Memoirs Of A

 I wish I ate meat.
I also wish i still believed in God.

Unfortunately I don't and my life is shit.

There it is again.
That sweet, sticky smell of burnt copper.

I'm drowning,
becoming intoxicated with it's odor.

I see what they mean when they say lions will attack,
and men will whimper.
 

 The Day After 420

It's sweltering hot out there.
I can feel the heat dripping off of me,
the sweat falling off the bottom of my sunglasses, 
and my upper lip beginning to become moistened as well.

I leave my sunglasses on anyway.
They make the freeway an orange tone that matches the heat perfectly.
I'm not sure if the air conditioning is broken in my car or not
but I don't attempt to use it I'm so serene in the California sun.

I keep putting my hand out the window although it
doesn't cool me down.
I just feel the heat in between my fingers.
I close my hand because I'm driving so fast the hot wind is beginning to
hurt my hand and I curl it into a small fist.
The image in my rear view mirror is that of a deformed child's hand,
all curled up and pressed down by the speed.
It makes me laugh and reminds me of when I was a child
and I use to distort my face into the ugliest face I could make.
I would stand their in front of the mirror staring at this ugly figure
and ask myself if I would have any friends.
I always thought that I wouldn't even be my own friend with that ugliness,
and then I would change my face back,
so thankful that it was only a game and I was beautiful again.

I inhale another bowl,
the pipe was left in my car and so the tip of it is so hot I can barely press my lips to it.
I feel the sting for a second and then exhale a huge gust of
marijuana smoke that bursts into my steering wheel and then
dissipates throughout the car and rushes out the open window.

I am happy, exhilarated, it's April and it's already 103 degrees.

Maybe I should be smaller or meeker..
less explicit and more subdued somehow.

The book I'm reading is making me upset so I'm switching.
I am so depressed today I am taking 7 Ativan and forgetting it.

Bah!

So I'm in the back of this guy's car;
completely naked and spread flat against his back seats.

It's dark and we're parked down the street from my house 
and he's fucking my brains out while I making some 
pathetic fake moaning noise.

I don't even know his name,
well,
maybe I do,
but I'm not sure it's really his name. 

Anyway,
So all I hear this guy saying is,
"Fuck your tits are hot
or fuck your tattoos are hot."
and I'm so drugged at this point I can't really remember if 
this is reality or a dream
but I'm fucking loving it.

I don't know what's wrong with me but
I get off knowing I'm doing things wrong.
I love stealing, cheating, lying, and breaking the law.
I don't know why,
I just do.

 Take an old pillow and lay it on the front lawn.
Stab it with a big pointy knife.
Again and again and again.
Stab hard enough for the point of the knife 
to go into the ground.
Stab it until the pillow is gone and 
you are just stabbing the earth again and again,
as if you want to kill it for continuing to spin,
as if you are getting revenge for having to live on this planet day after day,
alone.

I've always wanted to do two things in life.
Write and publish a book and fall madly in love with a girl.
When I was young they had
Marlow's hierarchy of human needs...

Do you remember?

 I am singular.
Independent.

Once disappointment sets in,
It's easy to become immune.

I think I cried for seven minutes
and then I was staring at the TV again,
ignoring reality by watching reality.

My body is my temple of change
controlling it, my only defense.

I do everything for it,
baby it,
and it returns the favor.

"I am who I am. Stop trying to change me.
If I won't do it for me,
Why would I ever do it for you?"

I wake late in the day enveloped in silk and cotton
and think of everything but you.
Busy! Busy! Busy!


I am single-u-l-e-r.
Bah.

somedays,

I listen to this and I feel better somehow :)

somedays suck.

somedays make me want to pack up all my shit, get on a plane,
and forget this ugly little world.

somedays i cry on the way to work,
inhaling marijuana smoke and tears into my mouth at the same time.

somedays my best friend breaks my heart,
and my girlfriend in the same day. 

somedays will pass.

 WTF???

www.instituteforhumancontinuity.org/#/home

XO,
A

Can i be honest? Brutally honest?

When I was a kid, around ages 9 through 14 or so...
I did this thing where every time one of my friends
hurt me or disappointed me in some way,
I would wait until my parents went to bed and then 
sneak downstairs and get a knife from the kitchen.

After, back in my room, I would pull up my pajama bottoms
and out loud  say, "This is for _____", over and over again
while cutting my leg into three deep 5 inch cuts.

Immediately after doing this I would crawl under my covers
and feel the stinging pain emanating from my thigh.
I would smile as I went to bed thinking about how little that person meant to me now.

