Mexican Wrestling with Snoop Dog Reffin'

I just remembered I did this. Pretty hilarious. There isn't much too it other than I'm the girl in all black with just one sleeve, and the other girl was not making the job easy.
Oh and Snoop never stops smoking and NEVER stops rapping whether the camera is on or off.
I actually had to deny the blunt because I was too high to wrestle from just standing next to him.

Here's the video!

Bag of Dicks

Eat a bag of dicks.

This has become a semi popular phrase that has erupted in the last several years.

I’m not exactly sure how to take it….the phrase I mean…not the bag of dicks.  It’s vulgar to say the least, but is this intended to be a message of ill will? It seems to me, that if you’re the type that eats dick, then this may be a message of galactic abundance.  Like a cornucopia of cock.   Someone set the table! It’s dick for dinner again!

All that aside, it does remind me of a rather embarrassing  moment in life, that did involve a bag of dicks.

In my college years, I had a friend Arik, who was, and still remains to be one of the crudest people that I know.  He would insult people for sport and package it up with such artistry you kind of had to look back at him in awe.  He is a near carbon copy of Coach Sylvester from Glee, except Asian and gay.  He’d say things like, “I’m dating a Mexcian now and when I lick his butthole, it tastes like beans.”  Or do things like tell a guy that the self tanner in his hand was lube and wait for them to scream like girls when they saw their orange dicks…Yeah Arik was a piece of work. 

But underneath all of his vindictive humor, he earnestly cared for those he loved, and could be incredibly supportive and loyal.  So despite the voracious teasing I would get from him telling people my vagina had teeth or that I was actually a man in drag, I stuck around.  I knew who he was on the inside.

Well Arik had this tradition where he thought he needed to help a sister out.  So for EVERY birthday, Christmas, Easter, Graduation…anything that seemed like a time for gift giving, I would always get the same thing.  A dildo.  But they weren’t all the same kind.  There were a few traditional dildos, some glass,  some vibrated, some unfathomably big, some weren’t dicks at all but fists….After 4 years of friendship, the collection grew past what you’d think the average college girl should have. Not knowing what to do with them really, I would just stuff them in this cheap blue GAP bag and shove it under my bed.

Once I graduated from college and received my graduation dildo, I moved back into my parents home for a few months.  I took their downstairs bedroom and had it pretty sweet for a little while.  Eventually I found a home and moved all of my stuff out of there.

A few years after my move, my parents told me that a pipe had burst in their home and flooded the downstairs bedroom.   Thankfully that was the only room to get hit and the rest of the house seemed fine.

They did tell me however that I should come back and collect the things I had left in that room.

No problem.   As I entered the room,  I looked around and felt sorry that they had to gut the room out, toss all the old furniture and repair the damaged walls.  I inspected the room and looked in the closet for my remaining things.  When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a very familiar looking blue bag.   Oh NO! It was my bag of dicks.

My.bag.of.dicks!  The bag of dicks that USED to live under my bed.   Seeing as how they weren’t a part of my every day existence, I completely forgot about them when I moved out, and now here they were neatly put away in the closet.  Horrified, all I could imagine were my parents opening the door to the flooded room and dicks just floating across the floor.  Who discovered these dicks and decided to put them back in the bag and on the closet shelf?  Was it my mother or my father? Is there really a better scenario to this? Did they towel dry them before placing them back in their cheap, drawstring, plastic bag?

It immediately brought me back to my childhood when I would repeatedly hump my grandparent’s vibrating back pillow, and not understand my parents and grandparents when they would look at me highly alarmed and ask me to stop.  When my parents saw that bag of dicks, they had to have assumed their daughter grew up to be some sexually obsessed freak.  Ugh. Completely mortified and upset with embarrassment, I tossed the bag into the trash, hoping that the terrible feeling of shame would go with it too.   But it didn’t. 

Thankfully the bag was never mentioned and we all pretended like nothing ever happened. 

“Eat a bag of dicks” you say?  Too ambiguous for me.   I say, “Mind fuck your parents with a bag of dicks!”  That’ll get ‘em…

Unidentified Flying Object

In the spring of 2003, a group of friends and I decided we would go on a camping trip.  We packed 2 vehicles in with buddies, gear and enough food that could feed an army of stoned high school boys.  And being the intelligent college kids that we were, we left San Diego just in time to hit LA traffic 20 minutes out  of S.D.

Great. 

Only 4 hours to get to LA and then another 4 hours to our destination.

But not to worry. We were well equipped with a lifestyle supply of assenine humor, munchies, and every 80’s pop singer’s greatest hits…. Can you say Wilson Phillips, “Hold on?” (The mere mention of that song and I get lost into a vortex of Wilson Phillips.  Singing it outloud in my head as my eyes start to glaze over and my slack jaw murmurs every other word… :gasp!: I’ve revealed too much)

Anyhow, as we crept up the 5 frwy in L.A. traffic that moved slower than a fat kid moving toward the veggie tray, we were starting to near Anaheim, the proud home of Disneyland.  Sitting in the backseat driver’s side, I noticed this interesting plume of smoke billowing out behind what looked like an acme missile. Kind of that classic cartoon missile shape.   The cloud behind it was this technicolored ribbon of bright hued oranges, to purples and blues. 

As I stared at it, I couldn’t quite understand what it was. The smoke didn’t seem to move or dissipate into the atmosphere at all. It seemed to be made of frosting, decorating the sky and frozen in time.

Perhaps it was a new ride at Disneyland?  A big missile seemed like an odd choice for the happiest place on earth.  I also don't recall ever being able to see any rides from the freeway.

As we continued to inch along the 5, I kept looking at this missile with this radiantly long plume, trailing behind it. It was mesmorizing in a way.  The smoke was an incredible array of sunset colors and the tail seemed like it was a long and fiery comet. And though it never seemed to travel or move, the object seemed to grow at an indistinguishable rate like those dinosaur toys that grow in water.  The longer we sat in the car, the bigger it got and the longer the tail grew, but the smoke remained a permanent fixture in the sky.

Eventually the object grew large enough that it didn’t seem logical for it to be a ride at Disneyland in the distance.  However,  I still could not figure out what it was. And what really started to perplex me, was that I also could not understand the distance it was to us, and even the shape.  I had at one point sworn that it was a Billboard perhaps. A 2 dimensional painting of a missile and a comet painted so real that it was a highly effective optical illusion, but not an actual object in the sky.   The other 2 people in the car also started to become very confused.  None of us could get a grasp on it’s actual size, relation in proximity to us, if it was a sculptural object or if it was a photograph.  And at this point we hadn’t even questioned if it was moving or not, because again it seemed to be completely still.

The object however, did not stop growing and we became increasingly disturbed by this.  We started calling the other car on our cell phones, highly alarmed. Wondering if they could explain what we were seeing, but they were as equally confused and frightened.  And the object, it just continued to grow.

