Hello, Procrastination.

"Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about. "

I haven’t written anything in a while – I’m long over due for a blog post. Here’s why all the procrastination:

First, I procrastinated because I didn’t know what to write. I didn’t want to write about losing my job and every thing else seemed pretty bleak and abysmal –not great adjectives for potential writing subjects, unless of course you’re Edgar Allen Poe or Tim Burton or Bret Easton Ellis. Let’s face it though, you’re not. And I’m not. So I didn’t write.

Secondly, I further procrastinated because the deadline for a new blog was coming Apparently, I promised myself they’d come up every Thursday. And they will. If I get around to them. Otherwise, they may come up on a Monday or Tuesday, or some day of the week on which the moon and my menstrual cycle are in alignment and I can function like a normal person. I cave at deadlines. They make me cranky, anxious and stubborn. Fuck you deadline! I DARE you to actually make me do any work! .. is something I might think as a deadline approaches.

Thirdly, I procrastinated because I started to doubt myself and get insecure about my work. I thought, nobody cares if it goes up on Thursday, or next Tuesday or never because no one is really reading this. And that’s true. But I think it’s important to always challenge yourself and do things you promised you would do. My counter thingy says that 900 something people have checked out this blog. I don’t know what they’ve read – since no one seems to leave comments AHEM –  but maybe they’ll read this blog about procrastinating and they will subscribe. And I will be their favorite person ever and they will tell all their friends about me and overnight I will become a huge sensation. Or they will think about doing that and get around to it later. Like I would.

Fourthly, fourth, so on and so fourth, I got a job and then I couldn’t write because I was happy again. On top of that, I had a bunch of awesome auditions this week and a really fun weekend with some friends. So I wasn’t around to write because I was out, in the world, trying to experience my life! If I don’t experience and enjoy life, what on earth will I write about?

And fifthly (try saying that fifth times fast), I didn't write because I was high. I know what you're thinking - write WHILE you're high. Well, I usually do. I usually do everything high. I'm usually high. But this week I discovered Tostito's Creamy Spinach dip. That plus chips have been taking up both of my hands which I need to type. Blame it on God for not giving me enough hands to snack and write. 

So there. Now this is done. Can I get back to watching The Shield already? As lame as it is, at least this takes away the pressure and the guilt of being overdue for last Thursday’s blog. Now maybe the next one can be the amazingly genius blog that I want it to be. Oh fuck.. it’s Thursday again in three days.  

And also, a song. Just for funsies :D

Pothead Reflection

Jail House Crack Rock

"I think God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability."

Travis and I have just rolled in from a bar down the street from my place and also we’ve been smoking joint after joint after joint. We’re fucked up, it’s 3AM, and we’re laying on the floor in my apartment, watching The Chapelle Show on dvd.

Out of nowhere there’s a lot of noise and banging. It sounds like there are people rolling around on the floor in the apartment right above me. I look at Travis, he doesn’t seem to mind so I shrug it off and reach for a cigarette. Dave Chapelle is screaming something about Coppers! and it has been about 5 minutes since the noise upstairs started. It’s still going on. I’m getting more and more worried. I start to think I can hear muffled voices like someone’s mouth being covered. I know that there are dogs that live upstairs and they make noise on occasion, chasing toys around their apartment, but this sounded different to me. After a few more minutes I convinced Travis that we have to call the police.

I call 911, I explain to the operator what I hear, she asks me how long the noise has been going on, and I tell her about “10 minutes, maybe less.” To be honest, my sense of time is a little skewed, I only know that we’re still on the same episode of The Chapelle Show. Maybe.  She says she’s going to dispatch some officers, I say thank you and hang up. Travis makes me a cup of hot chocolate and packs a bowl for us, trying to calm me down a little. An unknown amount of time passes, Travis and I have had cigarettes, a good fuck, and moved on to another episode on the dvd. The noise upstairs has long since stopped, maybe someone was killed and the struggle was over. Maybe it was just the dogs afterall. Either way, it has been long enough now that I barely remember why I cared so much about the ruckus.

