Thursday, February 23, 2017


"Yesterday" is one of my least favorite Beatles songs. I also do not appreciate "Paperback Writer" and "Love Me Do." I love "A Day in The Life." I love "Happiness is a Warm Gun." I love most of "Abbey Road," especially "Because" and "I Want You (She's So Heavy)." If you want to hear a great fucking song listen to "No Reply." The other day I made my son watch "A Hard Day's Night" with me. He walked out of the room after about fifteen minutes. I texted my mom about it and she texted back that she saw the film at the drive-in in Seymour, Texas when she was in junior high and she hated it. "I can't believe this. My own mother hates 'A Hard Day's Night,'" I texted back. "Goofy movie," she texted.

When I was sixteen I was obsessed with The Beatles. John Lennon was my favorite. Hell, I even had a John Lennon doll I carried around. But I had lust in my heart (yes I did) for Ringo Starr. He was HOT. When I was in the grocery store one day and saw the People magazine that featured a photo of his wedding to Barbara Bach (what is it with Cancer men and Virgo women?) I cried a little. I had fantasies of bumping into him at the London Hard Rock Cafe. Those fantasies died a hard death. I never stopped loving John...Beatles John, solo John, JohnandYoKo. My heart still aches whenever I hear "Beautiful Boy." And I own a copy of Grapefruit and I think Yoko is a great fucking artist and musician. You don't have to smoke a bowl to agree with me but maybe it would help. Couldn't hurt.

Yesterday I made a cube out of cardboard. Yesterday while waiting for the bus I got down on my hands and knees and cut up the big ass piece of cardboard with a box cutter so that I could stuff it inside my backpack. Yesterday I drove down 1604 just after sunset. Yesterday I pumped gasoline into my car at Chevron and bought a Powerball ticket. I don't know if I won or not. Yesterday I drove home and discovered that Gravity's Rainbow arrived for me in the mail but it was in halves. Yesterday I requested a refund at eBay. Also on the drive home I cried a little and thought of writing Darlie Routier and maybe getting to know her, meeting her in person and writing a new book about her life and the case. Is she innocent or guilty? I don't know. Her guilt or innocence is not the point. Have you ever read In Cold Blood? Have you ever seen "Capote"? Okay then. I am no longer interested in chasing dick all over San Antonio and surrounding areas. I am interested in making money. I am interested in buying a McMansion and a big ass truck. I am interested in taking my son to Manhattan and showing him a Jackson Pollock painting and telling him,"This is who I named you after." I am interested in taking my son to Lima, Fiji, Santa Fe, New Orleans, Barcelona, Venice. I am interested in leaving my son a trust fund so that he never has to compromise himself and be a fucking wage slave. I want him to have OPTIONS.

When I sleep at night I sleep deep without any trouble. It is well with my soul. I couldn't say that a year ago. I couldn't say that a few months ago. But motherfucker I can say it now.

Last night I read my son the last chapter of Bullshit Rodeo. He gave it four out of five stars. It's too sad and it isn't scientifically sound. I told him someday I will win an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay because I wrote the novel and I will write the screenplay and the Oscar will belong to my son. Selah.

p.s. my maternal grandfather's dying words to me: I love you so much

I have never regarded myself as a princess. I am a warrior queen. Warrior queens do not tolerate any amount of bullshit or loathing...not even from themselves.

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