The tension in the car went from inquisitive and confused to paniced and scared.  I remember screaming over and over again, “What is that thing?”  And like the most horrific zit on Prom day, the object did not stop growing.  I remember looking out of the backseat window and seeing that it had taken up almost all of the visual property  my window would allow.  

All I could see was silver.

At this point, we were in full swing manic mode.  Everybody in the car was screaming and pointing, grasping at some kind of understanding on what it could be.  I wish I could explain the surrealism of it and absurdity that it presented our feebile minds with.  How could something grow to that size without ever appearing to move?  Why can’t I understand where it actually is in relation to me and at what speed it is growing? 

When I looked out the other side of the car, I realized it wasn’t just our car’s own collective mental trip.  People were frightened to the core.  Panicing on their cell phones,  rubber necking out of their windows and getting into car crash after car crash.  It was like a scene from Independence day.  I must have seen at least 5 sepearate car crashes within the span of 2 minutes.  And no one even cared. They simply stayed on their phones and stepped out of their cars in the standstill highway, staring at the huge metal object in the sky.

At its peak, the object had grown so large in size that I could no longer see around it.  All I could see was a tiny sliver of blue sky on the horizon and the rest of the sky was covered by an object that was a brilliant and bright silver.  It was completely smooth like looking at the underbelly of a spoon from God.  

The sheer size of it made it impossible for me to comprehend what was happening, where it was in distance, and again, whether or not it was moving.  It is the most massive thing I have ever seen and truly unfathomable on all accounts. 

After several moments of screaming and demanding to know what it was, my mind eventually found a calm and a peace.  I was going to die.  There was no other option.  There was no physical way that we could drive away from the situation.  It was so massive that I wasn’t sure anyone in the United States would be able to escape the possible reprecussions of what was about to happen.  I had a few imagined moments of a sudden explosion, and my last images being of me and my friends flying through the air in slow motion as the world burned beneath us.  And then I realized that I would rather not suffer in pain and just embrace what would happen next.

And then to my surprise, when there was hardly any sky left to be witnessed, I blinked.

I blinked and there was a flash of light and the entire metal object seemed to just pop like a bubble. Vanished.  Completely plucked from the sky.  At that moment all of time stood completely still.  Here it comes, I thought to myself.   This is the moment before everything gets blown to smithereans. And I just sat there, calmly, waiting for it. Waiting to hear the thunderous boom and to have my body atomized into the atmosphere…

But it never came.

Nothing. Ever came.

No boom, no explosion, not even a gust of wind happened. Nothing.  I couldn’t believe it.  I simply could. Not. Believe. It.  How do you get rid of an object so unfathomably large, in a splice of a second without some crazy vaccum effect, or at least a loud noise? A butterfly could have farted and it would have had a bigger impact.  Nothing.  

At first I was certain that it was something of the chemical warfare variety.  Anthrax or Napalm or something that might take a few minutes for it to kick into effect. But again there was nothing.

Was it all a dream?  Had I imagined all of this?  But when I looked back  into the sky, the long, technicolored plume of smoke still remained. As buoyant, and pristine as ever. It was as if someone had plasticeaned the smoke and it was hung by a string in the sky. 

The people standing on the freeway were equally as stunned. No one could believe what had happened and strangely, there wasn’t much conversation around it either. People hoped back into their cars and we all continued to inch up the 5 freeway that Friday afternoon as if all was normal again.

I immediately started to call several of my friends and family and demanding that they turn on the news and see if anything was being reported about the event that just occurred.  Nothing. There was nothing on the news.

An hour had gone by and finally we heard a few reports on the radio.  The news had tried to pass it off as a missile launch testing that was well publicized before it occurred.  There were families on the news stating that they knew there would be a missile launch test and had all  brought out launch chairs and gathered as a family to watch. They had been anticipating it all week.  Some went so far as to say that they had created a family picnic outside so they would be sure not to miss it.

This was the first time that I had realized the elaborate and blatant lies that the news had been feeding us. 

A missile launch test over the 5 freeway in Anaheim on a Friday at 5pm?  You couldn’t find a desert to do this in the wee hours of the night?  The Mojave was suddenly occupied with every ruler of every country that afternoon, so you decided to test over Los Angeles during traffic hour?

And what was even more disturbing was that I had friends believe the news account versus my first hand experience. A first hand experience that I shared with 2 others in my car, and 3 other friends in the car behind us.  Not to mention the several hundred people that got into a car accident at the same time that will need to explain to their insurance companies that they saw a huge metal disc that filled the entire sky.

To this day, I can’t be certain that I know what I saw that day and how it disappeared so effortlessly.   Like the simple pop of a bubble and boom / flash it’s vanished.  I have my theories and ideas about it. If you’re interested, you can ask me about it some time.  Something along the lines of living in a holographic universe…if that's your topic. 

What I find almost disturbing however, is that this last year, I had a 10 year reunion with the same friends that were on that trip.  I asked them to recount the details as they saw it, just to make sure I had not inflated the story over the years and that I remembered it all correctly.  This is probably THE most significant thing I have ever witnessed with my own eyes and it is really important to me that I have all the details right.  The 2 in my car remembered it EXACTLY as I did. I did not have to fill in the blanks for them, they told me their story, just as I described here.  What I found interesting however is that the other car did not remember the incident very well at all until we reminded them of how it just vanished.  At that point it came back to them, and they smiled it off. 

HOW could you have EVER forgotten about that?  It was almost as though it was too much for the human mind to comprehend, so it didn’t.  It got placed in a box labeled, “unexplainable” and placed on a dusty shelf in the back of their brains.  It makes me wonder how often this happens to all of us. 

All I know, is that, that must have been what happened to the Native Americans when the Europeans ships first came upon their land. There are stories that they weren’t even capable of seeing the ships until they were nearly on land because their brains had never fathomed that reality before, so it just did not compute.

Regardless, I am grateful that things did not end in tragedy and suffering. And if it is indeed holographic technology, I can't wait to get my hands on it too. I'd sure as hell create something way cooler than a silver disk in the sky. 

Aliens + Angels = BFF's

As the Winter Solstice approaches, I am feeling very aware of the shifting in energy and my feelings of needing to purge old stories, and make clearer declarations of who I am becoming and what I invite into my life.   Like a snake, I can feel myself shedding old skin with clouded eyes, and starting the process to emerge.  Diving into the darkness of winter and emerging into the light of spring to come.

I was inspired to find a meditation to use for focus in this time and the first thing that came up was a meditation with Archangel Gabriel. The Guardian who presides over winter. He is the Archangel of Vision, and also the Archangel of revelation, creativity and faithful service…. How perfectly suited for this time.

