I’ll try not to cry

Well played 50 Cent. Well played. I’m not a fan of your style of music, but I like the way you feud. They call it petty. I call it funny. If I had the wealth, my pranks would be Geraldo Rivera/Al Capone’s vault circa 1986, epic. Did I make an ass of my opponent in front of millions? Yes? Success!!! 

Anyway

Someone stuck an American flag sticker on my window. Really guys? A sticker? Ghetto. Still, I guess this makes me a racist now, right? Can’t be patriotic. Goodness no. How dare New England’s football team call themselves the Patriots. Time to change their name to the New England Supporters of Our Troops but Not the War. 

I know. I know. I’ve said that before but when you write a blog for 6 years I’m going to repeat myself. Not quite as often as grunge rock, or feminists on antidepressants, but repeat myself nonetheless.

Um. So. Like. Is now a bad time to remind you guys that my windows are specially treated so I can look out but no one can look in, not even in broad daylight with my blinds open. Yeah. That. And I’m on the second floor. The only person that sees that sticker is me. Geniuses. 

I never understood “I support the troops but not the war”. What do they think military troops do exactly?

Ok. Deep breath. In. And out.

I’m going to write this one back. He says he’s 46 years old (internet years) which is like 52 in real life years. So that works out. His message was nice. All the five letter words or less were properly spelled. He didn’t brag about the size of his junk or send me dick pics. He seems to dress ok. He lists himself in Henderson, so chances are good he’s local, but not too local. He’s 16 miles away from Fremont. That’s good. I once dated someone who lived across the street from me. Never do that again. 

Ok. Here we go.

Here we go.

No. I’m really going to write this one back.

Here we go.

Here we go. 

Fuck

Here we go.

Deliver the filthy swines!

I don’t like her because she’s rude, she’s unkind, and she’s both on purpose. She never says “please” or “thank you” to anyone. She’ll use your hand lotion, your perfume, anything you leave out, all without asking. She thinks she’s entitled. Royalty. Privileged. Above all. But please, accuse me of not liking her because she’s black. Who am I to forbid simple thinking?

Are we done applauding people for being not white? 

No? 

Ok just checking.

If white people feel sooooo disgusted with themselves for being “a privileged white person” than surrender your wealth and hide your shame deep in the Japanese mountains. Trust me, we won’t come looking for you. Ever hear of the Aokigahara forest? 

It’s the attitude of being privileged that’s disgusting, not the privilege itself. And I for one, will not participate in patting someone on the back simply for being born not white.

She had her chance to say something to my face. I stood right next to her. If you have something to say, look me in the eyes and say it, but instead she immediately looked the other way, and then left the area. Just like on the internet.

Slavery, concentration camps, rape, murder, etc., all bad. We know. Bad. Everyone has had something tragic in their lineage. Even white people. But if you’re not a present sufferer of the aforementioned, than you’re either a contribution to society or an inconvenience at best. 

 “I’m not the devil, my darling. I’m his maker.” 

At my age I simply don’t care any longer about my sickness and death. Take it all. Take nothing. Die today. Die in ten years. But while I’m still alive I’d like you to not have the one attitude that everything that’s mine is also somehow yours.

Last week this guy laid down stretched out diagonal on one of the crosswalks above Las Vegas Blvd so that many people in the herds crossing over the strip would have to walk over him to get by. It was genius. If I didn’t have to be somewhere I would have stayed and filmed it. I wonder how long someone could lay dead on the boulevard before being noticed?

‘House Of Cards’ without Kevin Spacey, is utterly ridiculous and boring. The present Francis Underwood and Doug Stamper are the main two reasons to watch that show in the first place. Without Spacey and Kelly, I wouldn’t have bothered.

I’m so not sorry, I still think Kevin Spacey is an amazing actor. 

Is it entirely possible for two people to have an issue (real or make believe) and work it out themselves like adults? 

No?

Well then in that case

PURGE

THE PURGE

THE PURGE: ANARCHY

THE PURGE: ELECTION YEAR

THE FIRST PURGE

THE PURGE Survival

THE PURGE UK

THE PURGE 2024

AFTER THE PURGE

THE PURGE tv series 

C’mon. We’re ready.

