BOIF it Out!

Damn...there it is.  I didn't think it was going to happen, but it did.  It scarred.  This makes me sad. 

It's my brand new scar on the bottom of left ass cheek.  Ugh.  My heart feels like it's carrying a horse by a shoestring just thinking about it.  A forever reminder of my idiocracy...yet again.   I wish idiocracy was like obesity.  I'd be on the "Biggest Loser" and maybe I'd have a chance of getting professional help to lose the excess stupid.  But no, no it's in my brain. 

TRAINER: Look at yourself.  You are 400lbs over stupid.  You can not continue living life this way.   Stupid is going to kill you one day.  Do you want to die from stupid?

ME: (embarrassed and upset) No. No I don't.  I know I have to change but I'm an emotional fathead.  I run towards dumb assery for pleasure. I'm sorry!

TRAINER:  Thousands of frat boys and hicks die every year from stupid.  Do you want to become another statistic?

ME: (still embarrassed and upset)  No. No I don't.

Famous last words: Hold my ethanol... Now watch this! (insert honkey laugh here)

Sigh. If only that was real life.  I might have a chance.  But no,  I continue as I've always done, baratone chortling to myself as I venture off into jack assdumb.

And now this scar.  Damn.  I'd better get used to it. This ass can't stay awesome forever, and it had a pretty good run in it's youth.  Now it's getting old and tired.  Dimpled where it doesn't want to dimple and a new purple gash across the bottom.  Maybe one day my ass will sag so much that my scar will get lost in the butt folds and I won't have to think about it anymore.  That would be hot...deflated ass.

Enough self loathing.
Story time.

I don't even know where to begin to tell you how I got it.  Guess we'll start with the fact that it was my girl, Kristina's wedding.

Kristina and I were BFF's throughout college.  She is one of the most amazing human beings that I know.  Jaw droppingly gorgeous, spunky, funny, sharp, outrageous, smart, and ALWAYS on point.  If I was into chicks I'd want to marry this girl.  She's pro on the outside and crazy on the inside.  I don't think I've ever met a human being as on top of it as she is, without being a total anal retentive crazy person.  She's the kind of girl that works in 2 offices, one in SF and the other in NYC, runs 2 HR teams, is a university professor, volunteers at the local nursing home, and still finds time to make sure her nails are manicured, her family is loved and her dog's eyelashes are perfectly groomed.  Girl's an effing pro.

And college? Man college was so much fun together.  We deemed our house the HOF (House of Fun).  We would run around in fake wrestling outfits, doing mock gymnastic routines around the house, where the final move involved jumping off the 2nd story of our house onto some couch cushions.  Some days it was roller blade like a pirate day, and other days we'd simply have snack contest days. Who could make the best treats for the truly stoned.  The reigning champion was rainbow sorbet with sprite and gold fish crackers on top.

Anyhow, after college, she went off to rule the world as she does.  Climbing up her corporate ladder in her very Kristina way, and I split in the opposite direction to a carnie kingdom.  Amongst her professional friends, I was definitely deemed the "crazy" one.

Flash forward 7 years and my little Kristina is ready to tie the knot!  Her wedding couldn't have been more perfect and immaculate.  She organized the entire thing, from dresses to flower arrangements, rentals and decorations...she did it all. The biggest problem was that the columns the flowers sat on, were too tall.  Big whoop.  She nailed it.  Her wedding was elegant and perfectly executed.

And I, I just tried to be on my best behavior.  It's not often that I get released into normal society, so I just tried to play it cool and be normal.  Being one of her bridesmaids and all, I wanted to do a good job and not fuck it up...for Kristina.  I made sure my BCBG dress was pressed and fitted, I cooed at babies, and I even carried cue tips and tissues in my pocket to make sure I didn't look like a tragic mess if a tear should shed.  I kept up the small talk with all of her professional friends and tried to seem as normal as possible to all of her relatives.

Finally after dinner and a few drinks, the rebel in me was aching to come out.  I had been good for so long and I just wanted to let loose and go for an adventure.  With some of my best guy friends from college by my side, we decided to make it a mission to find the roof.   Top floor please.  As the elevator doors opened, we in fact did not find the roof...just the top floor.  Feeling squirrely, we were determined to find roof access.  We poked around in different offices, opening up any, and all doors that we could find and still, no roof.  We did however find a very cool electrical room with sketchy ladders and rusted walls.  As we finally admitted defeat, we made our way back to the elevator and I caught my eyes on a floor buffer that had been left behind.