Similarly, now as an adult when I have worn out my energy on someone,
I have the same ability to decide that I no longer want to think about them fondly.
Fortunately, without the knife.
I just erase all my feelings for them consciously.
I don't know if its because of all the years of cutting and self abuse I caused myself
but regardless, the defense mechanism is working great.

Dear Journal,

I'm working on this story and it's taking me much longer than anticipated.
I think it has a lot to do with my lack of enthus and energy stemming from my
partners' inability to give me oral stimuli in the past 2 weeks or so.
Some people say they only write when they're depressed,
I only write when I'm getting some.
Alas, 
So it goes.

Anyone have any story ideas or themes they'd like me to bring to life?
Maybe a change of scenery will allow my writing to flow.

xo,
wish me some,
A

I've been burying myself in my writing,
and turning the music up high so I'm not lonely.

I'm trying to forget how much you broke me,
and that I'm horribly disappointed in myself,
while my guilt and indecisiveness are trying to get the best of me.

I wish I could drink my thoughts away.
l wish a was a 46 year old man.
A writer with hairy knuckles.
I wish I had a guitar and a raspy singer's voice
and I fell asleep in my chair after the fifth whisky.

I refuse to be sentimental
refuse to be estrogen driven.
I need to stop.
"Be Quiet!" I'm writing stories like mad.

Oh God, is it a new year already?

with all the complications around Christmas I wasn't sure I'd make it.
E.R., the girlfriend...
alas, I'm here smaller and better than ever.
Bigger is NEVER better.

I feel lonely but not as lonely as horny.
Dr. G, Captain, gave me an A+ on my last story.
That's better than a B now isn't it?

I'm writing a new story about a man and two girls and yes, 
they have sex.

Love, Kisses, Fucks,
A


 

 Quiet Nights Revisited

 

The rain had eased at about two that afternoon, but now, at seven, it was revived again, as I drive the thirty-minute route to her house. It was romantic in a sense, seen through the tinted windows, the drops swirling down gently through the freeway’s lights. But I didn’t want to feel romantic - I wanted to feel apathetic, or dominant, or confidant, but none of these, by all appearances, was meant to be.

I had always been obsessed with numbers, especially when, out of a random collection of figures, something meaningful seems to be bubbling up. So it was, as I observed the clock turn to 7:07 pm and I was listening to song 7 on Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits, Subterranean Homesick Blues.

The night is unusually dark, almost black, like an abyss or a road that leads to nowhere. As I’m driving through the hills that separate me from her, I can barely see the sides of the road, only charcoal rolling mountains and twinkling neon lights blinking far off in the distance. I finally reach her exit. I forget which way to turn after getting off the freeway and its not the first time.

I drive for fifteen minutes through the now pouring rain not knowing I’m going the wrong way. The storefronts are all a blur, their lights spraying in front of my eyes, making it impossible to separate the stores I should be passing from the ones I shouldn’t be. I go up a huge hill suddenly and know I must have gone too far. I feel stupid and turn the music up to block out my sudden poor self-esteem.

               I turn around and head in the right direction, my heart speeding up as my car races through the rain, my attempt to make up the time I’ve lost. Her house finally appears up ahead. I notice the odd green color I’ve now become accustomed to. The house is encircled with a wire fence, stray cats swiftly making their way under it as I slowly pull my car up the driveway.  I question why I’m here again, remember that I told myself not to get attached, and yet...  I grab my purse and turn my head, just as she appears next to my car. Her outline is as I remember it. I feel warmer. The rain has stopped.

          She looks as black as the night around us, a dark hooded figure in shadow appearing center in front of the white stars in the night sky. She only stands about 5’6” but to my 5’2” it seems like much more, her sweatshirt is dark green and black, designs made with intricate detail. Her eyes look like puppies eyes and I’m a sucker for puppies, the light brown centers of their eyes looking back into mine makes me vulnerable.

“Come here,” she says and pulls me towards her into a hug. Raindrops from her hood drop onto my neck creating shivers down my sides. I lay my chin on her shoulder and immediately inhale her.

“How have you been?” she asks once we’ve seperated.

“Comme ci comme ça,” I say with a poor French accent as we make our way towards the front door.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“So so in French,” I reply.

“Oh”

In Spanish, she adds “Mas o menos”, and we walk into the     house.

No one is home. This I knew. We both knew why I had come but no one spoke of it. Perhaps it was sexier that way, keeping things unsaid.

