If you are looking for Dr. Dre's Detox: 1) I don't blame you, and 2) Go here. Thank You - Management

SO YEAH, IT'S Thursday, April 24, 2014

A Real Dick Move

"I didn't ask you about that because I didn't care."

10 words. Still hung up on those and it's been years since I heard them. More years since I was with the asshole who said them. I don't know if he meant it, or if he hates me enough to say that just to hurt my feelings.  Not sure which of those things would suck worse.

All I ever asked him for after he left me was the truth. When he didn't give it I sucked his friend's dick in the front seat of his 7 series. Retaliate foolishly much? Ha. Say what you want about me today, but the old me was about 10 leagues devolved.

To top it off: that's the thing he didn't care about. My Revenge was dealt its death blow.

But Revenge is dumb, anymore. A useless skill given the way my life is set up now.

I've made it all so easy.

1 day a week spent working from BoldGold rocking a kimono and ordering delivery
5-8 hours a day
6 figures
10am arrival time
20 minute commute to work
75 minutes a night working out and binge watching Californication
0 Exceptions (even on Date Night)

Done with precise math for now. I'll leave that to the experts.

A few nights ago The Frat Kid stared earnestly over our pasta and told me his dreams. I've seen him maybe six times, and that includes chance encounters. We've played pool once, I wasn't very impressed. What does impress me is that for a boy almost 15 years my junior he seems way more stable than I am.

A serious one. An intact family and an ivy league education. A solid knowledge of wine.

I drink Earl Stevens Selection Mangoscato and give my best friend a blow by blow via text messages and screen grabs.

He is earnest. I appreciate that. Classically handsome and in his prime. 26 is a magical time. In spite of the stability, he's still finding himself. It's comforting, being around that. It makes me feel like anything is possible. That's because at 26 anything *is* possible.

 It should be that way forever.

SO YEAH, IT'S Tuesday, February 25, 2014


If you catch yourself falling out of love, remember to remember the idea of your beloved. The first glimpses. There was a time when you looked at them and only thought of the potential. There was a time when all they comprised was open doors and mystery.

If you can get back there you might just get to happily ever after.

I say this because retrospect is 20/20, innit?

I remember a boy with a skateboard walking by my desk every morning, whose skin tone matched mine exactly. I remember a company trip to Tahoe and watching cartoons with him, scared to sit too close.

I remember walking up to the front door of my old job in that janky alley holding a bag of Boston Market and blushingly nervous about the tall boy standing at the entrance. He had roses in his cheeks and eyes I could swim in.

I remember a boy covered in tattoos who wouldn't return my email because he never read any of it. I remember a hard candy shell that I knew I could melt.

All of this is cliche. I might as well be 13 again and thinking I invented love. These aren't lessons that you really need to learn.

But whatever you do, don't forget them.

SO YEAH, IT'S Tuesday, February 11, 2014


Or so I'd hoped. And then I woke up.

Everything has changed. I rearranged everything about myself that I had any control over. Even some things I shouldn't have had control over.

So why do I still recognize me? 

My dreams tell me it's because I've destroyed more than I've made.

I'm trying to change that.

I used to think I had 3 ghosts.

Turns out I had 2 ghosts and a mirage. I live in close proximity to the mirage, that's how I figured out what he is.

Would that I could pick up and settle next to the remaining 2. Who knows what I'd figure out they were?

You get 3 strikes.

Does this mean I have one left?

SO YEAH, IT'S Saturday, January 4, 2014

Totally Not An Asshole

So about the whole dog thing.

Anyone who's spent a decent amount of time in my presence knows I'm not really a dog person. I don't go around kicking dogs or anything like that, I'm just not particularly fond of them. When I was really young we had outside dogs: German shepherds, a doberman and a collie mutt. My grandfather gave them awesome names like "Dude" and "Baby". But still. They were *outside* dogs and they ate my rabbits so it wasn't like I was head over heels or anything.

When I was a teenager my mom adopted a pit bull she found walking in the East Oakland hills. We named her Quinn, and she was an outside/inside dog mostly because dope fiends were always trying to break into our house. She was cool and tough and incredibly well behaved.

But since then I've lived with and around people who let their dogs act any old kind of way. Crotch sniffing asshole savages that would steal food and smelled really bad. I guess that sort of put me off them for a while.

But then I met Remi. And yes, he is as tiny as he looks in that photo of us. Maybe tinier. He fits in a hoodie pocket. He weighs about 3 pounds and most of that is ears and eyeballs. And I bet based on that you'd think he's a yappy little bastard, right? I mean. I would.

But trust. He's cooler than the other side of the pillow.

Some fuck abused him and he ended up in a shelter and was gonna be euthanized until this rescue that my aunt volunteers for swooped him up. She showed me a picture of him at Thanksgiving dinner and it was curtains. The next day I adopted him and we've been pretty much inseparable ever since.

He barely ever barks. And when he does it's this husky little miniaturized big dog bark. And when I tell him to shut the fuck up he does. He basically feeds off of my energy and does what I tell him to do without giving me the business. He even likes baths, so I put him in my kitchen sink once a week and he smells like mangoes 90% of the time.

I can take him almost anywhere. I put him in my purse the other day for a trip to the DMV and no one said a word. He just hung out in my handbag and watched people with me, silent than a motherfucker. I've only had one restaurant tell me I couldn't bring him in. And fuck that place, anyway.

He knew the basic commands when I got him. Sit. Stay. Wait. Come. That sort of thing. But I've taught him a few more:

- Don't be a punk.
- Don't be an asshole.
- Cool the fuck out.
- Stay the hell off my leather.
- Let's roll.

Plus: he loves me even when I'm at my jankiest and curls up into a tiny ball of quiet warmth whenever I ask him to. Sweet deal, right? As far as inside dogs are concerned, I could not ask for more.


Other than that here are some CliffsNotes on my life until I come back again (sooner than later is what I say to myself about that):

- Life kinda rules.
- Work kinda sucks.
- Wardrobe is deluxe.
- Apartment is technicolor.
- Rolling dice is more than luck.
- Lemonade is still my favorite thing to drink.

I have to take this little monster on a walk now. Happy 2014 motherfuckers.

SO YEAH, IT'S Monday, December 30, 2013

I Got a Dog, Y'all

That's probably the most important thing to note for now. It's also the reason I've not posted in ages. Dudes, parenthood is mondo stressfull. But fear not, I'm pretty much back on the scene. It's just that right now I have snuggling to do. See also: picking out matching outfits.

SO YEAH, IT'S Saturday, November 23, 2013

Temperance: Yeah Still On That Shit

First off: I have gone through 10 pounds of lemons in the past 2 weeks. 10 pounds. I'm kind of addicted to spicy lemonade and have taken to drinking it instead of soda or sweet tea. I bring lemons with me to work and my boyfriend's house even. It's pretty bananas. Or rather. Lemons.

So maybe I'm not being temperate with the lemons or the cayenne, but these things I can handle.