What’s the hold up? 

Just 12 hours a year. 

Stop spreading your disease

I just finished watching Chappaquiddick on Netflix. It’s as could be expected for a semi quasi non-fictional political movie. It’s a straight shot. No theatrics like you would see in an Oliver Stone film. Still, it was interesting. 

I’m going to binge watch Gotham, season 4, on my upcoming days off, write, draw and be a poor drunk artist as per usual. 

I was awoken at the ungodly hour of 7am this morning. Someone’s ride was pissed off that their passenger wasn’t on time and leaned on the horn non-stop for five minutes. We’ve created a society of second hand aggravation. “If I have to suffer, so do you.” 

Next time just leave. Fuck them if they can’t be on time. 

Second hand aggravation. That’s what all these hysterical people are creating. Like all these batshit crazy women who hate Trump so much they’re constantly on social media screaming how much they can’t stand being around other women who voted for him.

Ahem

NEWSFLASH: Women didn’t like each other before he was president. And women still won’t like each other 8, 16, 24, 48 years from now. 

Here’s a little reality check for ya’ll, my coworkers are among the biggest liberals on the planet. If you come into my workplace and act like a dick to them, which many of you assholes do, I’m on my coworkers side regardless of who your disrespectful stupid asses voted for. Because as it is, as it was, as it always will be, it’s about family, friends, and community. If you meant nothing to me walking in, you’ll mean even less to me walking out if you act like a creep.

Come-up-pance

I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve read his email about 7 times now, each time with intent of writing him back, but I can’t. I have this terrible gut feeling he’s one of those football jersey, flip flop wearing, beer drinking, long man shorts wearing in the middle of January - kind of guy. Pass. No thanks. 

If you travel to Las Vegas for holiday but hate having to wait in lines and furthermore think 15 minutes is an “Eternity!”, here’s a few alternative suggestions of things you can do that’s less frustrating and less time consuming...

Disneyland 

A leisurely drive in LA between 6am-8am or 4pm-7pm Monday-Friday

Any DMV in the country without an appointment 

And my personal favorite

Teaching certain people the proper way to enunciate the word “ask”. 

Aaand another thing!

If you think 15 minutes is a long time, sex with you must be just awful. 

Can’t wait 15 minutes = bad in bed. That’s all I hear when people bitch about having to wait 15 minutes. “I suck in bed.” Yup. I can totally see that about you.

Anyway

Prostitute or fashion? Hard to say? It’s still 80 degrees in Vegas during the day. I still turn on my air conditioner. She’s 185 pounds dressed like a $2 whore with every ounce of fat and stretch marks squeezing out of her top and shorts originally designed for a skinny woman not 185 pounds of blubber whilst waddling down the boulevard holding one of those giant ghetto plastic margarita decanters, but who knows for certain if she’s a prostitute? It’s the ghetto end of Vegas Blvd. Anything is possible. Maybe her friends told her she looks good? They lied.

“I don’t drink or do drugs. I just smoke pot.” 

Um. Ok. But you weigh 200 pounds and you’re only 25 years old. Is coke not a thing with your generation? Apparently your drug of choice is food. 

Be fat. Fine. But stop squeezing into clothes that clearly do not fit you. 

Before I moved to the art district, back when I lived in that part of town, I observed there were some girls, many girls actually, who could get jobs at casinos rather than hustling the strip or the truck stops on Tropicana across from my old apartment. Do these girls not know how to get jobs? Are they lazy? Are they illegals? Do they just prefer hooking? 

It’s a mystery. 

It’s Vegas.

I heard yet another guy mention how hard it is for him and his wife to meet people in Vegas to hang out with. I hear that a lot. It’s very difficult to meet people here. Especially in a city where every other person is trying to rob you, or will rob you, or have already robbed you, twice. 

Alas 

Everyone gets their comeuppance, not just Vegas. 

Karma. You know that person you complain to all your friends about? FUCK YOU. You had it coming. But you don’t see it, because you’re a dick. 