I have almost forgotten that I called the police until there are suddenly heavy footsteps tromping through my apartment building. I hear them walk down my hallway first and then clamber up the stairs to the 4^th floor right above my apartment. I hear them knock, loudly. Man, these guys are not shy. Travis and I are stoned and giggling. We turn off the TV so we can hear the cops and what’s happening better. It seems like no one answered the door upstairs. See? False alarm. Thanks gents for coming to check that out!

BANG BANG BANG! Oh damn. They’re at my apartment door. Oh right.. I had to tell them who I was when I made the complaint. Wait, FUCK, what am I supposed to do now? I get up and scurry to my closet to throw on some pants and I see Travis putting the bong under the bed. I open my door, trying to stand as straight as possible – the little voice in my head is screaming DO NOT LET THEM KNOW HOW FUCKED UP YOU ARE.  My whole sobriety scam was shot when I opened the door and a huge draft of weed smoke goes billowing out the door and right in the po-pos faces. Travis is sitting on the bed and I hear him pronounce, “Hello officers!” Probably trying to appear as sober and friendly as possible, although it would’ve been more helpful if he had actually shown his face at the door.  All I can think is, "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"

This is where I first have the thought that I might be in trouble. The boys in blue ask me a few questions about what happened upstairs, and in my effort to persuade them that the noise was real, I suspect that I came off even more suspicious and retarded. My gaze was hazy and I honestly cannot recall what I said to the men. The next thing I knew they were asking me to step aside and coming in to my apartment. At least Travis hid the bong so everything should be fine!

Until they find the crack pipe.

OK OK, I can explain. It’s an unused crack pipe. I swear to god, I’ve never put crack in it, or coke or heroin or meth or anything like that. Anna bought me this bong-like thing as a gift one day, only the pipe part of it was oddly shaped. I attempted to put weed in it ONCE and it obviously did not work at all. Then I realized that it wasn’t a bong, that silly bitch had bought be a crack pipe. We had a good laugh about it, I replaced the insert with a piece from an old broken bong and put the crack pipe insert away in my memories box, never to be thought of again. Two weeks ago, I did a scene in my acting class where the two characters are passing a crack pipe back and forth. I happened to still have that one, so I took it out and used it for the scene – again, NO CRACK IN IT, but there were burn spots on it from holding a lighter to it. I neglected to put it away.  Also, the massive amount of weed I just bought is sitting next to it.

OK OK, I can explain. I had that much weed because I got a good deal on it, I’ve been going through it a lot lately, and part of it was a gift for Travis. I was not going to sell it! My pipe and rolling papers were also on the floor by my rocking chair. This looks bad. 

Really Travis, you put THE BONG away?!

I try to explain to the cops about the crack pipe, how I only used it for weed once, and then for acting class. But the motor skills in my mouth were failing me and I don’t think my brain was communicating to my larynx especially well and all I can recall saying is, “I use it for weed. I use it for weed man! It’s not a crack pipe, dude, it’s for weeeeeed.” I don’t do well in high pressure situations.

Since I’m the one that lived there, I’m the one that “prank called” the cops, I’m the one in possession of copious amounts of drugs and paraphernalia, the Hispanic man with a crew cut and a shiny badge and the black man in the blue uniform with a billy club put me in handcuffs and walked me out of my apartment. I don’t think the handcuffs were necessary! I was too drunk really to be able to pull any kind of parkour maneuver and jump out of the third story window to freedom.

I spent the night in jail. When I sobered up, a policeman that I vaguely recognized from my apartment a few hours earlier pulled me out of the holding cell –more affectionately known as the drunk tank—and sat me down in a small office. I’m so tired, my vision is a little blurry from not having slept all night, my stomach hurts and I’m hung the fuck over like nobody’s business. But at least I’m sober enough now to have a real conversation and explain the situation again. They let me off with a $100 possession ticket, and obviously they had confiscated all my shit the night before. But no charges, no misdemeanor. Thank god I’m a cute little white girl with no prior record. 