And it brought be back to this dream…this dream when I first met Gabriel.  This dream that I have relived over and over again and it still comes back to teach me.  It was one of the most powerful and profound “dreams” I have ever had and I remember every detail…

I suddenly woke up in my pod.  That’s right. A pod, just like the kind in the Matrix.  Except I wasn’t in a spaceship.   I was in a huge cave.  And not just me, but thousands of people, sleeping in their pods.

When I woke, I sat up out of my pod and looked around. The pods were half submerged in a shallow pool of electric blue water that seemed to be bottom lit.   They were glowing from the light reflecting into their spheres, making them look like angelic dew drops perfectly in a row.

As I started to become present to my surroundings and what was happening, I immediately thought I should not be awake.  This was a mistake. I broke some kind of rule like I always do and here I am.  I must have died on earth.

I looked next to me and I saw many friends from different stages of my life all asleep in their clear glowing eggs. I even saw Ex President Bush Jr a few rows over.

As I looked around the cave, I noticed a tiny thread of light shining down into the cave like a silver string from heaven.  The walls seemed to dance with moving shadows. Shadows of animals moving back and forth, watching us.  And as I looked over, I saw a little brown alien, walking by each pod with his hand out.  He was short with skinny limbs, a little belly, and almost dreadlocked, curly hair.   He moved through the rows, steadily and methodically, whispering to each person in their pod, what their life mission was.

I crept out of my pod as I observed him doing his work and I eventually felt called to approached him.  What happened next took me completely by surprise.

He turned to me and ever so gently touched my forehead.  At that moment I felt this very physical and powerful, thick wash of warm, gooey love pour over me. Melting over my body and through my soul like a warm syrup.  But in all of its power and bigness, it never felt heavy.  It was strangely so light and breathable.  Never cumbersome.  The duality of the magnitude of this strong power, balanced by a freeness and a liberty left me feeling so safely helpless.   A light went off in my soul and I thought instantly, “This is what true love feels like.”  Love in its most authentic and pure form. Something that my soul recognized instantly and melted into, and something that I had never experienced in my earthly body.  It was so foreign and so familiar.

All time seemed to stand still.  It was completely obsolete.   I have no idea how long I stood there, with my eyes closed letting the nectar drip over me and fill my entire being.  But when I finally opened my eyes softly, he had already walked away and was continuing his work blessing the people sleeping in their pods, reminding them of their highest purpose.

I stood there heart wide open, feeling courageously vulnerable, rooted and corrected.  My eyes were welling up with tears of gratitude. So grateful that I got to feel that level of love and pureness again. Something that I’d receive glimmers of here and there, but for the most part love on that level had always seemed so conceptual and theoretical.  But here I was basking in it now and I knew that I must never forget this feeling again. That now that I‘ve felt it and know it, that I must always work to come back to that place if I were to get lost.

So completely overwhelmed with inspiration and gratitude, I knew I could not hold on to it on my own. I had to share it.

So I came back to the little alien, closed my eyes and touched his heart.  I stood there with him and tried my best to return the favor and fill him with as much love as he gave to me.   And as we stood there, we both opened our eyes.  I looked at him and his eyes were full of tears. And then he spoke.  His name was Anthony.

He asked me, “ Do you know when the last time anyone has touched me?” to which I replied, “I do not.”

“It has been millions upon millions of years.”

I couldn’t believe that it had been so long since another being had touched him.   I stood there slightly baffled, not knowing how to respond.

And just when I thought it might be time for my awkward exit and directions out of the cave, Anthony turned to me and said, “I have something for you.”

He then presented me with what he called a water bow.  It looked like a 9 ft. tall bow and arrow, made of black wrought iron steel.  It was a sculptural masterpiece, bent into the most beautiful and intricate swirl patterns.  There were 2 arrows mounted on it and it seemed to tower over me in its height and majesty.   He told me that it was my tool to use in the light revolution.

The next thing he told me was, “Gabriel.  Gabriel will be your partner.”  And without looking, I could feel a big, strong and safe presence standing behind me. But I never turned to look at him.  I did not want to break my gaze with Anthony.

“Together you and Gabriel will fight the light revolution. Use him as your guide and he will protect you.”

I simply nodded and thanked him and before I knew it, Gabriel and I were leaving the cave.  Squeezing through tight and muddy corridors we emerged into a gorgeous field of tall, silvery grass, lit by the full moon.

I stood there feeling the gentle breeze of the night gliding across my skin, and I had never felt so complete in my entire life.

And then I woke.

In the years since, I have thought of this dream often. Wondering what this water bow is and how it works, if I am indeed doing this work that I am meant to do or if I am completely failing, and who the heck is Gabriel anyways?

Since then, so much has emerged from this dream.

The day after the dream, I told one of my best friends about it.  Is he spiritual? Yes, but he hides it underneath the most surly attitude.  As I started to tell him this story however, he jumped out of his chair and began to weep.  The night before he too had a dream where he was presented a bow and arrow from an angel, made of fire, with 2 bows and was told it was his tool to use in the light revolution. Pretty stunning.

But what is this bow?

I once talked to a Native American Priest about this to which he was extremely concerned.  He told me that the water bow was only used in the spirit realm and that once when he was a young boy, he saw his grandfather taken underground by a group of little brown men and that his grandfather had never come back since then. He warned me to be careful and not to be tricked by them.  He was genuinely afraid I would be kidnapped forever.   But he did not have my experience and he did not know the profound beauty I had experienced with one of these little brown men, with Anthony.

Then a little later I heard of a story of a man who was invited to go to a spiritual council with a group of Mayan priests.  It was quite the big deal as no one had ever been invited that was not of Maya descent.  But because of his work, they had invited him.  He told a story of him walking through a field at night and moving through muddy corridors into a cave.  The cave had opened up inside and there was a shallow pool of electric blue water.  He recounts that there were shadows of animals on the walls and what looked like little brown men hiding in the shadows.  This was his waking account.

The moment I heard this story, I shuddered. I knew instantly that, that is where I went to in my dreams that night.  The similarity of the environment described was completely uncanny.

I have also come to learn that Gabriel… Gabriel is a really great guy. Gabriel’s role as a bringer of visions makes him the Archangel who reveals the truth of one’s unique role in the world.  The Soul’s true calling or higher purpose if you will, and empowers one to pursue that Higher Purpose successfully.  Pretty friggin’ stoked to have him around, I’ll say.

To this day, the mystery of this dream has not been completely unraveled.   But I learn little by little as I move through this life.

And I realize that this is some intensly hippy woo woo magic for some of you. But you know what, in this world, the idea of what is real and what is true seems so arbitrary to me. I feel that I don’t actually know anything.  I don’t really know why the sky is blue, or how a car works, or even what an object truly looks like.  If I see the world like this, and flies can see UV colored rays and view it through a lens which multiplies it into 6…I can’t believe that I know that there is a right and singular truth.  There are things to be discovered and learned and I choose to trust those theories and ideas, but in reality, I don’t actually know those things to be true.  I just believe them.  The ONLY thing that I know,  I know, is how I feel. And that is it.

