A year ago, I was tripping acid with some of the greatest friends on Earth. We had to go for a 5-day trip just to make sure I did enough drugs before I became a nanny. I did.
I moved here 5 days after I graduated from college. The weirdest part was there was not one ounce of apprehension in me when I set out on this journey. I think part of that is in my nature - I am forever plunging into one kooky plan after another.
Don't get me wrong - my plans don't always work out. I was going to Africa this summer ... and then I realized I had no money. Whoops. I was going to move to Austin ... and then I looked at a map and realized it's in the middle of buttfucking nowhere, TX. Whoops. I was going to go to medical school ... that one cost me $2000. Major whoops.
But I think the point of my life (I ain't gonna talk about yours) isn't to have every single plan work out. I think my life is more of an exploration, which is helped by the fact that I'm passionate about every idea that pops into my head ... even the ridiculous ones.
You gotta give an idea the chance to bloom before you can call its color.
But this kooky plan worked out wonderfully. I can't imagine life without the Chirrens Garcia and Coco is really one of my dearest friends. (Not to be left out - Bobby Habibi throws great parties.)
N E Wayzzz....
Somebody said something the other day about my tanning bed habit. It pissed me off, mostly because it's so irrational. Nobody says anything about the fact that I'm morbidly obese, or that I alternate between starving myself and stuffing my face on a weekly basis, or that I smoke like a chimney, or that I grossly overmedicate. Nope. It's the fucking tanning bed everyone goes after.
Let me tell you something, I'm going to be dead of heart disease long before any of these freckles turns cancerous. Go get your own fucking parade to rain on.
Change in tone? Change in the weather.