I bet you can read the mania in my voice.

My niece thinks I'm am idiot.


I concur.

But.

At least I'm not this lady trying to peddle weird Paula-Abdul-in-her-heyday onesie organza pantsuits on Ebay:



just in case it wasn't horrifying enough, lets do a weird bloated abdomen bony Cruella knee cap detail shot:



Even Prince circa 89 would be like 'girl that shit is very flouncy if you ask me'

PS yes that is a real listing and I sort of considered bidding just so I can have a backup funny drunk costume.

Orrrrrgaaaaanzahhhhhh.
Peeeeearl button deeeeeeeetail.

Lets on get back on track with a picture of my boobs.


oliviamalone.com obvio.

Stephanie and I have mastered the dirty roll in the yard shot.
Also why do I always look like the ringleader of the local fight club?
Not really that into it.
There should be a dialogue bubble by my head saying "next motherfucker get greased and ready because I am tre-zero segundos away from ripping yer limbs off and beating your boyfriend with them"

Everybody just relax.

Tye-Dye Party tomorrow for one of my besties and also Crystal. I mean Crystals ok I guess too.



Technically Jeylan is spelled Ceylan, so lets call it C+C Hippie Factory.

I'm gonna tye-dye the shit out of my sling!

Adieu!

FYI I am supes hype to blog AC but first I need pics of my injury hint hint Olivia Denise Stephanie Nicki.

Human Day, by Tally Dead Dead

True Stories from PA, Part One


So I am inside of you. I am inside the storm. People ask me why I'm so quiet, it's because I'm inside. You talk, I talk. (plus I'm not quiet, I'm soft-spoken).


talLjon78: i have a surprise for you
kristycottonly: whats that
talLjon78: im writing human day
kristycottonly: yay
talLjon78: but im not writing it to send to you
kristycottonly: boo
talLjon78: im writing it already signed into your blog
talLjon78: under your name
talLjon78: as you
kristycottonly: whaaaaaa
talLjon78: yeah
kristycottonly: asshole
kristycottonly: ok


There was a man drinking from a giant guitar-shaped glass beer mug yelling into a field with his arms out for awhile facing away from everyone. The guy is like 60. I asked what he was doing, someone said "oh he's calling Indian spirits". I've seen him a few times since then at dive bars and he's always screaming in my face and laughing, and I can't understand a single word he says so I just smile and look at him awkwardly and he smiles and leaves me alone after a couple minutes.

But at that field that day I was feeling some sort of free-ness. From what I dont know. Everyone I knew told me to come to this field party in the country in PA. One of those days in the summer on the weekend when your friends call you totally drunk at like 3:00pm. Friends were passing around their phones to people I didn't even know who were giving me directions to a field I knew nothing about. But I could hear magic in stranger's voices. I drove to three different towns before I made it there due to drunken directions. No big, no big. Was it big? No. I made it there. There was a giant refrigerated trailer that was nothing but free flowing beer taps on the outside with gawd knows how many kegs inside. It always feels like you can go forever. Doesn't it. (I'm not asking).

So I'm watching this guy yelling at the fields for Indian spirits. I'm also watching this fellow I know stomp the hood of his 80s Jeep in while blaring hardcore metal from it. I'm watching people wreck four wheelers off of 6 foot jumps over fire. Theres a one-eyed stripper trying to get my number. Yeah, I gave it to her. There were acres and acres of nothing around but open land and woods. I was watching a hundred people screaming just because they could. People chugging liquors. The weather was absolutely perfect and everyone was having a perfect time, which is exactly when the pendulum swings the other way. And I'm glad I had something to do with it.

