2015? And I'm still alive?

So bored yesterday I couldn't find enthusiasm to do anything. At first I had a full day planned with things I was pretty excited about, starting the day at Huntington Library. The thing about Huntington Library, I once met a guy, years ago, who really wanted to take me there. We never went. We never went out on a date even. But for many years he was obsessed with taking me to Huntington Library. I'm very curious to know why. But every time I plan a me-trip to Huntington Library, my plans get thwarted. I planned for a week to visit Huntington Library (yesterday, on my day off) but then my trusty weather app forecast rain and ruined all my outdoorsy plans. Foiled again!

I looked for enthusiasm to do (anything) else yesterday. Couldn't be done.

Instead I slowly did laundry, messed around with my friend's wheelchair, went to Ralph's, the bank, Ralph's (again), messed around online, drank three beers, watched season four of Madmen, and ordered sushi.

Tonight I'm headed into WeHo to celebrate New Years Eve.

I've never been much of a superstitious person, but with the turn of every New Year, on this day there's one person I must kiss, or the following year is cursed. CURSED! So I'm pretty excited to see him today.

Maybe later I'll book a ticket to Hawaii.

Way to capitalize on my boredom, travel agencies. I have nothing but respect for you people.

Happy New Year!

Old. Banana. Broken. Whore. Potential Mormon.

"Did you like growing up in the Midwest?"

Yes

"It too bad you don't speak Korean."

Because speaking Korean would have benefit me so much in small town Minnesota? People just don't think. The only Asian women I get along with are American ones.

8 days ago I got a sudden migraine at work, back of the head. The following day the migraine worsened. That night I couldn't sleep. Every time I turned my head it was like lightening hit my skull. I have a pinched nerve in my neck. 8 days later I still have a headache. I take OTC medicine in extreme pain, which unfortunately is every day because Americans love to talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, without saying a god damn thing. If we can't get it accomplished in a few sentences, I'm done talking. Truthfully, I lost interest.

Last night this crazy woman called me a whore. She's not crazy because she called me a whore, she started off batshit crazy, and then called me a whore. I'm associated with the man she's obsessed with. Naturally he has no interest in her (at all.) So of course when she sees him talking to me, I'm a whore.

And then,

My night ended with two very cute (barely 18 years old) boys trying to convert me to Mormonism.

Epic lost cause, darlings. And if I didn't have this headache...

Do English people...

Ever get insulted at what we've done to their language?

I see London. I see France.

In May/June!!

Cumberbitch

The bull dyke who cuts my hair calls herself a Cumberbutch.

Do they even make American male actors anymore?

From my monkey, to yours

 For the love of Mary and Joseph (just this one time)  Merry Christmas !!

I'm reading Josh Haddon's, Reddit. He the 28 year old comedian dying of cancer.

When asked if there is a slight chance for recovery he replied,

"Less than 1%.  Which is why I am so adamant and passionate about helping people see how valuable our time is.  SPEND IT RIGHT.  Make your heart happy.  Smile and laugh and fuck and love.  Live, don't survive.  Stop planning for a future that may never come - screw the rat rave. Get out.  Breathe!!!!!!"

- Josh Haddon

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Vanilla men scare me. Every time I think, "You know, it would be nice to go out on a date" I'm then very quickly reminded why I don't date! 

Vanilla men want babies, and to play house before you even know what each other's last names are.

Taser set on stun. Check. 

pchew! pchew! pchew!

First there was THIS

And then,

Bouncing ping pong balls off EACH SCREEN. No kidding. You need amazing aim to hit that small screen on the right. I've tried.

Big Eyes

Seeing it Christmas day. I never liked those "big eyes" paintings, but I'm interested learning more about the back story, and it's a Tim Burton, film. He's brilliant. 

People actually thought (husband) Walter Keane, painted them??

Facebook

Alerted me that someone built a profile with my info.

Good luck. Not you guys. The person impersonating me.

Morning wood

We, are a great nation of panic. No one can freak out like Americans. We're fantastic at crying over spilled milk. We dominate the blame game and give new meaning to hypocrisy.

I watched that film about the first girl to perform a gangbang in the porn industry, and listened to her (supposed) peers at some convention criticize her, saying it brought down the integrity of porn. How ridiculous. If a female actor has sex with 20 or 200 men in three months, does it matter if she does it in 90 days, or 1?

And

Why?

Why?!

Why is it so difficult for Americans to talk about sex with an ounce of  thought and reason? One person asked a question, "Why?" but rather than answering the question with any insight or basic intellect, they instead praise and validate themselves by commenting how great they are.

Fantastic.

Thanks for publicly observing that you are (utterly and completely) boring.

Boring, is slightly better than jealousy and rape.

Those of us who stay off the beaten weathered path, find real people.

Then your only conundrum are things like,

HE lives by the ocean
HE lives downtown
SHE lives in the valley

How can I "Frankenstein" HER with one of the HIMs into my dream couple?

come play

You can't go back. Once you've tasted, taken a bite out of, had it in your mouth, savored it, shared it, once you experience the things that get you off like nothing before or after, there is no going back.

I want what I want, or nothing.

It makes me very aggressive like a boxer denying himself sex to stay hard.

Thinking about it intoxicates me like wine. I want more.

I love being watched by men playing with themselves, jerking off on me while I'm having sex. I'm a big cum freak. Snowballing. Bukkake. Creampie. But I'm also horribly afraid of sexual disease, the leash that strangleholds all my social activity.

"Daniel" was the first person to sell me on the idea that if I got in front of his webcam, on his website, it would be fun. And it was. We did all the things I love. Until it became work (performance) and then it wasn't fun anymore, plus he no longer wanted to have sex, doing all the things we/I loved doing, off camera.

And if you've never performed for a bi/gay online audience before, your "extremely gainful" performances last minimum six hours a night.

"Gotta save it for the camera," they say. And they do. Gay/bi men love watching three things - big dick, big cum loads, and S&M.

"Gotta save it for the camera."

I'm not into S&M, but the other two things I love, but the second these guys, straight guys, are told they can make money jerking off on cam, they always go and they never come back.

It's frustrating.

I have no patience.

I want what I want.

Where do girls like me go? It's not like I can just tap a guy on the shoulder of my choice and say, "Excuse me, but can you not come for three days, and in that time eat a lot of celery, and then call me after three days when you really need sex and to cum. Thanks much appreciated. Cheers."

Which is why, in part I have ZERO patience for women who pretend to know what cum play is.

It's been two years since I last had fun. Work, yes. Fun, no.

The closest I get, is European porn.

That's my sex life now. Porn.

I once knew this couple in North Hollywood...

2 hot girls @Jerry's Deli

Far more superior in looks and fashion than the haggard slut at Firefly who thought she knew sex. It's called "snowballing" and I seriously doubt you do it.

Women

It's funny listening to civilian bitches talk about sex in bars.

Firefly

Studio City. Be there by 10pm. Come say hello.

Tonight?

Doing laundry now. Got raspberries from Amazon. Definitely feel like getting out later this evening. Probably not Star Gardens. Not today. I DO feel like shooting pool and drinking. I miss "the days" of Hollywood Billiards.

The following comments are the result of things that happened earlier today...

If cash becomes obsolete what will obnoxious assholes flash around to get attention?

Don't want to move your cash around? Ooh! I'll do it! Me! Me! Over here! Pick me! Pick me!

p.s. ....

I like "your" loss prevention girl crew member wearing the giant archeological hat and 6 inch stiletto fuck-me thigh high riding boots. Way to blend in there, Indiana Jones. You really thought this was appropriate security work gear? I almost fake stole something just because I was (this close) to the door and I'm pretty sure I could outrun you in my Sketchers, backwards, while filming you on my camera phone as you fall down a dozen times chasing after me. YouTube!!

Cash is king

Because there is no god.;)

Bank on it.

Hey Joseph

Even though we can't stand each other, it's Tuesday, we both take Tuesdays off, we both like liquid lunches and strippers, and it's just one of those days....

I love

That this strip club listing site also informs me of the current weather. Apparently my windows are broken.

Is Star Gardens, still around?

Seems like a good rainy Tuesday place to "lunch".

Hello. How are you?

What cell phones need is auto text reply.

I have the same "text chat" with a handful of people, for no reason in particular, about twice a month, and it's always the same dialogue.

"Hello. How are?"

Good thanks. How are you?

"Good. What's new?"

Nothing. What's new with you?

"Same old same."

I just stop replying at this point.

Two weeks later they'll text me again, "Hello. How are you?"

No more fighting

Let's see if this works Good morning starshine 

My phone is done messing around with you, Google. If you can't app your way into allowing me to mobile upload... 

My phone said that. Not me. I still love you.

I blame TV

And then I rescued a littler of kittens from a burning building.

Ok no. I didn't. But I so would have.

At a restaurant/bar that made the mistake of having televisions mounted on the wall, a commercial came on advertising (this one) particular electronic store. It's tag line,  "specializing in games and electronics" only the "M" is remarkably silent in "games" which makes the tag line more fun to say, and more likely to get me into their store. And since I have the tendency to say things out loud, I very playfully said, "I want to shop at the store that specializes in "gays and electronics" which offended the two men sitting directly in front of me. Gay? Possibly. And since no one was around to monitor my verbal activity, I quickly followed up with, "Oh please, I'm Asian, nothing I say matters," just as a white guy and his Asian girl friend walked by.

I have awesome timing.

Some people are so easily offended.

Life must be terrible for them.

We're looking for a solo girl

Lol! No you're not.

The husband wrote me at 10am, "We would love to hang out with you tonight! Dinner. Drinks. Lingerie shopping. We can host at our house. Whatever you want to do."

Great. I have a beautiful bottle of red vino. I just wanted to share this wine and play. That's all.

Work got cancelled. I was in the Valley. No big deal.

We swap numbers.

The husband texts me for a few hours during the course of the day. "I get off work 3pm. Wifey gets off work 6pm. We know a lingerie store by our house, we know the owner, she'll stay open a little longer just for us, but only if you will for sure show up, and not flake!"

