It’s Not Cocaine

•September 12, 2013 • Leave a Comment


My customer gave me packets of extremely toxic, very dangerous, quite regulated pesticide. I complained of box elder bugs in the spring, grasshoppers in the summer, and enormous wolf-spiders-on-steroids in the cold months, so this odd gift makes sense and is quite appreciated.

But, seriously, I was just gifted powdered, regulated insecticide.

I need a list of some of the quirky (often thoughtful) things I’ve been gifted over the years.



•September 3, 2013 • Leave a Comment

It’s annoyingly cliche that I’ve come to enjoy listening to The Naked and Famous while driving, yeah?
I set my mind to making $150 an hour today, so I could take the rest of the week to give my California friend some love and enjoy running, frolicking, biking with my dogs, a music festival full of lovers and adults playing pretend.
Instead I made $186/hour. Can’t stop. Won’t stop. I’ve been spot on.
Somewhere in the last year — somehow, how the fuck — I went from feeling, physically, like a cute girl kid with bumbly stiff legs and a wrinkly, freckled sweet-girl nose…to a fucking…a woman. Claws and breasts and batting eyes and snark and full pussy lips and hips and that swing. That swing. I noticed it happened this summer. I feel like I went through stripper puberty.
But at least now I feel like all my parts work together. Shoulders, meet kneecaps and middle toes. You guys are so gonna be best friends.
I lied to a coworker while I was drunk. I spent my weekend being afraid she’s going to find out, and it occupied much of my thoughts. While mowing, while doing dishes. While eating and playing and bathing and running and tanning. I wondered whether I should just tell her the truth and apologize. Whether I needed a shrink to tell me to just move on, and let the guilt haunt me into not lying to acquaintances like that. Whether doing the right and moral thing would cause more harm than good, whether it could just stay my secret. Whether, if I told, I should explain the extended truth, whether that long explanation should just stay in my past.
Autumn is here. My favorite. The nights are getting longer. Darkness, sooner, and later, and longer. Soon there won’t be much sun or heat for me and I’ll be terribly sad about missing the whole idea of day for weeks on end. BUT for now, the cooler and sweeter air has me feeling like the entire world was made for me and is really fucking imperfectly beautiful in only a way I can understand. Which is lonely.
My eyes are heavy after a long day of pulling my dogs behind my bike in their trailer for the entire afternoon and playing monkey all night. Onward.

Can I Pay My House Fee in Goat Feed?

•August 28, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Did I mention that the owner of my club has decided the club will be breeding miniature antelope? At least, this was his elaborate plan a few nights ago. He assured me that they exist, although I have yet to Google these critters for myself.

There’s already Pygmy goats and a slightly feral groundskeeper on the property. Why not have a miniature zoo?

I asked him if I could pay my future house fees in goat feed and heated water buckets. He laughed, with a blank stare, too drunk or too unsure to answer the question.

The Best Doorgirls Bring Me Guacamole, and One Frightening Tale

•August 27, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I want so much to write more. But I need a new computer first. Writing on the app just ain’t happening, yo.

Saturday night I danced with an Indian man named Shiv (I made him spell it and say it, in my own little disbelief), who the tried to eat my face. Mouth wide open, tongue flat, eyes wide, hands around my shoulders pulling my closer as he, yes, wanted to Golden Retriever me.

I can never forget this.

New Shoes Day

•August 8, 2013 • 1 Comment


Sadly, heels are required at work. But, I’m back to running after working my tail off for a few months, and back to spending my days disc golfing, biking, swimming, kayaking. Life is good.

Stripper Claws and Braces

•July 31, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Transcribed from recording what was on my mind while I was driving, where I have most of my good thoughts about blog posts and no free hands to type them. While staying true to the general recording, I did leave out the really cool parts about how I was ending the recording because I had to get my mail, and the best typed impression of cars whizzing past and locusts chirping. Forgive me.

I’ll probably do this a lot more often. While it’s more difficult to organize my thoughts, it certainly saves me the time from creating original ones while Facebook is flashing its sassy-ass notifications my way in another tab and never actually getting around to blogging. But you know how that goes, don’t you?

“On another note, I went and got my claws done today. And, um, they look great. They’re red and sparkly now. But, um, as I was picking out the color, I was just thinking about how, how…when I was a kid, I was like, ten, eleven, twelve — I think I got them off when I was thirteen, something like that — I had braces. And every time I went to go pick out the colors of the rubber bands that went on my braces for the next month, you know, I always picked color combinations that went well together. Color combinations that were pretty. And, you know, I didn’t pick colors like black.

In March I always picked green for St. Patrick’s Day, and pink and red in February, and it was always very dependent on external factors. Dependent on, like, what the kids at school would think, or what my parents would think was an appropriate color to pick. My parents would have been like ‘Black, really, [Legal Name]?’ if I had picked black. But I didn’t, because I already knew what they’d think. I knew if I picked colors that didn’t go together, the kids at school, they’d maybe say something to me. Even though they never said hardly anything to me at all, I was sure — I was certain — that they would say something to me about my braces. About the colors of the rubber bands on my braces, on my teeth, in my mouth, that I didn’t like to open because, ah, no one would talk to me, anyway, and when they did, they were fairly mean to me. So I picked colors that were safe. Just in case.

I picking out nail polish today, and I was thinking about how the gold nail tips were the first kind of — well — FUCK YOU on nail polish. I mean, I’d had black tips before, and that was something my somewhat-conservative parents maybe wouldn’t have liked, but I maybe only see my parents once a month, and it’s usually always changing by the time I see them. And I’m a grown-up now, so I’ve been giving them lots of ‘fuck yous,’ anyway.

So, I’ve picked reds and pinks and white tips, and, I’ve just had various shades of pinks and reds and girly colors — colors I like — um, but not anything that was too dramatic or too outstanding, and those gold tips, I’ve just felt like were a ‘fuck you’ to the world. I like the gold! And that’s what I wanted! And I felt like being impulsive! I’ve been doing a lot of things for ‘me’ over the past couple of years. And if painting my claws one particular color or another is a part of that, than I feel like, um, whatever I’m doing — at my job — has got to be helping me.

I picked some red today that was like, glittery red, but still really feminine, really appropriate, really parent-approved and stripper-approved and peer-approved and when I did, I just kept thinking, ‘Is this what I want? Or do I want that REALLY BRIGHT YELLOW? The neon, glow-in-the-dark yellow? Just in case… YELLOW. Just in case I need to be able to, like…find my hands at night or something!’

As I was picking this red, I was trying to decide if it was what I really wanted, or if it was what everyone else wanted. Even on some acrylic stripper nails — albeit short stripper nails — but on acrylic stripper nails. But if that’s what I really wanted or not. Ultimately, I decided it didn’t really matter, because that’s what was on my nails by the time she was done and I had thought about it, you know, for the entire hour.”

See? Now I just want to go drive around aimlessly so I can talk to myself some more about my job so that I can type it out later for some unknown internet strangers who happen to land here with really fucked up search terms (I’m looking at you, prowler who searches for “strippers real name”) and read about ten seconds of what I type. And the, like, four people I know in the real world who occasionally drop by (you guys are really awesome; thanks for humoring me). 

Recent Book Gifts from Book Man

•July 19, 2013 • Leave a Comment


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