A floor buffer? My eyes widened and at that moment, my dumb gene murdered my smart gene.

ME: Guys, guys...I have an amazing idea.
THEM: What? What is it?
ME: Buff my ass!
THEM: Are you serious?
ME: Yes. Buff my ass! This is going to be hilarious!

I quickly ran over and plugged in the buffer.  Now little did they know that I was a pro at getting my ass buffed.  This would not have been the first nor the second occurance of getting buffed.  But since my stupid gene had ruthlessly murdered my smart gene, it did not occur to me that

this...with it's super fun, wool pad, was drastically different from

this with it's super not fun, STEEL wool pad

huh huh...hold my ethanol...NOW WATCH THIS!

I proceeded to turn the machine on, get down on all fours, and start yelling / coaching my buddy to buff my ass.  Francis, being my buddy and all, proceeded to tilt the beast up as it roared behind me, and mock as though he was about to buff my ass.

But stupid gene had now taken over the palace as king.  It somehow thought that the idea was so grand, that I had to produce this event from the very beginning and make sure it happened.  I had already plugged it in, turned it on, and then gave someone serious instruction on how to make this happen.  A mock buff simply would not do.  This is serious. We're doing it. 

I then proceeded to back that ass up into the monstrous machine, laughing the whole time and BAM!  Ass to buffer contact.  I knew my ass was packin' some heat, but I didn't expect this.  The machine prematurely bust a nut from a 2 second pump and grind and completely blew its load.  Suddenly there was a bang! Smoke wafted through the air and the brillo pad shot off into the ceiling in this blaze of glory.  I can't believe it actually exploded off my ass.

Still on all fours, unable to comprehend what had actually happened I couldn't help but to notice that my butt felt extremely hot, like it was on fire.  As I reached around the back, I was relieved to find that I wouldn't have to call a fire truck (believe it or not I have actually lit my butt on fire once...an accident) but what I did come to find was a huge tear across the back of my BCBG dress that priced itself at $200.  The machine ate it up and chewed it out and now the prospects of returning it were completely out of the picture.  Not only that, but with my newly exposed butt, I didn't know how I was going to go back to that party.  Damn it! And I was doing so good!  I was passing for a responsible citizen.  Now I'd have to go back there and make sure my back was against a wall the entire time.

Ah well, it is what it is, here we go.  After a good laugh, we all entered the party and I tried to act as casual as possible.  Sitting on half a raised butt cheek, making everyone question if I was mid fart the entire night.  After the dessert rounds came out, I made a bathroom stop, and as I sat there on the toilet,  I reached over to pat the burning sensation on my butt.  Strange, I thought...why is it wet?  Oh god, did it really?  The machine not only ate my dress up, but it happened to buff the first layer of skin off my butt, leaving a raspberry red gash the size of Angelina's Jolie's lips on my rump.
Oh man, that's it.  This has got to become public news now.  Not only do I need a band aid, but I also need assistance as it's in the most hard to see / reach underside of my cheek that I simply can not access without getting into some Western birthing position.  Ugh.  I'm sorry Kristina.  I have totally become the freak, disaster prone Bridesmaid. Every wedding has one, and it's almost always me.

Well, I dropped the bomb on Kristina who immediately looked at me in panic and confusion.  "I know I'm an idiot..."  Then her mom found out who immediately laughed at me, "I know I'm an idiot..." Then her gal pal from H.S. found out, "I know I'm an idiot..." ugh...how many times do I have to go through this tonight?  Thankfully Francis found me in the back room hiding from all the guests and he had the smarts to whip out a pen and turn it into a face.  The imagery of it was just too precious and amazingly hilarious.  We decided to take some photos of butt man in the photo booth and laughed it off,  each keeping a photo as our naughty little secret.

Thankfully, the next day I saw my best friend Greenz, who tended to my wound.  Apparently the heat wasn't imaginary, because the dress actually melted to my bloody welt.  Greenz spent a good hour scraping away all the black plastic bits sticking on the outer crust of my gash and pouring disinfectant all over it. Thank god for friends...but you know what? Screw the photo booth guy.  Who fucking sends the ENTIRE wedding party a link to all the photos taken in that booth.  :Shakes head: And I thought I was going to get away with it.

