My Saturday night till 6 in da mornin'

It started out simple enough. I left my apartment somewhere between the Lower East Side and the Financial District. There was a limo waiting for me as I left, and it was gorgeous. A late model Cadillac kind of limo. I then kindly asked the driver to leave his vehicle so I could take it for a spin.

I might not be the best driver, and as a result I crashed into a few street lights on my little joy ride. I also may have hit a few pedestrians as well, but there was little blood so I assumed everything was ok. I continued on my drive down to the South Street Seaport. I finally reached my destination, and got out of my limo. I may or may not have heard sirens in the distance, but all that didn't matter now.

I was going to steal a helicopter.

I walked on the helipad and ripped the pilot out of the driver's seat. He was sitting there waiting for someone. Maybe a high profile passenger like Donald Trump or Jay Leno, or maybe he was waiting for me. That all didn't matter now. I got in the pilot's seat and took off towards JFK.

I landed near taxing 747's and left my helicopter on the runway. I tried to steal a 747 by trying to cling to the wheel well, but the plane was too big. The sirens got louder, and I broke out into a run searching for a vehicle so I could make my escape. I found a luggage transport vehicle to drive, but the beast of a truck proved not worthy of a getaway car. Eventually I was shot along a grassy knoll near the Van Wyck.

I woke up again in my apartment. Was it all a bad dream? Maybe. I had a new mission though. My true mission.

I needed some poon.

I stole a nice bus this time. It proved to be very useful in driving over cement dividers and running stop lights. Finally I took a corner too hard and rolled the bus. There was a young gentleman in a convertible that tried to talk shit to me as I emereged unscathed from my metal box of death. I mean, he didn't even ask if I was ok. So I shot him. Point blank. I guess I must have hit his gas tank too cause the asshole caught on fire along with his car. That fucking showed him for talking smack to me.

Again, sirens.

I picked up the pace to my desired destination. Nothing was going to get in my way! Not even men on fire. Finally, I made it. I opened the door to air conditioning and the sweet smell of dirty pussy. I was home. I was in the strip club.

After being ushered to the back for a private lap dance (that's how I roll, yo), a nice young lady with brown hair and a hot pink thong began to dance. It wasn't enough though. I wanted more. So they brought out a blonde with a yellow thong and both of them girated on and around my huge wood. It was glorious.

After they were done, one of the ho's was all, "You're the greatest...blah blah blah" so I fucking clocked her. Right in the jaw. Bitch started to yell and was all, "why'd you hit me, asshole?" so I shot her. Doesn't she know who I am? This did not please the bouncers too much, and after a shootout in the main room, I died.

But seriously,what a way to go. So fucking bad-ass!

Awkward

So, I have a new "big boss" client who just started about a month ago. Anyway, he was in the office earlier in the week, along with his boss and their lawyer to negotiate the terms of our retainer. Anyway, I'm in the meeting room with another person I work with and I'm bending over to plug in my laptop and I have a nice size tattoo on my back - which was exposed .. due to my pervocative ability to bend.

Anyway, the guy I work with sees it. And...

Him: Hey, sweet tat man.

Me: Oh, thanks.

Him: That's awesome. I have one in progress (shows me). Hey, what did you use for the aftercare?

Me: Um, A & D, then just Lubriderm after the first few days.

Him: Next time you should try Bag Balm. I got a mess of tats, that's what I've always used, it works awesome.

Me: Bag Balm?

Him: Yeah. It's what farmers use on cow's tits.

We both turn around to take our seats, and see 10 people - my boss, my clients, their lawyer, etc... in complete stunned silence.

Perfect.

life in a parallel

These days I can't seem to catch a break. I usually have a pretty rock solid sense of self, but lately I am finding cracks in the foundation that make me think otherwise. I don't see things as clearly as I used to. I have been making irrational decisions and questioning truths that have always been unwavering variables in my life. It's weird. I'm unraveling.

In the past, when something like this would happen to me I would wait it out. I'd wake up in the morning and travel throughout my day and somewhere along the way something would tell me what is right, or what it is I should do. Well I've been the most aware I have been in months, more present in my own life than ever, and yet I can't see it. I can't see the answer. It's like looking through a window in the rain. Even my own reflection is blurry and faceless. I'm unsure of my direction, roaming around in a body that doesn't feel like mine.