Of course I'll show up. Just tell me where and when.

"Ok" he says, "The wifey gets home by 7pm. I'll text you after I talk with her, and let you know the time and place to meet. But promise me you won't flake!"

I won't flake I promise.

"Ok. Talk in a little bit." he says back.

It's now 9:54pm.

Haven't heard from him since.

"Hey I've got a joke for you."

He says. "How can you tell if the boyfriend is gaining weight?"

Um. I have no idea. How?

"When he can no longer fit into the husband's clothes."

Ok.

I have no idea what to do here. Do I laugh?

"I thought that was pretty funny" he says, chuckling to himself.

I'm confused.

It's really early in the morning. I'm in the laundry detergent isle at Ralph's. Is this a pick-up line? Are you having a situation? Do you need assistance? Is your wife's boyfriend gaining weight? I don't get what's going on here.

Hey, I have legitimate question. How come it's so hard finding sugar cookies? Just plain old fashion sugar cookies. My friend asked me to pick some up. Where do I get these?

Not even the Girl Scouts, sell sugar cookies.

Racists.;)

Everything is aw-summmm!

I don't know what their names are (I can't find their emails). Swapped a few say-nothing messages last week and nothing since. No phone numbers were swapped. I don't remember what time we said we'd meet. I know where we're meeting only because it's the swinger wine bar of Santa Monica.

[edit] And I just realized I don't know what they look like. Did I ever know?

In other words,

What could (possibly) go wrong?

69

I've decided from next year on, I'm turning 69 years old. It's not so much a sexual reference as it is a mission, and genuine curiosity if I'll live that long.

No kissing

Please explain this rule.

His girlfriend said...

He can lick my butthole, but no kissing.

Cool.

He can lick my butthole, and kiss her.

I'm good with that.

Moon. Stars. Rain. Huge collision.

Is slow motioning retrograde following Uranus? 

I feel like that evil doll on X-Files, "I want to play." 

Is it the rain?

I suck at hibernating. 

It's supposed to rain all day. With nothing to do. Except laundry. 

Just me and my phone. And the internet.

To whom it may concern,

You can find bail money under my mattress.

That's just the way she is

Back on the saddle.

On a website.

I wrote this couple. They're not married. Both divorced. Not living together. Boyfriend/girlfriend. Her late 30's. Him late 40's. Attractive. Sexy. Well written profile. Amateur photos (I like those). She took pics of him. Him of her. Them together naked in a door mirror. Some vacation photos. Down to earth. People I would introduce to my parents if we all ran into each other out in public.

Maybe odd, but I sometimes gage people based on whether or not I would introduce them to my parents. Not dinner. Just, "Hey, these are my parents. We're just grabbing some coffee. Great running into you. Let's talk soon. Enjoy the rest of your day" kind of thing.

I would introduce this couple to my parents.

In the past 3 years, I've newly met a half dozen couples. Aside from one fantastic couple, dates were tolerably annoying to epic disasters. Usually the wife will have a sudden freak-out resulting in broken furniture, spilled drinks and tears. (My taser set on stun.)

So it's been a while.

But this couple seemed relaxed, happy. Not frenzied and desperate about finding a single girl, I like that. They were open to just meeting people, I really like that. I wrote them.

I contacted them. We three all communicated. Great. Got to a point where we wanted to meet for a drink. Perfect. Set up a date. Awesome.

We even have the same work schedule. Too good to be true?

Usually on these websites, especially among single guys, they just want to look at pictures. You contact them, give them access to naughty pictures, they just look at the pictures, and only respond to your original email when you lock them back out. "I don't have access to your private pictures. Can you open them?"

No.

I picked a bar/restaurant near the room I pre-arranged. A simple boutique spot where acquaintances work.

Just, recently, back on the saddle, you never go large. It wasn't scummy. Think trendy. Not upscale. By the ocean.

Did you see 'The Grand Budapest Hotel'? Great movie. The unspoken underground hospitality courtesies still apply among certain circles. I've worked in them all: bars, restaurants, hotels, chains, franchise, boutique, 5 star, family owned, etc.

Anyway,

I go to meet this couple at the designated place, on time.

I walk in.

He's there. She's not.

Keeping an open mind I go to meet him. Maybe she's in the bathroom.

"She's running late." he says, calmly but clearly annoyed. Friendly guy. Handsome.

No worries. We drink. Chat.

40 minutes later his girlfriend walks in with her cell phone pressed against her face. "I can't hear you, sweetie! I'm in the restaurant!" She yells into her phone, same time hugging her boyfriend. "Ok! Ok I promise! I gotta go!" She yells into her phone again, briefly reaching over to hug me without an introduction.

The Hollywood hug. The Chicago pat down. The New York FU exchange. The Louisiana pick pocket.

While yelling into her phone, "What's that? No I can't hear you! I gotta go! Love you! Bye!"

And then she got off the phone and says, "Wow you're pretty. Have you been waiting long? Sorry. My girlfriend just broke up with her boyfriend. Ugh. Drama. So what are we drinking? I really need a drink."

And before we could say anything to her she simply wandered off, to the bar presumably.

A.D.D.?

"She's just that way." He explains.

The girlfriend eventually returned to the table but spent most of her time texting, and swearing at her phone. The boyfriend and I continued to talk.

Awkward.

After the second drink I was ready to go. As in leave. As in go home. As in "Check!"

The boyfriend, sensing the awkwardness, started wrapping things up. The girlfriend ran off to the bathroom hallway to make a phone call.

"Sorry. She's just this way" he said.

"She's a good friend." I merely replied and patiently waited, for what, no idea.

After her 20th cell phone trip to the bathroom hallway, the girlfriend comes back to the table and randomly said, "So. Do you (meaning me) think I'm attractive? I think you're beautiful. Isn't she beautiful, sweetheart? So, do we want to have some fun?"

Um

Sure... ?

One thing lead to another and the three of us were in the boutique room.

After some three way kissing and heavy petting, the girlfriend answered her cell phone and ran into the bathroom. She was in there for quite a while.

I don't know what the protocol here is. Do the boyfriend and I continue?

I got dressed.

The boyfriend and I just smiled at each other and made uncomfortable conversation.

Eventually the girlfriend came out of the bathroom.

"I gotta go, babe" the girlfriend says to her boyfriend. "She's suicidal. I'm sorry" the girlfriend says to me.

Um

Curious. Does the friend know you're mid three-way?

They left together.

I stayed.

Not a bad first date really.

Nothing got set on fire.

No one landed in the ER.

Rainy Sunday

Last night I looked up into the dark brooding sky and thought; I really want to play tonight.

Did I?

No.

Instead I watched 'Adult World' (because John Cusack, is in it, and I'm a huge fan.)

"SAT's don't mean shit. That's like believing in Scientology."

"But I'm 29 on craigslist."

And because I'm back in L.A, and because it's winter, and because I'm back in L.A., I just watch movies, study French, and do laundry in my spare time.

Devils Knot (about West Memphis 3)
The Rover
Transcendence

Thing is,

NYE and my bday are coming up. I really, really miss hosting good times. But unfortunately in the past two years they have not been good times. And if a couple breaks shit in a nice hotel room under my name, I'll be charged a million times more than face value, so...

There's a new rental coming out with Geoffrey Rush, called 'The Best Offer'.

There's a few guys I'm chatting with, I'm interested in, who seem interested in having some fun (seem), but I already know they're not real and only interested in naughty photos. But you know,

I've gotten to the point now, I mean, I'm only going to turn 29 two or three more times, so...

Might as well show off what I have.

Thank you

You know who you are.

Right now

Westwood, CA.

Where [edit] Hare Krishna's march the streets at 2pm. And anti Darren Wilson, verdict protesters march the streets by 8:30pm.

7 cop cars and a bus.

Nope. I think there were more cops for the [edit] Hare Krishna's.

My bad. [edit] Hare Krishna's.

Not to make light of the verdict or situation at hand but,

Westwood, CA?

Your biggest problem is running out of soy milk.

Works every time!

If I write long emails regarding my scientific/Buddhist philosophies on sex, love, and human research studies, I lose them in minutes. 

It's awesome.

"Carl Jung, once said... Hey where you going?"

You guys win

No one plays in the lifestyle anymore. Every man to message me is either contacting me to make adult content, and more recently, publishers, or from one reality/cable show or another. 

The other day yet another guy, posing as a possible playmate interested in having some fun, revealed his network identity to me.

You guys win. 

What do you want to know?

Please have your questions prepared when we meet Tuesday.

Thank you in advance.

1 girl. 1 cup.

I have those cups... But seriously... Gross.

No. Period.

I'm not happy about it either.

Things I do with an injured toe

Standing. Walking. No problem. Most of the swelling has gone down. All good. Or so I thought.

But no

Not so much.

Running downstairs. Big. BIG problem. I almost took a header down the stairwell.

The bouncing pressure on the bottom of my big toe -- just wasn't having it. Resulting with my toe throbbing in pain all morning.

I put my foot up. Home bound, I went to my favorite last resort fountain of entertainment, CL.

The best part of CL is that every ad has "specifics" you MUST adhere to for a reply.

Type this.
Attach that.
Paragraph this.
Establish that.

And,

I think people misunderstand the intendment of a photograph. There is no need to describe your photo. It's a photo. It's self explanatory. That's the reasoning behind posting a photo in the first place. "See, look for yourself."

That would be like posting a picture of a white car for sale and writing underneath the picture, "This photo is a car. This car is white. We're selling this white car. This white car is for sale."

Fantastic.

Distinguish from the obvious.

We want to know how much mileage is on the car. If the car's been photoshopped. And if it has herpes.

Thing is,

You don't control the responses no matter how hard you try. Like women who are clearly older than me, calling me "ma'am".

Oooooh right. They mean "bitch". I forget these things in my old age.

In conclusion,

Is it weird walking into a massage parlor only to get your feet massaged. Friends say no. But for some reason I feel odd walking into a massage parlor just for my feet.

I'm going to post an ad on CL "looking for foot rub" no happy ending required. I've mastered that part all by myself. Twice last night.

I probably shouldn't put that part in the ad.