Kristina, I'm so sorry that you got a call from your Uncle, your Dad, your friends, Tri's family who doesn't speak English all wanting to know why my butt was all over your wedding photos.  I swear if you get married again, I won't fuck it up.  Ugh.

Freak the Freaker

Morocco.  If you have ever been, you know what I mean when I say it's like Star Wars meets the technicolored Oz.

In the little beach town of Essaouira this is particularly true.   Everywhere you look there are tiny little men in hooded robes, walking their ancient, alien camels across the sandy coast line.  All of this back dropped by decrepit castles nestled within romantically cozy, white sand dunes.  On one day in particular, I was marveling at how the tide had pulled back so far, that the setting sun had cast the most striking beam of white light that swept across the entire horizon.  I nearly cried as I sat on top of this sand dune, watching silouhettes of jedi's and their tauntaun's gliding across a beacon of light, embraced by space above and below.

That would be the more magical side of Morocco.  Morocco is also the land of hustlers, wheelers and dealers, subservient women, 4 generations of cats feeding off of one momma cat, and a night life as active as Newt Gingrich's sex life (there's rumor that it happens somewhere in the night, but you KNOW it ain't bangin').

With the adventures of Chefchaoun and the weed farm now a few days behind us (read in my 2011 blog posts "Sticky Situation in Morocco"), my band of intergalactic warrior clowns and I continued on to the gorgeous town of Essaouira.

Now here's a little thing you probably don't know about me.  Sometimes I see ghosts.  Like many people out there, I have this clairvoyant side, a side that can tap into different forms of the metaphysical...Man, I kind of hate saying that.  I always feel like like people who say that can often times be so indignant..."I see energies.  I'm pretty much a shaman, I've done Ayahuasca every weekend since my mid life crisis...I used to be a really shitty person but now I know that I'm better than you and you'll be hypnotized by my glassy eyes as I speak s l o w l y to you in my galactic tongue.  Are you confused by my made up mumbo jumbo?  Good...that's how I display my higher self worth...did I mention that I'm a shaman and that I get visited by aliens?"  God I know that's terrible, but come on...like you've never met that person?!?  Anyhow, I'd hate to be confused with that guy. I do however, believe all people have an ability to tap into the metaphysical, and I've definitely had my experiences.

Before my trip, it had been a long long time since I had run into any scary ghosts but once I arrived to Morocco, I was being attacked almost every night.  Truly terrifying nights, the details of which I will spare you, or you can coax me into giving you after you buy me a beer.  Anyhow, I was scared. Like really scared.  I hadn't been attacked that frequently and to that intensity ever.  At one point I had this demonic little creature attack me as I walked from the bathroom to my bed, and after we conversed, I blinked and was standing in another part of the room. I was spooked and knew that I needed to cleanse myself in the ocean the next chance that I got.

A day or so after we arrived, my buddies and I headed to the beach to spend the afternoon/ evening.  Shrine and I were on our own kick, rocking the minds of the local Moroccans. Shrine with a greasy piece of wax paper, that had pastry flakes stuck to it, approached every Moroccan man we crossed on that beach playing a game that he made up called "Hustle the Hustler."  Now these Moroccan men, they know how to hustle!  They are constantly barking at you, trying to make you a deal. If you're not used to it, you'll either get angry, cower away, or do what Shrine does which is "Hustle the Hustler."

With his wax paper in hand, we made our way down the beach, telling all the locals that I was a Mongolian princess and that he was my man servant.  With my boots dangling from his outstretched fingers like a proper butler, and the words "man servant" spilling out of his lips, these Moroccan men looked at us as if we had transformed into a birthing werewolf with deviled eggs for teets.  Oh...and if you don't know the looks of Shrine, now add a curly mustache, crazy tattoos, a button up vest, and red elf shoes to the picture.  Not your average tourist encounter.

