Sunday, December 25, 2005

Merry Xmas everyone. I have the worst chest cold ever. I should crank call all my friends while I sound like someone's pervy grandfather. I am trying to rest up so that I can go to the fabulous shindig at Ben's. Hopefully we'll be able to sell some jewelry.

Mr. Baby got a shitload of stuff for Xmas even though Jimmie and Rhonda told everyone not to go overboard. It never works. If only I was a helpless new person, people would be lining up to give me stuff and take care of me. He was totally overwhelmed. I wanted to pick him up and hold him, but I'm a sicko so I kept my distance.

This has been a crazy fucked up year. I hope next year is better. How could it not be better? Next year will be the year of the Dog. What will that be like? I don't know. I don't know who prospers or struggles in the year of the Dog. The Rooster kicked my ass, though.

I'm in one of those sick fogs where you can't really think straight and you from sleeping in your bed, to sitting on the sofa, to sleeping in your bed. I have a lot crazy ideas when I'm in this kind of state. I have all kinds of fantastic ideas like making spell boxes from shaker boxes. In my head I can see them and they're pretty fucking cool. But, they'll just always be in my head. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning because food is so disgusting. I had a free pizza yesterday and now we all know why it was free. I think it was made with fake cheese.

I emailed everyone but I haven't gotten any responses back. I was thinking of taking a bunch of cool old books I have and making them into notebooks. I learned how to do it from this total kookenberry I met last year. He was such a fucking nut, but he knew what he was talking about technically. Also, I was going to write some recipe books and make some of my familiy's secret sauce and sell it at the Brentwood Farmer's Market. None of this will actually happen, though. I'm just on drugs and I've been sleeping so much everything sounds like a good idea.

Rad and Patty have made all these really terrific outfits and Miss Ennui and Eliza are modeling them at the loft show. I think Caitlin is supposed to model some, too. We'll see if that comes about. Ben and Mr. Steve and Goth Boy are supposed to model the menswear%

another mad ramble of The Shadow * 1:42 PM
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Thursday, December 15, 2005

File this under "no fucking shit, genius". A friend of a friend, kind of a social acquaintance called me up today to discuss my life. On the one hand, I asked for it by blogging. On the other hand, the bitch better watch her back. Her whole attitude towards me was one of blame. She was so fucking unhelpful it was incredible. I don't know if she was being intentionally obtuse, or if it was just her Dubya impersonation, but it was almost fascinating.

She called to tell me the gravity of my situation. Hmmm. As if I was living in Fantasyland and didn't realize that getting behind on the rent could make me vulnerable to eviction. Really? You don't say. By the way, I AM a licensed a realtor working in the field. Or working in the fields, whichever way you want to put it. Her whole premise was kind of that I actually did have abundant financial resources, but that for some odd reason I was choosing not to pay any of my bills. As if I woke up one day, bored out of my skull, which actually does happen quite often, and decided that just for kicks and giggles I'd pretend to be obnoxiously impoverished just so I could manipulate all my friends into paying my way. She fucking actually asked me if I realized what a strain my behavior can put on a friendship.

First of all, I have never asked this bitch for a brass farthing. I haven't asked any of my friends for anything. They just keep stepping up and I trust them enough to accept their kindness because I know it all comes with no strings attached. I know that we all have enough of a foundation in our relationships that I can accept them taking me to the movies and they will let me make them a pie. They let me do things for them and they do their best to not make me feel like a charity child. Besides which, what's it fucking to her?

Yes, I know what a strain it can be. What an asshole she is. Does she think this is fun for me? Does she think that I'm enjoying being broke, like I'm some Prep gone slumming? What the fuck? And not even that, but she acts like this is some kind of Bohemian adventure of mine. Like at any time I could just say well, that was fun, and go back to my real life of steady paychecks, great credit, and health insurance. I think she may developmentally delayed.

I briefly explained to her the story of how I got to this point, not that it's any of her fucking business. She busted out with well, have you tried...blah, blah, blah. Yes, you ignorant bitch. I have tried it all. I mean I think I have. I can't sell my eggs because I'm too old and I have Lupus. I can't rent my womb because I'm too old, I've never given birth, and I have Lupus. I can't sell a kidney because I have Lupus. I'm already working two jobs and I've sold pretty much anything I can. What's that? Nursing school? Wow. That's brilliant. Let's think this through: I don't qualify for financial aid because I'm maxed for units. Besides which, in this area all the programs are impacted. Besides that, why would I got to school for 2 or more years to study something I have zero interest in, when it wouldn't help with the immediate situation considering that with one escrow I could be back in the black and with two or more I would be better than before.