 

This is a picture of the new bong and pipe I had to go buy. Upgrade! Still, I’m going to fucking KILL Travis.

Sex on the Beach

"Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to." 

 

Today was a beautiful summer day. Sometime around noon when I woke up, I rolled over in bed and told Travis I wanted to go to the beach. He had no reason not to go with me since he has no life, few friends, and no classes. Roll a few joints, take a shower together, grab the skateboards and we’re out the door. We load up the car I bought with my boyfriend – thanks Mike for that down payment! – and took it to the beach. A day of lounging and doing nothing, a day of sunshine and simplicity – don’t I deserve that? Clearly my life is really hard; I work 15 hours a week at a restaurant and with the other 153 hours of my week I have to figure out fun ways to pretend my life isn’t a mess. So off we go to the beach!

I don’t know what came over me when we got there. Maybe it was the families nearby, maybe it was the police patrol, maybe it was the lifeguards in clear view of us--but I started feeling really frisky. I suddenly had a desperate urge to fuck on the beach. This is not something anyone’s ever let me do before. I have always wanted to – in fact, Mike and I got into a huge fight about it once and THAT beach was totally deserted at the time. Prude. Travis, however, seemed to think that this was the best idea he’d ever heard. Did I mention that Travis is going to jail in a few months? Did I mention that we were high at the time of decision-making?

             It was so great. It felt so good and gave me such a rush. Obviously, it couldn’t go too far, so we packed up everything and decided to move the party to the car. But it was Venice, on a day that ends in Y and a time that ends in o’clock, so the streets were busy and it took about 1 second for someone to wait behind us for our parking spot. We drive. We look for a place to pull over. We stumble across the canals, which I’ve never seen before. I was a tourist for a moment and getting distracted.  The canals are soooo beautiful. I can’t believe I hadn’t seen them before. Travis shoved his hand in my crotch, gently reminding me of our purpose and eventually I found a empty street. I wonder if anyone saw the car rocking. I hope so. I’m pretty proud of myself. It’s not often you get to have sex in public places, much less two in one day. I brushed the sand out of my hair, slipped on a change of clothes and drove myself to work after that. I blamed the salty smell on the ocean.  And I’m pretty sure there’s still sand in my labia. 

The Reasons We Broke UP

Meet My Friends!

"I don't want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there."

I have a pretty small group of friends, most of them are guys. I don't know if it's because I find guys easier, more relatable, more entertaining, or if I just like the idea that I can fuck them if I want to. Maybe it's because I haven't met a lot of women that can hang with my vices. So there are three: three special ladies that I'd like to give a little shout out to right now. And for the readers, you may as well meet them because I talk about them a lot.

1. JACK. Jack is my best friend from college. Jack is a girl. Jack’s real name is Jaqueline which is obviously horrible and needed to be shortened to a more ambiguous, gender confusing name. We never call her Jackie.  Jack has been dating the same man since our Junior year. His name is Joshua. Jack and Josh. Adorable right? Joshua is not to be confused with another Joshua that I'll talk about later. Some things you should know about Jack:

A.     She smokes pot every day.

B.     She’s been clinically depressed for quite some time and is most likely on a different medicinal cocktail every time you see her.

C.     She hates everyone. Maybe including me. It’s hard to tell. But since she still calls me, I try to believe that she wants me around.

D.    It’s hard to tell if I actually enjoy her company. 

E.     She’s the kind of person that you are shocked and flattered when she calls.

F.     She’s bright, but not shiny.

G.     She’s a genius and she and Josh have started their own business. Their business is essentially the promotion of good taste and style.

H.    She works all day every day, which is impressively done with a joint hanging from her mouth.

I.      In addition to working all day, she’s incredibly domestic and is that one friend you have that has the nicest apartment and everyone is jealous. I take people that she doesn’t even know there and show it off as if it’s mine.

J.      Jealousy is a big theme in her life and in our relationship. But when you’re beautiful, smart, talented and obviously destined for great things, that tends to happen.

