Psychic

what's more interesting.

psychic powers? i had a bunch of that going on this weekend. at the parties with the unfathomable tax-bracket contingent. bent down to the floor to pick up glass that shattered right AFTER i was down there. called kim's son by his name before they told me it. later talking to her said wow, thats gotta suck having to move out of your house for 6 months after you just got back there. she was like, yeah, its an interesting life, we're adjusting with D's work. paul was like oh you're filming now? and i realized he hadn't told me that so i didn't know how i knew. sunday we ran into his friend i'd met and i asked him Oh how did Monica's show go? and he was like Oh it was great and paul was like How did you know she had a show? and I was just like, oh, he mentioned it the other week... and Paul was like jesus you have a good memory.

He ran into his psychic (" ") saturday and I just made a joke like, pshh I'm more psychic than all the psychics. and he just goes for condescension- You're more psychic than all the psychics? Hehe, yeah yep. So, what's going to happen to me? And I said, sincerely thinking about it, I don't see the future, I see the present... So he makes another jokey joke- so what's happening to me now? Am I... going to a party tonight? And I said, Yes!

Hardiharhar.

But no. Maybe, for you atheists (and Christians, k :-) ) I can accept that maybe I had just heard these things, overheard, and not realized... It's totally plausible. And as for the glass breaking, maybe, I dunno, I thought I just saw glass on the ground... It doesn't matter.

But Paul is sick of people laughing at my jokes so much. And doesn't like me talking so much. When I'm alone with him, I know to talk nonsense, I know to keep my mouth shut when he says things that make my blood boil. Because, that's how you act with men, that you don't really love, that are taking you out and about. But when I'm around other people, more kindred spirits, I want to connect... I want to have fun... He brings me to these things, dresses me up in his personal richbitch haute hippie understated style (which I can appreciate but get really sick of his stupid compliments, as if I haven't fucking heard it, as if I can't see right through the fact that he wants me to look moneyed so that I don't look like a gold-digger), and wants people to like me and think he has a catch, this funny, confident, knowledgeable chick, right? But, oh, not TOO much. Not to OUTSHINE.

These fucking games.

And psychic? Maybe not. But I can see. I can see people's colors. And I can see through him.

And I'm exhausted.

All things holy

There are some really beautiful things

Surfer Rosa, the Pixies album, sounds like life moving
Sunny's an angel
I texted her last night just Can you come over? and she was like Give me a half hour, and she did.
Elena's ama3ing... I hate that she disappears into her world for like 2 months at a time sometimes, but it doesn't matter ultimately
she always calls back and we always talk for four hours and we always understand each other
I have a new hairstylist, the first one I actually like here. She's really good, and she's funny as hell, I finally can look in the mirror, for the first time in a year and a half since I've moved here
Ironically I met her through Stefan
And when she told me the price I was like No. She was like, no, really! I was like you're out of your trees. She was like, no, really, I liked doing it it made me happy. I was like All right, if you say so. I tipped her like 40%. It was stupid cheap. And I know she's not cheap... she's the busiest stylist there and it's not a cheap place
The party tonight was lovely
It was small, 20 people, a dinner party, birthday party, about half the people were really famous, but they were all sweet

Julian called me at like 8 15, a little after I got there, and I ran out of the bar to answer the phone... He... the sound of his voice melted me... I've been either sobbing or on the verge of tears all day. I called him earlier but I didn't leave a message. He said It sounds like you're out somewhere. I said yeah, I am, I'm out at this director's birthday party. I'm halfway through my second vodka. He said Well I don't want to ask you anything in public... I said No I'm halfway down the block already. He said How was your day? I said Fucking fantastic. I said I'm like, breaking down every 20 minutes. And I have to be here for more than 20 minutes. And I haven't eaten anything so I feel the boo3e. And he said, Well, hmmm, at the risk of sounding pedestrian... Channel some of the Machiavellian impulse and make a good impression there, no, that's stupid advice. I laughed, No, and then started crying. Tell me not to drink anymore. I said. Okay, he said. Don't drink anymore. I mean tonight. I laughed again. Okay. I said. Yes, you can drink again, he said, but tonight you should watch out for the Sick Puppies. I laughed and said Okay. Okay. He said, so, let's leave it at this, just contact me if you need to talk over the weekend, and we're on for Monday at seven? Yes. I said. Okay, he said. No drinking! No drinking! I said.

I've never felt like this before. Never. Never. Not through dad leaving, mom dying, brother losing his marbles, losing our house, ex dying, six breakups, all kinds of things going wrong and people disappearing.

Everything is tied to everything and everything makes me think about him and everything makes me SO SAD

SO SAD

I can't believe how SAD i am.

The Whore Store, Industry Parties, and Date Rape.

I wanted to go to work last night. I ran 7 miles. I went home. I'd gone shopping with Jo on Monday at the whorestore to get her a starter kit and myself some new stockings and shoes since my gorgeous glittering asphalt tufli were becoming a deathwish. And I ended up getting this new mesh top deal and some ridiculous sportshorts. I liked the look and the shoes fit like... well they fit like shoes, and I was all rearin' to go.

But I got invited to a fancy industry party with a fancy guy, and I figured it was in my best interest to go, though my blood was boiling more and more violently with every passing minute of getting ready, as I reali3ed I had nothing to wear and no money with which to buy anything to wear to this crap, and that I'd rather be working so I could earn the aforementioned.

So I'm at this fancy party in an old speakeasy, downing fancy Martinique rums, neat, that were costing my fancy date about 20 bucks a pop, and again, thanks to my hard-drinking lineage, feeling nothing but a bit tipsy after 8 or so generous pours in a matter of a couple of hours, talking to some famous British actor who looked like Hugh Laurie but who definitely wasn't Hugh Laurie, and whose number I have in my phone with only a first name so I can't even google him and figure out why he's famous, and I had to pretend I had any clue, but I didn't, because I live under a rock.

And then my fancy date was starting to get antsy, and said he wanted to leave, and then the group collectively decided to get some blow, and I said I don't do blow, so they whittled on down to pot, and I said I don't do drugs, so my date suggested Vicodin and Valium, and I said Okay fine, and before I know it the man whips out a proper mortar and pestle, and proceeds to crush up the pills. And I said I don't snort things. So he said okay take it orally it'll still hit you faster. So I poured it into my 16th Martinique rum and gu33led.

Next thing I know I'm asleep at his apartment. I vaguely recall giving a striptease without removing any of my (secondhand bargain basement strait-from-the-crate) clothes and making out with him, even though, I like him, but he wrote a damn horrendous song on the piano, and I'm not really all that attracted to him. And then as the bits and pieces came back to me I recalled him wanting to have sex and beginning to unbuckle his pants and then getting really annoyed because I passed out mid-fondle, and then, he puts on a condom and thrusts in for some terrible sex anyway. While I was half-conscious. And then told me, like it were just hilarious, that I fell asleep.

I wish I'd gone to work at the club. People there have fucking morals.