Wow.  Here i am, surfing the web and I come across this desperate plea for someone to read a note posted on facebook.  I look...I read...I am bombarded with this anti- choice: "the pope says this" "how many children have we murdered since ...." bullshit and I am appalled!  Yeah that's right...APALLED

I'm just going to say it.  If you are a man, I don't give a DAMN what your opinion is ..ion.  You wanna know why?  Because YOU do not have to give birth.  YOU do not have to deal with a child for the rest of your life unless you choose do to so.  YOU have the option of sticking your dick into whoever and whatever you choose without the consequences of a human life.  Worst case scenario, you get a disease.  Big deal, you can treat it the majority of the time.  Yeah, sometimes (SUCH A SMALL FRACTION)  it's a disease that sticks for life, but that is such a small fraction.  And you are dealing only with your body.  Sometimes YOu die.  But it is only your body that is affected by a disease you contract (save the spread, which your conscience will bear).

Do you want to know how many miserable single moms I know?  Women who never thought that they were going to be by themselves raising this human.  But the man who said they were going to stand by their woman, walked out quicker than they could blink.  Women who love their children, but hate them, hate themselves, hate their life, are miserable, because they made a decision to bring a life into the world, and then realized that the man who said he was going to be ther just walked away.  That's not even counting the women I know who didn't have a scenario that was this good. 

If you are a man, you CAN walk away at any moment you see fit.  This living form didn't feed off of you... you didn't push it from your body...you didn't feeli it inside of you for almost a year.  From the moment of penetration to an infinite point in time you can walk away...and boy do you excersize that freedom, don't you? 

So fuck you!  Don't dictate to me or any other woman about what "god" says is right or wrong.  IF IT IS INDEED WRONG, EACH OF US HAVE A SCORE TO SETTLE THE MOMENT THAT WE DIE.  "God" will reckon with us.  You don't need to.

Feel whatever you want to feel.  But you are not the ones who have to give your bodies as a vessel for new human life.  YOu don't have to watch something grow inside of you, change you, fuck with you, dibilitate you.  No, you don't have to go through any of that.  At most, you are a bystander trying to assist. 

Sure if you are a man who wants to be a daddy, that is lovely.  But don't tell your woman what to do about her womb.  It's hers.  You are blessed if she decides to incubate your genes into another being.

Didn't we settle this issue years ago?  Why is it still coming up over and over and over?   The fact is that if you control a woman's body, you control a woman.  And that is over half the population. 

So if you have over half the population dealing with raising a child, they might not look outside the home to see about all the other fucked up shit that's going down all over the place. They might not rise up, out of fear for themselves or their child.  You have over half the population subjugated.

You can handicap them by their wombs.  So when you tell a woman what she should be doing with her womb, you are telling her that she doesn't have a right to take control of her own life that she doesn't count, that she should just lay down and take it...not only from her man/rapist/captor etc. but her gov't as well, who doesn't even reckognize her ability to choose her destiny.  A life that man has control over at all times, has always and will always.

Do you think that if you ban this choice legally that it is not still a choice?   Even under legal supervision people still almost lose their lives.  Women still hemorage, are scarred and affected by this decision they have to face.  Do you think it means nothing to us to raise our legs, spread them and have some machine suck living human tissue out of our uterus?  Do you think it doesn't hurt?  Do you think we don't physically/emotionally pay a price?  Do you think we don't care?

****

Everyone is talking politics these days, obviously it's a hot topic.  My 8 year old nephew the other day at dinner screamed : "Sarah Palin is a BAD person!"  For an 8 year old to have an opinion sort of means that everyone is getting involved in the right/left pull that is happening right now.

The hottest issues on the ballot are Gay Marriage and Abortion.  My question is this : "Why are we still talking about it?"  WHo the fuck cares who marries whom?  If you want to devote your life to anyone or anything, who gives a fuck?  That is  your business! 

 Love is such a precious thing.  Why not honor it?

Why is love and free thought...the right to make decisions about our bodies and our hearts still a question 30 years after the fact?

If you are reading...I preach to the choir...but why?........

Why is all of this still an issue?

