Firmness and Comfort

I love to sleep and I absolutely hate not being able to do it.

Strange thoughts invade my mind on a nightly basis. In fact, my insomnia had gotten so bad, I felt like Paula Abdul. Needless to say, this is a most disturbing feeling and the realization of such prompted me to seek help.

So, after consulting several therapists, psychics, and dealers of dreams, I am sleeping again. With the aid of a little script I got from my doctor. Not the euphoric stuff I was hoping for, but it seems to do the trick. I was very hesitant to take prescription sleeping aids, because I don't necessarily trust myself to resist having a Neely O'Hara moment."I want a doll! I want a doll!" But so far, they are doing the trick.

My most potent memory regarding this particular subject is one of Madonna. There is a moment in "Truth or Dare" when she groggily rubs her eyes and says: "My sleeping pill hasn't worn off yet, so if I start acting like Joey Heatherton- You'll know why..." I always wondered what exactly she meant by that. After bouncing around in my mind for, oh, fifteen years or so... I finally stumbled upon THIS and suddenly it all made sense.

The perfect combination, you'll love it!

Maybe This Time

I feel like the weekend needs a anthem:



I was upset to learn that the creature I had come to know as the neighborhood cat, a creature whom I would find in my apartment occasionally, something that I went out of my way to pet and be kind to, a creature I believed was the neighbor's cat... was actually a skunk. A wild, probably rabid, fucking skunk. I find that incredibly sad and confusing. I miss that creature.

The future looks bright, though not so much that I need shades or anything. I just have the sugary aftertaste of optimism on my tongue. Did you happen to catch my other Fosse moment? Yes, it's a weird world that's wild on top. But I like it.

I'm processing a lot of emotions right now. The man in the moon smiled at me tonight and that makes it so much easier to let things die. No expectations, no disappointments, right?

Tonight you all look good to me.
SO

Idiot Heart

At a recent social gathering, I was introduced to several new people. The introduction went something like this: "He is incredibly talented. A genius writer..." Now, with an opening like that, you might think that I was the belle of the ball. But time and again, I was politely greeted with a so, you're a writer... followed by their eyes leaving me to gaze upon the muscle-bound, blond, blue-eyed creature to my left. "And what do YOU do?" They would ask him. His reply? "I work out."

Well, I work out too. Just not enough, I suppose. But the greater dilemma here is that I live in a town where being a cultural, literate, intellectual type is a handicap. Is no one interested in thinking? I guess not. Not here at least... If you do not live in Los Angeles, count your blessings. I may be a genius here, but it does me little good. Even when I find someone I think might be interesting enough to pursue, they usually disappoint in fairly predictable ways. That is entirely my own fault for having what I have come to understand is my Idiot Heart.

I used to spend a lot of time thinking about how stupid and ugly I must be, that no one wants to be with me. Now I know that the opposite is true. I just give men far too much breadth. Must I be pickier with such limited choices? Alas, the answer is yes. I must embrace my inner-diva and force them to grovel for my affections. I invoke the Queen of the Nile, Cleopatra, and mantra the command: On your knees! On your knees! On your knees! And while you're down there....

Hell hath no fury, it's true, but I am tired of scorn. Even my imaginary friends have lovers these days.

Mitch just returned from Europe, where he partied with Nacho Vidal and some Parisian whores. The night they were arrested for throwing a statue from their balcony at Le Claridge Champs-Elysées, Mitch met Anton. Could anything be more romantic than meeting a future lover in a French prison? Anton had been picked up for petty thievery and apparently stole Mitchell's heart as well. They spent the money I had loaned Mitch, on wine and cigarettes, before finally stowing away on a Japanese whaling ship headed towards Long Beach. I went right down to pick them up and have been regaled with crazy stories ever since. I promise that I will do my best to share the least perverted of them with you, though that might be difficult. You know how Paris gets in the summertime....

Forgive that you might forget.
Amen.

Still Waters

"If only you were more shallow..."

Yes, that would seem to solve all the worlds problems, wouldn't it? But, alas, it will never be. I am deep, bitch!

You can quote me on that....
SO

Rebirth

Having celebrated yet another milestone upon the road of life, and astonished at the tenacity my existence tends to show, I have resolutions to declare.

Therefore upon this day, I resolve to become iconoclastic in every aspect of my life. Will it matter if my coital activities match my decor? I think not. I've never been drawn to the "easy-to-assemble" lifestyle, opting inside for sculpture and color. I requite no one and need nothing.

Fairly, I go into the future with a skeptical heart. I plan to open it again, I do. When you offer love and it is refused, what is one to do? Box it up and bury it in the ground? Or dust yourself off and continue to dance to the beat of your own drum? I pound the pavement. I pound the flesh. I pretend to care and lift my dress.

Action taken becomes the accusation: Drama Queen... Yes, the list is very long now. Maintenance is always an issue once you've removed the hateful tissue. Cut and Paste. Growth and Denial. It's all very boring, I know. But it's all I have these days. My dreams were always too vague. The spells I cast don't always serve me. Reality is a bitter friend.

Don't get me wrong... I'm feeling stronger than before and I know that from these ashes, I will rise. I always do. Months from now, you won't recognize me and that's a good thing. I am born again. I am alive. Let's get it on...

Commitment

Or Who Becomes An Asshole Most?

This is a transcript of a conversation I had with an Art World person at a recent social gathering:

SO: Short of suicide, which is forthcoming and inevitable, what could I do to further my career as an artist? Do you recommend cutting off an expendable body part or attempted murder? What would raise the value of my art more?