Break me down...

"How did you hurt your toe?"

Short answer : I tripped

It's not broken. I thought it was. Feet are funny. You can hit something really hard with your big toe (or trip) and the toe's fine, but encompassing the toe, the round joint-looking bone (the Sesamoid bone) on the under/side of the toe was not looking so good. It shifted. Turned color. And got much, much bigger.

Apparently injuring the Sesamoid bone isn't uncommon, especially among basketball players. Running. Jumping. Blocking. Extending the balls of your feet.

I'm going to tell people I injured my toe playing basketball.

Sure

Why not

Sounds believable.

When I hit my toe, my entire vocabulary got wiped out but one word - motherfuckingfuckfuckshitfuckfuckingfucker

It's a word.

Which

(After I tripped)

I repeated over and over,

And

Over and over.

My hand's been slammed in a car door (no broken bones) but I don't think I swore as much then as I did hitting my toe.

And I always say the most ridiculous things afterwards to gain composure, "Fuck this toe! I got nine more!"

It's just a toe, but in a relatable scenario, say when your toe makes contact with the leg of a coffee table, there's really no other pain quite like it at the time.

In this (particular) situation,

It was like -- stubbing my toe on the coffee table, 20 times in a row, within thirty seconds, with a fierce Bruce Willis-like vengeance. That's the only way I can describe it.

"Wussy"

Half wimp

Halffffff....

Awesome

Sincerity. Sarcasm. Can't quit it.

F-bombs

I'm going to attempt to not say "fuck" all day today. It's my favorite curse word, how all my cursing begins, and I'm pretty creative with it. I said it like 200 times last Monday. Not an exaggeration. 80 times yesterday, but in my defense at least 40 of those fucks were when I busted my toe. Today I'm going to (try) not saying it at all.

"I'm not an asshole. I just don't give a fuck a lot."

Awesome.

Nightcrawler

Saw this movie yesterday -- after busting the big toe on my right foot.

Didn't know Bill Paxton, is also in this film. Haven't seen him in anything (or so I don't think) since Titanic. Love this guy.

I'm a Jake Gyllenhaal, fan. Great movie. But it was hard not focussing all your attention on Rene Russo, when she was in scene. She looks amazing in this film and she's 60.

Wait. She's 60? 

Not in this movie. She looks mid 40's.

I liked the dark eye makeup, too. (Movie reference.)

I like it when it's done well. On older women. And not just random layered rings of gunk around the eyes. And only if the rest of her is equally quaffed. Though I find women (20-40) who wear little to no makeup far more sexy -- like the woman I was chatting with in the women's bathroom at the movie theater.

Anyway,

Awesome movie.

Girls are yucky

That's why!

EATING RAOUL for breakfast

Back in Los Angeles (for now) where I work And by "work" I mean where I make money, deal with with unstable dysfunctional friends and/or their unstable dysfunctional partners, and sift through the daily bullshit thicker than July smog.

Weather. Work. That keeps me coming back.

And,

I get to catch up on my movies, and wine tasting.

Enemy
Philomena
Kill Your Darlings
America
The invisible woman
The Lone Ranger
Maleficent

'America', was terrible. I shut it off after 10 minutes. It's pretty much a "white people suck" movie.

White people bitching about colored people. Colored people bitching about white people. You're all stupid. Wait. Did I put the apostrophe in the right place?

And,

Daniel Radcliffe. Respect. His Ginsberg, was brilliant. He made Ginsberg so much cooler than he deserves, but I love that actors still go above and beyond for their projects, like Theron, in 'Monster'.

And,

I liked 'The Lone Ranger'. Why didn't people like this movie?

Hence, therefore, and, too,

Whatever,

Fuck it

If you get a chance, read Jon Stewart's, Reddit. Love that guy. I don't always agree with his politics but he's brilliant. Stewart's Reddit, is the best I've read. Tied for second are the ex-Knight from Medieval Times, and the employee from the self proclaimed "ghetto McDonalds". Ha. Good times.

I was disappointed how terribly boring Rob Zombie's Reddit, was. Then again this is the guy who said the skate park next to his house in CT was too loud. And moved.

Too loud?

Tuesdays are my days off. It's the only designated day I keep for myself. Currently I'm doing laundry. Jealous? I know you are. Then I'm going to call on my long time angry dyke hairdresser to see if she's available for a cut.

Aaaaand then,

Probably see a movie. Nightcrawler, I'm sure.

Aaaaand then, hit a wine bar, I'm sure.

Once upon a time "magnum" meant something more to me than 1.5 liters if wine... but these days in Los Angeles... 1.5 liters of wine sounds fantastic to me.

There's an open bottle of Decoy, siting in front of me right now...

But I'm doing laundry.

I don't drink and launder anymore. Not since "the incident".

Oh,

And it's only 9:07am.

One day that won't matter anymore.

Kowalski's and Caribou - part VI

There's this woman I once knew, a woman I, in times gone, called a dear friend in our younger years. But  no more. When this woman disappears from her home, after many nights in a row, her daughter emails me.

Her mom is a long time drug addict. Functioning, kind of. I severed ties with the mom over 10 years ago. But I just can't say no to her daughter who's been raised by her father since the court awarded him full time custody. Obviously.

There's a horrible thought that goes through my mind.

Why does this voluntarily toxic woman who, for all these years literally cares about no one, continue to live?

Why isn't she dead? Or rather how is she not dead?

Awful.

But,

I think it.

You wouldn't believe the places I've gone. Things I've seen. Looking for her mom. You wouldn't believe where I've found her. Maybe you would. You've seen movies. Depending on the director, films generally sum addict filth and vile rather accurately.

I let this woman who I (then) called my friend, stay with me once.

The 100th time I tried to help her get well for her daughter. I let her stay with me...

Once.

Resulting in the end of our friendship.

But,

Her daughter is ever faithful, ever loving, ever committed, ever devoted.

As long as we bring this woman home. Her daughter will take care of her mom. Not that her mom appreciates it.

And from her daughter,

And my dad's wife,

I ponder two things.

1. Sick is sick
2. Love is love

There is no lesser sick, or greater sick. Just sick.

There is no greater love, or lesser love. Just love.

No?

I once fell terribly in love. I was 20 years old. He was 30 years old and a raging alcoholic. But I loved him.

I love him still. A little.

He dumped me. I was devastated. According to him I didn't love him enough. It took many years to understand what that possibly meant. And he was right. I didn't love him enough.

Did I love him enough to roll him out of his own vomit, quite possibly day after day, bathe him, feed him, clean his house, run his errands, and make attempt after attempt to see him get well? No. Absolutely not.

I loved him. Just not enough.

I see the way that woman's daughter loves her mom.

I see the way my dad's wife loves my dad.

Addicts. Drunks. HIV, Cancer. I'm not comparing any of these illnesses as equals, but if sick is sick, and love is love... can't ignore the care these people require is the same.

Whatever it may be, however it may happen, do you know anyone who will be there for you in true sickness?

Someone who will run all your errands, clean all your messes, care for you every hour, of every day. Alongside doing all the cooking, housekeeping, laundry, and they probably have a full time job also...

Because that's cancer.

My dad's wife is amazing. Truly. All the pills, physical routines, cleaning, cooking, doctors, chemo, charts, running to the pharmacist, taking care of the house, doctors, paying the bills, plus my dad is a daily insulin diabetic...

The only other person who would care for dad that way, is me. Or I would at least try. My dad's wife is amazing. Superhuman.

In conversation with my dad he asked what my goals were for 2015. I told him, "Paris. I don't know what I'll do after That." I said. "Maybe Egypt?"

To which my dad replied rather affectionately, "Go to Paris. Take it from there. Who knows, dear. You may never want to come back, or go anywhere else ever again."

"No, I'll come back." I assured my dad.

My dad just shook his head and said, "Go to Paris. You have to. You never know, dear. You might meet a wonderful man, fall madly in love. Paris is known for that! I want you to go to Paris. It's where you need to be."

It is where I need to be. Paris. Italy. Spain. I've always known. Since a little girl staring at pictures of renaissance sculptures and paintings, "I need to be where these were made. I want to go here."

Years ago,

My dad's wife tried to get me to read some books by this guy she saw on Oprah.

Oprah.

Right.

I didn't read the books.

So recently,

Once again,

My dad's wife gave me copies of this guy's books and CDs. His teachings are supposed to help you find inner strength.

I'm reading them.

If these books and CDs are what gets my dad's wife through the countless days and nights, loving my dad unconditionally, taking care of him, and his cancer, every hour, of every day, then I'm reading his books.

And,

Who knows,

I may also need the strength one day to get me through countless days and nights.

In Paris.

Kowalski's and Caribou - part V

Caribou's, is the Starbucks of MN.

When meeting someone in MN for the first time, regardless of the weather, you meet at Caribou's.

On this particular morning it was 23 degrees out. I've got CA blood now, and even though Caribou's is directly across the street from my hotel - oh you betcha I wore hat and mittens.

The coffee house was busy. Like Starbucks on a Saturday morning in L.A.

In the short walk crossing the street from my hotel to Caribou's, my hands felt like they were frozen even inside the mittens.

In the warmth of Caubou's, I took one mitten off and it dropped to the ground. A very nice man picked up my mitten before I even noticed it dropped, and handed it back to me.

That was incredibly nice. I thanked him. Both he and the girl he was with were super friendly.

Very sweet.

And,

Very attractive.

Both of them.

I wanted to invite them out for a glass of wine.

I didn't of course.

For me, regarding couples, being nice, warm, friendly and sweet, means so much more to me than being "hot" or "fit" or "upscale". If you are the latter mentioned, that's just a bonus of amazing luck but never the initial attraction.

If you start off saying, "We're hot, fit, and sexy" it just translates into, "We're selfish, arrogant dicks. You don't want to meet us." And thanks to public forums, it's generally true.

You can't sell nice.

Kindness isn't meant to be sold.

The only way to meet couples is just by hanging out, but you can't really identify yourself, or each other, out in public this way either, so...

