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heathiemd

WEBSITE: http://100days2010....
LOCATION: London, UK
RECORDS: 26
LATEST RECORD: over 1 year ago
JOINED: July 08, 2010
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NY/LON
by heathiemd
Released over 1 year ago
Text_notecard_shadow_top_left I may have married London, but my heart will always belong to New York. Every four months, six months, eight months, eleven months I fly back to her like a businessman cheating on his all-too-knowing wife. "Heather," London says, "Go and enjoy yourself, but remember that you're coming home to me." And I do – time and time again, I get back on the flight at JFK, wondering why exactly I do this to myself. Feeling guilty to leave my mistress behind, knowing that she's the one who truly has my heart – but being so gosh-darned comfortable with The Way Things Are...

London’s good to me. Her summers don’t scorch me and her winters don’t bury me in dirty, reeking slush. Her subways are well-maintained, clean and devoid of the musicians, panhandlers and noise to which I’d become accustomed. London’s sprawl allows me the luxuries of both a garden and a flat with enough space for a washing machine, a dining room table and a balcony. In London, the roses bloom year-round and it smells like clean rain. Joggers cross the Thames en route to the park, where they’ll run alongside the deer by the ancient oaks and elms. And when you feel you’ve earned a break from all of this comfort, you’ve got 25 vacation days a year to luxuriate elsewhere. What more could you want, she asks.

In New York, the summers are hotter than hell and the winters are so cold they make your old injuries creak and ache. The subway advertisements are covered with sloppy scrawled commentary, and someone’s always testing out the ring tones on their new Nokia. The blind Russian accordian player shoves past you on the crowded N train, mumbling, “Your donations are greatly appreciated.” You wheel your red metal grandma cart to the Laundromat at 8AM on the way to work and, when you stop by on your way home at 6PM, they give you a bundle of crisply folded rock t-shirts and holey jeans. You eat dinner on the couch and smoke your joint out of the window facing the neighbors across the street who blast reggaeton until 3AM. The August stench of Chinatown can peel the paint of a school bus, but the old ladies continue to practice their Tai Chi on the blacktop basketball court, oblivious. You get to work early, stay late and are lucky if you get away for a week in the summer – but what does that matter, when you’re already in the only place on Earth that it’s truly worth being?

But still, I bring my bag to the luggage drop counter, present my liquids in a plastic baggie at security, and sit in a hard plastic chair by the gate, waiting to board the flight away from my true love. How long can I last until I break up with comfort and gentility for the messy, crazy, sexy, gritty passion I thought I could forget?

Not long now, I think. Glancing out of the window to see the runway, I’m only able to catch my own reflection. Not long now. 		Text_notecard_shadow_top_right
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Nothing Said
by heathiemd
Released over 1 year ago
Text_notecard_shadow_top_left Nothing said
Nothing spoke
Nothing funny
Not a joke
Nothing great, or at least not very
Nothing but a cross to carry
Nothing full
Nothing loud
Nothing boastful
Nothing proud
Nothing good
Nothing great
Nothing destined, no great fate
Nothing blessed
Nothing true
Nothing borrowed
Nothing blue
Nothing veiled
Nothing gold
Nothing left to have or hold
Nothing left of me and you
Nothing left of “I” or “do”
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Narcissism vs. Pride
by heathiemd
Released over 1 year ago
Text_notecard_shadow_top_left I buy expensive toilet paper and cheap paper towels, figuring that my ass should get the good stuff and the floor or the countertop can deal with any old stuff.

My mother buys cheap toilet paper and expensive paper towels, figuring the toilet paper just gets covered in shit and the paper towels care for the kitchen she works so hard to take care of.

Narcissism, meet Pride, your maker. 		Text_notecard_shadow_top_right
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Masochist's Guide to Self-Destruction - Introduction
by heathiemd
Released over 1 year ago
Text_notecard_shadow_top_left Welcome to the Masochist’s Guide to Self-Destruction!

Self-Destruction isn’t as easy as many people assume, particularly in Western society. From an early age, the majority of us are forced into regimented self-improvement – the mandatory education system; clubs and societies aimed at bettering our bodies, minds and social lives; prescribed medications to battle our infections and regulate our moods… it can be difficult for the self-loathing to get a toe-hold in their chosen form of self-expression. “How can I make myself a little more miserable?” “How do I effectively and efficiently isolate myself in a community of millions?” “How offensive is not offensive enough?” “Where can I learn the great art of backhanded compliments and cutting commentary?” “Which of this season’s colours make me look the most sallow?”