Next up: what did I want to do and what did I actually accomplish?
  • Lose weight: Eh. Kinda. I lost like 5 pounds or something. Numbers are misleading though, measuring my body fat and it hasn't changed as much as I'd like it to. Back to handstands and go-go dancing, I guess.
  •  Examining my relationship to food and drink: Hardcore. The number of times that I wanted to eat something horrible for me and stopped myself only to find that I didn't really need or want it is rather amazing. Also: I don't really crave bad foods as much anymore. That's rad. And drinking. Well. If you'd have told me I could stay away from whiskey and champagne for 10 days about a month ago I would have called you delusional. But it was shockingly easy and while I totally had a French 75 the other night and fucking *loved* it, I have spent most evenings all sober and shit. Not a bad deal.
  • Experimentation with lack of indulgence: I performed the experiment but did not learn much. My dreams got cooler for sure, and overall I felt more awesome but I think that just had to do with knowing I could do what I was doing and not lose my shit. So well. I didn't go cray. But I didn't reach any Buddha-like states of enlightenment either. I am still not fully Realized.
  • Seeing if I can fucking do it: Turns out I can.
So there you have it. I kicked Temperance's ass for 10 days straight.

Enough about that. Done looking in the mirror. Tonight I get to play goldfish in bowl instead, at a nightclub I can lose my short-term memory for a bit and it's all good.

Hey, have I seen you somewhere before?

Yeah. In line for the bathroom 10 minutes ago.


Shit like that. Everyone is brand new under dim lights with a DJ spinning. There's no way to get familiar.

Fuck Familiar. Unless you're talking about a pet lion. Or an ocelot. Having a magical ocelot would be cool. Buddha wouldn't mind that, would he?

No. I don't think he would.

I gotta go buy more lemons and finish my nails. Later alligator.

SO YEAH, IT'S Monday, November 18, 2013

Temperance: Day 10 - Winning

This could be the end of it. An uneventful day, but still full of meaning. 10 days without getting tipsy is no small feat for an advertiseress, I tell you what. Not to mention the lack of comfort food.

Now I'm watching the second Riddick movie. Nothing like Vin Diesel hoarse yelling his way through a movie with bare arms and curved blades to reward a job well done. I also had 2 ravioli. They were the best goddamn ravioli I have ever had in my life.

We'll see what tomorrow brings, but I'm done counting days for now.

SO YEAH, IT'S Sunday, November 17, 2013

Temperance: Days 8 & 9 - Overwhelming Me, Oak and Elming Me

For a few moments after I wake up I'm actually myself. That's one of the main things I've remembered to remember. When I wake up foggy from a night of excess the daily bullshit swarms more quickly, anything to keep myself from existing in my headache or poor choices or heaviness or whatever.

Without anything immediate to regret I get to bask a bit more in pure existence. It's a luxury I forgot about. It's welcome. Counterproductive to the thing that even now I'm wondering how to put that time to use, I suppose.

Fuckit. I'm just me.

Yesterday was devoid of cheats and sabotage. Baby Anne and I went to the Valley of the Mill to visit little Trisha's cottage. It was pretty excellent, we walked late night in the kinds of streets that don't even have streetlights so at any moment a person is likely to trip over a root popping out of the sidewalk and fall on their face, but it's all narrow and sequestered so you can just walk in the middle of the street if you want. Trees rule pretty much supreme there, but money rules supremer.

I had a mushroom flashback staring at an elm tree for too long, that was pretty dope.

For these last few days I ordered pre-made drinks delivered to me in glass bottles labeled 1 through 6. I'm supposed to drink one every 2 hours. A couple of them taste like asshole, but the rest are pretty good. I've learned that I like cashew milk, which is weird because it's always creeped me the fuck out.

Supposedly I'm going to reach a state of clarity beyond everything I've ever imagined tomorrow. I find that hard to believe. I'll settle for the joy of looking forward to broccoli or a salad or something else delicious and chewy. My teeth are lonely.

I dreamed that I was taking a cross country trip in a camper with a bunch of drug dealers last night. Somehow we lost a huge amount of coke and had to make a stop in some random city where I spent most of my time looking for a Burger King that still served tacos.

So yeah maybe I'm a little obsessed with food right now.

Today is for staying in bed all day because tomorrow I don the yoke again. One last day of just existing for the fuck of it.

I wish my days were more wide open. I'm starting to get bored.

This song came on shuffle yesterday. I forgot I missed it so much:

SO YEAH, IT'S Saturday, November 16, 2013

Temperance: Day 7 - Hammer Time

I'm really only writing this to stay with the rhythm of the thing. There isn't much new. Still walking that straight line. For the most part abstaining from old joys. I wish I could tell you that I've found new joys to take their places, but I haven't.

Like almost everyone else I know I read that Cracked article about harsh truths that make you a better person. I thought it was pretty golden. What resonated the most was the whole consumption vs. creation thing. When I think about my current life in that context it's pretty unspectacular.

I can't think of the last time I actually created a thing. I mean for reals. I barely even cook for myself. My daily costumes are about the only personal creative endeavor that I engage in lately. And really that's just regurgitating something someone else has already created, for the most part.

I haven't unpacked my sewing machine in 4 months, at least.

Something about these grey days has to stop. Maybe that's what it is.

Blah. No need to end this one on a bummer. Overall it was a triumph. All of the Old Habits have pretty much mellowed the fuck out. I don't feel them banging around in my head any longer. I'm not antsy when I get a moment alone.

This morning I got up at a stupid hour to go see Thor. I can't tell a good movie from a bad one, but I gotta say that flick has a lot of flash and bang. And at the end between credits sequences there is a secret Del Toro scene. So ya know. Bonus for having my major lifetime heartthrob being extra weird tacked on at the end of all of those winning smiles and dreamy gazes and fights and things blowing up.

Speaking of, I think having The Punisher on my ceiling would be a major boner killer, but at the same time I don't think I'd want to fuck someone who got intimidated by a drawing. So yeah. Still undecided on that.

On a random note that I'm sure I'll revisit later: I found myself talking to a snobbish art scholar type the other day and I couldn't help bringing up Pierre Brassau - does that make me an asshole?

Probably. But in the grand scheme of things I think I'm doing just fine.


SO YEAH, IT'S Thursday, November 14, 2013

Temperance: Day 6 - Gone Fishin'

That should have been the title of Day 5. I tried to cheat and actually failed. Apparently god hates me being drunk as much as I do. I can't stand the taste of it any longer. At least not now. Maybe it's the lack of the other crap I used to flood my body with. I ordered a glass of wine and got two sips in before I realized it tasted like shit.

Maybe it was just bad wine.

I don't care. Does anyone?

Generally shitty mood today so I'm going to lean toward shiny happy topics. Like assassins.

As far as Punisher covers go I don't think they get better than Bradstreet's. I swoon for Frank Castle, but when Bradstreet does him it's beyond beyond. Beneath Beneath, like my Dream Punk soulmate.

I'm running out of wall space. BoldGold has lots of doors. So I might do the ultimate crazy person thing and buy a print of that cover above for the ceiling over my bed. Hmmm. I'll need to think on it.

And I wonder where these midnight marauders in my dreams come from, do I?

I don't.