I used to suffer horrible daytime depression in Vegas. This city during the day was depressing as hell for me. For a long time. No reason. But as soon as the sun went down I felt great. Sun up, I felt wretched. Sun down, I felt amazing. It was like this every day for a long time. And then one day I finally leveled out into a dull dry indifference. Ahh finally I’m home. 

Indifference. That’s what you become. Indifferent or a criminal.

Las Vegas is honest. Everyone you pass on the street is either on drugs, drunk, trying rob you, a gambling junkie, (this close) to being homeless, homeless, and every vice and sin is made more public than social media. You’re either indifferent or a criminal. It’s a relief really. You don’t have to pretend like I did out in Los Angeles where everyone pretends. No one in LA says what they mean. There’s no honesty. The only person I could ever be 💯 percent myself around is Aramis. He never cares what I say because he knows me. I constantly had to walk on eggshells around everyone else. What a slow death. 

Vegas reminds me of Bukowski. They’re both honest. A robber walks into a casino and says, “I’m here to rob you.” It’s an unnecessary speech really. We already know.

“Give me your money or I’m going to kill you.” 

Yes. We know.

All I need now is to make friends with a prostitute with a heart of gold. Me and my wine. 

I’m starting to make friends with a late night Lyft driver. Does that count? She’s picked me up twice now from work and we chat like we’re long time friends. I’m all, “Tell me about your day. I’m tired of mine.” Two strangers in a car. What’s weird is she always has other passengers in the back seats when we’ve talked. They’re so quiet I always forget they’re there until we drop them off. But this Lyft driver and a woman I sometimes work with are the only two people in Vegas I talk to like actual human beings. I’ve lived in this town for a year and three months. It’s not a good town to start life anew unless you’re ok being alone. A lot. 

At last peace and quiet, in one of the most dangerous cities in the country. 

Superhero Gladys Gordon!

For Halloween I’m going as an aging sexy old woman superhero Gladys Gordon. Double G’s. It’s going to be epic! 

At what age am I allowed to old lady bitch-slap the hell out of people for being loudmouth demanding assholes in public? 

If your mom never beat you for being a disrespectful loudmouth in public, than old ladies nearby should be allowed.

“Ok we’re leaving you guys took too long!”

Fun fact. We don’t give a shit. Leave. 

At my age we no longer care if you go. 

“In five years I can move into senior housing. It’s strange being this old. Not awkward. Just strange.” 

Perhaps a little awkward. Hot flashes that last for hours. Old lady menstrual cycle. Man spreading. Not pretty. 

It’s all about the journey, no? 

We know how it ends. It’s the same for everyone. You live. You die. 

We all die. Like Shakespeare. 

I looked at my first senior magazines and checked out my first senior dating website. Good gawd, lord Jesus, and they say women give up on their looks? These men look terrible! My dad was incredibly handsome, born that way I suppose, and then one day, literally overnight, he just wasn’t handsome anymore. He turned into Santa Claus. I wonder if it was the same for these men on this dating site? Only my dad was in his 60’s and was in a long term relationship with the love of his life until the day he died. These men are only in their 50’s, single, lonely, but look like absolute shit. Fat. Unkept. Disheveled. (Sigh) False Facebook advertising. “Meet these attractive available men in their 50’s” with photos of aging male models from 15 years ago. Facepalm. 

Explain to me again why I can’t just be alone? Oh right. It’s not normal. 

But... but... 

Sologramy. It’s a growing trend. People marrying themselves. Imarriedme.com. Well at least I would be with someone I actually like and could live with.

I won’t marry me. Marriage is for the birds. I blissfully live with me in sin. For a long time now. No fights about sex or money. I don’t have to listen to someone else’s nagging drama. Hooray! 

It’s a strange world we live in. People don’t date anymore. Especially people my age. They want to date. They just don’t. They gave up on their looks. So they can’t. When you’re young you can be blasé about being single because you’re young and probably decent looking. Someone will come along eventually. When you’re my age you don’t get to be blasé. You can’t afford it. If you want to date you have to make an effort. But these Vegas desert men who are my age just said fuck it, and think someone will love them anyway. In what world do they live in? Then again, maybe someone will love them. There’s a lot of desperate lonely women in the world. Sure why not? But that someone isn’t me. 