         Once inside, she poured me a drink - a mix of blueberry vodka and lemonade. The kitchen was disgusting (always) -  dishes stacked in the sink, old pizza caked onto oven racks, and empty bottles positioned everywhere. I made my way to the couch, a brown suede loveseat positioned in front of the TV with a still larger couch across from it. She brought two small tables for us, put them together. Friendly.

          We attempt to play scrabble but the game is too slow for our racing thoughts. While attempting to make a word, I get my camera out of my bag and leaned in towards her, holding the camera up in the air as I snap picture after picture, posing as I click.

“The whole time we were together you never took any pictures and now you want to take them?” she asks.

I smile and keeping snapping. I feel her hand on my thigh, gently laying there motionless - merely an experiment to see my reaction. I allow it to stay there having no reason to remove it. I turned the camera around to look at the pictures. The images stared back at me - silly faces, smiling, laughing. It made me happy to think of us locked there in time, permanently.

I could feel her getting closer. I could smell her getting closer. Her scent filled my nostrils reviving old memories of our first encounter. Butterflies were once again beating inside my stomach. She leaned over, the camera still in my hand I’m pushed backwards onto the couch. Suede comforting my head as she rests me back against it. Her lips are on mine and I’m in a frenzy for her tongue. Hoping for the minty taste I still remembered. Her lips begin mimicking mine and I remember the camera is still in my hand. I snap pictures in the air as we kiss. She becomes more aggressive about her kissing. She sucks on my bottom lip. Snap. Slides her tongue on top of mine. Snap. The TV is in the background. I’m feeling my body giving in to her attempts to seduce me, if that’s what she’s doing. I imagine she is as I run my hand through her hair, the soft texture tempts me to pull on it and I do.  She bites down on my bottom lip a bit. I pull back angrily as I feel the sharp ting of pain pulsating.

“I thought you weren’t going to kiss me,” I blurt out.

She confused now. Surprised by my statement.

“I said I would want to,” she replies.

“But that you wouldn’t,” I remind her.

She throws her head back and laughs , “I never said that. Let’s go in the room.”

She’s right. I’m teasing her and she knows it. My attitude amuses her though, keeps her interested. The hallway to her bedroom is scattered with pictures of other people, family members. I’m reminded of where I am and her temporary living situation with her sister. We go into the bedroom, which isn’t hers, and I’m okay with this. I lay down on the bed, as I know I’ll be told to do, although she isn’t in the room yet. I glance at the walls. Dark blue with huge white letters are pasted on the wall opposite. The letters spell out DEREK and I can see it’s a nursery.

She comes in the room and turns out the lights. Very dark. The two windows are covered with white padding for the baby. The sound is muffled. She lays on top of me, her lips once again pressed against mine. They feel softer now, like butter melting against my skin, warm and familiar. We kiss for a while in the darkness, only the sound of us rustling against each other and our lips parting and coming together again.

“I always know when you want it because you thrust your hips towards me,” she says mid kiss.

“I do not!” I exclaim, although I know it’s perfectly true.

“Okay. Prove it,” she says in a mimicking tone. “If you thrust towards me then I’m allowed to fuck you.”

I think for a second.

“Deal,” I say and we shake.

She’s intent on winning.  So am I.  We twist and turn in the bed. Her fingers begin to travel across my sides, up to where my tits are held into place by my jacket. She unzips it in one motion releasing them and allowing blood to flow. Her fingers move further down, softly, like her lips are doing against mine up top. I’m trying hard not to thrust. I train my eyes to look away at the windows, the letters on the wall, and the clock. I can barely make the letters out now, but can see the large D. The clock glows 11:11. Her tongue flicks against mine and I feel myself surrender to her. Without thought, I thrust myself up against her and grab her with everything in me.

“Ha,” she happily remarks.

I see her dark smile above me and her eyes brighten at her achievement. And I smile at mine. 

   

  What's In a Dream?

I awoke to find myself in quite different surroundings. Things were different, but not completely different.  For example, the floor rug was the same as my grandparent’s floor rug – the same oriental pattern of brown, red, and green, and the kitchen was a near perfect replica of the kitchen in which I grew up. The rest was very different. I contemplated for a minute about how I had ended up here and thought that the people around me might have some clues.

