Sensual Seduction

Snoop Dog is bringing lambchop sideburns and Prince circa 1985 back with a vengeance! Check it out:



The song is sweentess, hotness and freaknasty all at the same time. I'm glad i'm bedbound or I'd be in the club dropping it like it's hot. and it's not hot! well, i'm not hot...

Also, there is Rye Rye a M.I.A. protege who takes the miami 808 sound, loops it around her newyorkese or is it a midatlantic accident and keeps it thoroughly gully throughout. If the dudes in the barbershop want some hip hop, here ya go, hot and poppin, mehn, hot and poppin!



Finally, just caught wind of this: Timbaland produced Ashlee Simpson. She seems to be recovering from that SNL episode by putting out some good music that she can conceivably sing live. Hope Jessica recovers as well. I root for women!

One woman I'm really rooting for is the Divine Ms. M - Kylie Minogue! Flashback Friday, ya'll, and it's still super hot. Kylie has survived breast cancer and is performing again - brava, brava, brava - and since I'm skedded to go to the breast center for an exam of something new and unexpected in my own chest, I'm REALLY FEELING HER!!!



LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALAL!!!!!

I got Fan Mail!!!

I got fan mail!
Okay, really, it's just a letter from right before my first surgery where my cousin told me that she really hates all I stand for, I'm an asshole etc. etc. and I'm lazy. But it's a good read. If you want someone to hurt you, bring them in close - that way they can look in your eyes while they cut you. Et tu, Brute? There's a bit at the end about notifying family, which would lead me to continue to keep this private, but since it was also sent to about 15 email addresses I didn't recognize i figure it's public domain. Enjoy!

"Now I am angry. To clarify, I have no problems dealing with people with illnesses. I do have problems dealing with people with bad attitudes and illnesses. You really need to understand that it is not OK to treat people who care about you and who you supposedly care about as if they are disposable. You chose to have one of your attitude attacks on me and I chose not to accept it or dance around you when you did, pure and simple. You can blame it on drugs, you can blame it on endometriosis, you can blame it on whatever makes you feel better about justifying your behavior. Just because you don't feel well, does not justify or make treating others badly, being condescending, etc. acceptable.

Oh. And I would appreciate it if you would discontinue notifying family about my perceived 'issues'. That last sentence was also probably one of the most passive aggressive things you've ever pulled and extremely hurtful. I love you to pieces but as far as I'm concerned this is not worth it anymore. You need help, you need a higher power. Go find it. Best of luck with yourself. I'm out.

"I wondered long and hard how you could keep refusing to see grandpa for the months he was in the hospital." - Camille

Did you conveniently forget that at that time I too was as disabled as you are now but dealing with fibroids which had been misdiagnosed for a year and was informed by the surgeon post surgery he'd never seen a woman with that many fibroids who was able to walk, I was on narcotic pain killers 24-7 and had been for months. Seeing Grandpa so ill stressed me out so bad I was bedridden for days afterward, if anyone realizes the direct link between stress and pelvic pain it should be you, I was only 20 years old and fully self-sufficient. I was in contact with Dad and Grandma and Peach and Lamar the ENTIRE time. I am sorry you see that as REFUSING to see him. Unlike you, I didn't have anyone taking care of me and I had a mortgage, was living off of 60% of my salary, on disability had huge medical bills because i paid for my specialist outright and was just trying to survive, the only reason the surgery was paid for by insurance was because of the Godsend in our Cousin Cookie who worked in the surgeons office.

I think you have turned into a self-centered, arrogant, unappreciative, lazy young woman who likes to hide behind multi-syllabic words, books, her illness and a crappy attitude which you somehow justify as OK.

Also, I would appreciate it if you would try to be a bit nicer to my God Father, I have NO idea how he puts up with you, but you might want to try being nice every once in a while, it does wonders for relationships. And yes, if i'm going to say it, i'm going to say it all. I was happy that you were happy but I do find it incredibly inappropriate to be dating my God Father. I think you took advantage of a convenient situation. I often wonder how long you'll really stick around. I think you often wonder how long you'll really stick around. I've been the quiet moderator and secret keeper for years but enough is enough already. You treat him like crap, I've watched you treat him like crap. I refuse to continue watching you treat him like crap. Yes, you've done wonders for the office and everyone can see that. You need to get healthy, get happy and then re-find your feet and start building a nest of your own, be self sufficient, be gainfully employed in a profession you enjoy. You have all the tools, just do it.