And on the subject of artists, there's a detail I forgot to share about my NY trip. Banksy was having a sort of art show while I was in the city. I'm sure you've read about it or you can google it or whatever. Time is short. My attention span is shorter. Whatevs.

Anyway, the bf was all over this stuff. Reading about each installment every day. Telling me about it on our evening calls. To the point where I kind of wanted him to get off of Banksy's dick and go paint something himself. But ah. That's another story.

Annnnyway on one of the days the installment was a stall in Central Park selling Banksy originals for sixty bucks a pop. From what I can tell that's a great deal, I'm guessing he gets a lot of dough for his other stuff. Power to the People.

It was actually the only entirely free day of the whole trip for me, and I spent it walking. And I'm not an art whore but I love stencils so there's a good chance I would have bought one of those pieces, and then I'd have a really great keepsake from my first trip to the big apple. But I went in a different direction that afternoon, heading West as I am known to do.

I actually had a tiny pang of regret when bf told me about that particular day's activity. But Regret and I are mortal enemies so I told that pang to take a fuckin hike. It did.

Then today in a random internet rabbit hole I found this:

And I think it's so delightful that I want to fucking kill it. I would have ABSOLUTELY purchased that no questions asked regardless of who made it cause it's the closest thing I've seen to a picture of what love feels like in a long goddamn time.

Speaking of time. I'm out of it. I have an appointment. This is random but so am I. And. Well. I love you.

Talk soon.

SO YEAH, IT'S Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Temperance: Day 4 - A Test

No monster dreams last night. Kale was a fantastic idea. And it's been pretty smooth sailing so far. Aside from the false start on spicy lemonade and all. The habit breaking part, it's been pretty easy. My mind goes to those familiar places. Old spaces. I just say to myself

I'm not that person anymore.

And keep it moving. Believe it or not, I've broken up with some of my worst demons that way. A simple decision. Shed the skin, put on a new mask.

But it's still a mask. Don't think I think I'm fooling myself, here. I'm a habitual creature, not a fucking dummy.

But today hasn't really gone my way. And when things don't go my way I like to consort with my hard hitting homeboy Whiskey. It's very simple. Champagne is for good times. Whiskey is for bad ones. And sometimes even the in-between places, which is why I felt the need to put a stop to all of it at once.

Because I'm not that person anymore.

I'm really not. An analysis of me on a molecular level would certainly find that every cell in my being is different from the set I had on Friday night when I rockstar put my head to bed dreaming Wolverine dreams.

And this urge I'm having. It's a Test provided by that older version of me. I can almost see her outside of myself, that's how seriously I take this. So instead of hitting the local pub for a shot I am writing to you. Blessed be, you're serving as my conscience!

I want you to rest assured that the hardest thing I'm hitting up tonight is another story about Jesse and Tulip. And maybe some of that spicy lemonade, it burns going down like my hard hitting homeboy does. Old habits do die hard.

But I'm not that person anymore.

Putting down the pencil. The Test is over.


SO YEAH, IT'S Monday, November 11, 2013

Temperance: Day 3 - Vertical Entertainment

Oooh. I can stand up today. Having finally grabbed kale at 8pm I have a whole extra 3 ounces of energy, which I used to build a temporary entertainment tower on my vanity.

Now you see the space heater hearth in almost full glory. Lights out is better, but when I tried to take that pic the delight of the tower was somehow missed. Anyways, you get my point.

Now that I can think and stuff I'm truly planning my week off. Tomorrow is for a long walk and laundry and various dumb household shit that I've been putting off for weeks. And Wednesday or Thursday I'm going to see Thor at 10 in the morning, because the only thing comparable to a wake and bake is watching something in 3D when you're still wearing your dreams and pajamas.

But tonight I'm reading Preacher. And. OhMyGod. PREACHER. I'm simultaneously terrified to keep reading it and unable to put it down. That's some good fuckin comic, right there.

But back to Temperance. I miss champagne a lot. Whiskey not so much. Cheeseburgers a little. Drunk texting not at all. I would fist fight mint tea. I would murder cayenne lemonade. I would marry kale.

Leaving now. Jesse Custer calls.


PS: If you want to do something good for the world? FREE THE NIPPLE.

Temperance: Day 3 - What. The. Fuck.

Hey there. It was quite an evening. The clouds cleared for a bit and shit got real. Or rather, realizations occurred. To keep things spicy let's go with a Q&A format:

Q: You know what I'll probably never ever do in my entire life?
A: Drink a quart of salt water for breakfast for a week straight.

Q: You know what else might just be a little bit bonkers?
A: Living on diuretics for 10 days.

Q: Have I done anything ever in my entire life that deserves to be punished with fatigue, headaches and the inability to stand for more than 35 seconds at a time?
A: No, no I don't believe I have.

Q&A done. Now I'll just get all preachy.

You know those lucid dreams that I occasionally have where I am fully immersed and feel as though I'm meeting actual people and walk away with a whole set of new life lessons and a heart full of love? Well. I had one of those last night, except that the main character was in my bed, straddling my chest and shoving a gun at my third eye.

So yeah. Not so much a heart full of love after that one was over. I actually did some radical sleepwalking to check the locks on both of my doors, grab my pocket knife and tuck it under my pillow.

Aaaaaaaaand the headache I've had since yesterday evening is disconcerting. It's noteworthy that I haven't been addicted to caffeine since I stopped drinking Coke Zero 6 months ago. I've gone days without caffeine, no complaints and no side effects. So this number one crush of a headache that I'm rocking is not due to me missing my afternoon frappucino, or whatever.

But you know what's the worst? I feel like I have a hangover. A *fucking* hangover. And meanwhile I'm going out of my way to be sober as a judge.

I did not expect it to be painless. I understand that detoxing off of alcohol and processed sugar and flour and dairy and meat can be brutal. I totally dig that and it makes absolute sense that I wouldn't be exactly stoked right now. I just don't know that the process needs to be exacerbated by an acidic monodiet and the inability to leave my apartment for more than 20 minutes at a time.

As I type this I'm plotting a revolution. A kale smoothie. Jeez louise if I can live on fucking lemonade for 10 days I can live on fresh kale and spinach and blueberries. And then maybe I will have enough energy to actually move my body while I'm cleaning it.

So I haven't given up the cleanse. I'd just like the method to feel a little less dirty, ya know?

I'll keep you posted. Temperance evolves. Temperance continues.

SO YEAH, IT'S Sunday, November 10, 2013

Temperance: Day 2 - Bargaining

The best thing to come out of this whole experience may very well be the text messages. In addition to yesterday's GZA gem, this morning I sent this text:

I'll suck yo dick for a cheese sausage.*

Which. Again: lulz.

*Please note: that was a movie reference and not an actual offer.

Temperance: Day 2 - Cheater

Okay so I cheated. Kinda.

First off I did *not* get up at the ass crack of dawn to chug salt water today. Based on everything I've read and the peeps I've talked to about it that isn't a big deal. But I'm supposed to try it in a couple days if I am feeling up to it.

But worse: I have this big old bucket of Hershey's Kisses that my aunt gave me and they looked soooooooo good this morning that I had to eat one. Had to. There's no talking a person out of that kind of thing, people.