That is my only sense of truth.

So in that sense, I am so profoundly grateful for the gift of knowing that feeling of love and goodness in my heart.  I only wish that I was better at retaining it.   I am also so grateful to know that I can always call upon spirit to keep me on my own unique path.   I am so humbled by it.

So now, I guess let’s just try and not fuck it up.

Lessons in Gravy

A few years ago, on a cool November afternoon,  I was frantically running through the cluttered and cramped shops of the fabric district in downtown LA.  Sweat was collecting between my forehead and brow as I ran from shop to shop, quickly scanning all of the different trims, and beading, willing myself to not get distracted by all the shiny things and to stay on course.  A true testament of will power for a person with an affinity for color and a twinge of A.D. oh glittery thing!

As I could hear neighboring steel doors screeching shut, the hustle and bustle winding down on the streets, and the air starting to cool from the setting sun, I was making my last purchase in the back of this stuffy store that smelled of stale smoke and Persian food.  It was finally time to wipe my upper lip from the sweat and let my heartbeat take a brake from it's maniced, methed out humming bird pace.

A little something about me. I absolutely HATE the first fall chill that penetrates your bones.  It sends me into a severe depression and reminds of the sadness that basic bitches must feel in their refusal to put on a coat on outside the clubs, because it doesn't match their out. Bitch! Stop the suffering.

The sun was leaving and the first autumn chill just hit.  It was time to get to my car quickly and retreat  home. As I walked toward my car, I rummaged through my purse to find the tiny plastic key that I had been using to drive my car. It wasn't even a real key, but a cracker jack box plastic key, meant as a valet key.  Stupidly I hadn't put a cheesy plastic crystal or shrunken head talisman on this tiny lone key the size of a paper clip.  As I rummaged through my purse, and methodically went through pocket by pocket, it began to dawn on me that I had lost my key. Oh no. Immediately my heart jumped up again and my adrenals started pumping. The sweat had began to leak out of my face like a pierced water balloon. Paniced I charged back down the street where I had done most of my shopping, in hopes that my key would magically be sitting on a counter. As I rounded the corner, all I saw was steel door after steel door shut like a chastity belt at a Purity Ball. With my phone out of battery, I was running out of options. Thankfully the last store I was in however, was still open.

I entered the store full of drama and panic, desperate for them to help me find my key. Perhaps they could call the store owners next door and tell them I had a wedding to go to, so if they wouldn't mind opening up shop?  Fuck it, my father is dieing and I'm his only hope....and my boyfriend broke up with me...and my cat died...and a gopher bit my toe off this morning and now I have no toe. Fuck it, I'll buy you a burrito if you come back.
I began to believe my tales of desperation and genuinely spilled tears over my tragic situation. What was I going to do?

But alas, I was S.O.L. and my only option was to wait for my boyfriend for the next 2 hours as he got off of work and drove over in traffic.

Fairly upset, I dragged my feet away from the store and toward my car.  Nothing to do now but to sit in this miserable cold and wait.  As I stood there, angry with the world and myself for not putting a damned friendship bracelet or cat toy or a can of beans...ANYTHING on my stupid plastic key, I waited by my BMW in a huff.

While I was standing there, I noticed a collection of people starting to gather around the corner down the street. Within minutes the number of people had multiplied.  Quite the motley looking crew of vagabonds, typical of the guys you'd see hanging around Skid Row.  As they started to pool around the corner, I couldn't quite figure out what was happening. I wasn't sure if food was being served there, or if there was a blue light special on some crystal.  But for the moment there was a strange barrier between me and them.  On my side it was me, my car and an eerily empty street and just down the street there was a gang load of people swarming the corner, standing behind an invisible barricade, itching for someone to open the gates.

A truly strange site and just when I was sure that they were waiting in line for Robin Hoode to arrive, they all seemed to simultaneously turn toward me and started walking straight at me like a zombie apocalypse army, hobbling down with torn clothes and faces that didn't seem to fit their skulls. As though someone had slid open the racing gates, a group of 20-30 people came toward me, with blankets wrapped around them, carting their shopping carts, and dragging their belongings behind them.  The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck started to raise as I wasn't quite sure if I was the target or if the target was right past me, but there was no one else on this street. So it had to have been me.

I got up off the curb and stood fiercely by my car, waiting for the Braveheart moment where they'd come crashing into me and I'd have to bust out my pathetic cat scratching technics for protection.  As I stood there, there was one man in particular who frightened my core. While the others seemed to drift between conversations as they made their way toward me, there was one man who looked directly into my eyes. He walked in a straight line, with his focus set on me as though he was an arrow with the point aimed right between my eyes. He was coming for me and he didn't look too kindly.  His hair was knotted in huge unkempt dreads with his eyes so bloodshot I could have peeled the veins off and sold them as red vines. Teeth missing, clothes shredded, and a loose swagger that said he hadn't given a shit for years.

As the others eventually walked right past me, he came straight to me and said,

"What's wrong?"

It was not the energy I had expected.  With his weather beaten face, he looked like the toughest and scariest one of the bunch. The one who had possibly been on that street for decades before the others.
And now here he was, asking me tenderly and inquisitively, what was wrong.

A little startled, I fumbled around with my words and dismissively said, "nothing man.  Just hanging out."

But he said, "I don't believe you. I see that you've been crying. What is wrong?"

Wow really? I just wanted to be left alone. And admittedly, I was a little intimidated by the whole situation. People had started erecting tents along the sidewalk by my car and I realized that I was right in the middle of their entire community. It was like being the new kid at school, but worse because there was a very clear story between the have and the have nots and this privileged chick was clearly outnumbered.

But he prodded and I figured, I might as well have one ally.

As I told him the story, expecting him to try and hustle me for something, strangely this man took pity on me. This man, with hardly a thing to his name but half a smoke and the torn clothes on his back would take pity on me? Wow. I felt like such a privileged fool.  But my foolishness did not stop there.

With neither of us having a single thing that we needed to do, he layed out his airplane thin blanket and invited me to sit with him.

His name was Douglas.

A simple guy. Very proud to not be a beggar of sorts but a man of spiritual wealth. A man that did his best to provide for those around him, and when he was lucky enough to come across a few bucks either from passerbys or an occasional check from the government, he'd use it to go to the movies and convince others to come with him. To have their own little adventures. To go to the library and read and indulge in all the little pleasures.  If he had a little extra, he'd buy a pack of beers and smokes and make it a side walk party.

He not only shared himself, he also gave me the lowdown on the entire group of people staying on that sidewalk strip.