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I take a deep breath and breathe in the air of the clean bedroom that I have worked so hard to clear.  And then I throw the royal blue silk bedspread and pillow shams onto the bed.  It looks gorgeous against the orange hanging lamp above it.  Underneath the covers is my red, linen, Indian mandala sheet (now faded to a sort of fuscia) that has traveled with me for many years now.  This sheet has been present for many dreams and tears, partners, peaceful nights... one of the only things that has lasted with me through the years, as other humans have not been able to.  Finally, when sliding into the bed naked, I feel at home, and I sleep deeply.        And I begin to sleep longer and longer into the days and be awake longer and longer into the night.  I lapse into that schedule I had as a teenager during the summer months and begin to feel lazier and lazier.  But it is not comforting, even though I am comfortable.       One would think that after 5 months of not working, that I would be accustomed to lounging around lazily and accomplishing very little.  Though to me, there is a fine line between accomplishing tasks at a steady pace, and being lazy.       I feel lazy.      I don't like it.        The tasks I have put myself to are to excavate the bedroom; formerly mine, and then olders sister's, most recently my vehement and estranged grandmother's.  It was left piled and clogged so densly to the brim with "god knows what", and as I have sifted through many things, I could only say that the contents of value amount to 2 bags, throughout about 12-15 boxes sorted as of yet.  It's difficult to maintain momentum to so mundane a task.  Simmering in the psychosis of another human being, and having to sort it into coherency.       Although if anyone, I am the one to do it.  The only one left in the family who has the compassion to do it.  This compassion remains simply because I have not been antagonized to the brim as they have; and I understand insanity so much more personally than they do.       Yet my momentum is waning.   I try to muster it up, because I will be gone for the next week, have only a week in between, and then again another trip.  But no matter what I do I have not been able to recharge that gumption to get it done.       I am battling my own inability to finish projects, my own weakness.  I am sifting through the poisonous energy of another human being, put there purposely to deterr from clearing space.  IT's a strange spell.  And I am able to break it if I get out into the open wilderness one day a week.  Go horseback riding, or hiking, or some sort of grueling physical exersize to purge that clogged engergy I suppose.  But I haven't this week and I feel the difference emensly....        I have been successful for about a month and half to not abusing my body with my addictions (save caffeine).  But have noticed this week the urge to reach for a beer, glass of wine, martini etc. has become stronger, and I no longer resist it.  Which, dissapoints me.  My strength seems to be getting zapped.         Here, I have fantassies of rising at 4 am and excersizing, meditating, riding my bicycle for morning breakfast and cooking yummy foods for everyone while playing the perfect wife.  But that is not happening.  I don't know how those stepford wives ever got it all done.  Though I do take comfort in understanding that I am battling a house that has been neglected for years, and people in it who have abused their bodies unconsciously for the same amount of time, never knowing how to treat it nicely.        Yet, my mother listens to what I say with extreme interest for the first time in my life.  And my father and I fall into a symbiotic rhythm that we've always had.  For the first time ever no one questions my sanity, and the validity of what I say or do.  I watch my niece shake with excitement over Cherrios.        I dodge individuals who give me the co-dependent red flag.  Try to track down others who I have not seen in so long.  Watch my savings dwindle.   The blessing string on my right wrist is worn and will likely decompose off soon.  My blessing running low...   Then what?

Currently reading: Neuromancer By William Gibson

I took a shower, taking my time to even decide to shower, sort of zoning on the tiles.  My eyes were red and clear.  I was exhausted beyond exhaustion to the point of complete neautrality and utter clarity.  I could stay awake for another 4 nights or collapse right there leaning against the mirror and letting the spiders crawl all over me.

After these 4 days of pure meditation my concentration level was at it's highest.  So the "metta" or "love and kindness" that I wished for was to be the strongest.  Lying down I could think of nothing to say specifically, but somehow I could not release my mind into slumber on this metal plank of a bed until I released this wish.  Abstractly, I just allowed love to pour out of me and I lapsed into sleep for the first time in so long that I almost could no longer fathom what sleep was like anymore.  The intention was to wake up at 10.45 and get dressed to go get my lunch.

At 11.30 I awoke and my feet burned like I have never felt them burn in my life.  I had walked for approxamately 8 hours per day, bare foot, an average of about 1 kilometer per hour (5 miles/day) having "awareness" every step of the way.  Back and forth across the blue tiles of my room.  Now they let me know their pain. 

The audio hallucinations that I thought I was having were not indeed hallucinations but the automatic translation of Thai into English.  It took me about 3 days to realize that I wasn't imagining these voices, only translating them.  Lapsing into the pattern of "rising/falling/sitting" my head automatically, slowly began to dip down and as I began to focus on the individual pressure points in my body I would become hypnotized and lapse into a black out state.  Coming out of this state was the most intense state of anxiety that I have ever experienced.  And it happened each time my body did not black out until the hour was up. 

Agony.