Damn Technology erased my most epic pictures of this moment, but here's a picture of the infamous Shrine

Then he'd call out and try to bargain with them.  "You see this?" as he whipped out the crumpled piece of sticky wax paper. "This right here, is royal ear wax from the most sought out Mongolian Furry Gnome Princess!"  His teeth would be glinting in the sun as he starred them up and down with his squinty eye.  "Today and only today, this precious ear wax is being sold for the low low price of 10 dirham!"  They'd give it a glance, give us a stupefied grin and try to back away but Shrine wouldn't let them. He was too sharp for these fellas. Every time they'd dodge, he'd come back faster than that no name rapper passing off his crappy CD.
"Just wait right there! Have you ever heard of Princess Gnomey Gnome?"  Shrine's voice now booming with the perfect circus barker vibrato.
"My dear princess...show them your dance."  And sure enough, there I was seconds later, swinging my butt around like a ninja gnome, pollinating some flowers. 
And still...no sales.

SHRINE: "No royal ear wax for you? No problem! I have something else for you young man.  Something special and precious indeed.  How about this lovely fig?"
ME: "Ahhh yes! This lovely fig!"

We both knelt down in the sand and reached out towards what we both thought was a sandy fig.

ME: "OOOooooo Yes! This fig? How much are you willing to pay for this fig?"

Shrine knelt down to pick up our new prized possession. A perfectly plump fig, resting in the sand.  He held it between his spindly fingers and offered the fig to the by standing Moroccan men.  With the intense class that only Shrine can pull off, he pulled back his cuff, flipped his wrist, held this succulent piece of fruit at the tips of his outstretched fingers and right underneath their noses.  The men immediately jumped back in childish horror.  They pulled their faces so far back into their skulls, that their teeth imprints were coming out of their ears.

What? What could be the problem? What would get a reaction like that?  Shrine and I both peered down at the fig, with our faces pressed up against each other and gave it a good stare...wait...what is that? Could it be...no...no...definitely not....wait....seriously...what is that?...no really...what IS that?...oh shit...serious?...oh shit...no...wait...it is!...oh shit... After a good game of mental badminton, it was concluded that what Shrine had between his fingers was a beautiful specimen of camel poop.
Camel poop? Did we really try to sell a piece camel poop as a fig?  We nearly lost it but knew we had to reign it back in quickly.  Oh noooo. This game of Hustle the Hustler is not OVER!  How much will you pay for the fig?!

We were duped for a second, but we weren't ready to give up.  Fully knowing what he had in our hands made the prop so much more enjoyable, and we were NEVER going to let on that we knew the truth.  We waved it around a few more times, insisting that it was a delicious fig meant for kings, but one by one they ran off, shaking their heads out of sheer confusion.  Shrine and I continued down the beach, dragging our feet across the sand, laughing at the top of our lungs, determined to make a sale that day.

After hours of treking down the beach, selling ear wax and poop while gnome dancing, our faces were sore from it all.  The sun had epically set, while we coasted across light beams reflecting off the tide.  We retired in the cozy white sand dunes as a silver auric moon rose in to the sky and everywhere we looked, there were brilliant stars beaming above us.

By this time we had rejoined with our dear friend Dream, while Rajiv had gone off on his own adventure.  Life couldn't have been grander. We sat on the crests, kicking and laughing...I felt like I was playing in a mountain of cinnamon and sugar.  Dream in her black turtle neck and jeans quickly ripped off her pants to go slide down the sand dunes, and shortly thereafter we all followed.  Though it was really more out of function, than out of the sheer need to be ridiculously sexy, it indefinitely became ridiculously sexy.  Her wild blonde hair flying around her as she plummeted down the dunes in her undies and black turtle neck....it was so Bond...60's style.

We all rolled down like children, laughing as the rising dust created this glowy haze against the moonlight, and everything looked like it was made of magic.

After my abs and my face literally could not take it anymore, I decided to venture off to have my own moment.  I needed to take a dip in the ocean. Not only to wash myself from all the sand, and filth of the day, but to give myself a proper spiritual cleanse and rid myself of anymore scary spirit encounters.

I knew it had to happen right away, and it felt even better that it was under moon light.  Something was with me and I needed to let go. To release. To surrender and submit and make space for healing.  I slowly approached the water and decided that I wanted to get fully naked and bathe myself in the discretion of the velvety night. So I did. And as I got in, I just floated with my eyes closed, asking God over and over again to heal me, and to work through me, and to allow me to let go of any darkness or negativity that I might be holding in my body.  As I floated around, lost in my own prayer, I suddenly heard "Lisa!  Lisa!" and it was Dream on the beach waving me down, calling me to come back.  She seemed so panicked as she waved her arms.  What could be the problem?  Suddenly I see this guy on his bike, circling back and forth like he was waiting for his prey.  Oh I see...That's right. I'm in Morocco...and I'm naked.
Where women wear Burkini's to the beach and I'm naked. And to tell you the truth, I thought I was going to get away with it, because I was on an empty beach in the dark.