2. LIZBETH. Also gets called Liz, Lizzy, LB, LBoogie, LBoogz or just, “That Drunk Girl!” LB is a friend from college. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been unpredictable from one day to the next. But she was the first person I ever reached out to about my sadness and personal issues I was having in college. She lent an ear and we will forever be close friends. She’s kind of like that crazy half sister you have that you just don’t know what to do with. On the one hand you love her because she’s your sister, but on the other hand sometimes you wish your mother had never fucked that man. Some things you should know about LB:

A.     She gets drunk every day.

B.     She’s been clinically depressed for quite some time but refuses to be on the appropriate medicinal cocktail. She was on a number of things when we were living together; now she’s living on her own and apparently has decided that she can no longer be governed by her therapist.

C.     So she self medicates now. Mushrooms, MDMA, Ecstacy, Pot, and Coke are in the medicine cabinet now.

D.    It’s hard to tell if I actually enjoy her company.

E.     She’s the kind of person that every time she calls you wonder what on god’s green earth has happened to her THIS TIME.

F.     She loves every man she meets. They’re all “The One.” She sleeps with bartenders and band guys and wonders why they aren’t ready to commit to her. She blames her chest size.

G.     LB is 5’9” and stunning. She was a swimmer in highschool and then anhorexic in college. So she’s maintained a fantastic figure. But she’s completely flat chested. Every three weeks or so she tells me that she’s looking into plastic surgery to finally “look like a woman.” She introduces this as new information every time.

H.    Lizbeth is the opposite of domesticity. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve caught her washing my dishes with liquid hand soap. We lived together a few years ago and I’m still finding pumpkin seed shells around my apartment from the trail she used to leave around our place.  (That was three apartments ago.) The good side of that was that I could always find her by just following the seeds. Or the popsicle stains on the carpet.

I.      She’s the crazy artist type that hasn’t quite found her art yet.

J.      Rejection is a big theme in her life – from her perspective. From my perspective, poor choices seems to be in a big theme in her life. This is why I love her. The hot messes like to stick together.

3. ANNA. Anna is a relatively new friend in my life. I don’t really have that many friends, to be honest. Most of the people that are close to me are pals I met in college. But Anna is the exception to that rule. In fact, I’ve only been really hanging out with her for less than 6 months. But there’s just something about her. She’s incredibly special and one of the bleedingest hearts I’ve ever met.  Some things you should know about Anna:

A.     She smokes pot every day.

B.     She’s been clinically depressed for quite some time and is on some kind of medicinal cocktail that she’s mentioned several times but since I’m a pot smoker also, I can never remember it.

C.     She loves everyone. I’ve never seen Anna uncomfortable in a situation and I’ve certainly never seen anyone that didn’t immediately adore Anna upon meeting her.

D.    Several months after meeting her, most people get tired of her effervescence and need to take break from her. This happened in our relationship as well; but damn is that girl pervasive! And she wiggled her way back into my life and now we use each other to feed our codependences.

E.     She brakes for animals. And then she spends the rest of the day trying to find that animal a good home.

F.     She’s always that girl that knocks over the bong, breaks a glass, or tips over your aunt’s priceless Ming Dynasty vase while she’s looking for her cell phone in her giant purse. To be fair, if it’s that damn important or expensive, it shouldn’t be placed about all willy nilly like in the living room. So while it’s horrible to watch Anna do things like this, I often think afterwards, “that vase had it coming.”

G.     Women don’t generally like Anna. Anna is very outgoing and sexual and hasn’t seemed to have any problems getting the men she wants.  Anna has purple hair and wears a D cup. It’s hard not to notice her. Thank God I’m wasting my time on a little twerp of a man or there might be a lot of competition between us when we go out together.

H.    Failed relationships are a big theme in Anna’s life. Whether it’s men or women, her connections with other people have a hard time getting off the ground. I love that about her; it reminds me that there’s something special about our friendship. When we lay in my bed together, getting stoned and watching Lord of the Rings, I am reminded of the late great Britney Murphy in Clueless, “Shit you guys! I’ve never had straight friends before.”

