One hallowed point

The desert out here has a particular smell. Not the Las Vegas strip, the actual desert. Reminds me of dead leaves. Not the familiar piles of dead leaves during Midwest months of autumn that brought us so much joy as kids. Rather dead decaying leaves from a rotting wilderness. The stench gets in your hair and stays there. I don’t wash my hair every day therefor I was forced to buy perfume just for my hair. I can smell when women haven’t washed their hair. They smell like dead leaves and rotting wood. Men smell even worse. 

This is my second summer in Las Vegas, otherwise knows as the season of air conditioning. One giant sardine can of cool air, after another. Breathing in the same air over and over, as the hundreds, thousands, of others who may or may not have showered or brushed their teeth that day. All is lost. 

There’s a video library behind the Stratosphere hotel from where I borrow films. It’s there I was able to borrow PHANTOM THREAD and REBEL IN THE RYE. Question, where are the people who also watched those movies? Where are you? I need you. Intelligent life form. 

Yesterday I watched THE PROFESSOR AND THE MADMAN, while drawings images for Smith Card Co. I highly recommend this movie. Such a great film. I’ve come to the conclusion that brilliance and madness can only be separated with an act of criminal brutality. 

I’m transitioning into a stereotypical old woman. Complete with a nose mole that grew in a year ago. I have several moles on my face to begin with but NOSE MOLE. 

Could be worse I guess. 

It’s going to be 106 next weekend. Disgusting. 

I’m glad the Magic Mike guys are doing so well but, your boys are, well, not my type, at all. I’m still a Thunder from Down Under, girl. Blue jeans. Cowboy hat. Cowboy boots. 

Yup. Nose mole approved. Gadzooks.

Stella and a Rabbit

So last night I finally made it out to (bar) Velveteen Rabbit. It’s across the street from ReBAR, but doesn’t open until 5pm. Unless I’m working or drawing I’ve already started drinking by 5pm. But last night I was in the mood to be social and decided to give this bar a shot. The place was empty. Completely empty. I drank a beer and left. Wow. I can honestly say I’ve never gone into a bar in Vegas where it was completely empty. It was quite possibly the loneliest saddest feeling ever. And people say drinking home alone is the most depressing? What? No way. I have to strongly disagree. I’ve never been depressed drinking at home by myself. Go out to an empty bar sometime and have a drink, now that’s lonely. 

* I should reiterate. I’ve been depressed at home, completely sober, and then poured myself a drink. But I’ve never poured a drink at home and then gotten depressed due to drinking home alone. 

Day off today. What to do? 

11:38am

I just Redbox The Professor and the Madman. If you need me I’m home drawing. 

thy golden stare

I don’t understand people who go on vacation with fifteen of their relatives. I don’t even have fifteen relatives and half my family are Mormons. You know what breeders they can be. When I go on vacation it’s to get away from my relatives, my job, and everyone I know pretty much. That’s why it’s called a vacation and not a family reunion. 

“Hey (Simone) me’n 10 other people are going to this house party. Do you want to...”

You lost me at 10 other people.

Don’t get me wrong I’m social, but only because I want you to look at me. That’s all. I miss the nightclubs and lounges of Beverly Hills, back in the day. You’d spend five hours getting ready. The entire day. Once there no one talked to each other. You just went to be looked at while drinking a $27 glass of red wine. It was nice. Relaxing. Being a visual artist I appreciate the “see and be seen” environment. Always have. Always will. 

Don’t mind me. It’s 10:56am and I’m on my second drink. I had a vodka/soda, now drinking wine and watching Miso kitty sleep. He ate his usual giant can of soft kitty food along with a giant scoop of hard food. Then I brushed him until he, as per usual, passed out in utter bliss on his favorite blanket, which was my favorite blanket once upon a time, not long ago. Now his. 

