Damnit, I am gonna do it. (Oh, and: BE AFRAID!)

So, who the hell fucking knows where this (blog) is going--if anywhere. (And likely it isn't. Let's be honest.) But, I like writing, so let's do this shysa! Besides, it is all in good fun. And who the mother-truck doesn't like fun?!

Anycow, I promised NOLA pictures, and this is just a sneak-peak. (SO MUCH SHYTE TO GET UP HERE!) The following picture, well...I have commentary, but I don't think I can possibly "introduce" it. There is no damn preparation. I sure as shit didn't get any.

Sitting in a bar in NOLA with Chaseycakes, our first night there, after 14 hours of travel...and we stumble upon a "drinking festival" of sorts. Some sort of international group that gathers to get piss drunk and they all have steins and necklaces (and some of them have vests). It was kind of like a "biker gang" for heavy drinkers that don't like to drive.

Anycow. Among them was a gent (so to speak), with long hair and wizard-ey looking robes, that (as it turned out) had tattoos of...ummm...note? So, without further ado...

The Rape-iest Tattoo EVER.

The orange blur in the lower right hand corner is Minkey. He is an Anxiety Monkey. You will hear more about him soon. He works hard for the money. So you better treat him right.

AND. (For the record.) He did not touch that tattoo. No one did. At least not in my camp. I think it is some weird rapey voodoo curse thing. If you see it, I would recommend not touching it. (Minkey sure as shit wasn't gonna "touch it.")

Another "gent" we met was named "Lamb." That is what his necklace and the lanyard on his stein said. This is him, attempting to lick Minkey.

OH NO YOU GOT DAMNED DON'T!!!

Suffice it to say, although Lamb was perfectly pleasant--fun, even--I was not going to allow him to lick my Anxiety Monkey. He could lick himself. His nose, if he was so inclined--which apparently he was...

That's right, back the tongue away from the Minkey...

Lamb was actually pretty pleasant. Funny, enjoyable...not the sort of person you tell what hotel you are staying in, but perfectly lovely. I am sure he would have loved to make time with Chaseycakes--that was obviously not happening--but his real goal seemed to be the leftover food on our plates. Amusingly, this particular festival/crawl's participants seem to spend their nights on  random resident's floors and feed themselves by scrounging fries and abandoned food. Good for them, I suppose.

As Lamb explained it, by avoiding paying for room or board, it allows the patrons of the festival/group to travel almost constantly and work rarely. As it happens, I never eat as much food as a restaurant gives me, and I rarely take food back to hotels when I am traveling--so they got half a dinner. Good for them. Wish I could do it--but that lifestyle just isn't for me.

So, more to come. No more rape-ey tattoos, though. Though definitely some possible whores (with all respect, just listing a profession--not a judgement), and some certain (or nearly) whore-houses. It may have come to pass that Minkey and I swung around the stripper-pole at a whore-house. Maybe.

I guess you will have to wait and see.

Ummmm...Stuff. And things! And this little mark: ~

I hate posts about how sorry bloggers are they haven't been posting. So I am gonna skip that. (You either know or you don't care.) I also hate lack of context: So I will tell you that in the last year I have moved in with my partner, started a new business, quit an old job, and made a lot of life changes. (This, you already know. Or...You don't care.)

The thing is...I need to vent. I am boiling over, I want to be crazy and destructive (see: younger me). I think this is a reasonable alternative. So. I had great plans for my return to blogging. I have pictures. I have stories. I have idea on top of idea. I hope you get to see them. Apparently, I am doing this first.

So. (Apparently, I do that now, too. Treat "So" as a reasonable sentence. I also, apparently, now use the word "apparently" too much. We will discuss my obsession with ellipses at a later date...)

Let us say I have a..."friend." We will call her...Roxy. She is dear to me. A piece of my heart. Damage to her will mar me forever. With pain, with guilt, with sorrow, with anger...with so many things I cannot describe. There is not a name for our relationship. It is simply true that she lives inside me, always.

Roxy called me tonight. And I failed.

I failed: utterly, completely, and totally.

My phone died earlier in the day. It was charging in the other room. I thought I might have heard it ring...but I thought nothing of it. I thought it was another telemarketer...my mom with news I didn't want to hear...guilt from a neglected friendship...Fact of the god-damn-matter is...I KNEW I should have checked, but I didn't.

Well...Not for about 15 minutes, at least. And then I did. And I found that Roxy had called me not once, but twice. I would have run if I'd known it was her. I promise. I swear. On anything, on everything.

So. (Again. Ugh. Learn English, self.) I have a voice message of Roxy sobbing to me. About her current sorrows. About feeling "out of control." About "not knowing what" she is going to do. It isn't good language.

I only missed it by 15 minutes, but now she won't pick up my calls. She just texts to say she is "fine."

Rumor has it, she is addicted to heroin. Rumor has it, her boyfriend has had her hooked on pills for years. Rumor has it, she kicked him out today. Rumor has it, he is hiding her property from her--trying to hold her financially hostage. Rumor has it, he has hit her--Rumor has it, I have seen mild versions of this and done everything I could not to call the cops/hit him/shriek at him/make his life hell because she asked me not to. Rumor has it she changed the locks and is scared he will break in tonight. Rumor has it she won't let any of us who want to keep her safe near her (even if I am 3000 miles away) tonight.

Part of the problem is, I know the statistics. If he is abusive, now is when she is in the most danger (from him). If she is an addict, now is when she is in the most danger (from her use). If she is as alone and terrified and depressed as she sounded, now is when she is in the most danger (from herself).

And I can do nothing.

I am impotent. I am useless. I can do nothing.

Except say: I am sorry. I am sorry I missed your call. I am sorry I am 3000 miles away. I am sorry I told you to always have cab fare home, but forgot to tell you what to do when you hit rock-bottom. I hoped you would never get here. I hoped you would never need to know. Roxy, I have failed you (yet again, but that is an apology for another time. I am still haunted by the sound of your voice drifting through my wall...)

I really hope you make it through. No one knows where you are. Your excuses are...just that. Please live through tonight. Please. Please. If I had a god, I would beg him: Please.

Live through this experience. Live through this addiction. Come out the other side. I am so scared for you. I hope I get to show you this some day. Because you are okay, and we can look back on the dark times. We won't "laugh" exactly, but we will smile the grim smile of amusement and experience that comes from living through dark times and finding the good stuff again.

I REALLY want you to have the good stuff.




And, if you are not Roxy, thank you for bearing with me...or at least skipping over. The number of tears I have shed writing this convinces me of the necessity. I will try to get back to the drunken fun soon...



Come back Roxy. Even if you can't be Chow Lee anymore, or my Honey Bunches of Oats, just come back safe. You are so very loved.

Fucked up bitch, reporting for duty!

So this is the obligatory "I am sorry I am such a lame ass and forgot how to blog, but I really miss it, and you, and blogging, so I am gonna come back and try again, and I really hope you still like me" post. But rather than telling you all that stuff, I am just going to think it and expect you to know it. (The holiday brings it out in me. Passive-aggression always makes me think of home...)

Speaking of which, happy bunny/shagging day! Not much on the jebus, but I like getting down--so to celebrate, I got laid this morning. And then I made eggs. I know you wanted to know. That's why I told you.

Alright, so I think it is obvious I lack a coherent thought or the ability to organize the dribbles of thoughts currently eminating from my brain hole. As such, I am gonna stop. BUT. I did want to let you know I will be in NOLA this week, and so I anticipate some REALLY terrible-awesome pics for next week.

P.S. When I came back to my blog today, it said the top recent search result that led people to my blog was "fucked up bitch." I thought that was kind of appropriate.