Once upon a time I did the online legwork meeting people. But with the growth of social networking, public forums, meeting people this way is such a turn off.

Oh yeah, right. I remember them. They wrote that disparaging rant about single girls, and then wonder why they can't find single girls.

Geniuses, I tell ya.

I rather travel 350 miles to hang out with people I really enjoy, than risk meeting "hot, fit, upscale" strangers within 5 miles of me who already sound like people I would never want in my house.

Receiving emails from swinger couples in Los Angeles, is a horror/freak show of arrogance, anger, and begging. And I all I can do is just open the emails, read them, and then,

Take some aspirin,

And,

Log off.

Today,

In about 6 hours I'll be having lunch... I don't know... Somewhere.

See you there?

Or,

Maybe,

One day,

At a wine bar, beach, Getty, Vegas, New York, Paris, on an airplane, or...

Kowalski's and Caribou - part IV

"She's reading Allen Ginsberg." the husband says nodding his head in my direction. "Ever read Allen Ginsberg?" he asked his wife.

"No! Of course not! Why the hell would I?!" she said belittling her husband.

In that era of writers, Ginsberg wrote boring rants about drugs and cops.

Huxley and Kerouac, wrote about sex, orgies, opening one's mind.

I normally don't read Ginsberg. I just happened to be reading him on this particular day.

The husband lowered his glasses to see which Ginsberg book I was reading. I normally would have just told him, but his wife was such a cunt I didn't dare attempt any literary conversation. According to his wife one of could end up pregnant. And I'm on the pill, so...

I mind my business. Let those two lovebirds work it out.

"I remember reading Ginsberg in college. I wonder if they're still teaching about him in political science?" the husband comments to no one in particular.

By the way. Yes. They are still teaching him in political science classes.

The wife was thoroughly annoyed her husband brought up Ginsberg, again.

"Who cares if they're still teaching him! Ginsberg. What is he, a Jew?" the wife intellectually contributes. And then she adds, "If you want to look at girls, at least look at pretty girls. Look at her. Now she's pretty. Look at her finger nails."

I imagine the wife has been belittling her husband for years. I also imagine he's been cheating on her for the duration of those years. Probably with a girl who reads. Christ, I hope so.

The husband flips open his laptop and ignores his wife. I bury my head into another boring chapter by Ginsberg.

The wife just sat there.

Quiet.

Alone.

Kowalski's and Caribou - part III

Some women look very sexy in clothes. They've got thick meaty hips, thighs, breasts, and wear tight clothes to hug their hourglass curvy frame. And if they have a pretty face with long thick curly dark hair, well that just seals the deal for me.

Because of how much flying I've done this year,

I've taken notice if this one particular Latin female flight attendant. I've been on a few of her flights now. She's unbelievably sexy.

On this last flight someone (quietly) stink-bombed her plane. She threw open the attendants curtain and stared into the unknown smelly vapor. She then marched down center isle of the plane in her high heel shoes, part gunslinger, part runway model, and tried to detect the origins if said stench basically by following her nose.

She disappeared into the back of the plane and minutes later the smell was gone.

She walked back down the isle, to everyone's curiosity how she got rid of the stinky odor so quickly, but only said, "That just won't do on my plane." and smiled.

Everyone laughed.

It wasn't funny. But when you're a smoking hot curvy Latin female flight attendant, who cares.

Kowalski's and Caribou - part II

Kowalski's has the best deli inside of a grocery store, ever. It's like 20 grandmas in a kitchen making the most fantastic holiday foods - but in a grocery store deli.

The Kowalski's by my dad's house has the nicest women working in the deli. I could have easily dropped $100 in fish, pastas, stuffings, seasoned vegetables, etc., and it would have amount to a ton of food because food cost is cheaper in MN than Los Angeles.

$15 gets you a beer, burger and fries in MN.

$15 in Los Angles, gets you...

Well I'm sure it gets you something.

The hotel I stay in by dad's house, layover many flight crews. I kept seeing pilots and airline attendants in the hallways and elevator.

"I love your luggage." one very pretty attendant said, flashing me her expensive smile.

"This girl knows how to pack." the other pretty attendant said, smiling, nodding in approval of my suitcase.

Keep talking like that ladies, and we're all going to miss our flights.

When I was 19 years old I nanny/babysat a flight attendant's boy. The boy was like 8 or 10 years old. Maybe a little older. I forget now. Brilliant kid. Piano player. His mom was a total pervert. In a good way though. She was always asking me if I wanted to sleep over and have a girls night in. She was always hitting on my dates when they picked my up from her house. One night I got sexy at her place for a date, and she came home with one of her stud pilot boyfriends and showed me off to him. "Isn't she pretty!" she exclaimed spinning me around in front of him. Her pilot stud agreed while staring at my dress. She was a very attractive stunning woman. If I knew then what I know now...

Missed opportunities.

But now every time I see a sexy flight attendant I think of her.

And speaking of flight attendants...

Kowalski's and Caribou - part I

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting in this chair?" I ask the woman standing next to the empty bar stool.

"It'll cost ya $25!" she snorts in a thick MN accent, giving me the elbow to let me know she was only kidding. "I'm just trying to make some extra money!" she snorts again, giving me the elbow one more time.

I had a response to that but I kept it to myself.

Even her snorting laugh had a MN accent.

Some midwesterners are truly interesting creatures. They'll keep trying and trying for a response to their humor like their chilly little noses depends on it. Anywhere else in the country, "Excuse me, is anyone using this chair?" and the reply would simply be yes, no, or go fuck yourself. Conversation over.

But not in MN

"Glad to see the cold isn't keeping people from going out." she says stating the obvious.

Options: Go out, drink beer. Stay home, drink beer. Only you don't get laid staying home.

"A few more of these (lifts her glass) and I'm going to wish I stayed home." she snorts again giving me the elbow one more time.

That would make both of us.

This had potential to go on all night.

I just grabbed the chair. Fuck it.

Thank you Clay @RayJ's for being (that) awesome.

Phoenix Airport.

Oh my fucking god. Christ. Jesus.

An hour on the tarmac waiting for a gate. Once inside the airport everyone with access to an intercom system used it all at the same time, talking over each other nonstop. And another hour on the tarmac waiting to take off.

But,

I rather deal with your ridiculous airport than the MN bullet I just missed being the 5 degree temp at night.

Yes. 5 degrees. You read correctly.

Lewis Black, has a bit about MN winter weather along the lines of, "I couldn't keep a single thought in my head the entire time I was there. You know, I really need to... fuck it's cold!!"

I miss winter sometimes. Just not the crazy that goes with it.

We meet again

Back in September, I wrote a blog titled 'Whole Lot of Pork' where I mention a guy I met and was interested in.

Since that blog I've been back to that particular pub (where I met him) approx 4 times but have not seen him since.

A month later,

Before I left Los Angeles (I'm presently in MN),

Friends and I went to a bar in the valley not far from the pub, aaaaaand guess who was tending bar? That guy.

I'm terrible at small talk. Feels like an interview. I hate being interviewed. Plus he's working. It's different making small talk when one of you is working.

We swap a few one liners, the bartender and me. I.E. We're both from the Midwest, we both like hockey, etc,. The Kings have become one of the best teams in the league (even though Detroit and Pittsburgh are still hurdles, etc.) This goes on for a while. And my friends are eyeballing the aforementioned volley of sentence swapping between me and the bartender and they're clearly getting annoyed. An entire month had past since the last time I saw this guy around and here we were talking about winters in the Midwest.

We're salesmen. If you live in Los Angeles, you're a salesman. If you're good at your job, it means you know how to pitch your product to those you want to sell it to. I rarely ever give my personal life much thought. It's not a product. Its not a priority. Not for about 7 years since I last considered dating someone regularly, which resulted in that guy and I having sex a few times and then never speaking to each other again.

"Your friends tell me you're leaving for MN." The bartender says to me. Total bartender talk. I know. I've done it.

Yeah but I'm coming back. I mean, I'm not moving back to MN. I mean, I'm going back to MN to be with family. l'll be back mid November. Back in Los Angeles, I mean.

Smooth.

Daniel Radcliffe

I'm really liking this guy. His interviews are amazing. He's well spoken, witty, sharp, fast, articulate, and he can rap the Blackalicious Alphabet Aerobics, which isn't easy for white guys, or so I hear.

YouTube it.

The married woman

My friend is involved with a married woman.

She is still married. Recently separated. No divorce papers in sight.

My friend is too busy getting laid to see all the bad choices he's making.

She has keys to his house, keys to his car, access to his bank account, and now she is trying to get him to go into business with her.

Bad! All of it.

We all have "that one friend" involved with someone who is just bad for them. Up until now that someone was a different guy my friend and I shook our heads over. Now it's my friend but he's too blind to see it.

When my friend's girlfriend gets him to commit financially into helping her with her business, she'll take him for everything, and move on, or go back to her husband. I watched her cry over her husband when she mentioned him to me in private.

My friend won't listen to reason. He won't hear it. He's enchanted when she says, "I'm just a little girl. Take care of me!"

She typed up a list of rules he must follow.
She stalks him if he does anything without her.
She stalks the people he's with.
If she doesn't see his car where he says he will be, she screams at him.

And all she has to say is, "I'm just a little girl, take care if me!"

Never mind she's a married, mid thirty-something year old woman.

Don't tell me fantasy isn't better than reality.

Reality sucks.

Just ask my friend.

HER

She intrigues me. Stylish. Quaffed hair. Vogue. Cool. Polished. A teacher, I think. Perhaps a lawyer. No. A teacher. She's too cool looking to be a lawyer.

I see her around few times a week. She asked my name once. I told her. We make small talk. Nothing special. She's classy and beautiful but that's not what intrigues me. What intrigues me, she is no doubt the strong silent type. Independent. Sophisticated. Worldly. Qualities rare in women. Instead of the usual petty jealousy. Emotional instability. Nagging. Boring. If I was your husband I'd rather drink beer and masturbate too. But not her. She's seen places. Been things. She doesn't say much. Grins a lot. I like that. Like she knows all your secrets. So hot. I want to get to know her better. I want to know her secrets. Just one or two. I'd like to hang out with her some day. Have a drink of wine.