SO

The black bear only weighed 100 pounds. Yup, I’m going to talk about this again. It was just a cub around two or three years old. I can’t let it go that wild life Conservationists shot and murdered the human friendly bear cub rather than trying to rehabilitate it back into the wild. So what you’re saying is, marine conservationists are smart enough to rehabilitate stranded seal pups, whales, octopus, and man eating sharks back into the ocean, but you wild life guys are just too damn stupid and/or lazy to rehabilitate a 100 pound bear cub? Next time call me. Armed with some ideas and the internet I’m rather certain I could have done a better job than you wild life people, or at the very least TRIED.

OR

Next time call Japan’s panda sanctuaries. Those guys might have some ideas. Those Japanese panda conservationists are unbelievably devoted to keeping pandas alive and thriving. So much so, they actually dress up in panda costumes and douse themselves in panda urine to smell like one of them when they need to give a panda cub a check up. That’s right, panda pee. Panda pee! Talk about devotion. Did you wild life conservationists even try dressing up in a bear suit and dousing yourselves with bear pee so the cub gets reacquainted with the odor of other bears? Well? Did you? DID YOU?

Reportedly 30 horses have now died on Santa Anita’s race track. Disgusting. That’s vile humans for you. Put a midget on a beautiful horse, call it something ridiculous, and then make the horse run around in circles with a midget on its back until it dies, the horse unfortunately, not the midget. If it was the midget dying instead of the horse, this entire paragraph would be about the fat woman who tried sitting in my lap just now, but instead I’m too pissed off about Santa Anita’s dying horses. What’s wrong with you people? Rhetorical question. Geez redneck California, you don’t have anything better to do than bet on which horse will drop dead first? Not enough nascar (or whatever the hell its called when a bunch of white dudes get in fast cars and roll around in circles for hours and hours and hours and hours on end. Wooo! Exciting! Cars rolling around in circles!) If you like gambling so much come to Vegas. We’re happy to take your money. Happy to take your money, I say! Fuck off. No, I’m sorry. I mean give us your money first, then fuck all the way off. Proper like. 

I don’t have a problem with people who gamble. It’s your money. Do what you want. I don’t have a problem with people eating meat. I eat chicken, seafood, and on rare occasion beef. But I do have a problem with humans killing animals for sport, and using them as test subjects, when there are perfectly good life size maggots, convicted criminals on death row you can test on. We take better care of convicted murderers, rapists, and pedophiles, that we do innocent little cats, dogs, and bears.

On that note, humans also close courthouses to build more prisons. Why? Cut out the middle man? Guilty. Fuck it. Prison. 

sigh

Last night I watched (movie) INDEPENDENCE DAY. What a great film. I hasn’t seen it in years. I needed a movie that has good guys in it. Oh sure I’m basing my opinion of good guys on fictional characters, but that’s what makes great films, knowing what the audience needs, more specifically knowing what I need. It’s not difficult making a leading man on film. Make him handsome, brave, smart, and good. *swooooon*

Until then, I’m happy looking after this little weirdo.

It’s a good thing I draw and love watching movies or I’d have nothing else to do here in the hot desert on my days off. 

Infested

“Can you believe they murdered that sweet bear just for being friendly to humans?”

Yup. Sure can. Humans are a disease. A pox. Millions of filthy smelly ugly open sores that do nothing but senseless yip-yap, sloth, shit, and breed. Useless. Wretched. Predictable. Boring. God should plague the human race extinct and start over. It’s what artists do when they don’t like their work. They rid themselves of their regrets and start over. PURGE! 

Are you serious? The only solution you geniuses could come up with regarding how to handle a human friendly bear is to murder it? One job! You wildlife conservationists had one job. Fucking people.