There was the floozy. A terribly overweight, acne ridden girl with shark teeth and a horrible cackle.  But perhaps the most disturbing thing about her was her skin condition. I don't know how else to describe it other than it looked like she had some rare flesh eating disease that covered nearly 70% of her body.  It was chunking off of her body, scaly and red from rawness. I sincerely felt terrible for her and not being able to get the attention that she needed.

As I watched this fairly good looking young buck, in a clean shirt and crisp baseball cap flirtatiously molest her openly on the street, Douglas explained that she was the chick that got around.

Then there was Gobble Gobble. That's right. They all called him Gobble Gobble.  He was not only def, but he seemed to be slightly mentally handicapped as well.  When he would try to talk and get the attention of others, he would squack out in intelligible sounds, thus the name Gobble Gobble. I'm guessing no one knew what his birth given name was, and I'm not sure that he knew that either.  Perhaps it was lost forever and the name Gobble Gobble existed with this particular group of nomads until he or they move on and he is amongst another strange group that will then call him as they wish.
The nameless man.

As I watched Gobble Gobble sitting there, seemingly happy as a fat kid in a candy shop, I noticed he kept picking at his foot.  As I looked closer, I realized he was cleaning out a hole right under his ankle from sand and bits that had gotten stuck in it.   Gobble Gobble literally had a hole, where the skin had healed over to exposed bone.  All I could imagine was that it was maybe from a gun shot years ago and it had completely healed over to where you could still see the bone in his ankle.

And then there was the other side of the spectrum. One guy in particular did not look homeless at all. A spunky young broad, wheeler and dealer type of energy with crisp white shoes, a perfectly pressed, crisp white t-shirt and thin gold chains.  He wasn't shy about his cell phone and ipod either, and sat around with some of the other homies drinking beers, sharing music, and playing cards. What ANY other guy his age was probably doing that night.  Except he had the luxury of retreating to his tent that cold night.

And then there was the perfectly sane, responsible and kind postman.  He not only preferred to sleep on the streets, but he got a little awnry with folk for keeping him up past 7:30pm.   He had just come back from a church service held on the streets and was ready to go to bed.  Had I saw him at work, I would have never guessed that he slept on the streets every night. His hair was not only perfectly kept, and clothes on point, but he was also extremely well spoken and intelligent.  Homeless because he didn't mind it and would rather save a buck.

After sitting there with Douglas, discussing the dynamics of the community I realized that there are a few fundamental things that most human beings seek past the essentials of food and shelter. They seek community, faith, and love. Perhaps it is those things that humanize us as a species. And regardless of one's socioeconomic standing, that little corner of the world, on the edge of skid row, looked no different than any other small town in some ways. It was humans communing with other humans, having a drink, sharing music, games and stories.

And Douglas. What a little angel. He really understood the bigger nuggets in life.  And though his outer appearance was beaten and mangled, his composition was nothing but pure love.

Eventually my boyfriend came to pick me up, only to take me back to get my other key and then we'd return to the car.
I left Douglas and we got my key. On the way back, I decided to grab a couple of plates of Boston Market.  Nothing special. Just some plates of turkey, mashed potatoes, cornbread, mac and cheese etc. We also picked up a pack of beers and some smokes for him.

When we returned, my poor boyfriend who grew up in a tiny town in Oregon was scared shitless.

"You're getting out of the car? You're just going to give them that stuff and we're out of here right?"

I didn't respond. I just hopped out and looked for Douglas.
As I approached our spot, I didn't see him right away, and then I looked by my car and saw that he had moved is blanket and fell asleep by my car so he could protect it.

A dart to the chest.

That he somehow felt that he had to protect my nice things. Him huddled upon his thin blanket, waiting for my return.  It was incredibly touching and simultaneously painful, for I could only feel horribly stupid for being so devastated that I could not get into my BMW in the first place. What a complete asinine twat. Thank you for that perspective shift.

As I approached him, I nudged him to wake him and let him know that I had returned.  He was out cold, but when he woke up, he jumped up and clasped his hands in glee. So excited to see me again, and letting me know that he wanted to protect my car so he moved.  I thanked him deeply and told him I brought him some food and beer. It wasn't anything special but I wanted to bring him something.

Douglas looked at it, stopped, and then started to cry. He couldn't believe the gifts that I had brought him. He reacted as though I was one of the Wise Men bringing gifts to the baby Jesus.  He held his hands in prayer stance, looking up and cried, thank you thank you, over and over again.  I couldn't believe it. It was only Boston Market and some Corona's.  But he couldn't believe he was worthy of such blessings.  Only 8:30pm by this point, most of the street had already fallen asleep. He decided to wake up a few of his special buddies to share in this feast and they all ate, drank and felt like kings for a moment.  And though at times, I have had moments of ignorance, I don't mean to be self ingratiating by saying they felt like kings from this simple action I provided. I've had plenty of times where I've given gifts to the homeless and they've snubbed filet mignon. These friends of his were like him. Grateful and present to the idea of miracles in everything big or small.  Something we could all learn from.

Eventually my boyfriend creeped out, put on his big boy pants and realized there was nothing to be afraid of. We sat there for a few beers and continued to live, love and laugh. I wish I could remember all of the words exchanged that night, but all I can remember, is Douglas and I holding each other's hands, staring deeply into each others eyes, and sharing so much honest love. I thanked him for some profoundly deep lessons that I had learned, and for the lessons that I will continue to learn as it processes. And Douglas, he just continued to hold my gaze with such clarity and love in his eyes.

I took his sister's number down and promised to call him and leave a message for him there to call me back.  I tried that number twice before the 3rd time it was disconnected.  I never reached him.  I even tried to visit him a couple of times but he was never there.  He had mentioned in our encounter it was time for him to relocate as his street was getting over crowded.  I guess that's what he did.

To this day, I still don't know how to process all that had happened that evening.  All the wisdom shared and all the humility shown.  I am however, so grateful for the angel Douglas that entered my life that day and the God spirit that guided him.  I wish I could put into words the magnitude of change my soul had experienced, but I can't. And perhaps it's better not to confine such bigness into minuscule, poorly represented sounds or letters that are only trying to convey larger feelings and concepts in the first place.  Perhaps it's better not to do the limiting back and forth loop, and simply allow it to live largely in our souls.

Slap Happy

I’ve been lucky.   Very lucky in my life that of all the incredibly stupid things that I have done in my life,  I have never been met with any true violence.   There are countless times where I should have crossed the wrong person and got punched in the face…for throwing men to the ground for grabbing my ass, for enlisting people to whip out their cock and balls in the most inappropriate times, for making their friends smell their dick bouqet’s, for playfully “thigh fiving” complete strangers by fishing my palm between their thighs, and for the hundreds of gut punches I’ve thrown men for aggressively cat calling me in the streets…I can’t believe I’ve never been punched….and hey, I guess it’s never too late to say never.

But I do recall the only time I have ever been slapped in the face, and they meant it.  I finally crossed the line.