I can't even talk about it because I can't even describe it. Interesting, I know; I've never NOT had the words for something. I liken it to someone blindfolding me and then driving me to the middle of nowhere and leaving me there. I remember where it was that I came from and feel that burning sense of longing in my chest to go back, but I just don't know how to get there and I can't find the tools to help me on my way. No one is looking for me, no one even notices I am gone.

I can't get away from it either. It consumes all of my thoughts, all of the time. It's really starting to freak me out.

Is it weird that shoes make me horny?

Cuz this pair really do it for me.

Yes

I want somebody who sees the pointlessness
and still keeps their purpose in mind
I want somebody who has a tortured soul
some of the time
I want somebody who will either put up with me
or put me out of misery
or maybe just put it all into words
and make me say, you know
I never heard it put that way
make me say, what did you just say?
I want somebody who can hold my interest
hold it and never let it fall
someone who can flatten me with a kiss
that hits like a fist
or a sentence, that stops me like a brick wall
and if you hear me talking
listen to what I'm not saying
and don't ask me to put words
to all the spaces in between
I want to peel away your layers
and pull the realness through
just lay your true self on the line
and I might lay myself down right next to you
but don't sit behind your eyes
and wait for me to come get you
I want somebody who can make me
scream until it's funny
give me a run for my money
I want someone who can
twist me up in knots
and tell me, show me,
the girl who’s all or nothing
what have you got?
I want someone who's not afraid of me
or anyone else
in other words I want someone
who's not afraid of himself
do you think I'm asking too much?

Love. Love. Love.

I love coming out of cold movie theatres into warm summer nights. I love the smell of suntan lotion. I love the feeling of cold sheets on my skin. I love the sound of crickets. I love the smell of fresh cut grass. I love swinging on swing sets. I love my afro. I love the crunching sound of my shoes as I walk along a dirt road. I love my bed. I love weeping willows.

I love seeing babies smile. I love tattoos. I love rock and roll. I love trashy magazines. I love hot hot showers. I love the sound of rapidly typing on my keyboard when I have fresh, new ideas to share. I love road trips. I love my Dad. I love walking around my house in my ballet slippers. I love mixed CDs with no rhyme or reason. I love reading. I love driving really really fast. I love violent thunder storms. I love my black hair.


I love party dresses. I love rediscovering how many stars are really in the sky when you’re away from the city lights. I love the smell of lilacs. I love lying on my stomach on a hot sandy beach. I love falling asleep on the couch. I love dark nail polish. I love homemade soprasatta. I love bourbon. I love wild parties at my farm.

I love Christmas trees. I love singing. I love San Diego. I love the fact that I have volumes of journals dating back to 1994 with millions of quotes and passages that have appealed to me through the years. I love tight jeans. I love long, passionate kisses. I love getting caught in misty rain. I love going to concerts. I love the Nebraska Corn-Huskers. I love the Texas Longhorns. I love town's with one traffic light.


I love high heels. I love Potbelly’s skinny chocolate malts. I love Rob Zombie movies. I love creme-brule. I love kicking ass playing Madden 08 on Wii. I love traveling. I love skimming across the water in speed boats. I love the smell of salt water. I love unsophisticated humor. I love the first sip of beer on a Saturday morning during football season. I love finding hole-in-the-wall restaurants with great food. I love catching the subway just in time.


I love the smell of spring. I love dancing. I love Lynyrd Skynyrd. I love that I can still get away with no bra. I love funky t-shirts. I love waking up next to someone I love. I love lacy boyshorts. I love listening to talk radio. I love cooking. I love singing all the lyrics to Elton John's 'Tiny Dancer'. I love the way my Isabella follows me around. I love the smell of clean laundry. I love grilled cheese with cheddar and tomato. I love hot tubs. I love sitting around campfires and eating s’mores. I love bubble baths.


I love heels and a short skirt. I love yellow jellybeans. I LOVE red lipstick. I love fresh strawberries. I love ribbons. I love crossword puzzles. I love when you meet someone new and they just get you. I love laughing hysterically. I love going out for breakfast. I love kissing a boy with whiskey breath. I love the sound of waves crashing on the beach at night. I love Mexican food.

Most of all, I love my family ... my WHOLE family ... all 73 of them.