Such agony was what made me do a fourth day without sleep instead of 3.  I brought on that awareness of the edge of sanity that I have been running from since I was a child.  It came out and bit me hard early in that first night.  Around 9pm is started to crawl all over my skin and prick me, poke me and taunt me.  I tried to ignore it, I tried to awknowledge it, quench it, quiet it...but in the end it won. 

There was no martini to sip, no joint to inhale, no cigarette to light, no cock to sit on and there never has been (except in brief moments) anyone to hold me. 

It crawled and crawled all over me and I had to escape.  IT wasn't much of a conscious action I simply reached over and grabbed a pillow and collapsed.  I needed to turn off and escape.  Twenty minutes later I woke up and tried to figure out what had happened.  But again the monster came back when I sat again for meditation and I slept for another 1.5 hours. 

So the next day I had to start again.  But after I cried for hours in terror of this monster returning, it did indeed return.  Yet, after cowering in fear, and continuing to fear, but accepting this fear, each time it came back I simply said hello to it, slightly anxious it would take over me...yet it did not. 

4 days later...I slept. 

 

 

Ahh, in Vientienne again, head swimming from the 17 hour bus, tuk tuk, motorbike, bus, minivan to get here…and it strangely feels like home.  I swore I was done with Asia, but it doesn't seem to be done with me. 

I'm considering some more wanderings at the moment (on top of the 10 months that I'll already have been wandering once I'm tentatively scheduled to "get a real job")…I just don't seem to be finished here at all.  And I know that the debts , back taxes and tickets…plus all that American Dream stuff should be important.  It's this vague and fuzzy deadline (much like my biological clock) tick tocking softly from the middle of my brain. 

Osaka in the Cherry blossom season seems all too important to put the brakes on. 

Judging by the crows feet begginning around my eyes; the time has come where I am no longer any spring chicken.  My youth is quickly waning.

Indeed.

I looked at this girl, while waiting with stinking british backpacker kids, for my visa to get processed who was, of course,  delicious.   Young, completely disrespectful to the conservative culture here, no bra, shoulders, belly, hips and tits hanging out… naturally you just wanted to nibble on her; and I wasn't the only one either. 

I recollected a moment about a month ago, where crazy (and equally scantily dressed) American girls were dancing on the tables in the rain.  IT was a merry site, and everyone enjoyed watching them.  I considered to myself how this is something I never would have had second thoughts about a few years ago…I would have hopped up there with these chewy ladies and danced right along with them, (however  hoping one of them would slip and fall on my face).  Though these days, it's not that the capability, nor desire are there for the performance, only that I would have to be paid to do such a thing. 

So in effect I feel almost shy.  But the idea of me and shy don't seem to go very well together.  And if you know even 5% about me…( insert chuckle here).

There's this pure sweet innocence about these types of things that I simply do not posess anymore.  My allure is all too calculated and I am too aware of it's power to give it away as a free show without something I want being given in return.  I believe I've been affected by   the price on sexuality and being paid to take my clothes off since I was 18. It's  completely changed my idea of these "free" performances which the "girls gone wild" generation has cultivated.

Instead, I walk across the border, and a Liberian man asks me to share a taxi with him.  I smile and ask how much.  "300 Baht"

"We can just take the local bus over here, for about 30 baht." I say.  So we stroll together to the bus and decide to sit down with these older expat men.  There is no need to rush in a country where no one rushes.  And aren't we parched from traveling so long in this heat?  Ah yes, let us have a drink with these  unsavory looking types, with their equally unsavory looking Asian escorts…and I feel right at home.  We have French, English, Laotian and Thai rolling off our tongues.

I am drinking a sprite (as I have decided to stop drinking alcohol) but enjoy the delicious faces of relief and pleasure as Beer Lao is poured in glasses with ice, and "I love you" rolls off everyone's tongue, and a smile off everyone's face. 

Yes, let us 6 split a taxi into town.  Let me roll up to my special guest house with a happy smile on my face, and good conversation from these people who I've just met.  We are all adults, not children.  We arrive in a leather seated minivan, and want clean rooms and don't mind paying a bit more for them.

My eyes are clear and bright from my 16 days at the temple.  And my smile is irresistably infectious. 

My debt and duty to relieve it will always be there.  But I'm no child anymore.  Indeed I am not.  I'm in the moment these days where one of the first questions asked is if I have children, and instead of the response of "good"  the words "Why not?" come out of people's mouths.

Not for me.  I will be a great aunt.  I will love every child I encounter.  But I do not want one of my own. 

Osaka, Indonesia, Montreal, Hong Kong, New York, La Linea…How do I fit them all in?