Good Lovin!

"Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power."

      Yeah, I’ve started sleeping with the boy that basically was responsible for my break up. Well, there’s a whole list of other reasons I broke up with Mike. And don’t get me wrong, those are true; but when I say that I was basically cheating on him, I am talking about Travis.
      Even with the non-stop sex, Travis and I are going to stay just friends. Well, Travis is in love with me. This is probably the most attractive thing about him. He fawns over me. He picks me flowers every day on his walk to work. Did I mention that he doesn’t have a car because he wrapped a corvette around a tree a year earlier and was consequently gifted a DUI? He skateboards everywhere or walks. Did I mention also that he’s 22 and still in college? And by college I mean a trade school. Did I mention that he is a busser at the restaurant I’ve been working in for 5 months? Did I mention that he is the WORST busser at said restaurant? This is starting to sound bad, huh? It’s only going to get worse, so let’s move on.
     The second most attractive thing about Travis is that he has very little responsibilities. He is constantly rambling on about “living in the moment;” and he’s a good salesman for hedonism, too. I’ve totally bought it. The small print on this purchase mentions something about a 6 month forced vacation from reason and productivity. But who reads small print? We smoke a lot of weed together. [side note: Drug users stick together. This is not because we are a ‘different breed of people.’ This is not because ‘sober people suck.’ This is solely because those that smoke weed all day are intimidated by those who can get through their day completely sober. On some pretty-obvious-and-not-at-all-deeper level, it reminds us that we are incapable of doing so. This makes us feel bad about ourselves. I guess in that way, sober people do suck.] Embracing the pothead lifestyle, I’ve started sleeping later and later, and I do very little with my days except spend money at restaurants and play in the sunshine. I’ve stopped washing my hair and started listening to a lot of Creedence Clearwater Revival. It’s the 70s again and I am on top of the world.
     For the most part, Travis is terrible in bed. His penis is too small and I’m 4’11” and weigh 90lbs. But more than that, he has no idea what he is doing because he’s never slept with any girl more than once. I’m still not convinced that he’s slept with any girl ever besides me. No one can either confirm or deny that he has. Did I mention that he’s never had a girlfriend? Did I mention that he is 5’1” and has a handlebar mustache? Did I mention that he’s been cutting his own hair for years because he couldn’t afford haircuts? He can afford pot though. Miraculously, we both can. I’ve started cutting my own hair. I’m off track. Back to the sex. Travis can’t cum. He goes soft. His little tiny penis shrivels and gets even tinier. This is also probably because of the weed. This is not the first time this has happened to me. When I was 17 I briefly dated a boy with the same issue: too much pot smoking and therefore too little penile activity. The difference is, when I was 17 I had more self-esteem and left that boy for a more virile adult man after only 2 attempts at sex. I am 26 now and have lost all that naïve self respect. When Travis goes soft, I light a cigarette or a joint and pretend it didn’t happen. We’ll try again later.
     Naturally, with all of these great things going for him, I have fallen for him. Seeing him makes me smile. I look forward to our work shifts together. I spend most of my free time with him and we are inseparable. People say we look cute together and we get so much attention when we go out together. He likes to dance. Mike hated to dance. We go to a jazz bar and drink ourselves retarded on a regular basis. We get so much attention everywhere we go. We are stars and we are going to take over the world. I’ve started drinking caffeine again to offset the marijuana. I smoke more cigarettes than I ever have before to keep the high going. I’ve been dressing more and more like a hobo. Travis even calls me that as a term of endearment: “My Little Hobo.” Adorable. I’ve never had so much fun in my entire life. He makes me feel open and powerful and beautiful and creative (which I attribute to being obviously smarter than him). Seriously, though, he is very calm and supportive. He lets me do whatever I want, judgement free. And right now, I want to fuck, drink, smoke pot and get a tan. This is shaping up to be the best summer ever.