I saw her last week. Sitting at a table directly behind her was a couple. A little older. Sexy. The wife of that couple kept hitting on me. Got me going.

Sexual struggle.

Conundrum.

I would have given that couple my number but, I didn't want to do it in front of her. Anyone else but her. She probably wouldn't have cared. She seems too cool to care. I let that couple go anyway.

Worked out for the best.

I saw her again tonight. I really want to ask her out for a drink. Just can't bring myself to do it.

Respect.

She intrigues me.

Regardless;

I rented the movie HER from redbox. Loved this movie so much. Huge fan of Joaquin Phoenix.

Awesome scene: Phone sex with the girl who has a dead cat fetish...

"It's a dead cat and I'm... I'm choking you with its... with it's tail... It's a dead cat..."

After seeing that scene, I suddenly stopped feeling bad I watched (that one) clip of the guy having sex with a blowup doll. He didn't cum. Kind of disappointing. (The guy with the blowup doll, not Joaquin Phoenix.) Joaquin Phoenix, comes later in the movie.

"Sometimes I feel like I've felt everything I'm going to feel. And I worry I'm only going to feel lesser versions of what I've already felt."
-- Theodore

How do you write women so well?

I think of a man. And I take away reason and accountability.
- Melvin Udall

Dogs

Observation. Two scenarios I witnessed over the past two weeks.

MAN and MAN

Man's dog runs into another man's front yard.

Dog owner: "I'm sorry! My dog likes your yard!"

The two men laugh.

Homeowner: "I like your dog!"

Dog owner: "My dog likes you!"

The two men laugh. Numbers are swapped. Connection made.

MAN and WOMAN

Man's dog ran into a woman's front yard.

Dog owner: "Hey Sorry about that! She's just full of energy this morning!"

Homeowner: "Your dog didn't take a dump in my front yard did it?!"

Dog owner: "What? No. She just ran into it. Sorry."

Homeowner: "Your dog needs to be on a leash!"

Then the woman turned her back and went into her house.

J'aime les livres et les bijoux

I got the flu shot few days ago.

Hmm

That's how bored I am. Blogging about my flu shot.

I'm just counting the days to get on a plane again.

Stationary is no good for me.

I'm re-reading 'The Catcher In the Rye', studying French, packing and waiting to get on the plane. I don't like packing a bunch of clothes. I prefer buying them when I get there. Wherever "there" is. But thermals in MN is a must-have this time of year.

It's still 6 months away but,

So it seems Saint Germain Des Pres, is the place to be in Paris.

The Cafe De Flore. Les Deux Magots.

I'm Metro savvy. I'll get around ok.

Pickpockets? Challenge accepted!

And,

I'm eager, more than anything, to see if these conflicts among the French are true.

Example,

1) French patrons, tourists, students etc., don't like French Americans.

2) French people don't like Canada.

3) Parisians, are very nice

But,

4) French waiters hate everybody! (Which I think is absolutely awesome!)

I'm learning French for the waiters!

Please don't spit in my food. I tip 20%-25% always. Promise. Oh wait. Do you tip in France?

Can't I just, "cette, s'il vous plait." And point on the menu? I know very little about French food. But I'm not going to Paris for the food. I'm sure it'll be fine. Just in case, I'm packing a ton of seaweed. I eat it every day. Kale, seaweed, cucumbers, fish and rice. I'm sure I'll find it.

In the past month I've met about a dozen French people, and they were all very nice.

"Bonjour. Comment allez-vu? Bien, merci. J'mapelle [Simone]. Comment vous appeles vous?" And they were very, very nice and seemed genuinely happy/impressed I was learning Francaise.

Sooooooooo,

Girl with the green hair,

Salute! Allons boire un verre!

Putain!

Hey look, I learned a new word!

No my tutor did not teach me that.

I learned it on YouTube all on my onesome.

I have no idea what to do with myself tonight.

Guess I'll just surf porn and study French.

(The gentile Francaise.)

Socks and underwear. In Paris, just socks.

It's been two weeks now. I've had a little time to absorb what's going on at home. Adjust. Try to. Yesterday I asked dad if he would consider smoking pot to help him eat. (Never thought "dad" and "pot" would be used in the same sentence, ever.) He's looking into Asian herbal remedies as an alternative. Plus he's eating again. Thank god. Don't think I want to see my dad smoking marijuana, anyway. Cancer or not, nothing would help me recover from that visual.

I'm doing my best to tone down the pure utter insane panic that rips through my body from the time I wake up, until the time I go to bed. It does him no good. He's taking it all in stride now. Hitting on the nurses (I'm sure!) I'm waiting for him to tell one if them I just got out of prison. Wait for it. He thinks it's flirty to say things that, "She robs banks for a living." And apparently I suck at it. I don't get how but it works and the girls giggle...

Completely forgot about Halloween. Getting a room today actually. On my to-do list. Working in an area Halloween night that will just be crazy. I gave up battling crazy.

Meeting the French tutor this morning. Then shopping winter gear. It's already 30 degrees in MN, at night. And shopping for a compact (European) travel bag. I'm not bringing suitcases to Paris. Whatever I need I'll just get there. One shoulder bag. That's it. Trying to learn how their Metro works. On one of the days there I want to play nerdy Asian tourist. Get a pair if fake glasses, fat wad of tape in between the lenses, and take a million photos.

I watched that YouTube video if the two French girls, sisters I think, one has green hair, and they were saying what NOT to do in Paris. Meaning (for tourists) how not to behave. And their big one was do not blow your nose or sniffle in public. Yes!! Add to that, especially in restaurants!! I see we're going to get along great. A quick nose blow in a Kleenex, fine. But some people just think everyone around them wants to hear you blow your nose, and blow, and blow, while we're all trying to eat. It's so rude.

The YouTube girls were also saying, don't be surprised when we kiss you. We always kiss the girls, twice, so don't be surprised.

Fantastic. The girl with the green hair can kiss me any time.

First week of November

I'm back in MN for a while. I'm sure I'll get drunk in my room and blog something ridiculous at 2am.

(So pretty much nothing will change.)

Shoe poop. $1.50. And France's deflated butt plug.

Regretfully, I pushed opened the metallic blue door, as I've done many times in the past. Only when I did it this morning, upon taking one step inside the door, my steel toe black shoe stepped in something wet and squishy. To my horror I had just stepped in freshly made human vomit and poop. Two piles side by side.

I'm going to end this part if the story here, and explain how this event came to past, another day. I only mention it now because my steel toe black shoe becomes relevant later on in this blog, which is about to get choppy, but it all comes together in the end.

In the meantime,

I cleaned my shoe best I could until I got back to my friends place where I could give it a proper wash. Vigorously washing my hands under scalding hot water.

Fucking vile.

But,

Before I got my back to my friend's place,

Before then,

Before stepping in poop and vomit,

Earlier that morning, while drinking caffeine, I read in the French online paper that France had finally deflated Paul McCarthy's tree sculpture, or more appropriately what France was referring to as "the giant butt plug".

Apparently France disapproved of the butt-plug sculpture. Is France surprised this is what Paul McCarthy, created? I know France has THEE internet. France could have done a background check via THEE internet on Paul McCarthy's past work. He's not an artist. Not by my definition anyway.

It's like Marvel, are they shocked over the reaction of Milo Manara's new Spider-Woman painting where she's dangling her vagina over a high rise building? No. Of course not. You guys know who Milo Manara, is right? I'm guessing Marvel has THEE internet. I'm guessing Marvel even knows how to operate THEE internet. Milo Manara. Heavy Metal. Brilliant gorgeous sensual erotic art. Marvel knew what it was doing hiring Manara to illustrate Spider-Woman. Sooooo, que pasa, Marvel fans?

Art (or rather why I enjoy art) is to feel something, connect, bond, resolve, live, relive. Take us there, or take us back again, some place we long to be.

Artists become artists, for the same reasons art lovers become art lovers, because the every day norm just isn't good enough.

When I made art I wanted people to look at it and feel alive, intrigued, fantasize, be someone else, want something else, but only for the better. I don't understand "shock art". Being shocked is usually just above being disgusted. Why would you want someone to look at your art and be disgusted? It's not exactly incentive for them to buy your work and hang it on their wall.

THEE internet,

It's like, watching 5 hours of CNN explaining what Ebola, is. We have THEE internet. We can Wiki
Ebola anytime we want.

I find myself glued to my headsets more and more, blasting French lessons in my ear drums, ignoring the world and it's hysterics over Ebola, Spider-Woman's vagina, France's giant butt plug,

And let's not forget the unaffordable wealth that is $1.50.

You read correctly. $1.50. Six quarters. Perhaps I should explain. It leads up to the part about the poop on my shoes.

No.

Wait.

First I'm going to say this one thing.

I knew right away when news broke of dads condition there was going to be problems with family and work. Meaning my work was going to have problems with my dad's condition.

My bosses want my dad's condition, and my family, to both coordinate around my work schedule. Because my current employers think they're more important than my family.

Work thinks they need me, and are entitled to me before my family. It's fucking hilarious. I'm not a rocket scientist. Hire someone else.

I don't care if my bosses give a damn about my dad. We're not friends. I'm just a mule to them. They're a paycheck to me. That's it. That's how it works. All the same, I can get work anywhere. I say this because I know my solid work ethic. And because I always get work when I want it. You won't like me, you just won't (trust me) but who cares, you'll like my work. That's all that matters. However, make no mistake my family, as irritating as they are, in rare situations like this always come first. I've said "no" to my family about many things, many times, but not this, and this time.

Which leads me to,

When I saw him I did a double-take. I know that guy. I remember him. First day on the job he was so nice to me. 50 people telling me how everything I did was wrong, too much this, not enough that, and that looks awful how the hell did you get this job, etc. But not that guy. That guy was nice to me. "You're doing fine, kid. People just have to complain. Makes them feel important. Ya know?"

I know. But it was still a nice thing to say.