As strange as the place itself, the place where I had ended up, were the people I found there. My father was sitting on a tan leather couch next to my uncle (his brother). I hadn’t seen either of them in over a year. They were laughing and discussing sports, while my dad chewed loudly on potato chips. They took no notice of me. I caught sight of a few people I’d never seen before - a boy of about 25 with dark brown hair, a girl of 30 with long blonde hair and gorgeous tits, and two older men of about 40 or 45. Someone I didn’t know stood in the kitchen making a meal that smelled fabulous. It smelled a bit like fresh paella, which made me smile. I turned my head to look down the hallway and then at the patio that was behind me.

 I noticed someone I hadn’t seen in quite some time, five years in fact, my ex-girlfriend that had moved to Hawaii, Heidi. Even after five years, my recollection of her was very vivid. As I looked at her, there appeared behind her an enormous background stretching to the horizon. An array of European castles and multi-colored cottages, all nestled beside a lake. A bursting Old World town in the middle of God knows where. I walked towards Heidi, forgetting the other people in the room.

“Where are we?” I whispered to her – ignoring the fact that she was in middle of a conversation with some friends.

She looked at me. Her eyes were bigger than I had remembered them - bluer too, almost as blue as the lake now framing her face. Her lips were pink and curled into an uneasy half smile. She recognized me but didn’t seem ecstatic about it.

“In Italy,” she said.

All her friends were looking at me, I’m not sure if they knew me, but I had my doubts. I noticed, to Heidi’s right, an elevator. Was it there before? It was there now - a huge brown elevator with an up and down button to the left of it.

I watched the people in the living room chatting aimlessly, and then caught sight of Heidi and her friends taking the elevator down. I followed. When the elevator opened there was a café.

The café was beautiful and the street it faced, just as lovely. The café was full of families eating and bicycles rode by. The noonday sun, I guessed it to be noon, washed everything in light. The light bounced off the little blue and white umbrellas at each table and reflected on the glasses at the outdoor bar. A rainbow appeared above the umbrellas and the children cheered.

The tables were dotted with couples eating croissants and tea or coffee, on each table was a small vase capped with two roses - red roses.

Heidi and her friends were across the street now. Apparently while I was taking in the scene at the café, they had left without telling me. I was starting to think they didn’t want me hanging out with them. Perhaps they were all close friends and I was intruding on their intimate group. I followed.

At last, Heidi turned to me.

“We’re doing a class project, we have to observe these buildings and make diagrams of how we think they were created. It wouldn’t be any fun for you.”

She ran off with her friends before I could reply.

Still confused and a little saddened, I went back up the elevator to the place where I had last seen my family. My Dad was still on the couch eating something out of a bowl with a fork. He’d given up on the potato chips.

I leaned over to see what it is.

“Try it!” he said.

Without any thought I tried what he had offered, eating it off his fork. Almost immediately, I felt sick, dizzy.  A kind of unpleasant warmth came up through my throat into my head and I was nauseated.

My vision was ruined, but I stared at the tiles in the ceiling and then at some brown things leaning against the wall. I was frustrated and my stomach felt hard and tender, like I had eaten something that had gone bad. I fell over, but not straight, my unclear sight caused me to fall sideways into the lush shag carpet. My Dad picked me up, I think, and I was brought into a small bedroom with a queen-size bed in the middle of the room, but little else. He put me on the bed and walked out closing the door behind him. I felt like I was coming off of a drug for about an hour; tossing and turning in the bed sheets, sweating and moaning. I finally found a position which provided some relief and so lay there with my arms wrapped around a pillow and my knees tucked underneath. In this position, I could just make out a window to one side and above the bed. I pushed aside the blinds, but I could not make out the street below. I imagined that the bed sheets were peach and off white. That the comforter was a different shade of peach (which clashed) and had off white tassels. I felt tired and quickly fell asleep. The last image before closing my eyes was of tiny heads moving past my window. I slept for hours. It was now dusk. I heard noises at my door and I could see the door knob turning. My ruined vision had returned.

Linda walked into my room; I knew immediately that it was Linda and not someone else. I recalled clearly the way she came into my room as a small child.

“Hi honey,” Linda, my stepmother, said.

She sat on the end of my bed and I pulled myself up a bit from under the covers. She placed her hand down at the edge of my feet, the way she used to do when I was a child.

She started talking, but she talked so fast it was hard to really understand her.

She said something about her being there for a twenty-fifth year graduation party.

She was drunk and I could smell it.

I got up and put my shoes back. Someone had removed them. We made our way back to the living room and I could see there were bedrooms further down the hallway from my room. The living room was now full of people, old and new.