“I wish to be moved. I cannot feel in life. I must have others do it for me here in the theater.” — (movie) THE LIBERTINE 

It was early morning. She was walking in front of me, this very pregnant young black woman, at least eight months along, possibly nine. She wore tight grey sweats and a white tank top. Both items of clothing were once a size 4, as was the woman wearing them. Her now engorged stomach forcibly hung out of her tiny clothes. In her right hand was a gallon of water, less than half full, or rather more than half empty considering her condition. She strutted along in her flip flops humming to herself, plotting, scheming. Ten minutes later I saw her again. She was slouched against an Albertsons grocery store wall, wailing, weeping, inconsolable, and forcing herself to vomit onto the sidewalk. Water. Her vomit was nothing but water. Shame, I thought. She could have had their sympathy had she not forced herself to regurgitate all that water. Her hustle went a little too far. No one stopped to help her. But they would have, had she any premeditated skill. Do not fret, she’ll get a second chance to hustle with her kid once it’s born. “S’cuse me mister. Are you my daddy?” 

I’m curious, who would get more sympathy. A girl and her dog? Or a woman and her baby? 

Whenever I pass posters of lost dogs I haven’t the heart to look at the dog’s picture. No doubt the pup was swiped by a homeless man and is now being used to hustle money, slowly starving to death. Every homeless man in Vegas has a dog. They don’t feed the dog to make it look mange for sympathy. When the dog eventually dies of starvation the homeless just swipe another dog. Take better care of your pets! Don’t let the homeless and mentally ill steal your dogs! 

Wounded Paw Project 🐾

Woundedpawproject.org

“And what did you do this summer, Jimmy?” Asks the third grade teacher.

“My parents took me to Las Vegas! A sweltering 112 degrees every day! I saw filthy homeless people covered in lice! Business cards of naked hookers littered the sidewalk! Baseball size cockroaches! Drunk people everywhere! I got to jerk the one arm bandit for a quarter! And I learned “pussy” isn’t just a cat!”

“Okaaaay. Neat. And what did you do over the summer, Suzi?” The third grade teacher asks. 

“We went camping, studied wild life, hiked trails, learned about nature, all while visiting my cousins in beautiful clean Montana. Because my parents, you know, are decent people who actually love me.” 

Why would anyone bring kids to Las Vegas? What the hell is wrong with you people?

“Summerlin is just like Beverley Hills!” 

Um. No. There is no place in Summerlin remotely close to Beverly Hills. No where. You clearly have never been to Beverly Hills. At best Summerlin, maybe, compares to Salt Lake City. Maybe. 

I started drinking hard liquor again. Just vodka. The drink of my youth. When you grow up in a German community you start drinking vodka very young in life. And then I was introduced to wine. I drink wine because I enjoy the taste, the mellow buzz, and appreciate the hard work and pioneering spirit it takes to make wine. But when all your many years of studies to reach a higher state of consciousness works on the very last nerve that was somehow spared at the end of a ridiculous day, fuck wine, give me vodka.

FALUN GONG forever!! You can’t kill spirit. 

The most peaceful people, the most docile animals, and all these wretched humans can do towards these loving beings, is murder them. Some from profit. Others just for killing. 

I haven’t gone full blown PETA, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t understand them a little more each day. 

PURGE 2020! 

A day of fathers and sons

“Have you come to rape me, or seduce me?” 

“I’m a gentleman.” He replied.

“So rape then.” She mocked making her body limp.

— THE FAVOURITE. Funny movie. 

I finally saw Bohemian Rhapsody. Finally. Good movie. Was it accurate? Had I known Tom Hollander was in this film I would have seen it sooner. He plays Jim (Miami) Beach. He was Etherege in The Libertine, and the smarmy Mr Collins in Pride & Prejudice. It was interesting seeing Hollander play in a modern set movie, and not a period piece for once. Furthermore, hi-five buck teeth people! I have an overbite and a twisted front tooth that makes me look like I have buck teeth. 

Grey hair and buck teeth. 

I also rented the movie GREEN BOOK, which I highly recommend. “So if I’m not black enough, and if I’m not white enough, and if I’m not man enough, then tell me, Tony, what am I?” 