And since you are so intent on continuing to 'notify' family. I'll do it for you right now. Good luck and God Bless

Baby Use What You Got

Well...I'm out. The jig is up, the game is over, it's like me playing Ms. PacMan, never get past level two cause of the friggin' ghosts.

I'm back on medical leave. Emphasis on LEAVE. As in, leave the nice healthy people alone and get your recovering ass back on the farm/rehab whatever, but get there and get there quickly.

Today my grandma called me fragile. Not a word I would associate with myself, personally, but she was being fairly objective and I don't think it's inaccurate. I'm also kinda nuts, being fragile does not help my sanity at all. Ach, well, I like to think the crazy adds spice to my personality.

I'm in my favorite place right now. It's a secret, there is music, obviously a computer, and I get to be naked. Not that I don't like clothes. Now that I'm back on the sick and shut-in list I'm all about getting my shop on. My new website is eluxury.com but there is also bluefly. All I know is I'm gonna get me a LV Suhali collection something. My homie Jen has three, one her mom got her cause it's a nice bag for a young woman (aren't mothers special, we are always being molded), one she bought and is still trying to convince me was not totally inappropriate because it vaguely resembles a physician's bag and she's a MD (she keeps screaming Legit, Legit so you know it's such an illegit bag, but it is purty) and a third evening clutch, which is cool cause you need a clutch for the evenings.

I've been so caught up in my person drams that I've not even gossipped personally. I have three little sisters and do you know one of them told me the other day that she was gonna go to trade school and not college because college isn't "her thing." she's lucky she wasn't within 50 miles or i would have been begging rides just so I could get her to say that ish to my face. Is she on CRACK? Oh god, my little sister has a drug addiction and no one but me knows!!! This is terrible. I'm sure she's just scared, finishing high school is high pressure and the parents do not help at all. I'm 11 years older than her (why did they start all over, must have been bored with my straight As and civic activities and thought a baby would be entertaining. For the record, they lost interest after about 9 weeks and I raised the kids until I went to college 6 years later). Anyway, she's like "yeah, i can go to trade school and become a sonogram tech." now, i'm a woman and i've had the occasional sonogram. i respected the tech but most of them sucked. I saw shit they didn't notice. Me: What's that floaty bit of stuff attached to that major organ? Tech: Um. I didn't notice that.

So, i ask her what a sonogram tech does. I swear to god and six other hindi men, she must have been watching the Everest commercial right then and the list of occupational training must have been scrolling cause she just hmmed and hawwed and mumbled something about crime scene investigation.

W.T.F.? Now I'm confused, they use sonogram techs on dead pregnant women at crime scenes, I ask, cause that's the only connection I can make. And she's hemming some more. Fast foward 46 minutes, I still don't know what what a freaking sonogram tech is but I am clear it is totally unrelated to CSI New York, Miami and Alabama!

About this, I do not know what to do other than fly her self up here, install her in school myself and tell her "take two years and see if anything clicks for you." She's in a bad position, I'm the eldest sister of the younger siblings (that's complicated) and I'm hyperdriven, ambitious and rather smart in an idiot-savant way. She's the middle sister. After her is the baby who is hyperdriven, ambitious, and decided at age 6 she wanted to be a doctor and hasn't wavered a moment since then.

What do you do in that situation? My parents are wrecks. I was being courted by the Ivy League schools and they were like "uh, so, how you gonna pay for college?" It was expected I would attend but in 9th grade mum handed me a Parade magazine and just pointed tothe coverstory of a girl who'd earned 300K in scholarships and said something to the tune of "yeah, you might want to figure out how she did that because we don't have money to send you to school."

So, I did. Ditched the Ivies for a party school and spent 3 1/2 years learning the fine art of acting as ignorant as I pleased while earning my degree.

All that to say, the parents aren't the helpful type. They are the dictatorial type: Go to college. No help on how to get your ass there or anything.

suggestions from my readers to my little sister's problem are welcome. Since I have so much newly free-up time resuming my convalescing I'll work on it a little more.

Okay, time to do some routine moving about. More tomorrow....