Questions like these, and a myriad of others, will be answered in this book, designed for aspirants to the art of self-loathing. Written, illustrated and documented by experts in the field, this tome will allow even the most pert and perky person to descend to the depths of degradation.

It is our aim to keep you informed of all the up-to-the minute developments in self-hatred – from the newest phobias to great ways to avoid interacting with your friends and loved ones, we’ve got you covered. Remember – no one can make you as miserable as you can yourself, but The Masochist’s Guide to Self-Destruction is a pretty close #2.





Table of Contents
1. Do I want to self-destruct? Take this self-assessment to find out!
2. Phobias: developing an obsessive fear that works for you.
3. Ask Ms X: advice for the aspirants – write in today!
4. The Masochist’s checklist: how many have you achieved?
5. Madrelingua: Language skills for self-loathers
…and much, much more!
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The Case of the State vs Hubbard
by heathiemd
Released over 1 year ago
Text_notecard_shadow_top_left Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
And all the King's horses, and all the King's men,
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

The crime lab arrived at a quarter to five,
The crime lab assessed that he should be alive.
The egg had been drugged, and the egg had been shoved,
But the hand that had committed the foul had been gloved.

A hair was then found on a bit of the shell,
A hair with its DNA secrets to tell.
The prints were ID'ed, and the prints were assessed,
And before yolk grew crusty there'd been an arrest.

The courtroom assembled and jury selected,
The courtroom approved the foreman they'd elected.
And Humptey's best friends, and Humpty's young bride,
Arrived to observe as Ms Hubbard was tried.

Old Mother Hubbard was put on the stand,
Old Mother Hubbard said, "It wasn't planned!
All my dogs, they would whimper, my dogs, they would beg,
And there, on the wall, was a great bloody egg!"

"The dogs were so hungry, they wanted a bone,
The dogs wanted feeding, and I, I had none.
The egg was so tempting, the egg was so great,
Just imagine the omelette I'd put on their plate!"

Old Mother Hubbard was sentenced to die,
Old Mother Hubbard was booked in to fry.
She died as she lived, and she lived as she died,
But twas she, not the Egg, who had ended up fried. 		Text_notecard_shadow_top_right
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The Origin of Duck Lips
by heathiemd
Released over 1 year ago
N117135_31460291_568
The "duck lips" pose, particularly popular with teenage and 20-something women, became a fad in the early-mid 00's. An attempt to appear sexy, many people believe this pose originated with the growth of online social media and its ability to spread a trend worldwide quickly and effortlessly. However, the utilisation of the pucker-faced pose actually stems from the malaria epidemic that plagued New York City in the early 1920's.

In 1922, the city experienced the hottest summer on record for 74 years. The hot, humid weather around the Hudson riverbank led to an overabundance of mosquitoes carrying the deadly virus. New York's susceptibility to the plague ran high among all age groups and classes... except for those who were drinking alcohol. Those who were illegally imbibing the harsh liquor brewed "underground" during the era of Prohibition displayed a remarkable, unexplained immunity to the disease.

As the City's population noticed that those coming and going from speakeasies seemed immune to the rapidly-spreading malaria virus, more and more residents took to drinking the bathtub gin that seemed to be protecting their boozy brethren.

To those unaccustomed to the harsh flavours of illegally brewed alcohol, drinking one's daily gin or whiskey was tantamount to taking a bitter medicine. In order to ease the process, some began adding juice or tonic to their alcohol (incidentally, the origin of "mixed drinks") and chose to drink it down using a straw. Not only did this make the imbibing process more pleasant, but it also gave birth to the concept that pursed, "kissy-face" lips (such as those one makes whilst pulling on a drinking straw) were synonymous with health and vitality. Further, as malaria tended to cause weight loss, uncontrollable sweats and flushing in its victims, those who maintained their good looks via drinking alcohol were often seen... pursing their lips while enjoying their daily cocktail!

This association of "duck lips" with health and beauty (and, indeed, survival) reflects the Darwinian ideas of "survival of the fittest" - as malaria weeded out the weak/ill and "inferior", those who survived the plague were viewed as being not only healthier but also more attractive than their sweaty, shivering, skinny and eventually deceased counterparts.

From this time onward, pursed lips have been a symbol of beauty, from sixties sex symbol Mick Jagger to naughties superstar Angelina Jolie. As social media networks have increased in popularity and functionality, it has become commonplace to see countless photos of young women and, increasingly, men, pouting and pursing their ways through drunken evenings out "on the pull". Few of them realise that their pursed lips are not only promising sexy, rollicking good times - but also, unconsciously, the promise that they will not abandon their potential partners by dying of malaria.

For more information, please visit www.kissmalariagoodbye.tv
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