Whichever way you want to interpret it, here are the people and the things they do that I am so into right the fuck now! And yes, I really know those people and no, they didn't pay me for the publicity. I am just in the know people...in-the-know. I also know what is up with the what's up. Alrighty!
P.S.
Margaritas are cool, but I prefer scotch-whiskey or rum.
Scotch, scotch, scotch, scotch, scotch.
A few nights ago as Ang (Jon's sister) and I were watching Michael Phelps in his natural habitat, we did as any two gals would do as they stared at man-meat...oogle and gossip. Staring at Phelps-O-Lympics we can't help but be drawn to everything below the neck: those arms, abs, torso and umm, speedo<branded> nether region. Is it because his mouth is naturally agape with those chompers always in view? And when he speaks you know that he's a jock, yeah...most definitely. Then, Ang blurts it out, "He's a butterface!" I turn my head in shock and in natural, agreement, "Yeah, just what I was thinking." Fortunately, we're not the only meanies who think so.
Take your pick Basketball or Tennis.
But it's okay cause that's just a sign of affection on Spain.
Try cracking a new tab in your browser lazy ass reporter and "google it". Ignoramus (feel free to do a search to define this too).
After a full week of telling myself and others "I'm fine, I can party with ya'll!" I really, really made myself super sick with a fever, chills and finally fatigue. I knocked myself out and woke up feeling like hell twelve hours later. I was hot then, cold and sweaty and yucky overall. But this only happens once a year or two...it's the migraines that really bother me.
Earlier this morning my Dad called me in near tears (he's sensitive) to let me know Starr, my baby sister's dog died. Now Starr was a wild dog. She wasn't trained and lived in the garage up until a few months ago. She was finally housebroken and slept either with my sister or dad. So, today the new delivered to me was really devastating and how she died was really gruesome.
My parents live up in the hills of So. Cali with no fence to stop wildlife from coming in or to protect domestic animals. With that being said, Starr was in our backyard earlier this morning playing with my sister before she went off to school. She left her to do something and minutes later my dad hears Starr crying and runs down to see what's going on. Starr is down with a coyote chomping on her lifeless body. My dad shoos the coyote away (not recommended) and takes Starr to the nearest hospital (for humans) and is turned away. Then, he takes her to the fire station where they pronounce her dead caused by a heart attack. Now, my dad is crying and heartbroken along with my sister and my mom.
I couldn't believe the news, but two nights ago I dreamed someone very close to my baby sister would die. I woke up crying from that dream and now, I guess it's true.
It's 4:20 AM and I'm up because of an allergy attack. Okay I exaggerated. My sinuses are blocked and I can't breathe, so my nose started dripping and now, I am up. Yeah, you like the "allergy attack" explanation better, huh.
So, I'm up and I grab my laptop and iphone from the living room and immediately check my e-mail on my iphone on my way back to my bed. Then, I'm on my laptop simultaneously reading my feeds while getting an urge to work on floorplans for an upcoming event.
I'm just a ball full of fun.
Living in the midst of Haight-Ashbury has its ups (Bay to Breakers, Haight St. Fair, nearby indie film house, shops, restaurants, bars, proximity to the Lower Haight) and downs (loiters, runaways and tourists). But on April 20th of every year, many come down to my neighborhood to celebrate a free-for-all extravaganza to smoke pot on every street corner and to wait in a massively long pizza line. Yes, it is indeed four-twenty.
People exclaim a happy 4/20 all day long. Puffs of smoke rise up into my apartment from the street below. Tourists get contact high and then, the munchies. And my pothead neighbor continues to make our shared hall green-scented.
The following day, I still hear a lone echo of "Happy four-twenty-one."