No murder, no Suicide

Sometimes I wish I knew life with no pain, wish I held the key to this game, sometimes...
~Bilal

it's not been such a hot time lately. My intestines joined the mafia or something and they are all about slow, terrible torturing but i'm not sure the information they wish to extract. I mean...what did I do?

Either way, it's been awful. I had my quarterly nervous breakdown last night/this morning. I called Ray and screeled until the valium kicked in. then I woke up and tried to say how much living hurt to the visigoth, but he had something else on his mind and I can't claim coherence since I sleep in two-hour episodes that end with sharp abdominal pain and stumbling runs to the loo.

Luckily grandma was here. As a professional drama queen herself she was fairly unfazed by my hurling myself up and down the stairs, choking sobs, insane babbling and incoherent complaints. She just held me and told me I was worth something, I was worth something to her and she needed me. And somewhere between us crying to one another, me at her knee and her bent over holding my poor aching head, I decided I would keep on living cause someone needs me and depends on me even if I don't know how to navigate my own life any longer. I can't sleep through it, I can't bluff through it, I'm just living and while that is a miracle in itself every once in a while I get above myself and want more.

I want to be happy again. I want to be pain free. Like Bilal I want a life with no pain or at least not pain that is more reliable than the sun and moon and michael jackson being crazy.

Today is not a good day. I need to smooth my heart down. "I can see chaos headed straight for me/give me the dark now/let the sun ignore me/everythings alright/even what ain't good for me."

Thanks to Cree Summer for that.

There is an invisible man living int he sky

There is an invisible man living in the sky
what can i say that isn't covered by this:



nothing much I guess. what's up readers? ya'll are slacking in your macking, my readership is down by half. I think it was due to the pic i put up, too artistic for all the Y-chromosome trollers who like to leave messages like "hey sexy, hit me up, let's fuck" in my inbox.

"the more you look around, the more you realize - something is fucked up..."

its 8 pm and i'm in bed. i've finally run out of energy for movement and existing. it's all about REM and "Everybody Hurts" since I"m hurting right now. But everybody hurts, I'm sure I could troll the blogs and find plenty of pathos and hurt and real injury mental, spiritual, emotional and physical abound. I don't think we appreciate our lives enough. I've had the great good luck of counting my breaths and finding out that my body can fall apart and leave my spirit up to its own devices.

Death is pretty final. God bless the folks who see light at the end of the tunnel, but there is a lot of suffereing in the world and so my favorite prayer is "I hope to have a peaceful moment in which to die."

I told someone the other day that I don't need for anything. I like stuff, I enjoy my newly rebuilt body, my hair is fun and distracting, but all I need I have: my family and my life, I need for nothing else. There was a time when I thought I needed money but money is good for getting things fixed but what of the unfixable? I guess you can be more comforttable with your unfixable issue but, yeah, having someone to hold you when things are terrible or just kind blow-ish, well, that is heaven on earth.

Pray to Joe Pesci and have a good weekend.

Not a Nice Girl

Apparently I keep intimidating/scaring the shit out of people who interview for jobs with my company. I am "intense," I think that is the word. They don't get to see the soft, mushy, compassionate side of me because I'm too busy firing questions and asking them to think on their feet.

Word to the wise, if an interviewer is difficult, it's probably because it's a REALLY PLUM JOB, and you might just want to suck it up and do your best. I guess most people don't interview for advanced positions with Fortune 500 companies and don't know that they research everything down to your bathroom habitudes in order to figure out if you will fit into the corporate culture and make money for the company.

"how hard we triiiiieeeed" - Ani DiFranco

that's all for tonight. I have to interview/scare the bejeebus out of someone tomorrow.

Catching Up with Claire

Errrrm. ehm. eh-hem.

Her houseguest cleared his throat several times in hopes of attracting her attention. Claire was still debating the image of her toy poodle sniffing her corpse. "This is just wrong," she said.

"Pardon?" He looked hopeful that she was coming out of the shock phase the pamphlet had described (he'd double-checked while she stared off into space just to make sure it was all kosher). He hoped she would cry or thank him or something because he knew management would be having a hissy if he missed the Hindi granny next on the list - her family had made many sacrifices for her to die in her sleep and it was nearly waking hour in that part of the world.