Colorado 2009.  As a performer it is truly a blessed thing to be able to travel the world with your best friends and have over night sleepovers in strange towns, with enough booze to make an army of straight men become experimental.   There are some gigs where you show up, do your thing, have social hour, get on a bus and sleep.  Then there are others where you swear it all happened because of the astral alignment with a full moon and you don’t know what kind of voodoo magic took over the night….oh yeah it’s called whiskey.

After a series of shows complete with evil monkeys, demented waltzs, little girls tap dancing and human cannibalism, we resorted to our normal behavior of party our friggin’ faces off!!!  Our hotel party was nothing less than one of the most grotesque displays of party like a rock star that I have ever been witness to.  From flipping the furniture upside down, laying dressers onto the beds to create slides, jumping across beds and body slamming people mid air onto cushions we had created our own indoor obstacle course…complete with rewards of naked boobs, champagne spilling everywhere and an asthma inhaler pump to  your butthole for finishing the course.  We broke both beds, destroyed some furniture and sent a hot naked girl to answer the door when the hotel staff tried to get us to knock it off.  Thankfully, for as hard as we play, we also work and were able to bust out our power tools and hazily repair everything for a good IKEA second.

Come 6am my boyfriend and I retreated towards our room as newspapers were getting placed in front of each room.  We drunkenly turned on our tub for a nice hot bath and thought we’d look in the hall once more to see if any more friends were lingering about. 

Now every once in a while, I have these ideas that come to me that I think are genius….usually they are not.  But once it comes, I have such conviction of its potential awesomeness that I get this surge of energy and an obsessive focus on needing to create it.   It’s like bad idea turrets.  Something snaps in my brain and the energy gets to be too much that I need to pull the trigger and let it explode from me.

As my boyfriend and I walked out into the hall, the bad idea fairy made his magical appearance and smacked me right in the face.

ME: “Hey hey, I have an amazing idea…”

For future reference, if you are with me when I say this and you are not prepared, it is time to run. 

My boyfriend at the time knowing this about me, very reluctantly invited me to share my Nobel Prize winning thought.

ME: “So hey, I think it would be really hilarious if you tinkled on every single one of these newspapers like a dog.”

HIM: “Like what?”

ME: “Like a dog! I’m serious! It will be hilarious. But you actually have to look like a dog while doing it!”

HIM: No way….there’s no fucking way I am doing that. Are you serious?  No don’t make me!

But as I said before, once the bad idea fairy lodges his piercing sword of debaucherous naught into the rock that is my brain, the only way the prince can save me is to pull the bad idea sword out and use it’s sharp blade to complete the mission and save the princess….cough…I mean I become obsessive and I’m one persistent bitch. 

So before I know it, the man meat is coming out, his knees are trembling as he hovers over the newspaper and he begins to  let out a little trickle, keegeling from one newspaper to another, running like an old man with  dookie in his Depends.   I have never snickered so hard in my life.  Tears of laughter were streaming out of my face, as it turned beat red while trying to stay as quiet as possible and not wake the neighbors.  He sat there panting with his tongue out and back kicking the newspaper before he ran off to the other.   At that moment I remember looking up and thinking, wow. I love this man.  As we rounded the corner and blessed these newspapers with his human holy water we retreated back into our room and realized we had a whole other issue at hand….the bath.

We forgot about our frickin’ bath.  As we opened the hotel door we noticed water seeping out of the bathroom.  If destroying all the furniture in your room, and tainting your neighbor’s morning ritual of reading the paper wasn’t enough, hey let’s try this.  Let’s flood the bathroom too!  As my boyfriend had left his pants in the bathroom, we walked in to a dead cell phone and sopping wet money floating across the floor.

At this point it was time to tell my co-worker what we had done.  Still giggling from the nights event, we knocked on her door full of excitement and delight, red in the face with what we thought to be hilarity.  I felt like a child coming to mommy to show her the crayon drawing I had done on her walls.  There was this sense of pride as the words came spilling out of my mouth.  But her face, her face said it all.  I saw her go from zero to 109 in a split second and SMACK!

HER: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!? No seriously! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!

The  words bellowing out of the caverns of her guts in a way that can only be described as the sound of rolling thunder.  I was stunned. Completely stunned.  She unapologetically slapped me across the face and questioned every thing that I was… I stood there in silence for a brief moment looking at her face, just blinking at her.  This was my friend!  My dear dear friend and cohort in all things shenanigans.  Did I really offend her? I even down played it down as I thought she might have been sad to have missed out on all the fun!

All I could do was stare at her confused and stunned, and then…I had to laugh.  I couldn’t believe it! This tiny girl who I have never seen angry at anybody and who can be challenged at times for standing up for herself, just had this instinctual charge to crush the lesser species and attacked my face.  It was like she was channeling God and doing the universe a favor.  A true angel.  And I?  I just about lost it!  Her reaction was so surprising to me, that I experienced a moment of true shock and it tickled my whole soul!  It is so rare when anything shocks me anymore and here I was gifted with this moment where my heart jumped and my adrenaline spiked.  There was nothing else to do but to laugh intensely. 

So to Dayna I say, thank you…thank you from the deepest parts of my soul.  Thank you for not trying to speak to me from a place of love or passive aggressively try and suggest that I have crossed a line.  Thank you for slappin’ a ho when it needed to be done! Yeah girl! Get it!  It just made my heart grow a little bit fonder.  

The Infamous Kidnapping

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  A while back, I was sitting at my sister’s house talking about the subject of death.  As I went into my diatribe of my true excitement to meet death one day, I started to rattle off all the times I thought I was going to die and how I truly loved them.

“…like the time I got attacked in the streets in Barcelona and Morocco, or the time that I took the first flight back into the US on American Airlines after 911, or the time that I got kidnapped…”

“Wait…you got kidnapped?”

And then the story began.

It’s a hot summers day in Hollywood and I am racing over to go to the BMW dealership on Lankershim.  I’m 19 years old at the time, with long black hair, a youthful glow, and enough good girl in me to balance out the bad.   I had just gotten out of a bad car wreck and I was going to use the insurance money at the new and used BMW dealership. 

As I shopped around I noticed a large black Escalade roll up.  4 huge African American guys walked out decked to the nines.  The guy driving it in particular had colosal gangster gold chains on, and thick ice covering his knuckles.   For being the short guy of the bunch, he walked out with quite the swagger.  He knew he was boss.

Milling about, pretending not to notice them, boss now made his way over to me and used his quick wits and ninja skills in cat and mouse to try and….I don’t know, win a date?

 “Hey GURRRRL, how you doin?”

“Damn girl, you be eatin’ avocados?  That butt be munchin’ on those ‘cados…”

Yeah….he was doing a real good job.  Now in my mind I couldn’t help but to feel like this innocent little doe with the big bad wolf…but really, it wasn’t that dramatic.