Linda and I made our way to the elevator. I told her I wanted to find Heidi, because I had to tell her about my dream. We went up in the elevator again. I now realized that the house was a castle full of rooms. The elevator let us off on the top floor, the parapet of the castle. I could now see five round towers and the passages between each of them. We ran across a walled passage and looked down at the courtyard below. I heard girls laughing and saw Heidi with her friends at the far tower. I ran to them while Heidi and her friends scurried, jumped, and laughed at my feeble attempts to catch them. I saw Heidi’s blonde hair whip around a nearby wall and as I turned the corner, I found nothing.  I went back and grabbed Linda.

“I just want to catch her,” I said, “I need to tell her about my dream and what she said to me.” I ran at full speed back to the elevator, dragging Linda behind me. The ride down felt endless. Linda seemed fixated on the changing numbers on the display. I was looking directly at the door, intending to make my escape as soon as the door opened. As I charged out, my path was blocked and I stumbled to a stop. I saw my Dad in front of us, locked in deep embrace with the blonde haired big-breasted woman I had seen earlier. We took in the scene for a little moment, Linda and I, and then the elevator door closed us in and we were alone.

 so fuck you too.

When I fell I wasn't even scared.
I let my arms throw themselves wildly in the air,
like you'd see in a film with Alice and the white rabbit.

I let my hair whip around my face,
slashing it,
as the wind twirled me down the abyss.
I didn't cry and I didn't scream out,
I just closed my eyes and pressed, 
flung, 
drove forward.

It must have been two when you called because 
the neon "Miller Genuine Draft" sign had just gone off on 4th and Los Alamitos.
I remember picking my cell phone out of my pocket as a fell,
saw the blinking red light with your name glowing across it.

I didn't pick up.
I could of, 
but I didn't because he was there and you weren't.

I licked the shag on the carpet and the car seats, 
felt the lint and dog hair attach to my tongue just as I came in the abyss;
eye rolling and body arching sensations of ecstasy fingering my insides.
The drop was like falling into a down comforter;
soft, comforting, generous.

And one,
two, 
I was out.

I've finally got the energy to attempt an entry.
The energy
has come from my new smoke spot at work.
Since the loss of my Rilo Kiley Mo-bile,
I am forced to find a way to get stoned without driving and
after walking around the Cityview Office Plaza I found the perfect spot.
It's in the dumpster area,
I know ew,
it's way in the back behind all the dumpsters, 
and there's a seat made of cement back there and it's shaded by trees,
it may smell like human piss, and it's nothing compared to 
smoking with Lil Wayne while drinking a BK Mocha Joe with air conditioning,
but at least I'm high. Very     High.
It kind of reminds me of being 15 and leaving high school with my boyfriend and best friend
to smoke behind McDonalds,
a little scary but totally worth it.

So this week has almost been a total catastrophe
Monday I woke up puking out too much Vicodin and was out of weed and $.
Tuesday I totaled my car on the way to work grabbing for a cookie (fat ass).
Wednesday I got food poisoning for the second time and puked about 22 times.
Today is going well.
I bought some Northern Lights and Purple Haze which both blow my mind.
I also watched a documentary called Seven Up and it's the best documentary I think I've ever seen and I've seen quite a lot.
It was done in England in the 1960's and takes a group of 20 very different 7 year old
(females, males, black, white)
and ask them a set of Qs at age 7, then 14, then 21. It's an absolutely amazing film. 

Next week I take off to the dreaded parents house for a week.
I'm going to miss my family of friends out here.
I'm just starting too really love all of them.

p.s. anyone know how to bring weed on a plane?


xo,
A

She doesn't look at people,
she looks past them like they're not even there.
She just has that much confidence.
She pushes the Push sign on the glass door
and breathes in.
The air is stale inside
and full of young children holding their parents hands,
teenagers with braces and sweaty foreheads.
Everyone around her barely glances
so as not to be the fools that stare,
but some men still do.
When she stands in line to get the few items she has in her arms,
a cashier immediately becomes available
and stutters over the total.
Glancing too long at the pens, lifesavers, and chap stick she had purchased
while hanging her cash back to her.
She's that type of girl,
the type that men stop and stutter for.
When she exits the store
a man jumps back to hold the door open for her
because she's that beautiful.
She's the type of woman who's jeans fit her ass in the right way, 
and her stomach is perfectly flat against the light touch of her top.
She exits and walks towards her car,
hands tucked lightly in her pockets.
She opens her door and feels the fresh cold air brush her cheek
as she turns her head and throws her brown hair towards the dusk.
In the car she empties her pockets
of the handful of things she had stolen
and smiles at her reflection in the rearview mirror.
There's silence in her car for a minute
and a wave of euphoria runs up through her chest
to the top of her her tits.
The music begins.