"This.Is.Just.Wrong." Claire turned and he flinched. The pamphlet said nothing about those who, when greeted with news of their demise, seemed to turn into unstable nuclear material. "I won't go for this. I've been a psychic for years and I've known how I would die for as many years, so this is just wrong. The dog is wrong, you are wrong and this is wrong."

He stood, flabbergasted, then he felt an emotion that could have been described as anger if he'd known exactly what anger was. He was tired of this death crap already and she was only number 2. How was he to know who or what whispered to her in the past and promised her a death while having sex or eating a piece of the best fried chicken on earth? How she thought she would die was none of his nevermind, he'd done his task, he felt he'd been pretty good on the whole thing what with taking time to entertain her illusion of tea, and not disappearing when she fell apart and this - THIS - was the thanks he got??

Claire appraised the Joker/death and wondered if he'd gotten the job through some third-rate employment pyramid scheme. Either way, he wasn't leaving til she got back into her body and died properly and that much she knew HAD to happen.

If you can occupy two worlds, then you can occupy Six

That's courtesy of Daniel Day-Lewis, touted at "The New Frontier's Man" by The New York Times' Magazine this week. So far I'm charmed by the article, which can be found at:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/11/magazine/11daylewis-t2.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

(I think you have to sign up for the service but it's 100% free, so why not?)

Day-Lewis talks about growing up middle class in England, training classicly in theatre, but going to school in Southie (rough, blue-collar, no collar hah haha haha). And I relate. When you grow up with your feet in different worlds, understand the expectations and mores and behaviors then you realize that your personality, persona, person can expand exponentially to include as man worlds, expectations, mores and behaviors as you please.

I've never related to the "mixed kid" identity crisis because it seemed to me that if you have two places - cultures, races waddever -to choose from then you can choose anything you want. However you want. But I've spent my life watching people struggle their entire lives to say "i'm white. or I'm black." when it seems to me what they really want to say is "I'm wealthy by association" or "I'm acceptable without work" or "I fit a particular standard of beauty" or "I'm hip, or I'm cool, or I'm OK" and do it by aligning with an available group instead of making up their own or finding their own.

Internet makes it easier, but people lived happy, successful, dichotomied, trichotomied, multilayered lives before the internet, there is no real excuse other than lack of imagination and backbone (I'll get off my soapbox now).

The article is a good read and Daniel Day-Lewis is a good interviewee.

Holla

This is All I Got

Got these feet, in these shoes, that walked a mile or two
Got these legs that done work that left them black and blue...

courtesy of Amel larrieux. Did she get the hottest name on the planet or what? She used to be with Groove Theory, they made one luxurious album and then split up. Her husband, Larrieux Larrieux or something like that, does all her production now. A friend of mine, bigtime jazz peformer, said she tried to do a set with uh...the xylophone guy, and totally blew. Another friend, a pretty good singer, said she sang well back in the late 90s. Ish changes.

Had a lively discussion today about the changes of hip hop/rap. Mostly rap. The people in the discussion were mid-to-late-30s guys who were debating Jay-Zs off-again/on-again retirement and rop (rap/pop) music in general. They were the ones who told me Li'l Wayne is an avid reader and total bibliophile. I figured there had to be more there than jut the red-rimmed eyes and throaty voice. One guy was like "Jay needs to shut up,he's 40 years old, he's not talking about slanging rocks and the streets any more." And anothr guy was like "Dude, WE ARE 40, and we damn sure aren't doing the same shit we were doing at 20 and neither is he!" One guy was a time warner exec, the other was with some other corporate entity and the third was a small-business owner. It was hilarious. Everyone had on a wedding ring. I was like "you guys wouldn't know what was hot if YOUR KIDS told you! Just appreciate the old shit you recall from your old days because even if you could go to the clubs and hear what's bootlegging from city to city you wouldn't understand it, you're too far in another path."

My dad was with me and he just laughed and laughed and laughed. He thought the entire thing was wicked funny and it was. it was a nice way to spend a half-hour or so. A very nice way. I'm glad I got to participate. it's nice not being laid up.

