Dear Lord….

1 Dec

Dear God,

I really hope that 10 or even 2 years from now, the options list of “Ways to make money through the holidays, choices A through Infinity” will one day include better options than it does now.

Now for example, it looks like this:

  • Do a trick tour up the west coast, earning X dollars, respectively, before heading to Nevada
  • Hit that place south of the border where the money is supposed to be decent, to see what all the fuss is about
  • Put my worldly possessions that I no longer need in a pile in a room until I sell them all on craigslist, because I really didn’t need that shit anyway
  • Post an ad on one of those escort sites….
  • Or better yet….try selling as much as you can on Craigslist, before resorting to anything illegal that might land you in jail.

I really do have a lot of legal things I can sell.

Oddly, I’ve done incredibly well for myself not even selling pussy at all, in the last week. For example, I made a nice chunk o’ change doing email consulting, giving relationship advice, to a soldier, overseas. He said he was going to spend the money on something like a stripper anyway, and considered advice from yours truly, much better spent.

Oh yeah….in the last 72 hours…I think I managed to get drunk beyond belief with a flask I happened to have in my car…I vom’d the only food I could manage to keep down…and somehow I vaguely remember being followed to the bathroom…maybe once naked, maybe once not naked….while a house party was still going on, because I had to throw up said alcohol, and the guy I was with was like “Bambi, where are you going?” and I’m like, “no no no, you do NOT want me to stay in your bed right here, trust me.”

So…once I think I made a mad dash for the restroom with just my winter coat on, which was open, and I was naked underneath…and I stood there in front of all of my guys friends and they were like, “hey, are you naked?” and I was like, “yeah, I’m naked, fun eh? enjoy the view!!!” 

and then the 2nd time I made the mad dash for the bathroom…I had said vom in my hand…because it was the consistency that it could easily be held in one’s hand…and I went to the bathroom with just…no clothes on whatsoever….aka in “IDGAF” mode.

Prior to the vom moment, prior to ending up at said house party, I remember stopping, already too drunk to drive, at the 7-11 to buy something that looked vaguely appealing…which ended up being this mexican strawberry popsicle bar…and one of those paper bowls that was filled with hardboiled eggs.

I’m pretty sure you can do the math and guess why my vom was so easy to cup in my hand.

Oh, by the way.  My GP says I have an eating disorder. I say nay nay.

P.S. Prior to this I had not had a piece of sugar, or fucking booze, in like, 3 months, and I didn’t even get laid, I just got naked with my friend, because that’s what good friends do,  fuckin GET NAKED. So there you go.  Prior to my vomming it was actually a pretty fucking awesome party, complete with all my fav party animals, who also tend to get naked at parties…except I always seem to miss it.

P.P.S. In case you were wondering, “Bambi, are you ok?” the answer is simultaneously yes and no.

Yes, because there is such COOL SHIT going on in my world that its almost beyond my comprehension, and I’m so scared of its utter amazingness that it sounds too good to be true to even be spoken aloud, and I’m afraid to tell anyone, for fear I will look like a dumb ass….and then if I admit that I think it is so fucking awesome, then everyone else will think I am lame….and its also lame that I feel like I have not so much in the way of emotional support to lean on for said awesomeness….because everyone expects you to “need someone” when shit is going bad, but what they don’t EVER TELL YOU is that you need friends for when shit is starting to go REALLY REALLY GOOD, too.

So I sorta feel like maybe, if I just…avoid everyone…avoid having those stressful conversations or those heated debates about stuff that won’t really matter in the long run anyway…and I can avoid getting naked with the wrong crowd for like…two more months…or better yet, just get naked with one person consistently instead (how do you even do that!?!?) – then….life will…improve…so long as everybody forgets I ever did this job in the first place.


But then I think…oh hey, I miss my Nevada family. I miss my little sanctuary, my 2nd home, where there’s always a roof over my head and my bed is always warm and there’s always people there who make me laugh, and its secure because a guy is there with a gun, and when somebody has a gun, so little can go wrong. Oh. Nevada. I love you.


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