and that's the way it is

I keep sneezing. Usually I don't mind sneezing, but added bonus with purchase, I'm hungover. Every time I get a nasal sneak-attack it feels like Satan himself is drop-kicking my right temple. I did wash my hair though, and my clothes are more or less clean. So I've got that going for me.

What do I have to look forward to today? Other than eventual sobriety, that would be a meeting with a six year old aspiring child model and his overbearing mother. Since I'm still full of whiskey and sass I feel like serving up a steamy bowl of Reality Soup to this harpy of a woman. Can't wait to look her in the eye and tell her that her child simply isn't that special. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it. God I can't stand children on a good day.

And Pat Benetar is on the radio. Maybe today is looking up. Me and Pat versus Satan and Macaulay Culkin Lite. Not an ideal Friday, but hey, I take what I can get.

Yup. That's it. Sorry you'll never get the thirty seconds it took you to read this back. Now talk amongst yourselves. Mama needs a cold compress and a quiet room.



raindrops on roses

Holy balls....been quite the day, and I haven't even had my snack. I wish they made pudding packs with vitamins, minerals, and a little MDMA. You know, strong teeth and bones, serotonin blasts, everything a kid needs to make it through the day.


I've even used my fuck-you voice today. One upside to being of the rainbow is having a killer snatchy/condescending tone; it comes in the kit we get upon joining the Sequin Squad, along with Madonna's Greatest Hits and a bottle of chardonnay. When used at full force the bitch-tone leaves a burning sensation reminiscent of a wet slap on the ass. But fun as it is to employ on occasion, I hate the tone because it means I'm worked up. Tension is not my jam. As such, I thought I'd take this opportunity to list some of my favorite things. Elementary, yes. But until I get the aforementioned pudding, this will have to do.


meat and cheeses platters

parallel parking on the first try

Maker's on the rocks

any opportunity to use the words "fancy" or "biscuit"

off-color jokes

flying first class

sex that still has that new-car smell

romping outdoors

day drunk

castor canadensis

the smell of sunscreen

walk-offs on the dance floor

fire pits

three day weekends


Ahhhhhh....I feel better already. Mostly because when reviewing the list, I realized how often I get to enjoy these things. And I no longer wish to commit physical harm to all of the muscled out mouth breathers that complicate my day. Everybody wins!

Happy Thursday amigos. Even if it's something lame like whiskers on kittens...always remember what gets you through the day.



in a perfect world

I wish it was socially acceptable to approach a casual acquaintance, and in a calm and pleasant voice say,

"You should know, I could deliver you a top shelf orgasm. Just a real blue-ribbon fuck. Not a doubt in my mind."

And then walk away.

I might take that for a test drive soon....nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Happy mid-week. Go balls out on something tomorrow and see what happens. Life is for living.



just call me will robinson

Whoops, disappeared for a week there...damned real life dancing all up in my business.

that's me in the orange

Quite a whirlwind it has been. And yet, not. Does that make sense? Craziness is marching closer, and yet after the initial two day mess-a-thon of emotions, Chicken Little has left the building.

It's weird, when real shit hits the fan, big shit, important shit....I tend to exit stage left. Not in a bad way. I just don't write about it at length, and talk about it less than the unimportant nonsense that tends to rule daily conversations. Like watching my first episode of RuPaul's Drag Race last night. Holy hell. Wigged, duct-taped messes lip-syncing to beat the band. New favorite show. But that's neither here nor there.

I've noticed a trend with big decisions in my life. They just seem to...happen. Little fanfare. Little commotion. I didn't have a crazy experience picking a college. I hardly did any research, applied at two schools, and went to my second choice because I got more money. And looking back I wouldn't have changed my experience for the world.

When in school, I fell into a major, never did an internship, and found a job one week before graduation. Held it for six months to stay afloat, then in one week's time quit, moved, and started a new job in a new city with no idea what I was doing. And it's been an incredible two years of growth and realization.

Now I'm faced with a departing roommate, a stale job, and a restlessness that's been slowly growing for quite some time. I don't have a plan, and given history I'm becoming comfortable with that reality. Kelly sent me the following today (from here), and it now my mantra for the foreseeable future:


Stop listening to everybody around you.

Stop following aimlessly.

Stop making excuses.

Start going after what you want.

Make decisions.

Don’t apologize for those decisions.

Some decisions you make will be wrong.

You will fail.

Some decisions you make will be spot on.

You will succeed.

Some decisions you make will just be.

That’s OK too.

You know what you want. Your friends and family know what they want for you.

There is a monumental difference between the two.

It’s the difference between being happy and just being.

You can’t please everybody.

Don’t try.

Most people won’t agree with you.


Agreement is safe.

Acceptance is safe.

Doing what you’ve been doing is safe.

Seek danger.

Short and sweet. I'm going to Vegas in two days, and I'm going to leave life behind. I'm going to drink whiskey excessively in public and play $3 blackjack on tables with burn holes in the felt. I'm going to toast some friends hello as they've just recently returned, and toast others goodbye as they prepare to depart. If I find a zen moment amongst the neon, I'll be thinking about that monumental difference mentioned above.