AW: Oh, you're serious about art now? I thought you were serious about your music?

SO: I'm not serious about anything!

AW: If you really want to make it, you have to be willing to commit.

SO: Like I said, murder, mutilation, whatever it takes...

AW: *fidgets uncomfortably*

SO: Seriously, though... If I am ever committed to anything, it will be the psychiatric ward.

Then he scampered away, as expected. Yeah, I was fucking with him but still telling a version of the truth. In actuality, I am terrified that I have designed a universe for myself that isn't altogether different in tone from the world of Frances Farmer. This is disturbing on many levels. Maybe if I hadn't listened to all those Smiths albums....

So, it's my birthday tomorrow. I'm not very excited about the prospect of getting older. I always seem to freak out around this time of year. I was reminded that a mere four years ago, I almost killed myself and three of the people I care most about in this world. We were leaving a karaoke party downtown, in my honor. Needless to say, I had far, far, far too much to drink that night. I punched CK in the face and was promptly loaded into the passenger seat of my car for the ride home. Holly drove.

About the time we hit top speed on the freeway, I decided to have a full on mental breakdown when Anthony suggested that "everything was going to be alright." That triggered a response from the darkest corner of my soul. I screamed: "No! It's NOT going to be ALRIGHT!!!" Among other things, I am sure... Then I punched the front window of my car, which shattered, to my surprise. I tried to undo my seatbelt and managed to fling open my car door, while we were still flying down the freeway. Anthony restrained my arms from where he sat in the back seat. Holly merged onto an offramp and as she did, I yanked up on the emergency brake and almost caused the car to veer out of control. Holly managed to drive us to safety and no one was seriously hurt. That was four years ago, but it seems like more.

I have made arrangements to meet with a mental health professional tomorrow morning, as a preemptive move on my part. Maybe I will manage to get through this weekend without becoming a famous artist after all.

I'm not serious about anything.
Laugh Out Loud!

Saviour Onassis

You Better Work!

Just got back from the gym, where I experienced my first session with a professional trainer. She kicked my ass. Yes, SHE! I am proud to announce that I have a female trainer. This is good for me for several reasons, none of which I feel I have to explain. I'm excited about doing some strength training because I have been lots of things in my life, but "buff" has never been one of them. Maybe this will help with my self-esteem. Maybe this will get me laid more often. Maybe this will save my life. Who knows?

I've been freaking out lately, mostly because of the horrible, cruel, disturbing world of courtship and dating. You see, after five years of self-imposed celibacy and reflection, I stupidly decided to start dating again. I simply wanted to meet people, have fun, get laid, feel human... Normal, right? I'm not ready to commit to anything. I just wanted to break out of the monastery. I really don't want to think about the long term implications of romantic/sexual involvement. I guess it's a lot to ask of someone to feel the same way. I just want to be happy.

And I don't mean the brand of happiness Virginia Woolf felt as she filled her pockets with rocks. Though that particular image has its appeal, I should really wait until someone gives a shit before sinking under the waves. By someone, of course, I mean everyone. So, please, let me know how little you care. I thrive on rejection, humiliation and abandonment. As a friend pointed out to me: "Just because it happened to you, doesn't make it interesting to anyone else..."

Life, love, and even death take a lot of work.
Are you experienced?

$228.00

I'm compelled to confess that lately I have shown the kind of self-restraint one generally tends to associate with Jennifer Love-Hewitt. I left the tag on!!! And I danced!

Seriously, though, if you flush a kitten down the toilet and it somehow finds its way back home... Try to see past the fact that this kitten is cold, wet, scared, and smells like shit. Try to see the cute kitten within. Some things just don't die right away. Some things like coming back. Coming home...

And So It Begins...

Ain't Too Proud

Well, it's GAY PRIDE weekend here in LA and I'm just not feeling it.

My roommate is out of town and after the horrifying experience we had last year, I think it best that I stay home. I've been in quite a bit of pain recently, both emotionally and physically. The physical pain is easily identified as a result of working out far too vigorously in an attempt to block out the emotional pain. Damn that gym membership! Soon, though, I expect to be fully buff, beautiful and exceptionally miserably alone.... Oh, life.

Last night I locked myself up at home and watched The Night Porter, which is creepy. Though I do love Dirk Bogarde. If I had a "type", he would definitely be it. I've always had a thing for guys like Dirk Bogarde, Oliver Reed, and Glenn Ford. I need a rugged, yet sensitive, leading man type. I recently had a horrifying revelation about the archetypal pattern I am reliving in my love life. More on that soon, I promise. For now, I just want to not end up like Charlotte Rampling in TNP, because no Dirk is worth that.

Easy way out, anyone?

Love Live

So, last night I went to the House of Blues on Sunset Strip to see Linda Perry and, it was no real surprise, special guest: Courtney Love. Perry played some great material of her own before bringing out Love, whom she jokingly said she "discovered." Courtney looked great and has never sounded better. She played about a half an hour, all new material from her forthcoming album, Nobody's Daughter. My favorite song is Pacific Coast Highway, which you can watch the rehearsal of HERE.

After Courtney left the stage, Perry and the band went into a ton of Zeppelin covers and, finally, the original version of the Linda Perry written Beautiful, made famous by Christina Aguilera. I prefer Linda's rendition. All in all it was a great show and makes me excited to hear the new album. Hopefully, the wait is almost over.