Oh God...what am I doing? Ahhh! Sometimes I am such a stupid hippy!  I quickly ran out as Dream handed me my clothes and helped me dress.  I darted and ducked behind Shrine to shield me as I dressed. But bike guy, kept circling us, for the better view.  We hopped around in circles as to keep having Shrine block me, and Shrine needed to keep eye contact, so he could maybe finally sell his ear wax and hustle the hustler!

He pulled out the greasy paper, "Young Man! Have you ever had Mongolian Princess Royal Earwax. Only the finest! Yours at a very special low price!"

But bike guy didn't give an ef.  He kept circling and I was getting so nervous. He was freaking me out with his predatorial energy, and finally it occurred to me.  This guy is freaking me out?  This guy? I don't like being freaked out. So you know what? I'm going to freak him out! I'm going to FREAK THE FREAKER!"

ME: Dream, we have to Freak the Freaker!
DREAM: What?
ME: Freak the Freaker!!!

And as soon as she heard those words, something came over us and we started wailing and screaming like monkeys.   Me still half dressed, flinging my arms around, jumping around and yelling like a primate on attack mode!  Within seconds Shrine was in on it too and instantly jumped down on all fours chanting like a wild ape.  We were going buck wild like this man just stole our baby and we were all silver back mamas, pounding the floor, jumping up and down, waving our arms, and screaming at the top of our lungs.

Clearly stupefied by the situation, the man stumbled back off his bike and immediately reached out for a huge piece of drift wood nearby by.  All of us immediately understood the situation and dove toward the drift wood before he could get to it, but none of us ever touched it or picked it up.  Instead we kept pulsing our hands toward it, like it was wild and sacred.  Screaming and chanting like possessed primates.  Baffled by the situation, he stumbled back, not able to understand what exactly was going on.  Just as he was about to attack or run, in came Rajiv from out of nowhere running into the scene like a black stallion, pawing his fists into the sky, naying between his loose, flapping wompy lips.  The timing and action could not have been more perfect and bizarre.  Now this guy was really tripping.  He comes in to what seems like an easy enough moment to feast on some lady,  her and her friends go buck wild, planet of the apes style, and now comes this stranger out of nowhere, with these bulging biceps, wild eyes, and uncontrollable hair, galloping into the scene like a stallion...not the knight in shining armor riding the stallion...no Rajiv IS the stallion.   Where did this guy come from and why is the whole world acting like animals?  But the animal kingdom only got wilder and crazier as we threw our hands into the air, beating our chests, and he just stood there completely frozen.  Then all of a sudden we heard Dream.  "Hey guys? Hey guys. Stop! I think we are really scaring him stop!"

Rajiv, clearly posing because he is actually the most gentle man in the world.  Photo by Cat Healy

Wait what? We freaked the freaker? We did it? Oh my gosh. We really did?  After an entire day of not being able to hustle the hustler, we finally freaked the freaker?  Wow!!! Wait...uh...now what?  "Sorry dude, it's just that we thought you were trying to rape me and you were really scaring us, and we just couldn't have that, so we scared you...and sorry man.  Really didn't mean to do you like that. Uh...you want some water?"

Silence.  We all transformed into compassionate human beings suddenly, and Rajiv, the horse man stood there offering his water bottle to the man. He hesitantly grabbed the water  bottle with his trembly hands, stared at us as he took a gulp and us starring back at him...still thick, palpable silence... He then slowly backed away, awkwardly picked up his bike, turned to look at us one last time, and then gently rolled away.

Now there's a slight discrepancy re: bike man's intentions.  Because the final conversation happened in French and I don't understand French, Dream seemed to think he had only stopped by for water in the first place...like he couldn't have asked any other Moroccan homie, he had to ask the naked chick who clearly didn't have water on her.  And oh wow, what a hoot that we all acted like crazy fools.  But apparently that's what he told Dream. I think it was a big fat lie. 