Oh wait, I learned a new word today: Towtrick or Tricktow...someone help me out here. Basically, a woman who will sleep with someone for any little thing. Big biz in small towns where landing a man in the military is a real come-up "girl, he got BENEFITS!!!" I howled. But it's real, small town's everywhere are filled with girls who are just trying to get by the only way they can think of and sex is the universal currency.

Incidentally, claire is still wondering how exactly she's going to deal with this death thing. She is also holding the joker/death hostage by impolitely refusing to excuse his presence. More details later.

Gonna trade my life for Fortune & Fame

I'll even cut my hair and change my name....

"Your bitch chose me, you ain't a pimp, you a FAIRYYYYYYY!"



Wait, I just re-read my last sentence, courtesy of UGK, and had to spit out my tea. That shit is fun-nyy. And it's backed by this old soul track "I choose you girl" which is quite the romantic soul ballad, but they twist it up and make it entirely dirty. it's the kind of song where you're dancing in the dark entwined with some nameless dude and its simulated sex on the dancefloor. With a lot of sweat and a lot of skin-stroking.

Can anyone else tell I'm having a birthday with the titanium tinge? Oddly enough, I've decided to redeclare my birthday to April 17th or so. That's the day I came out of anesthesia and I wasn't full of disease any longer, sounds like a birthday to me.

"Don't stop, don't stop now, just keep on going, until I come, until I come in." Love those Brazilian Girls. that's Ibiza music. I would love to hear it mixed with some throaty carmen mccrae, there is a bay area/atl-sometimed dj SoMuchSoul who I would pay money to dance to again. She could mix it. She made these Rooted Reggae mixes, I mean, the whole diaspora showed up for her parties at Petit Baobob in the Mission (SF) and we would all be in there with our languages (french, portuguese, english, german, mixtures of all them and then all the African Dialects) rubbin' up and dancin' til the wee hours. There would be drummers in the corner and then the singers would show up. They were so seamless you didn't know if the track was turnin' or the girl was burnin' up the vocals and we danced and we dance and we danced.

I remember my Italian personal trainer freaked me up against a wall and I was so shocked I sat down for the rest of the night cause I thought he was gay up until that moment and it was just too serious. I have those lapses.

We're going to leave Claire alone tonight. She has a lot to think about, being dead and all. She has to figure a way out of the trouble she's in.

"Nobody stands in between me and My man..."

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Je suis tres jolie. Tres tres jolie. That's saying something today because today was a not-good-post-operative day. But if you live long enough, you can live through just about anything and thankfully I was only tortured and depressed MOST of today, this evening things improved.

Why, you ask? Oh, intrepid reader, really, you make me blush!

I am happy because I remembered my birthday is this week Yeah, I sent out a bulletin to my friends, but it sank in today. I'm having a birthday. And the visigoth is determined I should have a GOOD birthday so he dragged me out of the house for a short excursion and despite being sore, depressed, scared and generally introverted, I ended up with a perfect black trench coat! Did you see it coming? I didn't see it coming! Amazing! Mon Dieu!!!!

Well, I did just try to find a pic of my new full-length black trench but no one has it. Incidentally, I was cruising some party dresses and there was a cute-ish frock by Jessica McClintock that looked like another dress I have by Roxy something-or-another and I pointed it out to the Visigoth and he said "Yeah, I used to like a scent by her" and I said I'd never heard her name before and we dropped it.

But the Visigoth is a fashionisto! WHO KNEW!!!!???? I knew he was too comfortable when I took him to the private tailor to have suits made. We are so happy together, it's ridiculous. I can't wait to see him in a black suit with pencil thin cerulean blue pinstripes...oooooh, naughty!!!!

Let's see what that minx Claire is up to:

