[After a decent toke]
My puppy, Bronson, walks into the room. He snaps me out of an Al Bundy induced daze via the crinkling sound of the plastic wrapper in his mouth; for some reason the boy’s holding a fortune cookie. I put my hand out and ask him to drop it. He eagerly places it in my palm without question and without breaking the cookie. [good boy, his cute tail wags fast.]
Now, I love fortune cookies. They are crunchy, yummy and mysterious. And I’ve been having a tough time lately, so I was ready for this little slip of paper to turn everything around. To reaffirm my recent craving for change and push me to make some sort of path altering life decision. Or something like that. There’s a lot of smoke in my lungs at this point.
In any case, I crack that baby in half and quite literally gasp; the cookie’s empty.
I look at the wrapper it came in: nothing, I look at my dog: he’s asleep on the floor. No fortune? (my brain assumes this means my future is wide open; I do what I wantz bitches!) I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that, which made it all the more powerful. [and yummy, too!]
Thursday night I’m at my buddy Alfie’s place on the balcony smoking my corn cob and he just looks at me and says most girls would get cigarette extenders but you get the manliest thing possibly: a corn cob pipe. I just laugh because he’s kinda right. Between my choice of socks, tobacco products and affinity for Velcro I’m something of an old man. Alfie kidnaps my pipe for a puff; him and his ridiculous mustache.
Friday at work was fun. We got new mannequins and I kept catching glimpses of my silver pumps in the mirrors. Black sweater dress, black skinny pants and set of heels that pop. I love my new job; we’re working on a fashion show for the end of December to preview next season’s prom gowns. I’ve been granted the task of getting models; talk about a dream job, I’ve been waiting for something like this to come along. Good things this way come.
This weekend was insane. An blunt alcoholic blur. Friday afternoon starts off with me, super smoked with James and Audrey before the show. We have about a million epiphanies about the most ordinary things. I love these too with my whole soul, we have such a good time. At one point on they open up a cabinet in their shared room and ask me if I want some fruit. I ask: You have a fruit cabinet? Audrey answers: Of course we have a fruit cabinet! It’s where we keep our fruit!
I love that girl, she’s perfectly high and an exceptional conversationalist.
Oh, the show! I was rocking a pound of eyeliner and four jackets. The turnout was great, all the cool kids were there. Our set was actually bearable and Bricker kicked ass. I love my band. I love Ray’s Golden Lion. Except for the part where I was drinking shots of BV, Fireball, tequila along with car bombs and PBRs. Can you say ROUGH?! The last thing I remember is the third band playing and a shot of tequila. Next thing I know, I’m waking up on my bedroom floor. Fireball flavoured vomit burns like a bitch. I have good friends. They literally had to carry me out of the bar. Photos exist somewhere, you’ll be seeing them some time.
Saturday was a whole different story. The usual suspects and a few extras were over. I was still recovering from Friday night and having spent another lovely evening with James and Audrey my brain was a beautiful fog; so I chilled mostly half asleep in my room.
Let’s just say shit went down.
People rolled in trash, dishes were broken, the floor is boxes of PBR and a bird was killed.
Now, to really understand about the bird you gotta know about Gruber. When we first moved into this apartment we adopted a stray fat head kitty, cool as fuck; that’s MacGruber. Gruber and Grubs for short. This meow sleeps like a champ and eats like a tiger, but you can’t take the street outta the cat. He’s always aching for the outside and makes a game of sneaking out the door when a drunk girl is hitting fresh air to smoke. This time last night he makes it out onto the balcony. We don’t know how long he was out there and it wasn’t until he drags in a freshly killed birdie, guts-a-hanging, that we even knew he had left. I wasn’t out there, I just remember vaguely hearing people in the living room freak and then I faded back to sleep. This morning, the carpet was spoiled with feathers. God damn Gruber, he’s a machine.
Sunday has been chill. Just smoking and cleaning, cleaning like a mother fucker. I get most of the mess taken care of and take the best shower of my life. Washing hair is fun! I love the suds, the dreads didn’t bubble as much as this new hair does. I dig it. Thanks to the herb I really enjoy the cleaning, especially the dishes; simply satisfying. Cleanliness so drastically impacts the energy of a room, I need to remember that. The apartment feels so much more positive with trash contained, couches febreezed and shot glasses soaked.
While I’m washing the dishes I keep getting distracted by this random box of birthday candles. All I can think is cake; I love cake; I want to eat cake. But it’s cold and snowy outside, plus my wallet is stranded in Laruen’s car. The cake is a lie.
You should listen to this band if you never had. I heart Rich Kids on LSD.
Think, think positive.