So this guy is starting a fight with me because he's an asshole and apparently I am too at the moment. He's saying I flicked a cigarette at his friend. We both know I didn't but let's just go with it. Yeah. Yeah. Feels good. Fine then. A guy gets in between us to break it up before something happens which is good because I would have gotten my ass kicked by this dude, but sometimes you're ready to die even when you're not. He's telling me he's gonna throw my "skinny ass right up that hill" but I was all like no you won't. Then the guy starts hitting the guys in the face who are in between him and I, which is when I started to feel some dread. Tally dread dread. Another guy who's like 45 years old came out of nowhere to pull people apart. Then I heard something that sounded like all three Rice Crispies characters at once, and the 45 year old literally landed at my feet screaming that his leg is broken. Theres something about the voice of despair thats unmistakable. People quickly drag him into the nearby garage which had its door wide open, and I looked up to see a frantic free-for-all with dozens of people for no reason whatsoever.

Now, there is something about this moment that's somehow beautiful. Whether you are fighting or trying to stop the fighting, you're grabbing ahold of people and you need to, the same way you need hugs. I like to think most of the beauty came from the fact that words had escaped everyones minds and what you saw was an extension of a part of the brain which was truer and deeper than normal. I put on my waterwings, that's how deep. And somehow the grass and trees and air are as involved as you, and there's no separation anywhere, and this fight was truly a moment as pure as something like dance, like the way the smile is natures afterthought of baring ones teeth. Same source, different direction. Follow? Good. Like it or love it.

This past week I was at a bar and the old guy who calls Indian spirits was there and someone said he's deaf, which explains why he's so hard to understand. And I've never really said anything to him before but I saw him glance at me across the barroom, and I mouthed the words "Indian spirits" to him, and he got a very serious look on his face and started nodding slowly.

Information Buffet

This is all gonna taste like shit and you're gonna like it!

First of all, I have nearly made it to the end of my first month with my newest roommate. He is so Portland. I've never been there, so I'm just imagining really. He helped me clean the house the other day, and no, it didn't make his penis fall off. Boys take a mental note of that. The friendship was cemented in two ways:
1. He watched my PeeWee dvd by choice, I didn't have to talk him into thinking it is cinematic comedy gold.
2. He saw me drunk crying on Wednesday and didn't bat an eyelash. I imagine his insides crumbled a little with fear and disgust, but he has yet to call me on it. Success!

I think I seriously fell off a little bit in terms of behaving myself. I got into a fantastic death match with Berel a few days ago, fueled by a mixture of vodka sodas and anger that a friend of his had answered his phone pretending he had been brutally attacked and was being taken to the hospital. People who think those things are funny are one of two things: an asshole or a fucking idiot. Upon seeing said friend who orchestrated the joke, I am willing to bet he is both. Needless to say, I think my body pumps RedBull, or one of those creepy hip-hop energy drinks, because I beat Berel's ass into submission for letting someone make a fool of me. I am no fool sir, no fool.

I don't know if that story makes sense.
But I eventually forgave, forgot, drank some beer, and and ran around the apartment in a purple silk nightie terrorizing the universe.

Speaking of drinking, I saw my favorite uncle last week, who Bianca has now labeled Druncle. Genius.
He is my favorite drinking partner because we both call the waitress over once the glass is half full. It's like a race to being beligerent.
I also don't want to talk about drinking anymore because it's pathetic.


I like to eat giant scramps with my vodka. It feels so waspy.

So Saturday was the 6 year anniversary of Lit aka Lit's funeral.


Sex in the USSR.


Denise of the Darkness.

Liv Denise and I sat around Liv's apartment talking about very important topics. We probably should have just stayed home because there is nothing to do at Lit except take drugs and sit downstairs chainsmoking. There was a guy sitting across from us at one point who I thought looked like Jack from Lost. Apparently I am just watching way too much Lost because I got told he had no resembalance whatsoever. This led to a breakdown of the sexiest men on Lost and I felt very middle America. Despite his black stubble and Keith Urban highlights, I still say Sawyer is ass and a half.
Also the Korean guy Jin is a total dreamboat.
Um....talking about other people time I guess...
Upstairs Pia took 8thousand pictures and that was cute. Blog it out Pia Pet. We saw Andrew Porter, hi Missing In Action good to see you again. I felt like I was in a time machine when he didn't remember who I was for a hot second. People always say I've changed my hair?? Um no not really, but a did dump a shitty boyfriend since you last saw me, so maybe its just that I'm not scowling and crying. That was my old look BTW. Grump.
Jiwon stood around being the coolest person in the room with some amazing nerd glasses. Her legs are the thinnest things I've ever seen. They look like sexy linguine.
There was a point where I'm pretty sure the dj played marching band music for a good 10 minutes and I would rather have plugged my ears with daggers covered in glass shards. Complainmania. Who cares.