Furthermore...

I could totally hear the conversations we would have. 

You want to go see a movie?

“No”

You want to go for a hike? Red rock?

“No”

Want to check out the neon museum?

“No”

Want to hit a lounge and hear some music, get a few glasses of wine?

“No”

Want to help me decorate my apartment for the holidays?

“No”

These guys are only on dating websites because they didn’t have to shower, leave their house, or move anything more than their hands. Some of these guys looked like they haven’t showered in months!

I have limits. 

The top two things that drive me absolutely insane these days, are when people repeatedly text, call, act out, or yell my name repeatedly and unnecessarily to get my attention, AND when adults bring their superficial drama to my doorstep. These two things have always driven me crazy, only now I don’t have the tolerance or care I once had. I zone out. Those people are like my hypothetical kids I would have “accidentally” left on the roof of my car.

“What happened to your son?”

My what? Oh. Right. Him. Meh. I don’t know? 

What I don’t get is how serious old women are about nonsensical things. And when I say “old” I mean women 50+. Why are you so severely troubled? I hear you nag about the most ridiculous things. I actually heard two women my age loudly complain about the wind for about 15 minutes, and how windy wind is, and why is it so windy, and how much they hate the wind. My dear ladies, it’s wind. The only observable remark one can say about the wind is, “Wow is it windy out.” And even that is barely tolerable especially after the 100th time. 

Where do you women get the energy to be so insufferable? I’m tired. Even after a decent night’s sleep and five cups of caffeine I’m like, “Why the fuck is $150 missing from my checking... “ and then I lose steam and just say fuck it. Deal with it later. Much like how these Vegas desert guys just said fuck it regarding their appearance once they turned 50. I’m too old and tired to fight with people, even myself. Quick fix problem solver. That’s me. Just a fast snap across the head with a rolled up magazine. Aaaah relief. 

I’m just happy if I can unscrew the cap on a bottle of Powerade. Success!! 

Apparently I’m supposed to date someone younger than me. In their early 40’s they say. The last time I dated younger than me, he stole my favorite tee-shirt. Bastard. Why couldn’t he have just stolen my tv? I don’t give a shit about my tv. That’s replaceable. 

If I ever date exclusively again, I’m going to falsely love something he can steal that’s easily replaceable. Secretly I’ll mean something else. Transference.

I love this rug. This rug is so...

No wait. I actually do love this rug.

I love these candles. The smell so...

Damnit. I do love these candles.

I love this fork. My special fork. ❤️

Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

For about two minutes I was behind this cute little white doggie trodding up the street until it finally got home, tumbling into the front yard. But as I walked past the yard I discovered the cute little white doggie was actually a plastic bag blowing in the wind. I think I might need glasses. 

Oh Banksy, you clever devil. Did you mean for ‘Girl With Balloon’ to be worth more when it self destruct? You realize only in death will it actually become your pièce de résistance. We must all die first to be recognized as masters of our craft. The more horrible the death, the bigger we become. It is why I’ve instructed all those who own any of my drawing to violate my corpse immediately upon my death to increase the worth of my art. 

There is a Russian born artist named Alexander Volkov. His brilliant paintings  remind me of my childhood, the parts I chose to remember that is: trees, winter landscapes, cold, flowers, green lawn, sunsets, rivers, creeks, autumn, innocence, pioneering, peaceful. 

“There’s no place like home, Dorothy”

Especially when it comes to men.

Can you ever go home again? 

All the boys I dated in my youth looked like a young Aaron Eckhart. Even my 7th grade art teacher who I was madly in lust with looked like Jack in the movie ‘While You Were Sleeping’. So naturally when I moved to San Francisco at the tender age of 20, I fell hopelessly madly in love with a man ten years my senior who is half French/half Native American. 

You never forget your first love. Your first heartbreak. It destroys you a little. Shapes you. Even now an old woman almost 50 years old, I still pine for my first love, indirectly.