Either way, lessons were served that day.  He learned that you never know when a galloping stallion man will nay you so hard you nearly pee your pants.  We all learned never to attend the beach without your Birkini. But best of all rule number one in street fighting...you gotta be crazier than the crazy guy. So when someone, life or a situation is freaking you out, all's you gotta do is Freak the Freaker.  

If I was a rapper, my name would be Left Cleft

Ever see that thing? That thing on the left.  That crack in the left corner of my mouth (your right), giving me the most miniature dimple in the world.  It's not a birthmark or something that my DNA picked up from my midget (I know that's not p.c. but little person doesn't sound as good in this sentence. My apologies) grand aunt, who also got it from her midget grand aunt. Nope...that's a scar.  I know, it doesn't look like much now, but that was once 16 stitches and a garish looking split lip.

With every scar comes a story, and I think from the thousands that I have, this one comes in 2nd, for the most notable scar story.

So when Lucent Dossier was first starting out, we were a rag tag group of kids, with no rules, getting absolutely buck wild on stage.  We tried to put in choreography here and there, but really, what we were best at, was just letting ourselves go and getting punk rock on the situation.  So at the time, we were about to have one of our biggest LA shows to date, which was at the Music Box.  The show? The very innocent but not so innocent Elf Show aka Enchantself.  (I still get a smile in my heart thinking about that show.  There's this humble and sweet nostalgia about it that really tugs on my Gepetto strings)

Anyhow, we built this cute show for the Music Box complete with choreography, tossing girls high in the air, tumbling, and aerial.  A fair amount of intense physicality by anyone's standards, all of which should be well rehearsed and taken seriously...of course.  But as I said, we were a lawless group of individuals who also had adult lives to take care of.  Practicing protruding-butt elf walk drills or memorizing our little elf song in our made up jibber jabber didn't necessarily always make it at the top of the priority list.  But we were professionals at play and a little cocky about it at the time.  So yeah sure, let's do a whole bunch of things that we didn't really practice.  I'm sure it'll be just fine...just remember spacial awareness!

So now meet Kara (not her real name).  An incredibly sweet, talented, goddess-like pixie, with too much energy, and a willingness to be the star of the show.  She kind of reminded me of one of those Youtube sensation kids schooling Nicki Minaj on video.  You know the look, that incredibly blissed out look of confidence, with not a worry in the world.  The kind of look you normally only see on children and dogs.  Where they've never had to face judgement or self doubt, where there is only love love love and more love as they wistfully float through life on their pink cloud of cotton candy. Totally convinced that the world should love them as much as they love themselves, 'cause they're THE awesome!  In many ways, this was Kara, though I wouldn't dare say she didn't face hardship before...she just had this rare quality about her that you don't normally see in adults.

Well here we are at the Music Box now, and it's time to do this show.  With a baby and a business, Kara didn't have time to make it to all the rehearsals...plus, as I said before, she had that child like confidence and knew that she'd be a star no matter what.  Well her need to shine as brightly as possible meant throwing in a tumbling routine, in the middle of the finale.  Nowadays, that wouldn't fly at all, but at the time, she seemed set on this moment, and no one was going to take it away from her.  It was her moment to be her biggest, and brightest self, where she would inevitably pop up from her pass, her rainbow array of ribbon knotted hair would rush past her face, only to accent her flower child smile, as she galloped to her next spot. 

The began and we entered the stage, with our elf ears glued on, crazy make up airbrushed across our faces, and our little feather costumes on.   The show started off quite well.  The elves popped out from behind the mushrooms, only to discover the hobo and his mate in fisticuffs, until the giant unicorn on stilts entered and the whole village erupted with glee whilst 2 naughty elves were humping in the mushroom house.  So far so good...now for the love triangle flamenco act before the finale.  As we rounded the bend toward a successful show, and I am now in full protruding butt-elf walk, conga line dancing down the center of the stage, here Kara comes for her tumbling pass...wait what? NOW? That's not supposed to happen NOW!

Photo by Roger Fojas

And SMACK! Kara's foot slammed itself straight into my face.  I rebounded faster than a dropped Oreo in prison.  Down for the count, but back in the game in a flash.  Having trained in Pro Cheer competitions for years, and watching girls get their teeth knocked out on stage, or spraining an ankle and still finishing the routine in true Keri Strugg style, it was the moment I had been training for, for years.  Keep going no matter what! You need that trophy!