Yes sir, Doctor Shirley. I relate. I’m definitely not Asian enough, and I’m certainly not white enough, and I’m absolutely not man enough. If I were, men wouldn’t feel the need to hassle me to make themselves feel better. “A single woman. So vulnerable. So naive. So scared. She’s nothing without a man. She goes home at night and cries herself to sleep.” Or so they love hearing themselves talk. Oh my amusement hearing men tell other men what it’s like being a single woman. 

The laundry room in my building is out of commission again per a strange note on the door, and so once again I’m typing this from the laundromat up the street. I don’t mind. I like coming up here. No one bugs me, usually, and I get some work done. That, and I get to watch Spanish TV and play the commercial guessing game. Spanish commercials are so artistic. There’s a beautiful woman dancing ballet barefoot on a linoleum kitchen floor wearing a delicate white negligee as the morning sun pours through a window. Is the commercial about ballet, kitchen linoleum, clothes detergent? Foot care? Windex? Nope! It’s about orange juice. Good one. I would have never guessed orange juice. 

Male Asian creeper alert at the laundromat! He’s a desperate 50 something year old creeper lurking around the laundromat. Lurker! He works here actually. It’s an Asian couple who owns this laundromat I think. He’s a fresh off the boat creepy lurking Asian guy. *Shudder* He’s that disgusting guy circling to get attention. You know the type. Circling. “Notice me!” Circling. “Notice me!” Circling. Ugh. Gross. When I ignored him, and he saw I was watching Spanish TV, he pulled out a very loud lint cleaner which makes more noise than a leaf blower and started cleaning the lint baskets in the dryers right next to me. It was just me and one other woman doing laundry in the entire laundromat. Christ. How subtle. Almost as sad as the guy who pulled his giant boat into the store parking lot where I was waiting outside for my Lyft. He just parked his damn boat right in front of me so I wouldn’t be able to see my ride pull in. He took up five parking spots. Two of the spots were handicap. Dick. He got out of his truck to fumble and adjusted the tarp that was secured over the boat. Two minutes later when he was done fumbling, the tarp looked exactly the same as when he pulled into the lot. Yeah I see you. Congratulations. You’re an asshole. Now get your ridiculous boat out of my face so I can see my ride when it arrives. 

Aren’t these guys embarrassed? It’s like people who try talking to you when you have earbuds in. See these earbuds? That means Shhhhhhhh don’t bother me. No one here is gonna fall in love with you mister senile 70 year old wrecked motherfucker leering at females from 60 years of age to 13 without shame. 

When you no longer care about sex, every attempt men make to get my attention, is repulsive. Don’t get me wrong I would definitely fuck Keanu Reeves and Tom Cruise, but that’s because I’ve had since their excellent adventure, and greaser days, to sexually fantasize about them. How long is that? Some-30 years? At least? I’m invested. 

The 50 year old creep in his loud ridiculous sports car makes me want to shoot out his tires - so long as there’s a boiling hot tar pit directly in front of him. 

I much rather believe in fairytales like Sleeping Beauty, than spend whatever remaining years of life I have left tolerating some man I have absolutely nothing in common with, cleaning up after him. At least Sleeping Beauty, gives me something to look forward to. I’m not awake for 99% of the bullshit. Hooray! And they all lived happily ever aft...Zzzzzzz

F*ck this heat

While there are no libraries or bookstores in Las Vegas, gun stores and churches yes, book stores no, there are local LV classic rock stations that play all my childhood rock songs. (Sigh) I miss being 17 years old. I was queen of the world then. Royalty. We all were. 

Surfing the ‘net I found a photo that stopped my heart for at least five seconds. That’s my dad’s backyard. If it’s not than someone else has the exact same backyard as my dearly departed father. 