The main thing I noticed is that when I was done with the Kiss I had my first lemonade of the day and it didn't taste nearly as good as it did last night. All of the fake sugar from the Kiss got in the way of tasting the real sugar from the maple syrup. Huh. That might be why I need like eight thousand heaping teaspoons of it in my iced tea.

So see. I learned a lesson already.

I also learned that I really like cayenne pepper. I used to think the only type of spicy I could handle was the wasabi/horseradish kind. But yeah. Turns out I like red pepper just fine. It warms me up, which is good cause it's getting hella cold in Oakland and I don't have central heating anymore. Instead I have some sort of wall-mounted thing in my sewing room and this sexy ass combination space heater/hearth for the cupcake room:

It's difficult to grasp its awesomeness in the daylight. I'll share another picture later.

Sooooo yeah. No GZA last night. But today I'm having the bf come by and take all of this fucking food away, including the Kisses.

Apparently I cannot be trusted around temptation.

SO YEAH, IT'S Saturday, November 9, 2013

Temperance: Day 1 - A Rocky Start

Okay so maybe an epic debauch last night wasn't the best idea, after all. I did my rounds. I ate sparingly, but tried everything. I had champagne cocktails and a shot of whiskey and a glass of wine over a 7 hour stretch. The whiskey was not planned, but we tried to watch Wolverine on bootleg and the Japanese subs were missing so I got all frustrated and thought, "what would Logan do?"

Kick someone's ass or do a shot of whiskey. No asses around for kicking, so I took the next best thing.

But I do not have the regen factor working in my favor.

I rolled out of bed at 10:30 or so and played video games until noon cause that's all my body could stand. According to The Rules of the Cleanse I was supposed to wake up at some ungodly hour and chug a fucking *quart* of salt water. I could think of nothing I'd enjoy less, so I stuck to regular water.

Still haven't eaten anything, but I have to do the whole damn thing tomorrow from start to finish. No bullshitting.

Oh and by the by, I think it's important to note that I will *not* be getting all in-depth about bathroom goings on during any of this sharing process. There are plenty of places where you can find that sort of thing, if that's what you're into.

As far as you and I are concerned, dear reader, I have never even used the bathroom for anything but putting on liquid eyeliner. And I'd like to keep our relationship exactly that way.

That said, I don't mind letting you in on the fact that I had to say no to free GZA tickets for tonight's show and that I sent this text today:

I don't want to poo on GZA.

Which. lulz.

But again. I couldn't possibly do that since I don't poo at all.

Soooooo. Yeah. I'm geeking out on Tiny Death Star and this website, which is my new favorite place to get motivated to finally unpack my shit.

Anyway: no major cravings yet. Just some regret about last night's festivities and a missed rap show. But don't worry, I'm sure it will get more interesting.

SO YEAH, IT'S Friday, November 8, 2013

T Minus 20 hours

Gotta reset, so I'm taking drastic measures. This is my last day of solid food for 10 days or more, if I can manage it. I've done all of the research. I've dotted my "i"s and crossed my "t"s. I've taken the next week off from work. This should be a piece of cake.

Except. You know. Without the cake.

I'm going to attempt to document this. I'm starting today while I still have my original intentions in mind and some semblance of dedication. I figure why the fuck not?

Some reasons I'm going Extreme with it:
  • My fighting weight is about 110 and I'm considerably higher than that right now. People often say that you shouldn't cleanse to lose weight, but those people can eat a dick. Along with anything else they want, I suppose.
  • I need to examine my relationship with food and drink. Mostly drink. Ha. But for reals, I eat horrible food and drink delicious exciting drinks to keep from thinking about things a lot of the time. I need a moment or forty with just my thoughts, you know?
  • I'm actually genuinely curious what happens to me if I don't indulge myself on every little whim. What happens to my mind when I quit weighing it down? Do I soar or do I go cray cray? Maybe a bit of both. First or last would be a welcome change.
  • I want to see if I can fucking do it. I've been absurdly persistent in some areas of my life. Mostly professional. I never say I'll do a professional thing and don't do it. Can I apply that ethic anywhere else? If I can I might just have a shot at ruling the world sooner than later.
 I'm tired of later. I want it now.

This is all easy to say as I sip grapefruit soda and realistically contemplate mochi ice cream on my boyfriend's bed. Something tells me it won't be this way so much when I'm on day two and my tenth glass of lemonade.

Cleanse experts say that I'm not supposed to do this, but I'm treating today like Fat Tuesday. Fucking champagne cocktails and goat cheese ravioli from my favorite Italian place down the block? Bring them the fuck on, please. Oh and I'll have dessert too, for a change. A sundae with one of those extra special homemade candied cherries on top. Make that two cherries, actually. Mille grazie.

Starting at bedtime it's go big or go home.

SO YEAH, IT'S Wednesday, November 6, 2013

I Make My Last Request

I've played this before. Playing it again. For the boys with pompadours and a bit of pride left after they've been walked across like hot coals.

I give you all my heart. My soul. Nothing like what you offer could ever be bought or sold.

I'd want no more than to come home to this barefooted and overwhelmed mess of a grown young man. Rocking pinstripes and an expression that manages a steadfast challenge and a confused inquiry at the same time.

Who can do that?

The other day young Trisha came by. Lovely as always and with the gift of making any person on earth feel worthy. She eyeballed my latest acquisitions and mentioned that she loved all of my clothes. She wished that she had them.

I was feeling out of sorts. A little nervous at being a hostess, what with my house all shambles around me as it has been lately. Over my shoulder on the way into the next room I tossed back something just to be witty. Something that I only realized was true the minute it came out of my mouth.

"Babygirl. No amount of fresh leather jackets is going to fill this hole in my soul."

One of those things that cuts down to the bone. That flippant comment I made to Trishie, it's the closest thing I've had to an epiphany in a month of Sundays.

A person needs more than *belongings* to feel like they actually *belong*, savvy?

And tonight finds me coming to terms with that fact more thoroughly than I usually do. A joke. Alone at home, falling for the okey doke.

They said that freedom isn't free and I believed them. I just wish they'd mentioned that it cannot be purchased, either.

Fuck all of this. If you want to reach me I'll be out getting ribs.

SO YEAH, IT'S Tuesday, November 5, 2013

A Many Splintered Thing

I got to perform an exorcism last week. It's cliche to say that I wanted "closure" regarding something, but I did. I got it in the most unlikely way. Over whiskey and pool, with a side order of me sharing overmuch. The words came out jumbled. And while I'm not sure I got my point across at least I heard what I needed to hear.

What am I going to do when I have counted the ways countless times and it still doesn't count for anything?

I will change the way I do the math.

I advised everyone against that already anyway.

Stupid of me not to take my own advice.

But that ghost is gone. I'm a little less haunted. One down, two to go. But what do I know? That's just more math, and that's never been my strongest subject.

Let's turn to living things again.

It's finally fall and that means more shades of brown, leather jackets and cute sweaters. It's practically winter, and that means another revolution around this rock for me. Another year to take stock of who I am vs. who I want to be.

It should be easier this time around. It gets easier every time.

