Pictures of You

Don't cry for me my little minions, the truth is I never left you.

So stop moping.

I am hoping to regulate my updating. Or not. It really depends on the volume of my work and my desire to stand up from my couch to fetch my laptop. I added Twitter so now you know everything I am doing...

Been working really, really hard lately because in truth I have nothing better to do. Lucky for me, I've acquired a pretty decent portfolio so the money is coming in on a semi-steady pace. Now Pookie has an actual chew toy excluding my converse. Now I can get the good condoms. Mint flavor and everything.

We have an interesting set of priorities.

Speaking of sex and body fluids, I hooked up with this really hot piece of ass a few months ago. I was finishing up a photoshoot and he was next door. Can't really remember his name. I know it's with a B... somewhere. Point is we got to looking, we grunted something and off to some dark corner it was. It had to be quick, he had some work to do and the doll-esque model was going Furby on everyone.



Yes, the yummy Juicy Couture guy. I am quite happy to report that he is now on my speed dial for nqf (nice-quick-fucks). Gotta admit he's not what I usually go for (like a tattoo parlor gave birth to him) but so far it's been a pretty good fuck. I am glad my acquired ADD hasn't affected my performance ability. Most of the time I want to figure out what the fuck he has drawn on him... but that can wait until after we are satisfied.

Tomorrow is my prince's birthday. I must celebrate by dressing in green, like St. Patrick's day and stalking him. Excitement is all over the place. We must get cake.

Believe what you will

In case it wasn't already obvious, to my dying fan base, I want to say that I've been taking a break from both reality and the written world. I've been writing (not working on them because they aren't a construction site) some songs. After a rather crappy 2007, I finally read all those piled up fortune cookies in my bottom drawer. Got sick of getting screwed over and clinging to some distant memory of the past.

My father and I are not really the type to sit down and have a conversation. Actually, up until a two or years ago, we weren't really capable of anything. Talking, looking at each other, let alone being in the same room. It isn't that I am not grateful to the man that sacrificed his childhood and teenage years to take care of us, doing his best to provide us with food and toys so that my sister and me never felt for a second that we were unfortunate. It's thanks to him that I think that Burger King and Chef Boyardee are fine cuisine.

The other thing about my sperm donor (as I fondly called him) is that he is completely screwed up in the relationship department. I don't think he's ever had a stable, monogamous relationship and what makes this worse is that he is a shrink. So I can safely say that all shrinks are fucking crazy. Some just know how to hide it better.

It seems to me that dad has been undergoing some sort emotional struggle because of this. He's been smoking. My dad doesn't smoke. Not even the four times that I've been in jail. Not even when I told him I was into men. Not even when the woman that gave birth to me and my sister fucked things over and left. But NOW he's stressed out.

Maybe he's met his match.

Dad Inferno Test

My dad took the test. Even I am slightly surprised at the results.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Eigth Level of Hell - the Malebolge!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante's Inferno Test