" 'So...what can I do for you?' Claire struggled to keep her eyes open and her mouth from hanging down.
'It's okay, Claire, you can goggle if you want to.' The Joker was nothing if not polite.
'Ta. I'll be okay.' She feigned comfort when really all she wanted was to toss the tea cozy over his head and bolt out of the back door. Belatedly she realized he knew precisely what she was fantasizing on doing.
'It's understandable, Claire. Really. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but...'
The pause was unbearable. Then Claire understood why he'd stopped speaking. Her dog, Mr. Sniffles, had walked right past her at the table and was now whining in a heartbreaking wheeze near the front door where she recalled fainting.
'Oh...no...not that....I thought!' Clair couldn't find a way to finish the myriad thoughts scrambling through her mind.
'Yeah. Well. Thanks for the tea. I guess you'll be able to sort things out from here?' He rose and held out a hand as though expecting to clear the table or shake hands goodbye.
'WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I'LL BE ABLE TO SORT THINGS OUT FROM HERE?' Clair hadn't intended to yell, but this was a bit too much to digest. She was, if Mr. Sniffles wheezy whining was in indication, dead, and Death had disguised himself as the Joker to gain entry to her house and enjoy a fresh pot of tea and now was telling her she should be able to 'sort things out from here.'
It was, she decided, excessive expectation.
'Is there not a handbook, a flyer, a pamphlet you hand me at this point? I'm not seeing any lights and no friendly guide is ringing the spiritual doorbell here. Put your hand down!'
Claire sank more deeply into her chair. She'd had rude guests before, as a psychic one anticipates the odd shaky personality who hasn't a grateful bone in their body, but this was Death. Old as life itself, and arguably older. Why wasn't he more polite?
"Errr. Well. I'm new to the job. There wasn't much training and you're my first. Gosh look at the time, I've got to run, Claire, wishing you the best with all this and that...' His voice trailed away as he shifted from foot to foot, held in her unblinking gaze.

I loved you with a fire now its turning blue

I signed up for a writing class. It's funny, you go to school for years on end and then you figure out what you want to be doing. Or, in my case, you systematically work through all 100 things you said you wanted to be in the 3rd grade. 7 down, 93 to go!

The straight hair is still going well, it's certainly a different look and sometimes I get confused in the mirror. I also joined a bookclub. Joy to the world, they chose my suggestion Anansi's Boys as the first selection. I lub this book. Neil Gaiman's blog has been nominated for a world blog award, he deserves it.

Just the other day he wrote about the the etymology of one of his character's names. It was downright revelatory for me as a nascent writer. I always wonder who writers choose names and I always have problems choosing names I can stick with and then - shapow - etymology and nordic names are introduced to the equation.

Did I ever mention my Fibonnacci dream? It was the best dream I've had in years and it involved a city made of equations, a rollercoaster ride, my cousins former boyfriend telling me I hadn't been fair to him because he wasn't a TOTAL loser that they were dysfunctional together, and a cute little kid who sang the Fibonnacci song to me every time I got off the rollercoaster - which was more of a rollercoaster/monorail throughout the Equation City.

It was so much fun! It also made me think about how harsh I can be towards other people especially when I perceive someone else as being powerless or being taken advantage of. I read once that there are always three sides to every story His/Hers/and the Truth. I'm a sucker for those I love, I get wound up wanting the best for them, often with more clarity and passion than they want for themselves. The summer of surgery was helpful in that respect. Oddly enough all those people I would have killed for mysteriously disappeared the minute things went south for me, or just before (truly charming to get cursed out within a week of major surgery by someone you love).

On the flip side, there were a gaggle of strangers who made way into my life and committed time, support, energy and goodwill toward my wellbeing. You just never know where help will come from. Goethe has a great quote: "Be bold and Might Forces with Come to Your Aid." I am often arrogant enough to think I can predict where the help will come from and danged if I'm not wrong 99.9% of the time when I'm predicting.

Tomorrow I might have a meeting with a woman who has a truly wretched work history. I've spent a few days being upset about it in varying degrees. I thnk the upset came from feeling vulnerable, exposed - even though I'm the one who knows everything including her last 8 addresses and credit score - I feel vulnerable for having the information and knowing it is not important to the people who are making decisions at this point. The vulnerability probably was a result of wondering if I shouldn't say anything to her about what I think of this whole fucked-up process of hiring the first con-artist who wanders up and smiles pretty. Exposed because she suspects I've been encouraged to turn a blind eye to her foolishness.

But, i've a little surprise to everyone. There is still morphine in my veins and I think the days of Silent-suffering-Camille have officially been declared O.V.E.R. If she comes through to sign paperwork I'll be there with the pen and Direct Deposit form. I'll also explain precisely the sort of employee she has shown herself to be in the past and that I fully expect her to remain. Then i can get on with my life, conscience clear and without having to watch her implode while the powers-that-be look confused and wonder why...(the wondering why is always vague, they tend forget when I show them someone's rap sheet).