For as utterly stupid were his pick up lines, there was something about him that was charming enough that I wouldn’t want to just slam his cock into the ground  with my stiletto while cackling to the moon.  You know, my normal approach.  He was  just charming enough that I would simply bat a lash, act flattered and laugh off a, “no thank you. You’re sweet but I’m not interested.”  Yeah I know, lame cop out. Totally weak sauce, but let me remind you, I WAS 19!

Anyhow, he continued to play his game. Crack some jokes, try to get me to open up, leave for a minute and then repeat.  Finally I saw him sitting in one of the cars.  A beautiful coup with the doors open, in line with the rest.  As he sat there checking out the interior, he asked me to come sit with him. 

“No,  it’s cool man…I’m just doing my thing.”

:Bat a lash:

:Say a stupid, trite comment that gives very little to attach conversation too:

:Do not seem interesting:

But no…he didn’t catch the signs. After a juvenile game of back and forth, he finally convinces me to sit in the car to have a friendly chat.  Oooooo Kaaaayyyy…fine. 

As I lowered my teenage ass into the seat and my butt was just kissing the leather,  the car took off and we were now on the  streets of Hollywood.  What the fuck?! I thought that was a display car.  What just happened? Where the fuck are we going? I sat there in stillness with a flurry of questions arising and no words coming from my mouth.  Harry…Harry…is that you? Did you just stupefy me? 

As I looked over, this fucking dork has got the music cranked to the most obnoxious level and he is rapping in my face!  I turn the dial down and ask

ME: Dude…where are we going?

BOSS: Just down the street.

ME: No seriously, where are we going.

BOSS: Just down the street.

And then he cranked the music back on and the rapping resumed.

:Knob turned down:

ME: What’s your name

BOSS: Big Daddy

ME: Are you fucking serious? Your friends call you  Big Daddy? That’s fucking ridiculous. What’s your real name?

Now Boss did in fact tell me his name, but I can’t recall it now. Something like Francis?  For now, he’s BD.

As he continues to rap in my face and avoid questions of where we are going, I look in the rear view mirror and I see the rest of his crew trailing us in the Escalade.  “Hmm…great. I’m going to get gang raped and die.  Wow…I didn’t think I was going to die today, but yeah. It looks like it’s shaping up that way.  Hmmm….should I even try to avoid fate and suffer from the stress of it all, or do I just simply surrender and accept death? Well, I feel like I’ve lived every moment fully, so yes. I’m ok with dieing.  I guess I should still try and roll out the car, make a big show of it….will I  get shot if I do that? Weird.  Wait….I’m going to die.”

To this day, that feeling in my perplexes me.  This total peace with it all, and calmness with what could be a tragic fate.  I went through and imagined all the horrific possible outcomes, and thought, man, that's going to suck, but ah well. Here we go. 

Anyhow, as we are speeding down Lankershim and no effing lights are turning red for my easy escape, I finally looked at him and asked

ME: So what, you are your boys going to gang rape me and throw me on the side of the street or something? You know, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on

BD: GANG Rape you?  Baby girl, I’m just trying to earn your trust?

ME: By telling me your name is Big Daddy and that we’re just going down the street?

BD: Have you ever heard of the Wu Tang Clan?

ME: Uh…yeah.  Yeah I know Wu Tang

BD: Well I OWN the Wu Tang. I AM the Wu Tang!  I’m just here from NY and I’m trying to make friends!

Ok…that didn’t really make sense to me and now he was driving in circles on the streets trying to get me lost.  He kept making irrational turns on side streets making sure I couldn’t remember the route we were driving.

Finally we pulled up to a singular building with a small parking lot, no signs, no writing on the walls, no address numbers posted. Just a blank building with nothing but a steel door and a camera above the door.

Right when we got out the car, the Escalade pulls up and we enter….Here we go. Raping time. 

The room seemed dark and my eyes were adjusting to the light when the image started to fade in, and sure enough it was the  Wu Tang Studio.  There were Platinum records on the wall, and a recording studio with a group called the Black Knights who have since then built up a reputation for themselves. Not to mention a whole other crew of homies just hanging out.

Well shit just got strange.  Am I going to get raped by ALL of these people? I thought it might have just been the 4.  Well, I immediately determine that my best form of defense is to be allies.  So I walked in with all confidence in the world, beaming out of my eyeballs.  You aren’t gonna scare me, I’m ultimate homie chick. I figured, if we were homies, I might have a chance of avoiding brutality.

So I walked in with my Fonz confidence, pointing fingers, giving high fives, introducing myself and I eventually made my way to the hang out room and watch a game of ESPN Women’s boxing.   I flung myself onto the couch, surfing through magazines when this shabby looking dude walked in. Unshaven, hair disheveled, a grey onesie on and mopping the floor…Did they hire a bum to work here? That’s cool.  I casually try to make conversation with this man, the janitor.

ME: Wow…(pointing to the tv) that chick is really awesome

JANITOR: Which chick,  that chick? 

(pointing to this gorgeous bad ass Cuban beast of a Queen relentlessly beating into this other girl)

ME: Yeah of course, that chick

JANITOR: Oh yeah…she’s my girlfriend.

What the fuck? The homeless janitor is dating the chick on ESPN?  And sure enough, this dude comes back and pulls out photo after photo of them together (back when photos were printed).  But then to top it off, dude shows me his drawings of them both, and he turns out to be a Marvel Comics illustrator!  His work was stunning and he had his own comic series.  I felt bad for assuming he was the janitor, but what, homie just likes to wear a janitorial onesie on the weekends and mop?  Seriously God…who dosed my kombucha with acid?  Should I thank them?

My brain was now wigging out like a wet dog from the swamps… My problem now was not only that I couldn’t figure with the FUCK was going on,  or if I  should be scared, my biggest problem was that I DIDN’T KNOW IF I LIKED IT!  I was so far down the rabbit hole now. Things were exciting and non-violent.  There were unfathomable surprises at every corner.  If I was going down, at least it was met with this grand adventure.

Well BD eventually comes back and asks me if I’d like to smoke some weed…College girl, home for summer break….uh yes please…let’s smoke some pot.

Thinking that we are going to smoke in the studio, he then informs me that we have to go get it…Ok I thought, we might as well keep seeing where this is rolling.   So we hop back into his car and he drives a few blocks to this local mart.  He has me stay in the car as he talks to some dudes on the corner…after some time he came back and we were off.  Great I thought, we’ll be back in the studio, kickin’ it with the homies and then I’ll have to stab one of them in the balls if they touch me.

But this thought was fleeting.  Suddenly he had pulled the car over and we are sitting on the side of a street, next to a park.   Great.  BD then proceeds to pull out the fattest blunt I have ever seen in my life…granted I’m no smoking champion and I don’t play charades with George Clinton, but that thing was fatter than a tampon in the toilet.   Windows up, he lit it and began smoking it like a Cuban.  The car started to fill up with smoke as he jibber jabbered about this and that for what felt like forever. Nothing worse than a jabberer. 