A cool chick with dreads sitting next to me in a restaurant singing a Bon Jovi song along with the muzak made it clear to me the other day. I Don't Give a Fuck is a really great mantra. She was all alone and had on one of the most stunning outfits I've ever seen.

Fucks should be given only when a thing matters. Puppies and kids and little old ladies. Old school Chevelles. Paintings of people that you love. Chariots. Unnecessarily broken windows. Poorly aimed punches. Rabbits wearing eye makeup. Those sorts of things.

Or give it all up except for vengeance. Like an Iron Man. Single-minded. Purely purposed. Focused only on righting the wrongs.

When some dumbass re-imagining of Ozzy Osbourne comes on the telly and I'm gagged with a spoon, I like to watch this video. I'd totally bang *this* version of Ozzy. To me he'll always be this way.

Not a single fuck given.

SO YEAH, IT'S Monday, October 28, 2013

Fright Night

Can't sleep mode. Fuck this mode.

I remember being a lovesick teenager, sprung on my first real boyfriend. My first everything. He was six years older than me and he ripped my heart out and shattered it. Then I picked it up, reassembled it and threw it back in his face. It was not quite like it had been, so the impact barely hurt. Because by then (thanks in part to his antics) I'd become a certified Grade A Bitch.

But before that happened there were early mornings like the one I'm having now.

He would promise to call me, see? When he got home from work, or a basketball game, or some other thing. And I would believe him. And about 75% of the time he would. The other times I would fall asleep waiting. And I'd always wake up at about this time with the sickest feeling in my stomach. A feeling I'd been left for good.

I don't wait up for anyone, anymore. But something about waking up like I did thirty minutes ago makes me feel like I have been.

 But that's impossible, right? Cause waiting up is for pussies.

Last night was a test. My family has a hard time coordinating even the simplest get together. Dinners are a drama. Lunches are lunacy. Brunches are bananas. Movies and other sane person outings are out of the question because we're never on time anywhere all at once.

But for some reason we decided to go to Six Flags to celebrate my little cousin's 18th birthday this year. Wow.

So please picture a ragtag group of people ranging from 18 to 60 spending 45 minutes getting into an amusement park because some people took longer than others getting out of the car and someone else left their ID in a trunk and this person had a hard time getting off of the tram and that person had a hard time getting on it and basically it was just general chaos. A little pod of chaos in an amusement park, which is basically chaotic by design.

The only way they could make amusement parks more disorienting would be if they literally turned them upside down. I mean. Heaven forbid you understand where the fucking exit is at any point of your visit, you might actually come to your senses and leave.

But I digress. Fact is, I actually enjoy amusement parks and other wild good clean fun type shit as long as I can run solo, or close to it. I want to make decisions on the fly, get in and out as quickly as possible and speed walk past large groups of confused and aimlessly wandering people.

Well. Last night I was actually in the confused and aimless category. Me and six of my nearest and dearest.

Okay. So once we'd signed in for season passes (!!!! what the fuck ???? also: awesome) and had our pictures taken (possibly the best photo I've taken in 3 years) I split off with my little cousin and her boyfriend, who is both treetop tall and in possession of some of the bluest eyes I have ever seen. I wanted to get to know the fellow, not just to find out if he has any single older brothers but also because my little cousin is spending way lots of time at his house and is all cupcakey with him in her Facebook profile photo.

He seems alright. But I'm digressing again.

We got in line for some ride called Madusa and I was immediately accosted by a would-be DILF who was actually a DILGFAFM (Dad I'd Like to Get the Fuck Away From Me). Clearly in his cups, he was escorting his teenaged son through the park and lightweight hitting on seventeen year old girls. And also, me. Lucky little me.


After a fifteen minute wait we took a 45 second ride that was pretty fun, except that it was freezing fuckin cold and the park was about to close and so it was basically time to leave when we were done. My cuz and her bf were hungry so I decided to roll to the other end of the park to grab them some food and myself a much needed beer. That was at approximately 8:30, which meant that I'd spent the last 3 hours traveling to, getting into and navigating a freezing cold amusement park for a single ride and the honor of being hit on by an old lecher.

But wait. It gets better.

It's Fright Night season at Six Flags, did you know that? And do you know what that means? It means that every five minutes during your evening visit a goddamn zombie will come lurching or running or sliding out of the dark and scare the shit out of you. Yeah. That was really the cherry on top of my Sunday evening. Cause you know how much I love zombies.

But I suppose I wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. It's definitely going into the scrapbook.

So now I can't sleep cause I have loneliness, dysfunction and zombies on the brain. I suppose that means I'm waiting up for myself.

Whatever. Good morning.

SO YEAH, IT'S Thursday, October 24, 2013


Okay so the reason I bought a new Jeep is that my old one had spiders in it. Yeah. Fuckin spiders - which I am terrified of - had decided to make families in the dark spaces of dear Ruby, which meant that at any moment one of those little bastards could come rolling across my windshield or swinging down from the roof of the car. All bad.

Also, I kinda just wanted a new Jeep. Ruby was only 5 years old, but her interior looked 20 years old because I'd been smoking all manner of things and tossing stuff into my backseat/trunk for about 4.5 years.

I searched high and low and finally found what I wanted in the color I wanted. After a few customizations she became absolutely Perfect. Her name is BigRed, and she looks almost identical to Ruby except she is: Way. More. Fresh. And doesn't have spiders.

I'm taking her on the road. Going to Santa Monica mid November and trying to stay here I think. I like it because it is turquoise and right by the boardwalk. That means I can have champagne brunches and then hit up those rides that spin you in circles til you have vertigo for 15 minutes after.

Motion sickness is for pussies.

SO YEAH, IT'S Friday, October 18, 2013


Since I got back from NY on Sunday my apartment has begun to look like feral teenagers have been squatting in it. I come home every day and just drop everything on the nearest flat surface I can find. The mayhem collection is growing, but no need to be alarmed.

My new place has me living like a box car kid. Where my old place was a big glass box my new one is long and lean, so it takes only a day or so before a passthrough becomes inconvenient and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night threatens my bones.

I'll get it sorted tonight. I have a new playlist and booty shorts from the Bettie Page Store.

And so much more from New York, but my head's too full of things to extract the important stuff just for you. I have to manage my way through impossible little tunnels and pockets filled with what I want for dinner, when I'm going to work out, where I left my favorite boots. These things even I barely care about, which makes them worse than fluff.

Lately I wonder if this sort of writing is extinct. I remember 10 years ago how it seemed so novel. Everyone was confessing everything back then, but somehow we were Elite and it all felt Brand New.

Anymore, it's almost always only ever yelling into the Void. Without a topic other than myself and what I'm observing. Well. This is emotional masturbation.

But then. Why stop a thing when it feels so good?

There have been many People. 2 flights each way and I sprung for first class or whatever the kids are calling it these days. My seatmates were interesting on the Oakland legs, not so much between Salt Lake City and JFK. Also on the Saturday before I left I worked at a nightclub on the candy quality control line. Picking up that work again because of the new Jeep and my rent and the fact that I like collecting people like baseball cards.