He’s everywhere 

And nowhere 

Like a dream. 

I’m a huge fan of Mathew Macfadyen. ‘Pride & Prejudice’ is still one of my favorite films since it’s release in 2005. Macfadyen’s version of Mr Darcy would have been on my walls as a teenage girl. You can see Macfadyen in ‘Ripper Street’ now on Netflix. Brilliant series. And Macfadyen even played a Musketeer. I have the DVD. All women want a hero. Mine are swordsmen and hopeless romantics from eras long past. Long gone.

Next Thursday I fly into Los Angeles for the day. I wish I didn’t have to. My affections for LA have severely cooled. Not that I’m in love with Las Vegas, it’s just, I’m not that person from Los Angeles, anymore. I’ve shed that skin. 

Phil, a lifelong childhood friend, the boy who lived across the street from me, our parents were friends before we were born, recently text me a photo of my old house. It’s weird for me knowing there’s now a stranger sleeping in my old bedroom.

I’m going home to MN in the spring. I’ll visit my dad’s final resting place, and Rick’s, see my old friends, and feel sad when I leave them all. Again.

I miss my dad. His birthday is on the 25th. Dad was a Scorpio. I’m a Capricorn. And as different as dad and I were, we were also very much alike. Wandering. Aimless. Searching. 

In five years I can move into senior housing. It’s strange being this old. Not awkward. Just strange. 

One earthly cock

Women don’t like other women. Men don’t like women either, truth be told. Fuck it. We all just hate each other. Hooray!

Hate is the new love. 

But women hating each other, that little gem is older than god. Little particles in the universe trying to outshine each other in the moonlight. 

12 hours can’t go by without women hating Kim Kardashian. The same women who made KK famous for being stupid rich tits and ass, hate her for being stupid rich tits and ass. Go figure. 

I checked out ‘Dangerous Beauty’ on Netflix. It’s an era film (your favorite I know!) but it warms my heart with a certainty that after 100 years nothing has changed by way of societal mentality towards women and sex. And who’s to blame for women being held back? Women - with their scorn and judgements of other women. 

People who hate cliques are the ones not invited into them because of their dramatic hatred for them. And if that doesn’t make sense to you, you’re among the undesirables whose emails people will never return, including me. 

I have an overall general disgust with the female gender and welcome any change trans ladies have to offer. Knock yourselves out ladies. You can’t do any worse. 

Coming home to my little apartment, alone, is my favorite part of the day. I have art projects after home projects waiting for me, and I’m always finding new things to do.

I bought these 11x12 wood planks from the 99cent store and recently discovered these photos and clips of dust dancers... 

https://youtu.be/deS4X4INQOc

And with a little acetone wash over laser print photo, I’m going to transfer the photos onto the wood planks, maybe add some paint, mix media, and hang them on my wall. Also gave me ideas for new drawings. 

People can get mad at me for the things I write here...

I don’t care. 

Don’t like it write your own stupid blog.

I’m just observant.

What did you expect anyway? 

I was born in 1969

Year of the rooster dick cock.

My element is Metal! 

Beautiful. Dangerous. Proud.

And just like that the temperature dropped 30 degrees. Time to pull out the blankets and comforter. 

For a second there I thought it said “librarian” and I got excited. 

Dear Lyft, can you please advance your app with the ability to request favorite drivers first before contacting other drivers nearby? Thanks in advance. How do drivers not know when the inside of their vehicle smells like corpse? 

If ever you want to learn about women, watch the movie ‘White Oleander’. It’s the closest to the truth film has ever gotten. 

I’m completely over this whole Kavanaugh bullshit along with you phony women who pretend to give god damn about other women. You only care about yourselves. Let’s be honest here, how many times a month, in your lifetime, have you referred to another woman as a whore, slut, cunt, bitch, trash, etc. And now you pretend to care about other women? You don’t care. You just want a man to pay. 

How can I be so brutally honest about women? 

I don’t know. Maybe it’s because my big dick gives me tons of confidence.

Have a nice weekend, phonies. 