Then Miss Genius Helper of The Universe responds with, well why don't you put real estate on hold for a while and get a job. First of all, if she'd been listening which she obviously wasn't because she's a dolt, or a Republican, or a Dubya impersonator, she would know that I am already working two jobs. Actually, considering the notary gigs, I guess that would make three jobs. Three jobs, plus all the miscellaneous gigs. Get a job. That's got to be the best advice I've ever heard. The girl's a fucking certified genius. Get Mensa on the phone.

I explained to her how I'd been looking for an appropriate paying gig that would enable me to get through this. It's not like ever since I was in diapers I've dreamed of being a real esate agent. No, ma'am. All I ever wanted was something better. That's unforgiveable in a lot of people's eyes. People talk ad nauseum about going for the gold, but when it comes right down to it, most people want you to stay in your place. And what is your place? Whatever they think it is. I will be the first to admit that this has not been an overnight success. Since I left my last gig in October I've been looking for a great paying gig. I've tried to get back to the hospital. They won't have me. I take it as a sign that it's not a direction open to me. I can only go forward. I can't go back. I got my notary and I've done a gig here and there. That in itself is exhaustive to get going, but I'm still pursuing it. The only reason I'm back in real estate right now is that's the door that opened. I didn't stand there banging on it, pulling on the knob and whipping out a skeleton key. I just wanted out of that dark, scary hallway. I walked through the first door that opened and it landed me right back in real estate.

So here I am. I work everyday. Every day. I am at work from 9am to 5pm Monday through Friday. Then on the weekends I'm doing jewelry shows and open houses. Not to mention all my little odd jobs. Helping people with research, garage sales, anything, whatever. And you know what? I know for goddam sure that bitch has never worked as hard as me. So fuck her. I probably shouldn't have even dignified the shit that was coming out of her mouth with a reply, but I've been biting my tongue against everyone's well-meaning bullshit advice for so long that it just had to come out.

She screwed herself to the wall, though. The friend of mine who also knows her just so happened to call me about two hours after I talked with her and I told him everything she said. I won't ever see her again. She'll not be invited back. Sorry, but those are The Crew rules. If you fuck with one of us, you've fucked with all of us. And if you fuck with us, you're fucked.

I swear. If I could only find my own J. Howard Marshall. No, fuck that. I need a Bill Gates. Just kidding. I don't need a man. I need an escrow. That's it and that's all.

another mad ramble of The Shadow * 1:13 PM
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Sunday, December 11, 2005

Getting ready for Open House. This is my life. I work every single day and I don't get paid. Isn't that great? Isn't great to work for charity? If only I had a trust fund to back me up. Yesterday my boss had a Free Photos with Santa event. I'm still recovering. There were bazillions of overly stimulated kids and babies all dressed in their holiday clothes. We also had free cookie decorating so the little monsters were totally amped on sugar. Two little boys got into fist fight. It was knock down, too. That was a comedy. All the yuppie preps were either fawning over their children or screaming at them. It was a madhouse. But, we got everyone's name and address to add to our database.

Last night all of us girls ran up to Miyagi's to celebrate L's acceptance into SAG. Some of people who were invited didn't go because they're just too pissed off at L. She kind of waltzed into acting and got her SAG card within months and there've been people trying for years. It's understandable. We got right in and we hardly paid a penny for anything. We got two rounds of free drinks and then it turns out we know one of the bouncers so we ended up getting another 50% off everything. How do you like that? I like it very much. I talked with ST and SI and LO almost all night. They are working on that show House and they were gossiping all about it. I like that show somewhat. I like Hugh Laurie in pretty much anything he does. Loved him in The Young Ones. I wonder whatever happened to all those guys? I know the guy who played Vyvyan is married to Jennifer Saunders, and the guy who played Nick also played Edina Monsoon's first husband on that show AbFab, but aside from that I don't know anything about anybody. At least I'm not afraid to admit it.

We drove all around Hancock Park and then the HoWood Hills last night. L couldn't remember how to get to SO's house but then we finally found it just off 12th and Hudson. We were driving all up and down Hollywood Boulevard and then Nichols Canyon looking for LO's place. I kept trying to tell them that Courtney street ends on Nichols Canyon and nobody would listen to me. We drove back and forth, back and forth and then LO realized it was us driving past her house and we almost ran her over because she ran out into the street to catch us. But then we got to Miyagi's and sat down and everything was okay.

It was fun to go out with all the girls, but I'm kind of glad Caitlin didn't come. First of all, because she would have been no fun in her state. Second of all, because I kind of can't be around her right now. I'm overcome with jealousy, which is a pretty fucked up position for me to take towards someone who just saw their soulmate pulverized right in front of them. I can't help it. I'm a worthless crapsack. I'm jealous that she's still beautiful. I'm jealous that she's pregnant. I'm jealous that she has Ben's undivided attention and love resources. I'm jealous that she was ever in love with someone who loved her back. I'm jealous that she's living in the loft. With heat and food. I'm jealous that all she has to think about is getting herself together because everyone is taking care of her. If I believed in hell I would be going straight down there in a handbasket. I should be tortured and killed for having such feelings.