At least I'm not alone in this. A friend made me laugh out loud by telling me her company doesn't hesistate to hire folks with drug convictions/pending cases all the time. I may need to just go down to the courthouse and hand out my business card to people entereing and exiting, cut out the middle-man and all the legwork. Plus, I've heard watching cases at the courthouse is big fun especially when the hotshot attorneys are in the house.

Alright, that's me for tonight. Get your gully on...

Tango of Roxanne

I think me getting my hair straightened qualifies as Supernatural. I've had curly hair, and I've defended my right to curly hair, since I could talk.

And now one of my little sisters has her hair straightener and she's yelping "ouch" every once in a while and muttering "I can't believe your hair is so easy to straighten, it's not fair" and then she's yelping "ouch!" again. Obviously I'm not too to involved cause I'm typing.my blog.

Blog blog blog...what about our sloppy psychic Claire who yesterday found herself trapped in her home with a man who she dubbed "death card"? Let's find out:

"Claire came to with light shining in her eyes and the desire to gag strong within her throat. For a moment she thought it had all been a psychotic dream, not unheard of in psychic circles.

Then she heard the man clear his throat. "Ah-hem." He did it again for emphasis. Claire could have levitated her fear was strong. But now Death Card had a new face. He was the Joker, a prankster, and seemed unnerved by her fainting.

Emboldened Claire examined him more closely. Manicured hands meant he didn't do hard labor and the cut of his suit seemed tailored for his dimensions alone. Who could this man be? A man who thought nothing of threatening his way into a home and scaring a woman unconscious?

Then her spidy-psychic senses chimed in and she knew exactly who she was dealing with. The reality of who stood smiling sheepishly in her direction was far worse than any threat she imagined in the moment when his hand caught her wrist. Claire closed her eyes again and prayed for strength, then realized she could probably jut ask since he was in the room."

Angel of Mercy

owdy Readers,

It's me, your fearless writer! I don't have much to say, just finishing whining and crying a bit. That's no way to start a blog, but if I can't be witty I'll settle for being honest. I had to pull out of a party today that meant a lot to me, but you know, I got issues and shit. I don't have issues, I have volumes.

I'm sleepy. Dang. Pain medication has kicked in with a vengeance. Let me write a short dittie:

Claire didn't see the bad day coming, which was saying something since she was a certified psychic. On a typical morning she could throw a set of shells or pull her tarot cards and ge the gist of the day's goings on.

But this morning there was a ring at the doorbell and when she opened it, eyes blinking rapidly at the light, there was a man in a black uniform who held out a package and smiled with his mouth and threatened with his eyes.

Claire couldn't think of who would send her a package so she didn't feel his hand around her wrist as she reached out until it was too late. The man with the threatening eyes walked into her home, her sanctuary, and turned his head right, left, then center with deliberateness and malice.

She found her voice to ask what he wanted but the only reply was that smile. The smile that in any other environment would incline the witness to think "oh no, not the woodchipper!" But Claire didn't know of woodchippers so all she could think of was "oh no, not the Death Card!"

He met her eyes as her knees buckled. "Claire," said Death Card, "It would be better if you remained standing."

Claire took the high road and fainted...

I Gotcha

Right right right right right...they call me lupe, they wanna smell like me, but they cant...

That makes sense to me. I wanna tour Japan. A friend of mine usually spend a couple months touring Japan, spends a lot of time at the BlueNote in Tokyo. The last time he said soemthing he was saying "Man, I can't wait to get back to the States all this bowing and chopsticks and shit..."

Sounded like heaven to me. I love not knowing what people are saying.

Wait, funny story - yesterday I met this lady who was a stone cold con. Not a "love your con" con, but just a con artist. So, you know she got the job right? My talking to her was straight formality so I didn't even have to care, I could just sit back, listen to her lie lie lie and debate straitening my hair for the winter to stave off my usual winter cold.

I don't know where else my mind wandered. I mention the fact that every one of her former employers said she sucked big hairy monkey balls, but like i said, she's getting the job anyway and I don't have a single thing to do or say about it.

Has anyone noticed how chunky I am in this pic? I'm gonna have to take all new pics, I don't think that corset fits any longer, it was custom-made too. Ah well, the sexy felt good.