And I have so many new cards to show you. Plus some old ones that I pulled out of their shoe boxes. Dusted them off and read their stats. They might be worth a trade in, or maybe worthy of a place on the mantel.

Or at least a pocket in the mantle.

We'll see, now won't we?

SO YEAH, IT'S Thursday, October 10, 2013

Start Spreadin' the News

Actually, it's a bit late for that since I'm already here and have been since Monday. And all I can really say for now is that it's been a very. Um. *Angelina* trip.

First off is that I've been working most of the time. Got here Monday night and spent Tuesday, Wednesday and today preparing for, sitting in or writing notes about client meetings.

Secondly there is the fact that I asked for not one but two hotel room swaps so that I could get something resembling a view. I'm in midtown and not in a super high highrise so there isn't much to see but at the least I want to see the little people down there on the street lining up for their organic lunches or buying luggage or hailing cabs or whatever it is New Yorkers do most of the time.

I was very nice about it. This last week or so has taught me a Jedi mind trick worth remembering:

Almost everyone you meet wants to make you happy. But only if you are nice to them and appreciate it.

There were profuse "thank you"s and there was some gushing about how excited I am to be here and there was some honest to god wishing out loud that I could just see something like the REAL city when I'm sitting in my room and not the wall of a building next door.

As a result, I am sitting in a nice wide windowsill right now instead of parked on my bed in a dungeon.

See? Yay!

Third is that I've made a bunch of friends. Well. Acquaintances. The gents at the bar downstairs didn't even know what a French 75 was until I taught them. And my first night here I met the strangest man ever and he tried to have sex with me but that didn't work out too well for him.

Oddest thing about him: it was almost just like getting into a time machine and seeing my ex boyfriend in 15 years. There was a magnetic sleaziness about him, which is why I even gave him the time of day to begin with. But he was easy. And I was repulsed. Plus dedicated.

Still. I'm chalking that near miss up as an NYC adventure.

There are more to come. I have a gang more photos but would rather stare out of my window and prepare for dinner than upload them right now.

SO YEAH, IT'S Thursday, October 3, 2013

(No Need to) Be Afraid

My motorcycle boots make a lot of noise, and that is intimidating.

I know this because I wear them often. And more than a few times on dark streets in late nights I've seen grown men slow their pace in order to get the advantage of walking behind me.

*stalkin, walkin in my big black boots*

Brother J would understand.

These men are always larger than me. Most certainly physically stronger. Tonight it was a gentleman with a big dog who could have easily pawed me to death. But tonight he was frightened by sounds.

Just. Sounds.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I have girlie shoes as well. Teeny tiny heels that make a bitchmade clicking sound as I walk. They shorten my stride by about 50%. I am Geisha, with all of the poetry taken away. A butterfly missing wings.  Don't get me wrong, I know girls who rock 4-inch heels as easily as I do Adidas. But for me, all of that prancing is female to the nth degree with almost none of the inherent power included.

And still. I like it.

Click. Click. Click.

Construction workers stop their discussions about I-beams. Brokers quit talking about the stock exchange. The world pauses for high heels. It's amazing to see in action.

But the Mighty Click is no different than the Mighty Thud, when you get right down to it.

People have decided who you are before they have even laid eyes on you.

And most times, they are wrong.

SO YEAH, IT'S Tuesday, September 17, 2013


I was a Very Bad Girl today.

I skipped out on my shrink, cause instead I wanted to put my creepy black hoodie on and sit at a bar drinking sake and reading a graphic novel about an unrepentant assassin. Cause. You know. That's totally a better way to spend my time.

Truth is, I couldn't face myself today. At least not my real self, if you can dig that. 

Each morning I reconfigure myself. Not as a response to prior destruction, but as a ritual and a small step toward adaptation. And I know I'm no fucking unique snowflake, so I'm sure you get me. And if you don't get me. Well. At some point I know you have *gotten* me.

It goes like so:

I wake up. I wipe the fog off of the window between dreaming and reality. I coerce myself from my bed. I shower and try to remember, then forget my dreams. Then I put on the Mask.

The Mask is the bit of me that gets me through each day without cussing most people out. It allows me to be professionally subordinate to people that I see as equal to me in terms of skill and experience. It keeps me from bitch slapping meter maids. It helps me to be polite to people who have the power to spit in or otherwise sabotage my food. 

And those are just the basics.

It also helps me get fly before a special outing. Charm strangers. Outshine gaggles of frat boys to flag down taxis and towncars on late nights. Discuss socioeconomic stratification with white men from the United States and black men from Nigeria without losing my cool. Read comic books in crowded places and not feel even a little bit self-conscious.

Basically. The Mask helps me cope. And it really is the whole reason that I'm alive and reasonably successful today. And there are some days when I understand that I simply cannot deal with taking it off.

So I leave it on. I invest in this luxury. This hiding from sanity. 

I pay for my therapy session, but instead spend that time reading The Killer at Kirala, ordering 2 bottles of hot sake and wasabi chicken that burns my sinuses so much that I look like I'm crying over my tales of murder and mayhem.

And I don't give a fuck. For a few minutes or a couple hours I really just Don't Give a Fuck. 

Ask any hit man: middle fingers cost a lot. I feel blessed that I haven't lost mine yet.

SO YEAH, IT'S Wednesday, September 11, 2013


Work from home day! I fuckin love these. Once a week I get to work wherever I want however I want and basically be cooler than I am the rest of my workdays.

Today I'm celebrating by working pretty much naked. With sunglasses on cause, you know, they add that extra bit of coolness.

I say this not to tantalize you, dear friends. I say it because my new stance is to encourage nakedness and/or silk kimonos and/or leather catsuits for as many hours of the day as possible. Cause, you know, why the fuck not?

And in spite of the fact that I have my furniture now and could be camped on the Tangerine Dream watching cartoons with my proposals, I am still in bed. Haven't gotten used to having 3 different rooms to chill in, I guess.

Also, there is that my new bedroom is the shit:

Yeah. Peep that warm glow and super soft everything. Why should I leave this place? It has everything I need.

Meanwhile, the rest of my crib looks like this:

Boxes fuckin everywhere. I have slacked on unpacking cause I'm a grownup and I can.

The Dream has its advantages:

But I don't want to bank on not getting distracted.

Also: Comcast are assholes. That's just an aside, but worth noting. It's the only thing fucking up my work from home day, really. My wifi just turns off for no fuckin reason every couple hours, then comes back on. This started happening when I rejected their new shitassed combination modem/router and I think they are fucking with me.

Exhibit A: internet started getting fucked up the minute I told them to piss off with their new modem
Exhibit B: every time I make a disparaging remark about them over IM my connection gets janky

Shit. I'll probably be offline for an hour after publishing this post. But whatever. Work from home day!

I wish I wish I wish that I could be absolutely Free, though. Like. Untethered, untamed, unaccountable, uncontrolled, unsupervised.


If anyone reading this is living that way, I urge you to contact me at angelina at swiss army chick (all one word) dot com and tell me how the fuck you do it. That's a secret I'd pay dearly to learn.

Oh, but no broke shit. I don't mean to diss anyone, but if I can't have fresh sneakers and whatnot I'm not signing up for the plan.