Then I'm going to come back and start seeking some danger.



Here's a brief, stream-of-consciousness thought for the moment -

Recently I find myself taking a mental inventory of my room each night before bed. I know this has to do with my imminent move, because it's not something I usually do. Not actually thinking in terms of size, quantity, or value, but more along the lines of sentiment and origin.

Tonight I keep looking at a picture propped up on a shelf. I don't have many hard copy pictures anymore thanks to the wonders of modern technology, but this one I've had for six years. It's an action shot of me and my best friend from home. We're at her mom's house, in the back living room, and I remember it like it was this morning. It's a textbook action shot, candid to the point of embarrassment. We're off-centered and oblivious, belting out Wham! as if our lives actually depended on it. What you don't see is us getting stoned beforehand and eating lasagna out of the pan, or me getting a handjob on her mom's brand-new couch after everyone else passed out. What you do see is happiness. Living in the moment happiness. Happiness even though my hair was too short and her mouth was wide open, both of us waking someone up before they go-go. We were nineteen and everything was perfect.

But of course it wasn't perfect. There were undoubtedly the standard doubts and disappointments. But now the rough edges have been smoothed by time, and all I see is the happiness.

I lead a pretty awesome life, even when it's not. You probably do too. Let's make that a focus for the remainder of the week, yes?

Namaste, friends -



this is not a test

Well shit, forget stop, drop, and roll...it's go time, bitches.

"drop" looks suspiciously like "power bottom," no?

What was previously on the horizon has set up shop in the here and now. My common-law partner in crime is movin' on up, literally and figuratively. The land of liberal living has called his name, and when the Bay Area rings, you damn sure pick up. In three short weeks he'll be busy taking the next step, which means it's time to circle the wagons and call together the great minds of our time. I need wisdom. I need guidance.

I need a fucking plan.

I do not plan. I make short term arrangements, occasionally even booking trips a few months in advance, but I'm much too laissez-faire in my views of the universe to really think that my arbitrary timelines make a damn bit of difference in the big picture. I haven't an inkling where I'll be in ten years, and neither do you. So I generally float on the vibes of nature and heed action cues as they present themselves.

As for now: message received, Powers That Be. Subtle as a studded dildo.

Now is my moment to practice what I preach. I have to let go, give myself up to the moment and know that the beauty of these situations lies in the unknown. This is not to say I didn't allow myself a minor breakdown. Yesterday around 4:30pm, I quietly stepped away from my desk out into the rain, where I promptly dissolved into a rousing chorus of alternating sobs and "fuckfuckfuckwhatdoIdonowfuckfuckfuck."

The poor UPS man stumbled upon me and probably thought he'd unearthed a puffy-eyed storm monster with a wicked case of Tourette's.

After I'd emptied myself of the initial panic, I came back to the realization that this is it. All the repeated mantras of faith, the professed need of change, the late night what-if sessions....it's here. It's time. Deep breath, head held high, time to show off what we're been working on.

This is not a test. Proceed quickly but cautiously. There's no need to panic.

Everything will be OK.


slightly less than happy hour

Lately I've been thinking about what compels us to make the best of bad situations.

Occasionally on Tuesdays, I'll head westward and meet up with my surrounding cast of characters for a little dollar taco action. It so happens they live across the street from an El Torito. Not just any El Torito though; it might actually be a faux-mexican portal to hell. I'm pretty sure the penal system has a higher standard for customer service. The servers ignore you, the food takes forever, and actually prying the bill from their hands could be a competitive event. It's a big joke of an experience wrapped up in a lukewarm tortilla.

And yet, we go back.

I know....it doesn't make any sense. This is California, meaning Mexican restaurants are on every corner, within a stones throw of a pot dispensary and an In-n-Out. But we all have similar situations in life. You know something is bad, or at the very least not good, and still you rationalize sticking with it. Well, it's cheap. It's close. It's easier than cooking.

He didn't really mean it.
I don't know any different.
It could be worse.

Same stale chips, same stale results.

Where does toughing it out end, and being scared to change begin? It's such a bitch of a conundrum. Like with the food situation. It is true that it's cheap, and walking distance is crucial since a DUI is decidedly bush league. But do those factors outweigh the shit-tastic experience we're then certain to have?

I only bring it up because choices much larger than"blended or on the rocks?" are on the horizon. Nothing to freak out about yet. I'm staying calm and remaining seated at this point. But as February marches on it's becoming apparent that this larger question of comfort versus complacency will be taking center stage.

Not a bad thing, just the way it is. Can't have your flan and eat it too.



things my friends say, vol. 11

Today's nugget, compliments of:

"By the way, do you want to go giant squid hunting with me?"

I did take the time to verify, and yes, he was 100% serious. Maybe it's just me, but "by the way" is usually followed by a logical afterthought or small side note. Giant squid hunting fits neither of those requirements, especially considering the sentence before he was talking about brewing his own beer.

But would I trade this for a life where my social circle didn't occasionally offer a random calamari hunt? Not for all the fish in the sea.

Happy Tuesday -