 Since I did those Shrooms yesterday it's like my mind's put a Do Not Disturb sign up.
That, and a Don't Bother Me sign.
I was weary of this "Shrooming" all weekend, in fact, it may have been the cause of my sad excuse for a weekend...

Friday I did nothing.
Saturday I went somewhere I didn't want to go,
and Sunday I realized that I'm just not like other people.
As Bukowski would say, "I'm not like other people. Other people are like other people."

I grew quickly annoyed this weekend by all the conversations about nothing going on around me.
I wanted to just jump on a rocket ship and go somewhere new where
men didn't act like men and women didn't act like women.
Somewhere were there's a point to everything besides getting laid and making money.

The "Shrooming" which was done by eating these dark chocolate treats.
This is when about half of them were eaten.


This way of eating them tasted much better then the way Shrooms normally taste, like dog shit.
My friends tripped out, I felt a bit the same but more relaxed, no visions but I felt good.
Then again I was high so who knows...
I was fearful the whole time that the people I was with were going to do it
so I tried to work on my book to no avail.

Ah yes, my book.
My new book is entitled, Sydni Takes A Bullet,
and this is the one that'll make me famous!
So If I'm slow on here it means I'm writing which is a good thing.

I'm hopeful for this week.
I want it to be enthralling, fabulous, and orgasmic.

xo A

I feel everything all at once.
A mixture of laughter,
depression,
exhilaration,
sexual frustration,  
freedom and
entrapment.
I feel like I'm going to cum and get hit,
which isn't necessarily a bad thing,
but different none the less.
I wonder how everything will pane out,
I wouldn't want to know
but I wonder.

 Thank God for Best Friends
Because no one else could understand that I was really sad today
and said, "Don't worry I'll cheer you up."
And then scrapped resin for me 'til I was high as a kite.

Hello.
Agent Albertine Here. 
My weekend was fabulous.
Well, that goes without saying. Everything's fabulous when you're high...
Mostly my weekend was interesting, out of the ordinary, and just peculiar at some points.
I did learn that men and women are very different.
They're both predictable but in completely different ways and their thought process' aren't similar at all. 

So the vote is in!
I was told that it has been said that "Men will fuck mud,"
and I ventured to see if this was true or not.
I asked about 30 men of all different ages and status
and came out with the answer.
No, men will not fuck mud.
Ugly men will fuck mud.
Attractive ones have standards.
Attractive men will get close to mud, maybe even fondle mud, but will not fuck mud.
(Or so they say...)

So I spent this weekend with an array of people.
On Friday I ended up at Rich-oad's house back at 431 Bonito again,
and it was nothing like the old day's of last summer in Long Beach at 431 Bonito
when Dani rented it and we drank beer on the porch listening to Billy Bragg.
Instead it was poker tables of old guys.
I shit you not, one guy there was 75+ and was looking at S like a fine piece of ass.

Saturday was the opposite, the day was filled with making tree swings, 
learning what a homophone is,
and watching Beauty and the Beast Fucking baked on a HD flat screen.
I felt like I was little again and kicked ass in Bingo.

Then we're at Fantasy Castle????
I'm listening to Lil Wayne spit "3 Peat" while the hottest stripper in the club
is in the cage in front of me with her legs spread on my face???
She took S's beer and rubbed it on her couch-ie.
Fucking classy.
I realized that strip clubs are full of a lot of ugly guys
in ugly suits pretending to be rich
and dykes
and God do I get some good laughs off of some dykes.
My favorite one was the little mexican dyke hitting on one of the strippers
that was obviously a "used to be guy".
So wtf? She's straight?
Regardless it was fucking fun, once you get over the 
horrible people that are there and keep your mind on one particularly sexy stripper.
It's aight. Heh.

Sunday is Smoking Sunday and I don't stop smoking 
in between picking up and dropping off and picking up and dropping off.
I've come to enjoy being at the guy's house who tattooed me once, smoking bowls all day.

Dear Guy Who Tattooed Me Once,
Yes, I'm calling you that until you decide you will stay in California
and not move and be my permanent artist.
And yes, i will give you shit about this until you decide to stay.
:)

This I found in his bookshelf and seriously,
how could I not picture this:



The Complete MEAT Cookbook??
eww.

Oh and I have something else to say!

Dear "Hat",
In the Quarter I pick up tomorrow please don't include these in it.




Thanks.

xo A