burn bridges (metaphorically speaking).  The lasting effect is that everyone secretly hates him/her.

Before I piss off too many of my friends, I would like to make a very important note which is, not all lead singer’s are plagued with this syndrome.  But it’s a solid majority.

Not that I know any rappers, but I am taking an educated guess that they may have the worst cases of the syndrome.  I suppose if I am being realistic, Eminem falls under the category of rappers that I do not know, though sometimes I like to imagine that he is my boyfriend and we know each others minds and bodies well.  He is a great kisser.  Well, I’ve made the executive decision that he is a great kisser.  Maybe that’s the difference between stalkers and everyone else.  I like to pretend that Eminem is my boyfriend and that he is a great kisser, but I understand that he is not actually my boyfriend and that I know nothing of his kissing capabilities.  I don’t think that the people who turn into true stalkers can make that distinction.  So if you’re reading this Eminem, don’t worry, I’m not going to show up at your house wearing a fancy dress with mascara running down my face and holding a gun, declaring that you forgot to meet me at our spot for our anniversary so now we both have to die.  The craziest thing I’ll do if we ever happen to meet is, I will totally ask you out on a date.

Sorry, I got on the topic of Eminem because I was in the midst of saying that it’s very possible that rappers have severe self-obsession characteristics, but I wanted to make it clear that in Caitlin World, Eminem does not fall under that umbrella of possibility.

The only rap show I had ever been to was a Tyler the Creator show sometime last year.  Or maybe it has been two years… after you turn 25, years are fairly meaningless.  I don’t know how the fuck I ended up at a Tyler the Creator show, considering that the only reason I had ever heard that name before was because when I was living in Los Angeles, my sister came to visit and she saw him at Amoeba Records and peed her pants over it.  Fat Face was going to the show with his hipster roommates, so I guess he just asked me if I wanted to join and I said yes because I had never been to a rap show and I generally say yes to any of his suggestions.  Unless it involves turkey, which in Fat Face world, seems to be a frequent occurrence.  If he mentions turkey, then I shamelessly say, fuck no.  Turkey meat smells and tastes the most like something dead. Anyway, the Tyler show was great.

My second experience with a rap show was very recently.  I started working at one of the local music venues while I’m home.  I just go in on days that they have a show and help with loading or merch or stagehand stuff or whatever they need.  One of the shows was Mike Stud.  I had never heard of him before.  He’s some white kid that played baseball in college and the only reason that I know that is because I googled him twice because I kept forgetting what his damn name is and I needed to make a spreadsheet with his name on it as well as the opening and supporting acts.  I actually just googled him again, because I forgot his name again.  So Mike Stud, if you’re reading this, you need a new stage name because clearly, yours is forgettable.  With that being said, you kind of won me over with your ridiculous show and though I would rather go on a date with Eminem, I wouldn’t mind making-out with you as a plan B option.

At first, I thought that the show was a fucking joke.  I got a sort of behind the scenes look at it, and after witnessing the sound check, texted 0069 (my good touring friend who does front of house audio) telling him, “You need to get a FOH gig on a rap tour.  I have never seen such an easy/simple soundcheck.”  He texted me back saying, “Been there.  They don’t like white guys.”  Fair enough.

Mike Stud had his whole crew on stage which was essentially just his friends, and they were all just doing the typical arm movements that white guys do when rapping or listening to rap, which to me, just looks like slow motion karate chops.  They were trying to go for a house party feel, and I thought it was lame.  I was literally laughing out loud, in the corner of the venue with my backpack on and boots and a “Brand New” t-shirt, while every other girl was 17 years old and wearing mid-drifts and those shorts that go up to your belly button.  They had a case of Bud Light on stage, and a bottle of some flavored vodka and they all kept chugging.  He had a boy band look and feel and I thought the whole thing was incredibly gimmicky and Lead Singer Syndrome-ish.  So if you’re a rapper, giving your friends stupid job titles so that they can come on tour with you is a real thing.  I thought that was an urban legend.  For example, the merch guy was never actually at the merch table.  He was busy being on stage and doing the slow motion karate chops while simultaneously texting and drinking Bud Light along with the rest of the “crew.”

Over the next hour I laughed at how some of the rappers kept kidnapping peoples phones so that they could film themselves rapping, and then give the phone back (an act that would never occur during a rock show). I chuckled by myself at how the “bodyguard” pretended to be relevant and kept coming on stage when someone reached out for a high five. It all seemed very unprofessional when compared to what I am used to.  But then, after a while of being a judgmental jerk, I checked myself and realized… I’m obviously being entertained! I stood here watching this when I could have just left and came back after the performance. So that means that it was a successful show.

Then I found myself fantasizing about making-out with Mike Stud.  There was something about him.  That’s common though in lead singers or rappers or front-men or whatever.  They are generally charismatic because… well, that’s how you become a lead singer!  You have to have that spark that gets people to want to watch you on stage.  That’s what also makes them the most dangerous.

The show that I thought I couldn’t relate to at all, forced me to remember that it’s the energy that we all have in common.  No matter what kind of music you like, if you appreciate the energy that live music provides, then you can find something to enjoy about any genre of live music.  Just don’t be all judgy about it the way I was at first.  Within Mike Stud’s peformance, I went from wanting to slap him, to wanting to kiss him.  His music is still terrible, but whatever, the show was fun.  Kissing him was very conceivable.  All I had to do was go out back after I was done with my duties and turn up my flirt notch.  I was tired though, and settled on the idea that I will find a rapper to make-out with when I am not exhausted.

So, if you’re a rapper that miraculously doesn’t have Lead Singer Syndrome, then call me!  My number is 727-686-4819.  I am a good muse, I like gin and juice, I am not offended by the word bitch and I’ll practice looking cool while doing the karate chop arm movement thing.

… And I swear on my sister’s life that as I am writing this, this cute black guy with dreadlocks is rapping after he just put down his acoustic guitar.  Bye!  Got to go flirt.

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