Ah. Back to hot Koreans. There was some super tall, so I though attractive Korean guy talking to me and I guess I let him kiss me and walk me home. This is still gay Lit night we are covering. After walking me home which is literally one mile, he got mad at me for not "taking it to the next level"
Oh, I'm really sorry hot guy I don't know at all. I should have assumed that the payback for walking and conversation with a disgusting pig like me would be at the VERY LEAST a quality hand job. Hm. I think that I am turning over a new leaf. And this leaf is from the branches of the You're a Pig Don't Fucking Touch Me Tree.
Goodnight and good riddance. Have fun getting back to Queens, cause its Friday after midnight and the F train is out of commish pal. Go fuck yourself.
Some people are just totally assumptive and I think thats gross. The End.

Best news is, Katie just got home from Miami/Fort Lauderdale doing her New York Post duties and she brought me the social pages from some local mag covering a fabrege egg event. WHAT A DREAM.

sign me up

So LA Jew Josh says I should be a comedy writer. I disagree because in my opinion its all about the delivery. Gotta be spot on or else its a total waste of material.
I know all of you know the reals, that I perform for you at every chance. Maybe I will start a fight with a guy from L.I. waering laceless euro Pumas.
Maybe I will invent a one in a million catch phrase and wait for you to pick it up. Which will hapen. The only phrase I've had no luck getting popculture love for is "I hear that"
Maybe its too pepaw, I dont really know. Speaking of pepaw, how hot is JN?
Jackie forevs.



Back to the issue at hand, I love blogs because it means talking shit.
And I can talk shit for days literally.

Today is a new moon. People need to pay attention and read about this shit. No doubt my next blog topic will be astrology. So look out for that.

Before I head to the couch to watch the always poignant "Boiler Room" episode of My So Called Life I just have to say.

Recap of this weekend:

Got ma hair did by a gay named Jose who said "what?" everytime I said anything to him. I promise you I wanted to shove his very own scissors through his fat conversed foot.

Called the cops on my little brother for assaulting me.

Had a dream about a guy I was dating for a hot second and woke up wanting his head on a stick, sort of like in the opening scene of Bram Stoker Dracula. What a rad movie. I would totally have sex with a wolf vampire in a creepy garden. Oy.
Point is, fuck that guy hes a douche.

Went shopping and found the perfect pair of shoes, purple suede mary jane heels. realized my feet are ginorm. got pissed about it. went home empty handed.

Saw a super rad movie, Lars and the Real Girl.

Go see it. Crying is fun because it makes you feel sensitive. So is laughing. I did both! And Ryan Gosling is a peice if I ever saw one. Although he could use some tattoos and a drinking problem. How dreamy would that be.
This is one of those things where youre like wow people are fucking WEIRD.
Then you realize that just a few hours before you were listening to Al Green alone in your room wearing brown knee socks and boys underwear. And a hat. Because you would rather wear a hat than pants. And theres no way youre turning the heater on. What a waste of money.
Anyway this movie is basically about being a super creep but you know what your people love you. Because youre special. And its cool to do weird shit because its human, and being a human obviously rules. imagine being a fish or something. Grossness.

Who cares. I just got an email that I am going to be an auntie again.
Congrats to me!
Congrats to my big sister Lizzy its about god damn time.

Lovin you God.
I wanna get on tappa yas.