So I probably owe some of you an apology. In a case of horrible timing, the touch screen on my phone stopped working hours before my birthday, leaving me unable to read any texts or receive calls. My screen says I have 25 texts that I can’t look at, so if you hit me up yesterday and I didn’t respond, I’m sorry. I was really annoyed and disappointed by it but one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do was spend time waiting in line in an AT&T store and talking cell phone problems when it was my birthday and I was already stoned (I mean, Christ, menial tasks like that are already irritating enough on days when I’m not indulging in narcissistic celebration).
Anyway, thank you to all of you who hit me up either via phone or through here yesterday. Hopefully I’ll get it fixed and be able to see all your texts. As usual, I had a wonderful fucking day that confirmed once again what I know in my heart: I’m one of the most unbelievably lucky and blessed people on the face of this Earth with a jaw-dropping number of amazing people in my life that I love so much it actually makes me feel physically ill.
Yesterday also confirmed the mutation that life has gone through as my love of words has sharpened and doubled in passion these past few years as I now see everything as an amazing opportunity for a writing assignment. So that will be coming in the near future, but, for now, an overview:
I ate mushroom chocolates and stared up at the blood moon, marveling at the fact it was coinciding with my birthday shroom trip, got the wild spirit of joy and play that I so love until I dragged myself around on the carpet with just my forearms, fucking up my knees with two patches of rug burn on either cap, took more of the chocolates, got myself into a weird zone and locked myself in the bathroom, ripping off my shirt and pouring cold water all over myself, resorted to vanity to distract myself from the thing trying to pull me to the other side and in the process of staring into my own eyes found myself to be admitting how gorgeous and fuckable I was, realized with a new sense of finality that my ‘no girls’ shtick is just that, shtick, brought myself back down to normal, blazed up and watched Batman cartoons in the early morning, slept until noon, more weed and old DC cartoons, shoveled down my beloved breakfast of steak and eggs, got a sick ass Pacific Rim painting from Matthew, met up with the fellas, went to a few strip clubs, ended up on stage giving a lap dance to one of the strippers and simultaneously having a revelatory confirmation of the powers of symbiotic metamorphosis, and finished the night spending probably too much on private dances that were equally revelatory for discovering the joy of how fun it can be when you realize that every stripper is just doing her own version of Master Clown Shrooms and you can share a moment of mutual performance (yeah, that shit’s an essay unto itself).
31 years old and I’m hopelessly in love with the person I’ve become, saddled with a hefty sense of pride over the fact that I’m actually chasing the nutty pipe dream that has been my lifelong obsession, and burning with a passionate sense of new found faith in my ability to be the entertainer I want to be.
Life is good, I love you all, and now I’m going to retreat for one more day before I have to head back to work tomorrow. Thanks again guys!