I need my sneakers.

But I need my Freedom, too. Gotta figure out a way to have both. I'm a greedy little bastard. Yes I am.

Gordon Gekko would approve.

SO YEAH, IT'S Monday, September 9, 2013


Kay. Since I was a youth I have chilled in many cars on many blocks on many evenings doing both legal and illegal shit, right? For the most part it has been uneventful, aside from being swooped on by TF and frisked a couple times.

Was that irritating and disrespectful of my humanity? Unwarranted, even?


Was that a surprise?


That's because the whole time I'm in a car parked on a street in anything close to darkness I am checking out what's happening outside. I want to know who is walking by the car, why they are walking by the car, and also whether or not they are motivated to stop and interact with me for any reason while I am in the car.

But. Whatever.

This comes up tonight cause I went out for a game of pool and it was pretty late and I found myself staring into cars as I walked home. It was a tactical move to avoid ending up in Buffalo Bill's basement, but halfway home I started wondering if I seemed as shady as the folks I used to raise an eyebrow at back in the day.

Not sure where I'm going with all of this except that my new neighborhood has me paranoid in 2 directions, apparently. 

 editrix: for clarity and concision - original written after too much sake

SO YEAH, IT'S Sunday, September 8, 2013

Bare Necessities

Unpacking after a move is like fuckin Jenga. I don't need to tell you how. I had a million witty comparisons lined up, but at the moment they seem pretty useless. Talking to hear myself talk, and all of that.

But what is this, if not that?

We'll figure that out later, I suppose.

Here's a list of the things I did today to procrastinate so that I did not have to open any boxes:

- Read Punisher MAX 1 and 2 for the second time
- Played video games
- Texted my whole family
- Worked on a proposal for my job
- Imagined for a second that I had sprained my ankle while dancing and therefore could not move from my bed
- Shredded tax returns from 2002
- Attempted to smoke reefer, but coughed it up before I could get a proper high
- Ordered pizza, did not eat it
- Made a list of all of the boxes I'll unpack tomorrow. Cause. You know. That will totally happen.

At this rate I may be fetching wrenches from cardboard boxes well into 2015, and by then I'm sure the zombies will have come. I should adopt some wild dogs or something. Expand my collection of firearms. Learn to preserve foods and gut squirrels for dinner.

Orrr. Maybe I could wander down to the local dive and have a shot of Jameson and some 7-Up and try to ignore the people staring at me.

I'm starting to think that I look like one of those lone gunman types. I slap on a black on black baseball cap, keep my hands in my pockets and don't make eye contact except for with the bartender. That doesn't save me from getting chatted up, but I think that's because people are scared I'm gonna go postal and take everyone down.

"Freebird" came on tonight, and this crowd of jagoffs decided to sing along loudly and off key and with the wrong lyrics at the wrong time. Honestly, for a second I actually did want to go postal.

But what's a pink pocket knife gonna do for me in a situation like that?

Nothin. Not a goddamn thing.

I finished my shot and headed home. Head up, shoulders straight, boots stomping but not moving too quickly. Aware, but not overly suspicious. Alert, but not appearing to be paranoid. All of the things they tell you in the self-defense classes I never took.

If you have walked home through the non-gentrified version of East Oakland wearing outfits inspired by "Clueless", you don't really need self-defense classes. It's like a contact high, really.

And it saves you tons of dough.

See? I'm not a spendthrift after all.

Ha. Take that, financial advisor.

Sleep well, children. Tomorrow is the day that we make everything fuckin happen.

SO YEAH, IT'S Friday, September 6, 2013


I'm going to New fuckin York, y'all. It's a business trip, but still. Never been, but I'm sure I'll have a blast. Yeeeee.

go-go, interrupted

tonight's dance party started with Cyndi Lauper and Duran Duran and preppy style two-stepping, then 60s surf music and go-go moves, then finally dizzee rascal and a combination of those things plus my own version of twerking, which is just about as un-sexy as twerking gets, i think.

i'd still be dancing now except some asshole decided it would be kicks to fishtail and do donuts on the narrow ass street behind my apartment and shit like that tends to put me on edge. shellshocked. battle scarred. tired than a motherfucker.

but you know what's boss? the way that Apple likes to pretend that words like "motherfucker" don't exist when it comes to spellcheck/auto-correct, you ever notice that? it's why i get a kick out of having Siri call me "son of a bitch".

it really is the little things.

i also love how i live in a neighborhood where the paper delivery guy gets the business for doing his job and yet this bastard on the next block has been screaming drunk and having his own personal sideshow for the last 20 minutes and there is nary a cop to be heard. i mean. i'm no snitch, so i won't be calling them but i figure one of these uptight motherfuckers would.

ah well.

the other day we went walking through the hills and found this most perfect park of a lifetime. that was primo.

shit. i have work tomorrow.

whatevs. sleep tight.

SO YEAH, IT'S Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Rabbit Fur Coat

And I reassemble. Like any good soldier should. Like Tony Stark's combat suit in that last movie. Bits of my armor fly back toward me and I take them as they come. My pride won't allow anything less.

I'm always ready. I'm always vigilant. I don't bullshit.

All my stuff arrived here safely. Except maybe my David Bowie poster is lost, but in the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter much. The Tangerine Dream is here. So's Alabama.

Now it's just boxes and boxes of things that have stayed boxed up long enough that I question their importance. I wish I could be one of those minimalist motherfuckers. Some sort of Frank Castle type with nothing but weapons and ammunition and a few t-shirts with my logo on them. Add to that a passionate bloodthirstiness and I'd be set.

Instead I'm all concerned about where my heart shaped pillow is, and whether or not it feels neglected since it's been sitting in the dark for so long.

What a pussy.

I'm toughening up though. Yesterday I spent 30 minutes learning tuishou in my living room. It's like that game when we were kids and you had to put your hands on top of your friend's hands and they had to try to slap them before you could pull them away. Except. You know. Aimed at the face.

I learned I'm a lot more crafty than even I thought I was.

And my new very favorite thing? My most treasured activity? Dressing strangely and dancing to grime in my bedroom mirror. Like. For serious. I get hyped about it. Sometimes I switch it up and play Beastie Boys or Turf Talk or Andre Nickatina, but the constants remain: booty shorts, loud music and me doing the Wop and the Prep for no reason except that it feels fucking good to be moving again.

Really. Fucking. Good.

Downer: tonight I had a conversation with a friend that revealed to me that they aren't really a friend at all. It was a letdown, and I felt heartsick for a moment. I cried like a little bitch.

Soldier Status: I realized that when the zombie apocalypse happens I will have one less person to protect with my combat and survival skills. So that's something.

I can't manage minimalism too well, but I'm a bright sided mothafucka when it comes down to it.

It's my pride. It really won't allow anything less.

SO YEAH, IT'S Wednesday, August 28, 2013


I am Jill's china shop.

I am Jack's bull.

Don't act all shocked. I never claimed to be able to keep things intact.

Writing this in the last night of the last day of the last week of the last month in the best place I've ever lived. All windows and quiet and fog, just a few blocks before the avenues start in earnest. This is the Sky Palace.