Now I’m sitting there frustrated as hell that he hasn’t passed it over.   I’m a believer of the puff puff pass, and I’d like to think that I’m extremely respectful of this practice.  Sure someone wants to go for a third, no biggie….but I would never do that.. But BD, he just kept smoking and smoking, jabbering and jabbering until he was half way through his fatty.  Finally he leaned over and asked if I wanted some.  Sure…and I took it from his hand, put it to my lips and uggghhhh, he had slobbered all over it. Gross.  I felt like I had slurped down a swamp of slobber with tadpoles coming out of my teeth.   Yeah. One hit’s good enough for me.

So I passed it back and he kept going with his yaking, when suddenly the world started fading into black and that slight tingling in my body became an intense buzzing…. Oh fuck. I’m about to black out and then it’s game over.  The world now completely clouded over in darkness and my body wanting to shut down, I knew that this was the time to dig deep.  I fought with every part of my soul and knew I had to stay engaged….With no flippin’ clue WHAT the hell he was talking about, I decided to just repeat words and phrases that I could attach on to…Anything…

“Oh the park?”

“and then what?”

“Wow that’s crazy”

You’ve got to throw out an ambiguous phrase there in the end…Ambiguous expression to accompany.  Anxious to get out of there, I asked to go back several times but he doesn’t seem to hear me and keeps trying to hold my hand.  Finally BD asks, “You want to get some Jamaican food?”  to which I replied, YES!  Anything to get the heck off that street and being in a public place sounded like a really good idea. 

So he drives off and pulls up to a restaurant to which he says, stay here, walks out and then locks the car.  Click. Click. I’m locked in.  What?  I didn’t even know cars could do that.   What kind of trap is this?  But my body was fading and I was so grateful to watch him walk away.  I couldn’t fight holding that presence anymore.   My body was crashing and I couldn’t fucking see!  I started to let my body go, but still fought with a desperation to not pass out.  I sat there in the car swaying my head, banging it against the window, half to stay awake and half because I couldn’t control it.   What the hell did I smoke?  How could one hit do this?

After 45 minutes, BD finally came back to the car with one plate of food that he savagely ate in front of me, spilling rice out of his mouth as he continued to yap like a dog. It was mind numbing and aggravating.  Finally when he was 2 bites from finishing the plate, he asked if I wanted a bite…no thank you. I learned my lesson the first time.

But now, I’ve finally had enough.  I realize in the context of this story, that statement is preposterous, but whatever…it was time to get raped and die or escape with my panties still on.  Still fighting to stay awake and not let him gain the knowledge that I was anything but fine, I mustered up all the composure that I had and made up some outlandish story about how I needed to get to my sister’s for her wedding.   And perhaps the most surprising twist to this story happens now…BD said, “OK” and drove me back to my car.  What? Are you serious? Where the fuck is Ashton?

By this time, night time had settled and we drove back up Lankershim with my car parked right under a street lamp.  On our drive back he insisted that he hold my hand and I decided to let him.  As soon as we pulled up, he jibber jabbered some more and asked for my number as I stepped out of the car.  Still too messed up and overwhelmed with surprise and delight, I stupidly gave him my real number and jumped into my car.  Holy crap! I made it!  Nothing happened but hand holding! I made it!  But wait….I’m still fucking blind and I NEED to drive away from this situation. 

So I started the car and drove to my sister’s home with hardly any sight and on blind instinct and divine intervention.  Thankfully she was just a few blocks away.

Totally shell shocked, I stepped inside her apartment with only her bat shit room mate in the house.  I threw down my bags and put down the fight…but with putting down the fight, the paranoia started setting in.  I suddenly became scared that I would forget to breathe, so I started inhaling quickly and deeply.  Then I feared my heart would stop so I started pumping my arms while breathing. Then I feared I would dehydrate, so I started gulping water, while pumping my arms, while breathing all while my head won’t stop wagging violently.   I’m about to die! Oh Shit, I’m about to fucking die! 

A faint “wah wah wah wah wah” starts to enter my periphery… What? What?  And my sister’s roommate is grasping for my attention, begging for sympathy as she bitches about my sister.  Seriously? God would let me die in this vortex of bullshit with the sweet sounds of “WAH wah wah WAH WAAHhhh” coaxing me to the other world?

AHHHH! What nightmare episode twilight zone did I walk into!  Seriously Ashton, come out. This has gone too far.  You got me...I've been punked.

RING RING

ME: Hello

DAD: Lisa, come home for dinner

ME: No Dad, now is not a good time.

DAD: LISA COME HOME FOR DINNER!

Now in my family, if Dad says to do something, you do it. No matter what.  There is no question or option, you just do it. 

Ugh.  The worst.  I waited as long as I could, then hopped back in the car with 70% vision in tact, the panic fit gone, and the tremors down to a soft buzzing.  I can handle this.

I made it to dinner, and too ashamed to look my dad in the face, I kept my head low and scarfed down my meal…to which he had to respond with a fat comment. Typical. 

I finally made it home to my parent’s that night, having had a miraculously non violent adventure. Laying in my childhood bed, I drifted off to sleep thinking about BD and if he was just extraordinarily lonely, was he telling me the truth about just wanting to find friends, what would have happened had I passed out, what the fuck did I smoke that would do that to me, how the heck did I get out of that unscathed.  I sat in the mystery of it all and the only thing I knew was that I had some hard working angels.

4am

“Yo Lisa”

“What? Who is this?”

“It’s Big Daddy.  You want to go to Vegas?”

“Wait what? When?”

“Now.  I’ll come get you.”

“Um sorry bro, I have school”

and click…

Lesson: NEVER GIVE A BITCH YOUR REAL NUMBER!

UPDATE:
so my girl Aubrey did some research and discovered that the man who abducted me is Big Daddy Kane!

What wiki says about him: Big Daddy Kane, is a Grammy Award-winning American rapper who started his career in 1986 as a member of the rap group the Juice Crew. He is widely considered to be one of the most influential and skilled MCs in hip hop.^{[2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12]} Regarding the name Big Daddy Kane, he said: "The Big Daddy part and the Kane part came from two different things. The Kane part came from my fascination with the martial arts flicks when I was young." The Big Daddy part came from the name of a character Vincent Price played in the film Beach Party.^[13]
Rolling Stone magazine ranked his song "Ain't No Half Steppin'" #25 on its list of The 50 Greatest Hip-Hop Songs of All Time, calling him "a master wordsmith of rap's late-golden age and a huge influence on a generation of MCs." They added, "Legend has it that even the Eighties' greatest rapper, Rakim, turned down a challenge to go mic-to-mic with Kane."^[14]