Beer. Ugh.

I didn’t have any wine for about 2 weeks while I recuperated from laryngitis. Then last night, at last feeling so much better, I finally had one glass of wine, but then woke up this morning to another sore throat.

WTF?? 

Damn desert.

I don’t use my heater when I sleep. I pile a million blankets on my bed and dive in. But since the temperatures in the desert are dropping down into the 40’s and 30’s here at night I should probably raise my thermostat. I hate sleeping with the heat or air conditioner running due to my sleep issues. In the summers, however, I have no choice when it’s still 100 degrees at 11pm. 

I’ve officially become that old woman who perpetually smells like cough drops. Neat. I still look amazing, fuck it. 

I thought my body was finally transitioning being as how the first two months last year I didn’t have a menstrual cycle, and for the last two months this year I haven’t had a menstrual cycle (hooray!) but being sick for three weeks as a universal balance trade-off is not cool. Luckily my sore throat was only dry throat, and we all know the remedy for dry throat, don’t we? Cough drops! What, no! 

I received a great email from another man, very attractive in his photos, fit, 58 years old or so he’s listed as, has a house in Henderson, or so he’s listed as, an outdoorsman or so he’s listed as, but in all honesty I just don’t see otter in him. I don’t see him sleeping outdoors, eating food cooked over an open fire pit, or backpacking. In addition, I’m trying to get my ballerinas, my beautiful dust dancers, finished in time for a February showcase. And if that guy’s dumbass orange wash painting actually sells for $50 million dollars, I’m raising the prices on my drawings ya’ll. 

Timing. Now is a terrible time to start dating someone not in the art world who doesn’t understand or appreciate the hard work it takes to prepare for a show. 

“Whatcha doing?”

Drawing

“Whatcha doing now?”

Drawing.

“Whatcha doing now?”

Drawing.

“Want to hook up?”

No.

“Why not?”

Drawing.

“What about now?”

Drawing.

“What are you doing now???”

Same thing I was doing three hours ago. 

“What’s that?” 

Drawing.

I tried doing that “Pick a day out of the week honey, and that will be our day.” But that never (never) works. If I’m drawing well, I’m not stopping for anyone or anything. I’m selfish. I want to finish my drawing. 

The gears on the short bus go round and round...

I don’t usually draw women, but these ballerinas are unlike any others you’ve seen before. Even with the dust, the integrity of ballet remains fully intact. Unsullied. Unlike women who posed naked in their ballet shoes. Ugh. Zero integrity. What a disgrace. 

Art snob. That’s me. 

Make art. It takes zero talent being naked. 

MAKE ART

My favorite part of these dust dancers are their hands. Just beautiful. Men hide their hands. Male models hide their hands. Which is odd since historical hand theatrics on stage was invented by men. All actors and actresses were men. Women were not yet allowed on stage. Strange how today men are shy about their hands. 

This Friday I’m taking my straight LA guy friend to the gay bar loop. 

Why do I fag-hag rather than go to the straight bars? Um. Let’s see. Better dance music, better clothes, better shoes, better drinks, better atmosphere, hotter hotties, waaayyy nicer people, I can get down dirty with a bunch of half naked studs, and if I really must cum when I get home, I can get the job done in 2.5 minutes with zero regret.

Tee-shirt salesperson in a gay bar...

“Hey beautiful. Hey pretty lady. This tee-shirt would look so amazing on you. I see you, girl. You would make this shirt so happy to rub against your sexy body.”

Tee-shirt salesperson in a straight bar...

“Don’t be fucking stupid. Buy this shirt! We’re so amazing. All the cool people wear our gear.”

I’m more than happy not being cool, BITCH.

We going LOOP, girl! 

Find us this Friday at the loop.