reality bites

weetziegrams​​ late fall trip up to the sans frans. gas stop nr # 4884848. salinas up next. we comin for u @emmadonovans 

Wheezer wasn’t really a band he would term as rock, despite what everyone else wanted to believe. Perhaps, it was his upbringing, the hard rock and punk rock, the crucial, backbone genres that he thought were underappreciated. Either way, he was neither a fan of Wheezer nor… whatever the fuck they were playing he didn’t think applied to rock music. To top it off, the instrument wasn’t harmonizing with the guitars, and it was driving him insane as a vocalist who had to scrutinize raspy vocals amidst layers and layers of instruments during production of his last album. His drink was going, going, gone faster than he wanted to to try to endure the atrocity of the bar’s musical pick of the evening, one eye lilted closed to accommodate both the sting of the alcohol and his ears likely getting ready to bleed and fall apart. Fuck his ass, get him out of here. Cyrek was ten seconds from pulling his phone out of his pocket and seeing if Carcosa were working this evening so he could barhop out of here, and have an excuse to keep drinking his sorrows away and nursing on his troubles. “Kazoos? Fuck.” Shaking his head, the vocalist sat back in the seat and tipped his empty glass upside down, trying to gauge from his reflexes if he could still get behind the wheel without it being considered too reckless. “I can’t listen to the fuckin’ xylophone anymore, I’m gonna put a bullet in my skull,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest when he’d finally put his finger on the unidentified instrument. Pretentious little shits. “I’m not a Wheezer fan either. I thought it was a fuckin’ Pink Floyd tribute band tonight.” Checking his phone as if it would have a kid emergency to cart him out of the bar, he sighed in exasperation. “I’d boo them off the fuckin’ stage but I remember what that shit was like.”

"I can’t even hear the xylophone when the lead singer’s so bad he’s about to attract all the alley cats in a twelve mile radius.” Weetzie wasn’t this critical usually — hell a band could bring out a couple of pots and pans and put on an impromptu Stomp performance and she’d love it — but this was in an undeniable class of Bad with a capital B. “Boo. Weezer are great,” she said, warping her mouth into a faux frown. “These guys’ll definitely put anyone off them for life, though. Man, same! I totally thought that’s what they were doing tonight. Ohhhhh — wait!” She held up her finger as if she was receiving a divine revelation. “The poster said Pinkerton but I totally misread Pink Floyd. Whoops, my bad.” A typically Weetzie mistake of her to make. 

"So what’s your professional opinion on these guys? Throw ‘em to the lions? Also— I’m going to get another drink. Name your poison or suffer in silence.”

—    INCLINATION    /   HABITS

is submissive | is dominant | prefers to top |  prefers to bottom | likes to switch |  identifies as heterosexual  | identifies as homosexual  | identifies as bisexual |  identifies as pansexual  |  identifies as demisexual  |  identifies as asexual  | enjoys sex with men | enjoys sex with women | initiates | waits for partner to initiate  |  spits  |  swallows  | prefers sex in the morning  | prefers sex at night | will have sex anytime  |  no sex drive  |   low sex drive  |  average sex drive | high sex drive | fluctuating sex drive

—   BODY   /    APPEARANCE

small build   | medium build  |  athletic build | muscular build |  curvy build  |  voluptuous build  | wears boxers | wears lingerie |  goes ‘commando’  | shaves/waxes  |   doesn’t shave/wax  |   cup size a-c ( approx US 32A )   |  cup size d-f  |  1-5" in length  | 6-9″ in length |  10” or over in length

—    SOUNDS

is silent/makes little to no sounds   |   is very quiet  | is very loud |  grows in volume over time | bites hand/partner/pillow to muffle themselves  | calls out partner’s name |  curses | growls |  fakes/exaggerates  |  prefers a quiet partner  | prefers a loud / appropriately vocal partner | is turned on by dirty talk |  is turned off by dirty talk

—    TURN   ONS    /    KINKS

[ location: fashion show mall ]

Standing in one of the expensive department stores in the prestigious mall who are they kidding, malls were falling out of popularity with online shopping and she was waiting for the day that Dan Bell did an episode of Dead Mall Series on this precise one, she was leafing through a catalog of items she could order for her wedding. Placements, flowers, plates, silverware… She thought her jobs were overwhelming; this was an entirely different animal. Tongue drawing over glossed lips and biting down on the corner of her lower lip, she lifted a hand to push her permed waves back, her fringe falling back into her face immediately. Looking through the selections was beginning to peak her stress levels, feeling so far behind with what she should have picked out ages ago were it not for the holidays. Life had a funny way of throwing unpredictable and predictable events alike her way lately, preventing her from fully catching up, and it took a great deal of exertion the past week to avoid overworking herself temporarily to play the catch-up game. Anabelle had to remind herself there was still time. “I don’t know how anyone picks this shit out,” she complained to the person near to her in the department store, “There’s so many to choose from for a wedding. How do you start to find the best one?”

"Oh dude, I don’t know,” Weetzie told the girl who spoke up, holding her hands up in mock surrender, as if she’d been caught doing something rather than simply browsing a selection of plates. “I’m the last girl to ask 'cause I’m basically allergic to weddings and every excruciating detail that goes into them. I’d just roll the dice and go for the first thing that turns up.” 

Isobel stifles a yawn, as she enters the building. “Sorry I’m so late, I had to drag myself out of bed. I’ve been working for a week straight, and my body is dying. I have no idea how I am even awake right now.” She laughs, while trying to maintain eye contact. “How have you been though. I haven’t talked to you in a while, which I truly am sorry for. The holidays are always crazy at the hospital, so I never really get a break.”

@primmstart​

Lunch dates were a thing Weetzie did because, well, if she didn’t get out the house on her days off, she risked staying in bed all day. “Yoooo. It’s totally okay. Sorry I got started on this without you,” she says, a bit guilty. She listens as she chews. “God, I don’t know how you do it. And here I thought my job was pressure.”

❀ *ﾟ victoria pedretti. cisfemale. she/her. ⇝ hey, isn’t that { weetzie abrams }? i think that the twenty four year old from santa rosa, california, works as a tv production assistant, but outside of that they spend a lot of time at mad greek cafe. i hear they are pessimistic + restless, but they are also known to be creative + quirky. consider giving them a visit at their home in buffalo mountain road apartments and get to know why they’re called the girl interrupted.