Yesterday one of the Marines who came dressed as a toy soldier for our Toys for Tots toy drive was telling us all about his combat experience in Tikrit and Fallujah. He's hispanic and he grew out his hair and beard and wore Iraqi clothes so they could penetrate the insurgent towns. It was pretty cool. I asked him if he saw Henry Rollins in USO and he couldn't stop talking about how badass Henry is. He said that as soon as he got back stateside he went and got every one of Henry's books and CD's. What a good boy.

I have to go try to sell a house now.

While I am sitting there hosting the tea party and waiting for someone to write the offer of the year I will continue to contemplate the mystery of my life. Why the fuck am I here? What's the point? What am I supposed to be doing? What does anything mean? What exactly are the lessons and how am I doing? What does any of it mean? Why me? Why not me? When? What then?

If you have any answers, please feel free to forward them at your leisure.

another mad ramble of The Shadow * 11:42 AM
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Tuesday, December 06, 2005

It's so freezing cold. I love my apartment, but it's so damn cold in here. How much would I love to get the gas turned back on? One escrow. That's all I need.

We've been trying to sell jewelry for RM and EY. It's been hard. We've had some really successful events, but all the money has to go back into building up an inventory and all the props and stuff. Plus my partner has fronted a lot of the cash and she needs to get paid back. Meanwhile, back at the homestead, I'm pinching rolls of toilet paper and tubes of toothpaste from Ben. Life is so topsy turvy.

Miss Caitlin is pregnant and Ben has simply decided to be a father. I don't know what to say about that. I've typed the next sentence four times and it all comes out so bitchy. So I will just shut it. People are bored with my impoverished status. I am, too. I hate people having to pay my way for everything, so I just don't go. Then they feel like I am anti-social and we miss out on the relationship. It sucks to not be in the same stratosphere as your circle.

My job is pretty good so far. Except for the whole non-paying gig thing. I've come to realize that I don't really, really want a job. What I really want is the financial ability and security to live comfortably and write. That would be ideal. That would be exactly what I want. If I had the finances to just live my life, studying metaphysics, traveling in style to really cool places, investigating the things I'm curious about, and just writing my stories, and making soap. That would be the best. That would be complete.

Mr. Steve is looking for a job, too. We are broke together. He and Shug are getting a place and he's kind of taken over Gio's truck. Rad is thinking of moving to New York with Patty so they can pursue fashion together. Rad was saying that The Crew only lives in Real World cities. But I don't think that's fair. Where will the next Real World be? Australia? South Africa? They're running out of places to do it.

I wonder if Henry missed us in Vegas. Did he know somehow we weren't there? Did he have some kind of vague feeling onstage that something was missing? It was US. We were missing, Henry. How could you do your show without us? It's okay. I forgive you. But only because I love you so much. I wonder how Henry's new place is coming along? I'll bet it's cool. I hope he puts a basement in. Maybe he'll sell his place here. I wonder if he needs a good realtor? I would certainly love to help him out with that. Can you imagine doing an open house at Henry's?

I did an Open House on Saturday at this big, fat Spanish Colonial and it was a lot of fun, but after being in the house a little while I started noticing some weird things. Like for instance, the reason the house is for sale is that the marriage died an ugly death. I know this because of all the neighbors who stopped by to peek in the cabinets and closets. Each one of them told me a little bit until I pieced together a sordid tale of him fucking the babysitter and her leaving them in a huge rage. The wife is already out of the country with the child. That's the first weird thing. If he had a wife so beautiful and elegant, why did he sleep with the babysitter? Did his wife make him feel stupid and the babysitter made him feel smart? Guys are so dumb.

So I'm in there looking around and I notice the guy has three different vinyl players. Cool. I went upstairs and checked out his collection and he's got some really good vinyl up there in the walk-in closet. He must have made the fur closet into a vinyl closet because of the temperature controls. Then when I was downstairs again I noticed some more vinyl next to the built-in media cabinet. It all lined up in the shelf, except for about 50 LP's were stacked up on the next shelf. Stacked. I couldn't believe it. I went through all of that and it was all Siouxsie and Bananarama and Madonna and who else? Oh, Nana Mouskerie (sp?) and Xray and Sonic Youth and The Pretenders and stuff like that. At first I thought he just hated the 80's, but then I realized that those must be her vinyl. I put them back the way they are supposed to be, upright like books. Do you know when that pig came back that one of the first things he did was stack those albums right back like magazines on a table? What an asshole. I hope she takes his ass to the cleaners.

another mad ramble of The Shadow * 9:22 AM
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