It's important for you to know that before this apartment I've never stayed anywhere longer than 18 months. I get claustrophobic and nervous and disappointed that I haven't bothered to hang any art or buy proper cookware and then I leave. I start again somewhere else thinking it will be different.

It is not.

Wherever I go there I am. Right?

Jack's china shop. Jill's bull.

I spent a lot of today thinking about the things I've wrecked and why I wrecked them. I've lived a pretty careless life, it turns out. My bulletproof affect and innumerable contingency plans give me a false sense of security, but do me no good at all when I'm broken down to pieces and actually need to fall back on them.

Tonight I mourn. I recognize the fact that after 12 years in this city there isn't a single person I can call on to have one last glass of champagne while we look out at the fog. Not a soul to cradle mine while I lay on the couch surrounded by these heavy boxes. No one to marvel at the fact that without curtains, this place never really goes dark.

But I go dark. I go dark all of the time. There just really isn't anyone around to notice.

Jill's china shop. Jack's bull.

I crash again. And again. And again.

SO YEAH, IT'S Monday, August 19, 2013

Steady, Are You Ready?

I'm back to life. Back to reality. Those brief vacations are needed - Fuck living earthbound every day of my life. I'd like to dance all the way away from earthbound, but I'm a grownup now.

Because of that it's more of a waltz. I dip toward the thing regularly, twirl away for a moment when I can. Come back to it in grand form. My goal is to keep the ratio somewhat even. A state of grace.

Noteworthy: I just tried to find a video of Black people waltzing. Shocker - none to be found. Fuck that, too.

I have not checked my professional email in about a week. Not ready to deal with it all. It seems dumb and pointless. I don't want to wear the yoke anymore. Just do what I need to do so that I can do what I want to do.

Working from home today. Which means - since I don't have all my furniture here yet - working in the pink room on the impossibly tall but still too narrow bed. Buck up, buttercup. Better times ahead.

It also means that I'm not wearing pants until 5pm when I venture out into the Real World. And that I made a desk out of a Wolverine special edition box, at which I conduct all formal communication from The Bed. When I do don the yoke, I plan to do it like a superheroine as often as possible. Fuck all dumb shit.

My new job (well, new in that it's the last one I secured and that was in October twenty twelve) is really deluxe. Much better than my last semi-permanent gig, with all of its outdated regulations and status quo devotion. If I have any regret at all about leaving that place so abruptly it's that I didn't get to work on Ludacris' website.

Stream of consciousness, much? Yes. I don't care if this is linear. This isn't my life story. Just the edited for TV version, what you'd see if I had my own unreality show.

I'm now the weird lady that goes solo to random restaurants and bars in order to read comic books and drink double whiskeys before leaving abruptly. I might trade the comics up for something more cerebral, but comics engage many senses in a start/stop/start sort of way, and if people think I'm a nerdy dumbass because that's all I ever carry around with me that's pretty much their issue to handle. I've decided that's another thing that can Fuck Off.

It has not hindered my ability to attract a random stranger, though. Another state of grace: looking the way I do I end up being hollered at by dudes ranging from 24 to 55. Not that I think I'm all that, just that I come across a Conversation Piece. I have many hooks and points of entry. I close them off as needed, tip very well, pack up my book and get the fuck out just before business cards need to be exchanged (or cell phones populated, in the case of the younger gents).

I waltz back to reality, the version of me that is supposed to be the most Real. My shrink says it's something even deeper. Some days I'm inclined to agree with her.

Today is one of those days. Back to life. Back to reality. If I ever stop and think I can't dive deeper. Well. Fuck that thought, as well.

SO YEAH, IT'S Sunday, August 18, 2013

Borrowed Time

He has great taste in hotels. That much I can say for him. I've got 1200 thread count sheets at home - I researched them to be sure it wasn't some dumb sham - all criteria for the Softest Sheets Ever were met. But still these ones manage to feel more soft. That could be because I don't have to wash them tomorrow. It will be a clean getaway.

And the view. It's fucking spectacular. 3 walls of windows, I'm not even sure how you manage that in a place like this. Right now I just want to make some tea and go sit in the middle of the southeast side and take it all in, but I'm a little nervous because of Cheeba.

Cheeba has the greenest eyes you've ever seen. She's gorgeous all around, really. But she's a pit bull and a light sleeper, and he sleeps like nothing bad has ever happened to him in his life. I know this arrangement works out well for him, but for me it means that tip toeing to the windows to sit and watch the sunrise means that she might jump up in a hot second and rip a hole in one of my fucking legs before he's able to shake himself out of whatever sweet dream it is that has him moaning quietly right now.

She's sleeping at our feet at the moment, and this is really familiar. How do I always end up in bed with other people's vicious dogs?

I'm actually scared to go to the bathroom. I've had to pee for the last hour, which is why I'm awake instead of getting the kind of sleep that would allow me to look presentable in the morning. Doesn't matter what kind of car you leave in, if you are haggard you can't help but to appear kinda downtrodden.

I've learned that already, but I'm learning it again just for kicks. The million things that money can't buy.

Time is the biggest one. The most important. I see this cat so rarely, he's never anywhere for very long. Every time we link up it's like a first date. He's oblivious to my priorities and pastimes. I've actually told him the same comic book plot over four different dinners and he hasn't noticed. Or he just thinks I'm daft.

I don't really care, that's the fucked up thing. Underestimation or not, he is the consummate gentleman. I once asked him to go Dutch and he asked me what the fuck that meant, if I wanted to jump rope with him or something. You have to laugh at a response like that.

But I want to pay for things so that he'll be okay with the fact that I won't sleep with him, you know? The whole deal I have with dating is the expectation that a man can buy intimacy by shelling out enough dough on a certain number of dates. The unspoken third date rule, which is total goddamn bullshit.

It's untrue, the whole money for pussy exchange rate. And if you're buying it? Male or female, you deserve to eat as many dicks as someone wants to feed you.

So why cater to it, right? Why bother fighting for the check? I should just be eating my free dinners and accepting gifts and telling him to fuck off when he puts his hand on my thigh and feeling no type of way about it.

But see. You see. That's the difference between me and a lot of the chicks he probably runs with.

I understand that sometimes you have to live up to a compromised version of reality instead of your own ideas about how the world should be. It's the standards vs. expectations thing I talked about before. I fully get it cause it's what got me where I am today. It's much better than just giving in and living up to shit you don't believe in. And I want this cat to understand, because I like him. And I'm a realist.

When he's not distracted he is incredibly charming. He has jokes for miles. Even though he doesn't remember me because of the long pauses in our friendship, he's actually fully with me when we *are* together. The phone is turned off. Clamoring chicks are ignored. It's like I'm the only person in the world.

That's another thing that's priceless.

I'm looking around right now and all I can see is his jewelry, my jewelry, some partially smoked blunts from the pre-party, and what's left of room service. I don't recall drinking an entire bottle of Ace of Spades, but there is an empty on the coffee table and he doesn't drink so I'm guessing that was all me. I love my champers, but it takes quite a while for me to go through a whole bottle of it.

Time fuckin flies, I guess.