So I continued.  I didn't want to risk ruining the show.  But now I feel it, a little bit of blood spilling into my mouth. No big deal!  I've got to base this basket toss!  I run over to my crew and see their faces for a flash, looking at me in the strangest fashion.  Can't stop now, get our flier in!  "1, 2 down up!" off she goes.  We catch her and lock and load the second girl, "1, 2 down ...oh shit."  At this point I realize that what I thought was just a little bit of blood was a whole lot of blood. Gushing out of my mouth and on to the floor.   As the whole cast scrambles for the final pose, I run off stage, fearing that I'd have to be stuck, in front of the crowd in this elven tableau, looking like a crazy zombie who just ate a baby munchkin in the back. 

So I ran straight from the stage to the side alley where the huge security guard gave me one look and said, "Girl, you need to go to the hospital."

Spitting out blood into the drain outside, I thought, nah...this guy is trippin'.  I'm sure it's not that bad.  Still not really knowing the extent of what it looked like, I could only judge the situation by reading the reactions of my cast members, who came out one by one.
First my boyfriend came out.  He immediately threw his hands over his face, and horror had struck.  But not in a way that you might imagine.  To me, he looked like a Japanese warrior choking on a fish bone. Kind of a cross between these two guys.  (I especially like the guy on the right)

Then came the others...I got a few looks like I just got caught pissing in the baptismal pool...concerned and horrified.  Then there were the looks like I was one of the 2 chicks with one cup...disgust, shock, and strangely intrigued.  Denying their requests to go to a hospital, all of this hullabaloo had become so intense that I just started cracking up, causing even more blood to sputter out of my mouth hole.

When I finally got over my laughing stint, I tried to explain to my cast what had happened.  I opened my mouth and said, "Sthou thsou attsoh stuhtos."   Damn...let me try that again.  "Sthou whuh happeh whefff..." Damn.  What the heck is going on? Why can't I talk? Is my lip just numb from the hit?  As I looked into the eyes of my team, with their hands covering their faces, like papa was going to leave the ranch and never come back,  I realized the extent of my situation.  I couldn't talk because me teeth had sliced through my lip, came out the other end, and had gotten stuck there.  Little did I know that, what I thought was just a little bit of blood was actually a lip flap, jostling around as I laughed, spraying blood drops everywhere.  Oh shit... now this is a different story.  Hospital it is.

Without taking another moment to sit around and figure it out,  I immediately walked out of there in full costume to find the nearest hospital.  Lucent still had another show to do, and I was determined not to inconvenience anyone, and to get back there by the second show.  So I decided to high tail it to the nearest hospital.

Well I must have hit more than just my lip because clearly, I wasn't thinking straight.  Before I knew it, I was walking down Sunset blvd, barefoot, in lacy panties, a feather bra, elf ears, tragically smeared make up, and the ultimate accessory, my new bloody lip.  I don't even know what to say about that visual. I could only imagine what the cars thought driving by.  "Oh dear, there goes another banged up fetish prostitute.  They really should make crack legal."  Only in Hollyweird right?

Now in all my years of experimenting with different substances, I've never really had a high quite like this before.  The mix of stage show adrenaline, and fight or flight instincts brought me to this strange place of focus and delusional euphoria.  I couldn't have been chipper, walking down the sketchy streets of Hollywood barefoot, picking up used syringes between my toes and looking like the newest and baddest Jenny of the block.  You don't want to mess with this little robin...she'll cut you.

After a good 45 minute stroll,  I rounded the corner and found the hospital...a children's hospital at that.  I walked my fairy ass straight thru the doors and past various, frightened little kids.  Poor kids...Grimm's Fairy Tale was starting to look really grim then.  As I approached the desk, the lady behind the counter looked straight at me and said. "Who's the patient?  What's the problem?"

Are you serious?  Uhhh...gee my invisible little girl accidentally swallowed a pretend hard candy.  Do you seriously not see the blood dripping from my chin, and now you're going to ask who's the patient and what's the problem?  I look like Grover got attacked by Edward from Twilight.  With my lip still attached to my teeth, and a difficulty with speaking, I tried to use the age old form of sign language and Pictionary to get her to understand that I was indeed the patient and that I might have a problem with my mouth.