Only the real truth will set you free.

Sick-o’s

I’m from Minnesota. I may have mentioned that before. I grew up in the 70’s and 80’s. It was a different time. A different place. Kids were raised harder then. Parents weren’t afraid to beat some sense out of their kids, their spouses, their siblings, when they deserved it, and you knew when to get involved, and when to mind your own business (which was most of the time). 

EXAMPLE: Yesterday, Las Vegas, NV. I saw a very quick domestic altercation take place on the sidewalk. The guy was trying to walk away from the girl, but the girl kept grabbing his shirt to make him stay. The harder he tried to walk away, the more fierce she became grabbing at his shirt. First with one hand. Then with two. At one point she ripped his shirt completely off him still holding on to his shirt. When he yanked his shirt out of her hand, she jumped on his back and started hitting him on the head. He tried to throw her off but lost his balance. They both tumbled onto the sidewalk with her still on his back hitting him on the head. She dropped his shirt when they fell to the ground. While they were both on the ground he rolled one way, then the other until she got off his back. He stood up to get his shirt. She yanked it out of his hand before he could collect his shirt and his balance. He had had enough and just said “fuck the shirt” because he got up and walked away without a shirt on his back. She started chasing after him but by now she was out of breath, too overweight, and couldn’t keep up. He took off running even though she was the one attacking him. 

SIMILAR SCENARIO: St. Paul, Minnesota, 1985. Adam’s older brother (I forget his name) is about 6’3. His then girlfriend stood about 5’5. They were both 19 years old at the time and back then the legal drinking age was 19. She drank a lot. Spent every night and weekend at the bars. When she drank she loved to fight: verbal, fists, bats, at home, in public, she didn’t care. Naturally she had been arrested more than once for fighting, and for DUI (back then it was called DWI and you were allowed two before going to jail on your third). On this one particular summer night, Adam and a group of our friends were hanging out at his brother’s house. We heard a car squeal up into the front yard. She was drunk, again, driving like a crazy person with the lone destination of picking a fight with Adam’s brother. He met her outside and immediately she began punching, slapping, and kicking him while loudly accusing him of sleeping with other girls. He was but that’s not the point. Minutes after she barreled into his front yard to start the fight, police showed up. Someone called the police or they were already pursuing her, who knows? But the police found her with her car sideways in the front yard, once more assaulting Adam’s brother. When the police tried to stop her and calm her down, she turned her anger towards the police officers and began physically assault them: kicking, punching, spitting, and screaming profanities. At first the police were just trying to calm her down. They were very patient, but their patience has limits with the end result of hog tying her and throwing her in the backseat of their squad car. I had no idea there are that many levels of assault on a police officer. But I learned that day there are quite a lot. — We just watched. And did our best not to laugh. 

Today, people with their cell phones would snap video of the police hog tying her and throwing her in the backseat of the squad car. Just like they would snap video of that guy yesterday rolling around on the ground trying to get that girl off his back. Social media would unfairly blow up with anti-cop and #metoo. 

In part how can you not disfavor the suckers, the fools who make bad choices with friends and lovers, both men and women? The media however, will make villains out of whoever they are paid to make villains out of, which always seems to be the police and men. Somehow women are instantly immune. Perfect. Entitled. 

I’m not saying rape and violence against women doesn’t happen. It does. It’s horrible. And those women need help getting justice and support. 

I’m merely expressing that some women are unhinged to begin with, however permanent or temporary, and therefor must be held accountable for their actions. 

My dad was a scoundrel with the ladies. They loved him. He loved them right back. His then wife took her frustrations out on me to the point she put two life insurance policies on me before the age of twelve. Had a curious file clerk, and agent, not eventually contacted my dad, he would have never known about the strange life insurance policies put on a healthy kid. 

I don’t know anyone who hasn’t had therapy, or currently requires it. We all need someone to talk to unrelated.

12 months of mental therapy is a process of recovery. Lifelong mental therapy is something else entirely. 

These days you’re better off reading books or watching movies for peace of mind. I need a good book to read. Suggestions? Audio even. I can listen to it while I’m drawing.