So when I saw him again I immediately started to walk over to him. I just wanted to say thank you. I wanted to shake his hand. I wanted him to know I never forgot how nice he was to me on my first day on the job. Probably doesn't mean anything to him, just being himself, just another day, but it meant something to me. Still does. It helped me get through my first day. So I started to walk over to him just to say thank you.

"Hey [Simone!!]" this other guy yells out. "Hey [Simone! Simone!] Over here! Over here!"

I looked around. Saw this 2nd guy waving me over. Great. The 2nd guy is friends with the people who sign my paychecks. He doesn't even like me. I don't like him.  We don't like each other at all. But since he sees me walking towards someone else, he has to interrupt my path and grab my attention for himself. What a clown.

I make a quick detour. Fucking politics.

I tell myself; one minute, just say hello, and leave.

Instead,

The clown talked about himself for a solid ten minutes before he finally says, "Ok sweetheart, I'd love to sit here and talk to you all day, but I have things to do. I'm a busy man." and then brushes me off without saying goodbye.

Dick.

Free from the clown's self loving verbal vice grip, I turned to find the nice man I originally wanted to talk to.

But of course... He was gone.

This happened last week and I'm still pissed off about it.

Anyway back to $1.50 and the poop on my shoe:

On this long unfortunate list, very (very) few things bother me more than cheap people. And by cheap, I mean people who complain about anything under $20. If I go out to eat, or go to the movies, or go to a bar, or clothes shopping, if I go to any of these places and my bill is less than $20, throw a parade! I go out expecting to spend money, or I don't go out.  I don't go out and then complain I'm spending money, that's just stupid. Especially over $1.50? Here's six quarters, bitches, get over it.

By 3pm I had almost forgotten about the poop on my shoe. I was guilted into visiting a friend's girlfriend at work. I can't stand her, if you want to know the truth, no one can but I made the mistake of telling my friend I was in the neighborhood, so he told me stop by his girlfriend's work and say hello. She'd really like it, he said. 

(Dude, she doesn't care.)

Anyway, 

I go. I stop into her work place. It's a dive bar restaurant. The kind of place people sweatpants and bring coupons to. 

So I'm sitting in her station, drinking tea with potential to give you more strands of hepatitis than licking the bottom of my poop shoe, when my friends girlfriend leans over my table and with a miserable expression on her face says, "See those women over there, they've been bitching at me for two minutes over $1.50. One fucking dollar and fifty cents!" 

Everyone wants stuff for for free. When they realize the 5th basket of bread is going to cost them $1.50, they act like, "Oh well we wouldn't have asked for 5 basket of bread if we knew you were going to charge us after the 4th one!" 

Fuck off.

And now that my attention had been brought to these two cheap women, I watched them gesturing their disapproval of being charged $1.50.

"Hey. Did I tell you how my day started this morning?" I ask my friend's annoying girlfriend. "Well, I opened this blue door as I've done many times in the past, only this time, right as I open the door and stepped inside, I stepped in fresh human poop and vomit..." I tell her. "Hey, what did those cheap bitches order anyway?" 

Now that I think about it, my friend's annoying girlfriend didn't ask how I had come to step in human poop and vomit. (I'm offended.)

Anyway,

No. We didn't scrape poop off my shoe and put it in their food. But we considered it for as long as they bitched about the $1.50.

The Judge

Saw this movie last night.

If you were the kid that left home at 18, you will absolutely relate to Robert Downey JR's character, Hank Palmer. You may not have become an attorney, but the reactions from everyone back home (the first time you go back) are all the same from family, friends, the sweetheart you left behind...

You left. You're the bad guy.

But,

They love you. So you're also the good guy.

They miss you, and in your absence they also admire you for going.

My dad didn't talk to me for a year after I left home, when he himself left his childhood home, Utah, when he was 18. Took dad a while to accept we left home for different reasons.

As long as people I love still live in MN, it will continue to be home, and not just "where I grew up", because in truth MN is not where I grew up, I grew up more in Los Angeles, than anywhere.

Just,

Not in the way most people can relate to outside of Los Angeles.

Downey's character's relationship with his father in this movie is eerily familiar...

Go see it.

If you were the kid who left home, you'll love this movie.

Day off in the valley

Fathers can break their daughters hearts in such a unique terrible way, it makes other people jealous.

Truth.

Believe it.

I'm not fighting with you guys anymore. Especially when the fights just end up in the most idiotic places.

"... And California is so fake!"

What does that have anything to do with hotel rates!

California isn't fake. Having money isn't fake. It's people who are fake. Does this shirt make me look fake? No. But I will tell you what does. A group of girls sitting at Beach Nation, on Santa Monica blvd., mid week, mid day, hoping to be seen/discovered. Meanwhile a guy with a demolition hammer is tearing up 100 yards of concrete two feet thick, just across the street in front of mid day traffic and City Hall. And the girls, sitting at this fake beach pretending to be partying, hoping to be seen/discovered in the gayest part of Los Angeles, that's fake. Never mind the fact an actual real ocean with many beds of real sand is less than 15 miles away from you. Girls, the man has a jackhammer. A jackhammer. A tripped car alarm and three screaming babies would be less annoying.

As if your state don't have girls like this.

My brain is going to explode.

Late last night, in the dark, by myself I watched a stand-up gig by Bill Engvall, and the other night a stand-up gig by Ron White. Both nights I drank a 6 pack of Stella's, and just laughed my ass off. Those guys are brilliant.

I needed the release.

Waiting.

That's all I'm doing now.

Waiting.

I gave my work notice, and said to them the same thing I'm telling everyone...

Everyone and everything is now second to my dad. Meaning I can't help you, I can't schedule to meet you, I can't book anything, I have no idea when my life will get back on track, that's just the way it is.

Deal with it.

The only people keeping me sane are my friends, and the kindness of strangers. Thank you.

There is no handbook. No guide. Just this overwhelming feeling of guilt. If I laugh I feel guilty. If I smile I feel guilty.

In June 2013 I was diagnosed with a tumor. Operable but complicated. Not cancer. Surgery is the last resort. I don't want surgery. The recovery time is too long. When I learned of the tumor the only person I told was dad. I've taken medication twice now, once a year, the medication only lasts a week, to shrink the size of the tumor. No big deal. But I got angry. Rick and dad have given so much, they're such amazing people, they have so much to offer...

This isn't how its supposed to go.

Dad has to do things his way. However long it takes.

Right now I'm there for only him.

I remember the last fully-coherent conversation I had with Rick. He was at peace. Content.

Prepared.

I don't know how.

I guess you just find a way.

Involuntary

Last night I saw the movie 'Gone Girl'.

Loved it. Brilliant.

Neil Patrick Harris, amazing. He stole the movie.

But can someone please explain WTF happened at the end?! 

I ask a million questions. I want to know every nerve, muscle, and tissue of that which is important to me. Regardless. Any subject. I want to know its purpose, where it began, where it ends, and what will become of it should any fiber sever from its intended place. I want to peel it, dissect it, and examine it... intellectually, of course.

I believe in science and philosophy.

But I cannot reason, not for one minute, the purpose of our existence. The meaning of life. I cannot begin to decipher this code, this undesirable mass debris of disregarded waste, humans have become.

The doctors tell my dad to keep a positive outlook. Be optimistic. Seek reasons to live.

The amount of grief and anger I feel now, would be multiplied by infinite, if it were me.

"Your father just needs to know you're ok." She tells me.

Well,

I'm ok if he's ok.

Cancer.

Dad calls the shots. I just keep myself busy until he needs me.

Busy. Distracted. Amused. Occupied.

Lunch with Aramis at Brats Brothers. Studying French. Going to the movies...

You tell me what to do because I certainly don't know. I don't know what to feel, what not to feel, how to behave, what to say, what not to say.

I'm leaving for Europe next year, in hopes of finding something I cannot find here. History. Culture. Passion. Energy. Perhaps. A reason for life. A grain of understanding for the meaning of it all.

Whatever depths temporarily satisfied as a kid with art and literature, no longer satisfies.

It goes beyond boredom.

Nothing, no one, holds my attention anymore.

It's all become so... Mechanical.

Unconscious. Unfeeling.


And now... Add to that... This terrible sadness.

Humanity Americana

October 9, 2014,

Less than three hours after I wrote that day's blog, my dad informed me he has stage 4 lung cancer. It has already spread from his lung to his pelvic bone.

He doesn't want me to come home and see him this way.

My brother is telling me to come home NOW.

That Friday, October 10, I told my bosses about my dad's condition. My bosses at work however, tell me that even though my dad is dying, they can't spare me until after November 10. (Something like 30 days.) By then dad will be on his second cancer treatment and probably won't recognize me anymore, if he's still alive that is. Thanks work. 

Yesterday, those two little "princesses" almost got broken faces. For the next 28 days I want to make it very clear, at work, if you're some ego ridden high maintenance, bullshit little entitled bitch, in plain poetic verse, I couldn't give a fuck about you. I don't give a fuck. Not one fuck. Not to that fuck over there. Or those two fucks there. Or you whiny little bitch fucks over there. All you fucks, I couldn't care less. Fire me? Knock yourself out. Maybe then I'll actually get to see my dad before he dies.

Fact, I'm going.

Consider me gone.

My dad's ex-wife, a human wrecking ball, a real piece of work, and my brothers mom, thinks it's funny that my dad is dying of cancer. She thinks it's comical he quit smoking, she kept smoking, and he's the one dying of lung cancer. I should have committed that crazy bitch when I had the chance.

Fathers can break their daughters hearts in such a unique terrible way, it makes other people jealous.

To quote, well, everyone, "Adios motherfuckers." My dad is more important than you.

Instant gratifi'straction

Being distracted is all I can afford right now.

Last night, and a few nights before, I met this very nice, very attractive couple.

"Oh that's not my boyfriend, that's my dad." She said. And refered to him as "dad" from that point on.

Wait. That's your dad?! Diiiiilf. 

I got the feeling she may have mentioned something to him after the third time he winked and smiled at me. Wow.

"My dad leaves for England tomorrow [today] but I'm around." She said.