See that fence? We built that, and replaced the wood once every seven years because of rot due to rain, snow, bugs, etc. I had Lincoln Logs, as a kid. I knew how to construct a wooden fence very young in life. I had my first kiss on that fence. Michael Linderman, platinum blonde hair, big blue eyes, rich parents, lived in the biggest house on the block, three stories high, pastel yellow with white shutters. We were in fourth grade. Maybe fifth grade. We were sitting on that fence one beautiful summer afternoon drinking pops, barefoot, pant legs rolled up, watching wild bunnies romp around the yard, and then michael asked if he could please kiss me. It was sweet. We kissed once, then a few more times, little pecks on the mouth. At that moment he turned bright pink from being shy and nervous. We giggled, drank our pops, and enjoyed the rest of the sunny afternoon just being innocent kids. He was a very polite well raised boy. Sweet kid. Every girl should have a first kiss like this. Of course it’s been a complete train wreck ever since. 

There’s a scene in Steve Martin’s movie SHOPGIRL where Lisa is explaining to Maribelle how to catch a man using emotional abuse, neglect, and fellatio. To which Maribelle tells Lisa she could never do all that. When Lisa asks why not, Maribelle replies, “I’m from Vermont.” 

Yups. I can relate. 

Even in the most questionably arranged social settings, there’s protocol. There’s always protocol. And the more men neglect protocol, the more I insist on it and grudge men who don’t follow it. 

I just left the NYNY hotel/casino Starbucks because some guy didn’t know when to quit. I was charging my phone and enjoying a nice tall $9 Frap with a shot of espresso when some guy asked if he could borrow my charger for ten minutes to charge his dead phone. He said his charger was in his room at Wynn, and just wanted to call his buddy who was still in the room to tell him to bring his charger with him. Ok sure. No problem. I unplugged my phone, scooted over on the sofa so this guy could charge his phone long enough to make a call. BUT THEN this guy kept looking over at my phone repeatedly asking what I was doing. He asked where I lived, what my plans for the day was, and a million more questions while repeatedly staring into my phone to see what I was doing. He said, “I was just going to borrow your charger for ten minutes but I see you have plenty of battery so I’m going to charge my phone longer.” Uh. What?? No motherfucker. Rude! I grabbed my charger and left. Even if he had asked to borrow my charger for longer I would have said no because he was being irritating. And that’s just a phone charger. Prior to this idiot, some other guy sat across from me to charge his phone. Which is fine but there was a completely empty sofa and electric sockets right in front of us. I don’t go to Starbucks to meet men. I go there for the $9 Fraps espressos, and unwavering WiFi. 

Meeting people is utterly ridiculous these days. No accountability whatsoever. It takes more than three words and a dick pic to get my attention. Don’t be stupid. No? You insist on being stupid? Ok then. I’m going home to find Miso stray cat, crank on the AC and snuggle the cat, watch movies, draw. God bless my friends. If I had to rely on men I gave BJ’s to for good healthy companionship, I’d have violently murdered myself yeeeears ago. 

Vanilla dating can be hard for some. You might have to jump hoops for a kiss. But all men have to be to get a date in the vanilla world is gainfully employed and kinda smart, maybe funny. Not difficult. Lifestyle dating is much harder as it should be. You have to be James Bond, Shaft, and Bruce Lee, all rolled into one. Aka BONDSHAFTLEE. Now there’s a profile name. If you’re not Bondshaftlee, go back to vanilla dating. You absolutely cannot be the same dipshit moron you are at Starbucks, in the Lifestyle. Well no, I mean you can, but then PAY ME! 💰

Today I had a lot of time to meditate, reflect. Aside from my usual errands I had to go to three different redbox to return my movie THE FAVOURITE. Triple digit heat apparently knocked out the first two outdoor redboxes. Good movie. Funny. 

My long time friend EQ, the Q-Meister, King Q, the Quadruple Q, the Qtee, The Quintessential Q... we’re both considering moving back to LA soon and roommate up. Him and me and kitty makes three. God bless my friends. 

Dressed to the nines baby

My weekends be like https://youtu.be/SmvuRJzads4