After a riveting game of charades, the lady finally took a look at me and said, "We can't help you here, you have to go to the hospital a few blocks down."  Thanks for nothing lady.  Fairly grumpy, I huffed my way out of there to find the next hospital, only to have the EXACT same thing happen.

"Who's the patient? What's the problem? Oh, you're going to have to go to the hospital a few blocks down."  Are you serious?  How could you possibly be so imperceptive as to not understand what the problem is...we are talking face to bloody flappy face!

Finally I arrive at the Emergency Sector a whole 2 hours later.  By that time the adrenaline had worn off, and I was chasing the euphoria like one of those glowy butterflies on the Ambien commercials.  But it was useless,  the numbness had worn off and somebody anthraxed my happy place.  Now I was just bitchy.

Woman at the Counter: "Who's the patient? What's the problem?"
Me: "Not again....Looooook at me! ARE YOU LOOKING? LOOOOK AT ME! Now....Now...Now, ..how 'bout now.  CoooOOOOookie Crisp!"
Woman at the Counter: "I'm sorry ma'am. We can't help you here."
Me: "WHAT? You are the Emergency Room. What do you mean you can't help me."
Woman at the Counter: "We can't help you, looking like that."

Clearly the woman thought that I was a Sunset prostitute, who got into some trouble with smack and my pimp.

Me: "Listen to me. I am walking in there, and getting someone to sew my face up now."

And with that I stormed off and walked right past the double doors fuming with anger.

Security: "Ma'am Stop, STOP you can NOT go in there looking like that."
Me: "Looking like what?! Tell me! What do I look like to you?  A binged out Elf who got kicked out the tree for cooking crack instead of cookies?"
Security:  "Ma'am, you can NOT walk in here as indecent as you are.  You got all your bits hanging out."
Me: What you've never seen anyone in their underwear before?  Isn't this a hospital? Don't you have a gown? Give me a frickin' gown damn it!"

Now they knew I was serious.  Within moments I had a gown, and was on the operating table with the doc looking down at me.

Doc: "Hmm...I don't know if I can fix this.  You really want a plastic surgeon to handle this."
Me: "Come on doc, say it ain't so.  You can do this, I know you can."
Doc: "I'm just not sure that I can sew it up and make you look the same."

Damn.  Is this what's really happening?  It had never occurred to me that my face might looked busted forever.

Me:  "Listen here Doc. I believe in you, sister.  From lady to lady, you know this is a big deal.  Keep your eye on the prize and make me proud!"

Reluctantly, she said ok and proceeded to stitch me up.  This is of course, after she gave me 2 shots directly into my wound.   Grossly intrigued by this whole matter,  I was insanely jealous that I was the only one in the room that couldn't watch the calamity of it all.  So I stared intensely into the reflection of her glasses, watching each stitch get put in through her slightly fogged lenses.  To this day I wonder if she ever noticed, and if she did, I wonder what she thought.  That must have been so awkward to be up in someone's grill, with their face just a few inches away, and their gaze staring deep into your eyes...watching you.   Once eyes get that close, you start to play that weird game, of which eye should you look at.  Kind of an intimate moment between 2 strangers not having sex.

Well 16 stitches later, I congratulated the doc and made it back just in time for the second show.  I didn't end up performing, and saw Kara icing her foot backstage.  Apparently the force of my skull injured her poor little foot, and the pain deserved copious amounts of sympathy.  She did send me a dozen "energetic roses" however.  Yeah...I wasn't really too sure how to respond to that either. If they were "energetic roses" then fucking manifest me of field of them bitch! It didn't cost you a dime!

So there it is, the story behind Left Cleft and how she got to be so gangsta.  All in all, I walked away learning a few valuable lessons from it all.

1. Don't get a massage on a massage table with a busted lip.  Unless you want to look like you have a parasitic twin growing out of your face.
2. When being asked "What happened to your face." Do not respond with, "Donkey Porn." Most people do not find this funny.
3. Korean mothers will straight slap a bitch for ruining their daughter's face.
4. Korean mothers will straight slap you for ruining your own face.
5. Even with a split lip, there is no other way to eat a hard boiled egg than with lots and lots of Tabasco.
6. Oh yeah, and don't get stuck doing the elf conga when someone is hurtling their body towards your face. 

Photos by Roger Fojas