Girl, I would love to be friends with you. You're sweet, charming, and a real breath of fresh air. But I want to have sex with your dad, so...

Awkward.

Thank you for the distraction. Much appreciated!

From the valley to the ocean

Commute. Work. Commute. Work. Commute. Sleep. Commute. Work.

I used to work for this company, my boss was fired for renting out company parking spots at night when the venue next door was sold out. I understand he made a lot if money but as per usual got greedy. He sold employee spots also and that's how he got caught. Upon his final exit of the company building he said to me, "You're too smart to work here. Do what you love. You'll no doubt be a success." Which might have meant something if my boss wasn't being ushered out by security at the time he said it.

What I should have replied to my boss was, "Success isn't doing what you love, it's getting out when you can, while you still love it."

Live in the moment. That's the philisophy. But it's no good if you don't move on precisely when you're meant to.

From the ocean to the valley

My tutor puts together (approx.) five lessons per session. He's awesome! But the only time I hear anyone speak French is when I have a lesson with him, once every 5 to 7 days. And as could be expected, I can now read French far better than speak it. At this rate, six months from now I'll be able to write my entire blogs in French, and still struggle verbally easing three sentences together.

I can read every French word in our lessons. I just can't say them.

My pronunciation is terrible!

"Don't say it like an American. Say it like a French person." My tutor jokes.

I need audio assistance. Badly.

I'm told Rosetta Stone, is awful. For $500 it better not be! But friends say it is. Best anyone can do, or so I think, is have some kind of foundation, and then go straight to the source to build on it.

I looked at a couple of these study groups. I'm not interested being social. Sorry. I'm not learning French to speak to other Americans at a Starbucks, in Venice beach, on the third Friday of every month for an hour.

I have a purpose.

A point.

Travel. Live. Go somewhere. Anywhere. Do something ELSE.

My tutor's fantastic! Amazing! I've learned so much in such a short period of time. But I need to hear people speak French, more than once every 5 to 7 days for an hour.

I knew this French guy. A musician. The only time he spoke French was during sex, more specifically during anal sex, the only type of sex we had really. Which is also why we don't see each other any more. If we only do "the one thing" it gets boring after a while. Still, might be be useful (or really funny!) to learn what he was saying. I wonder what he's up to these days...

I named my ego Precious

She's a little dirty whore. But I love her.

Um,

"First let me nail off a list of my accomplishments. Me. Me. Me. And then I'm going to bitch about your fragile [misguided] ego."

I say that here because it reaches more people. (Just the way my little dirty whore likes it!)

bonne journee

I have a new nephew, John Michael. I would post a photo of the awesome little guy, but Google is telling me to download an app onto my phone I've already downloaded.

I see my French tutor tomorrow. Had the day off yesterday and poured over 5 lessons of homework, breaking only to do laundry, and for sushi.

The French word is "fille" but you don't pronounce the "L" ... either one. So then why are there two of the same letters you don't pronoun.... ??

I'm reminded of a comedy bit by Eddie Izzard, back when he was a transvestite (is he still?) He observed the pronunciation of "herb" and how he pronounces the word "H-erb, because it had a bloody H in front if it!!"

I'm learning about housing lingo at the: paris.angloinfo.foryou.nonfrance.motherfuckers.com

I love the brutal honesty of my tutor. The lesson says it's appropriate to say "merci" at the post office, "But we don't say merci at the post office. You Americans say thank you for - everything. We don't mail a package at the post office and say thank you. We mail the package and leave."

Which got me thinking,

HH the Dalai Lama, wrote about over extending meaningless gratitude, especially in intimate relationships. To say, "Thank you. I appreciate you. I'm fortunate to have you in my life " is an expression of love that is unwise to be said as often as "hello" and "goodbye".

If we say "thank you" for everything, then we're saying "thank you" for nothing.

Aussie,

I'm going to bring back the word "sympathique". It's a beautiful word.

There's a certain "video clip" I can't get enough of. It's corrupt my once ideal man. I don't know who the European male actor in it is, but that's part of the attraction. He could be the guy next door. I'm big time into that lately. Natural. Girl next door. Older guy next door. Amateur.

I'm so eager to visit Paris... Be a stranger in a strange land... I can't even tell you.

John Michael

Smoke 'em if you got 'em! I'm an auntie!

Francaise

I have a new French tutor. He also speaks Italian and Manderin. And being as how Italian is my next language to study after/alongside French, it looks like I have a tutor for the next 2 years. I'll also invest in audio tapes to expedite my studies, but having a tutor is the best way for me to learn a language. Structure. Devotion. Discipline. A strict timeline between tests and lessons. I need that teacher-pupil relationship. I was involved with a man from Sweden for a number of years and learned zero Swedish. Not that it would be of any use to me now.

I wonder if anyone told my tutor he looks like James Mcavoy?

I took a study break last night and saw 'A Walk Among The Tombstones'. Loved it. Liam Neeson is amazing. Love that guy. I was 30 minutes early, had a beer at the bar, when I came to the realization that two weeks wouldn't be enough time in France. After surfing both our embassy sites, it seems I can obtain a short time work Visa if I'm accepted as an apprentice to an existing French art program. That art program would need to write the embassy, etc., and it seems the French consulate us not far from me...

American art is horrible. Post modern garbage.

My tutor says the French food here (in LA) is awful. It was never my intent to visit Italy, France, and Spain for the food. When I go to Greece, however, that's a different story.

I don't know what's happening here in the US with art, literature, film... And to be honest I'm not entirely sure what brings tourists here anymore?

Everyone is taking their talents overseas.

Though,

I'm curious France, what's with the rooster??

The Three Tutors

I've written three French tutors, and all three have written back accepting new students.

Tutor #1: Did not yet have a background confirmation check regarding his resume. He is listed French born, raised, educated, and where he has previously taught.

My first choice is a French born and raised tutor.

Tutor #2: Is an American of German descent. Fluent French (and German) speaking educated in France. Background check confirmed.

Tutor #3: Was born, raised, and educated in France. Background check confirmed. But he's younger, in his 20's, with previous clients similar to my French speaking needs.

All three tutors are men. The reason being, the female tutors charge (at least) $50 an hour more. The guys average charge $35 an hour, the ladies $80. One woman was $120 an hour but she tutored corporate execs. Bankers. Wall Street. Etc. As for the other ladies charging $80 an hour, my friend has a theory...

 "Here's to you mrs Robinson... "

And why not? If I was a 15-29 year old guy going to France, I may be looking for a hot French lady tutor also.

My guess is these women get hit on a lot. Which is probably why they register with a tutoring company where you have to give them credit card information before talking with them. And quite possibly why the women charge so much more, add to the fact the website obviously takes a percentage of the tutor's fee.

Having studied renaissance art, most  technical art terminology is in Italian, French, and Spanish. But I want to learn from scratch. Like I'm three years old. Teach me how to properly annunciate vowels, which will be tricky after a childhood in MN, I never properly learned the English diction.

And wine, well, as long as I can say, "I would like a Cabernet Sauvignon, dark berries, earthy undertone, in between $20-$40" half my trip is taken care of right there!

I don't want to be the type of traveler that doesn't attempt learning the spoken language of a country I plan spending some time in. That, and the tutor told me French people don't like speaking English.

I'm eager to see the Louvre.

Last night I had dinner at The Village, in Studio City. Amazing food, wine, staff, but my nose was stuck in my phone reading about the Catacombs.

I've spoken with Tutor #1. No background check but he's obviously French. We have an introductory lesson tomorrow morning. 

Time to don the nerd Asian schoolgirl persona and get serious. 

A demain.

I fully expect to have that dream where I'm back in high school and can't remember my locker combination.

French tutor

I'm on this website for those seeking tutoring. I want/need to learn French and Italian (later on, Spanish.)

I've just written two French tutors. One born and raised in France, the other an American who studied academically in France for a number of years, fluent French speaking.

My main interest in learning French and Italian is to be able to first and foremost converse in both countries on subjects of art, wine, and literature. It is a small investment that will last the remainder of my life. Not only in regards to return visits from here until then, when my final years are upon me, I plan on riding a bicycle through Europe until I just can't peddle anymore. Romantic, perhaps. But it's how I wish to die. I worked in an elderly care facility. I'm determined not to die in one.

It's that time of year again

Surfing holiday airline tickets home. It was almost a year ago my friend died. I doubt the sunken feeling of heavy loss will ever subside when back home. Every memory I have being a kid in my childhood neighborhood has him in it. But there will be a new baby in the house to celebrate. Nonetheless, forevermore a bitter sweet homecoming.

While making small talk with this couple in a bar the other night, the girlfriend asked me if I missed it, small town life. Sometimes. I miss being where people take their time. I miss enjoying each other on a wide range scale. But after a while I have to go... somewhere, anywhere, else.

Friends just returned from Europe. So jealous. Wish I could have gone with them but so couldn't afford it with the upcoming holidays and (hopefully) Paris in April/May.

I'm off Thursday and Saturday. Think I'll go to the Getty. Yvonne Rainer has a dance and film exhibit. And I'm somewhat interested in seeing the film 'The Drop'.

Yup on my period.

Ends Saturday. Maybe by then I'll be in the mood for something more exciting than a movie.

Just so [not] into it. Or "Bored" as my friends in Vegas say.

It's funny receiving daily emails from match.com. "There are 20 members interested meeting you!" Awesome! Because when filling out my profile I think I got as far as "Asian female seeking... "

I quit filling it out after that because I realized if anyone was ever going to take me serious I would need a better profile name than "manmilker" or  "comeypussy10x". But then again 20 members a day want to meet me, so...

Yaaaaaay.

Baby watch

I'm about to be an auntie for the third time. Any day now.

I can be there via facetime.

Dear brother, please don't aim the camera anywhere that will require me to need therapy later.

Thank you in advance!

You do realize all your kids are getting Kings jerseys for Christmas! Oh yeah! They make onesies!

Hockey sticks for everyone!!

Ask the missus to shoot for a Saturday birth. I have the entire day off with nothing to do.

Thanks for being so accommodating. Much appreciated!!

Girl at last call

We need to hang out too some time!!

Last night. Couple from New Zealand.

Or so I'm guessing that's where you two are from. It was very cool meeting you. Which is just my way if saying let's hang out before you head back!

Ok internet. Go!!

Friday night. Starbucks.

Oh yeah!10pm last night I was at Starbucks, Santa Monica, third street promenade. Whoooooo. Good times! I was meeting a friend at Barney's Beanery, but they don't have outlets and my phone was about to die. Starbucks is across the street. I went there to charge up.

I haven't been on the Promenade on a Friday/Saturday night (in forever!) I guess if I'm going to now be in the "vanilla world" I have to buy flats. Very few girls were in high heels on the Promenade. Very few. Lots if dressy "sensible" flats. I don't own flat heel shoes. Flips flops at the beach. That's it. It seems I'm going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe... and flat heel shoes.

I wonder if "vanilla" people look at girls like me and think I'm a "fake vanilla" much in the same way people in "the lifestyle" who never swap are considered fake. (Ha! I don't know why but I find that funny!) I'm a fake vanilla.

Anyway,

So I'm looking at all these people in Starbucks, the place was packed, Friday night, 10pm, and I couldn't help but think, "Don't you guys have anywhere else you would rather be? What are you doing here?!" But this is where "vanilla people" go on Friday night... at 10pm... in their flat sensible dressy shoes. Starbucks.

But that's the thing, I can't question why they do what they do. If I'm going to be among them I just have to blend in. Somehow.

When my friend got to the Promenade, we took off, making a stop at Ralphs (grocery store) where the cute check-out guy was flirting with the couple in front if me, and then me when I got to his register. Hey mister, can we be friends? ;)

Have I sent you the link to the porn site I've been obsessed with? (I remember when I used to do that with couples. I miss it.) I stopped when solo girls started being looked down upon as worthless disposable fuck toys in the lifestyle (by men and couples alike), read the BCs and CL ads some time, that was the last straw for me. But on the other hand if you're a solo girl who likes hot sex in the "vanilla word" you're a worthless disposable slut, there too, so...

Potato... Po'tato

The only difference is, "vanillas" don't come over to my place and intentionally ruin my stuff. They may talk shit behind your back (who doesn't?) But they're good guests, good present company. As a solo girl, I went to an "upscale" swingers party and the nicest conversation I had there was some guy randomly snapping his fingers in my face and said, "Hey! You're gonna watch me fuck her (pointing to some girl) and play with your pussy. Got it!"

1. You're an asshole.

2. What happened to saying hello?

They said hello at Starbucks. Then again, I was paying for something...

Greenacres, darling

Aaaaand I'm done. You know it's the end when majority of emails received are from publishers, undercover writers posing as potential playmates, and reality show producers. I had a feeling it was going to end this way. Curse you mainstream! She said shaking a fist into the sky.

That new couple, that new girl, that new solo guy too good to be true, are, is. Good luck. God speed.

Meh. Too much work sorting people out.

I always said I would quit and go "straight" when it stopped being fun. Well it stopped being fun. It started to end few years ago when couples wrecked personal property, one couple (who I spent a few hundred dollars properly hosting in my home) had the nerve to call me a "dirty fuck whore" in casual conversation. "So you just decided to be a dirty fuck whore, then?"

Nice. Get the fuck out of my house!

But,

Before those couples, before reality TV, before everyone trying to make money off me,

I had a lot of fun. A lot! Grateful for that at least.

Soooo,

I checked out match.com last night after the Kings game win 4-3, and maybe it's the mobile app but the profile creation process was unbelievably boring. I've ordered take-out more exciting than that. The questions provide dull multiple choice answers (none of which were "ninjas" or "Pandas" !!!) following a mandatory composition of 150 characters. So not in the mood to deal with that right now!

But,

I'm going straight. I'll find a nice boy. Rewire my train of thought. Live vicariously through porn. After all, I didn't grow up thinking I wanted amazing hot sex... not until I was 14 at least.

I can rewire myself.

I can be in a 1:1 traditional monogamous relationship.

I can do this.

I just never understood why men purposely seek out girls on sex sites, girls who love hot sex, open relationships, etc., and then turn them into traditional girlfriends, but, ok.

I can do this.

I can do this!!!

I'm an intelligent person. Strong. Capable.

I just hope the next guy I date doesn't have a hot dad or this could get ugly.

Very ugly.

Into the mind of a man 2014

"I want a girl who's into me." And I totally get that. My question is, why are you on a sex swinger site specifically looking for that? I have literally received hundreds of emails in the past two years from men, on swinger sex sites, seeking (a) girl who is "into" him.

Based on what exactly? Blurry photos of you in Time Square?

I don't know you.

You're just some guy with 100 pictures of your hardon against a $25 bottle of conditioner.

(To what degree do I have to be into you?)

I couldn't care less if I receive emails or not, but it's the emails I do get, that just... piss me off.

So this morning I get (yet another) email from a guy, but rather than meet me, rather than get together face to face, he wants to swap 50 emails, ask a million questions in the form of a sterile Q & A survey, and based on my answers determine if we're "into" each other.

Genius.

And so,

I write him back and asked... "Why?"

To which he replied,  "Because I'm not here to fuck. If you just want to fuck I'm sure there's plenty of guys that are into that. I want to get to know you."

That's sweet. You do know you're on a sex site, right?

And no, there aren't "plenty" of guys who want to fuck, they're all like you!

This is why women hire escorts, and fuck 18 year old guys.

So I have a theory, if the swinger sex sites is where all the "get to know you" relationship men are, then match.com must be where the sex is. Right? In the 'bazaaro opposite land' of another dimension space time continuum. (I think I saw this episode of Star Trek!) Come to think of it, didn't the Enterprise get overrun by a billion little giggling fury balls?

(What were those things called?)

I don't know what match.com's equivalent to little fury giggling balls, is. But even that would be more interesting than, "So, did you like growing up in theMidwest?"

Huh.

I think that's actually a security question on my cell phone password recovery profile.

Porn is my friend... Again

HBO wants to talk to single girls about. "The lifestyle".

News flash: In the last three weeks, total sexual encounters, ZERO. Not for lack of trying. 

I don't know if men are aware of this but, we're not girl friends. I'm not going to write you 3 page text messages about myself or the kind of day I'm having, and we're not going to do laundry together at my parents house. 

And,

Apparently girls who like sex is HBO reality TV worthy. 

Really HBO? Really? 

Really? 

Well,

Let's see,

The last "lifestyle" guy I briefly chat to hook up with, turned out to be one of you clowns! Undercover reporting! 

The reality is, for you reality TV people, you're about 10 years too late. You should have talked to me 10 years ago. Back when I dated couples, even. Before the teary drunk dramatic break ups in my living room. Before the naked wife threw a full glasses of wine at the photo of my friends and I during summer break 2005, because her "idiot husband" bought her a vaccum cleaner for her birthday... 5 years ago.

So if single girls masturbating 4 times a day to porn, is reality TV worthy, I'll be more than happy to direct you to the porn sex I used to have.

In the meantime,

The only thing I now truly care about,

On my day off,

What time is the Kings game on? 

A whole lot of Pork

My friend Aramis introduced me to this British Pub. It's my new spot. More of a locals hangout. And not overrun by a sea of newly turned 21 year olds. When I brought along my girl friend Casey, a pilot in the Air Force, the English guys fell over themselves in admiration. "Don't be fooled girl, they're spies! Name! Rank! Serial number! DOB!"

I went there last Sunday, some dinner after work. Unwind. Relax.

I happened to be seated next to a group of men with (I'm going to guess Scottish accents.) Cheery men. Friendly. I couldn't understand anything they were saying. No matter. They were doing their thing, I was doing mine. Every now and then I made accidental eye contact and we swapped smiles.

Not really knowing English food, other than (Heinz) beans on toast, I've been trying things on the Pub's menu. Hit and miss. One item in particular caught my eye, the British BLT sandwich. "What makes it British?" I ask the (English) bartender, expecting a smart reply.

"It's made with back fat." The bartender says.

I don't eat meat (pork) enough to know the different or better cuts per diction. Bacon is pig. Steak is cow. That's pretty much all I know. I could have Googled "British pork back fat" but I would be too afraid of the websites Google might send me to.

I almost asked,  "Canadian bacon?" But if there's one thing I know about Europeans, you never compare them to Canada. Not even their bacon.

I ended up ordering a Banger sandwich. Food I'm familiar with. Growing up in MN, in a primarily German community, I like/and eat German food. Sausage and grilled onions was a regular meal. Pile on sauerkraut, raw onions, mustard and relish, and it's just like home.

I suppose in this regard, seeing an Asian girl in a British Pub drinking a Stella and eating a Banger sandwich must seem strange, but it's not to me. It's like being home.

Football games were blaring from different big screens, all but one, which was airing Funny Car races. The Scottish guys were big time into the Funny Car races, and a female drag racer named, Cortney Force. If ever there was an intro to "Have you seen the movie Rush?" this was it. Sadly no one asked. Damnit!

It was about this time some jerk started hassling a waitress, yelling obnoxiously at her, "They always make it that way for me!! I've been coming here for 10 years!!"

Without missing a beat, one of the Scottish men yelled back something insulting at the guy (I have no idea what) which made his friends roar with laughter, which made me laugh, which made the Scottish guys laugh louder, which made me laugh even harder. I have no idea what the Scottish guy said. Who cares. He insulted the jerk. That's all that mattered. The Scots and I sealed our understanding by clinking our drinks together.

And what's a British Pub without "a guy".

There's a guy.

American.

He's friendly/flirty when he sees me. Makes a point to say hello, and good night. He's got an "Adam Levine" look about him. Funny if he was Jewish, too. Nice, sweet, gentlemanly, respectful guy. I'm at the point now when I go to the Pub I hope I see him. I've told friends about him. (And now you guys.)

The Banger sandwich was amazing. Sausage piled high with grilled onions.

The little Asian girl, that went to the British Pub, to eat English food, drink Belgian beer, hang out among Scottish men, and meet a Jewish guy.

Only in CA.