You know how sometimes you find yourself a hot spot and then you don't want to tell anyone about it because then you'll see everyone there?  Well I'm reluctant at this moment to spill the beans but I must. 

I'm in love! With Laos.  For a long time I've been looking for a certain something in my travels, and I've found it here.  I've only been here for about three days but it's been long enough for me to start thinking about coming back for a long time.

When I moved to Thailand, I would sit in Chiang Mai and look around me, see these non-adventurous, lame and boring looking types walking around and thought to myself "is that me?"  Am I just another one of these cats looking for adventure in all the wrong spots?  Sort of like coming to California to conquer a frontier land, in the 1950's if that makes sense. 

And it's not as if Laos is any sort of frontier...to say the least.  There is certainly a fair amount of tourism here that is a bit dodgy, but after being in Thailand for a few years and learning the language and culture, coming to Laos is like a breath of fresh air stinking of cowshit and adventure.

Vientiene is a dodgy shit hole, apparently, but I have to say.  There's something about it that I love. And I went into the mountains for a day and had one of the best times I've had in Asia.  The people are less propper than Thais, but still a simmilar culture, and everyone understands Thai so there's none of the communication problems like I had when I first got to Asia.  Sabaii Sabaii

For a landlocked country it's just amazing and beautiful, fresh....ahhh can't say enough good things.

Picture me smiling like I've just has a yummy  plate of oysters...that's me right now.

Ok, I just got manhandeled by some ancient dyke.  I'm sitting, stoned off my hoo haa with Jessica, drinking some coffee (how unusual) and this old lady comes up to us and starts making random conversation.  only she has no teeth and I can't understand a word that she is saying.  this guy from a table near us comes up all cocky and holier than thou and is all:

 

"Just let ma-ma sit down and someone will bring her some coffee or something"

 

Ok no problem.  Grandma sits down and is chillin with jess and I.  Only she keeps trying to give me little nudges.  I'm thinking "oh grandma, we're cute and brown, and I probably remind her of her granddaughter or something."  But I don't love the kisses from the toothless lady, and keep pushing her away. 

 

Then I ask her if she's going to the party tonight. And she stops, looks me up and down like the slimiest dude you've ever seen look at you and tries to kiss and hug me... again. 

 

It's at this point that I look at jessica and opt for the check, and leave, complete with the dirty looks from the rightous old guy.  I don't take that shit from dirty old men, and I don't take it from dirty old dykes either.  I don't care how many teeth you've lost.  THat's one for the record books! 

Ok, I just got manhandeled by some ancient dyke.  I'm sitting, stoned off my hoo haa with Jessica, drinking some coffee (how unusual) and this old lady comes up to us and starts making random conversation.  only she has no teeth and I can't understand a word that she is saying.  this guy from a table near us comes up all cocky and holier than thou and is all:

 

"Just let ma-ma sit down and someone will bring her some coffee or something"

 

Ok no problem.  Grandma sits down and is chillin with jess and I.  Only she keeps trying to give me little nudges.  I'm thinking "oh grandma, we're cute and brown, and I probably remind her of her granddaughter or something."  But I don't love the kisses from the toothless lady, and keep pushing her away. 

 

Then I ask her if she's going to the party tonight. And she stops, looks me up and down like the slimiest dude you've ever seen look at you and tries to kiss and hug me... again. 

 

It's at this point that I look at jessica and opt for the check, and leave, complete with the dirty looks from the rightous old guy.  I don't take that shit from dirty old men, and I don't take it from dirty old dykes either.  I don't care how many teeth you've lost.  THat's one for the record books! 

 

DISCLAIMER: This is going to be a series of shit talking, if you don't like shit talking, then please stop reading now.  Don't go any further.  However, I know that an abundance of you all do indeed enjoy a little shit talking so I will oblige..  I would also like to say that I am aware that not ALL of the individuals (mostly men) that I am talking shit about fall into the following rant category.  Yet,  I must ejaculate this annoyance and share it with the world…so if you're still with me, you probably want me to stop using the phrase "shit talking" and get on with the "talking of shit" so shall I?

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First let's begin with this question, ask yourself "Do I do the following?" If you do, STOP: 

Do you forcibly engage people into conversation when they are presenting body language that they don't want to?  Examples: No eye contact, lack of smiling, looking in another direction, putting nose in a book, inserting ipod into the ears, giving vague and non engaging  answers to questions etc. etc. etc.

Why do travelers assume that simply because they are talking to another traveler that this individual wants to talk?  Why do you think we  want to talk at all?  If you approach someone sitting alone, facing the beach and staring into a book, that of which is obviously underway given the stack of pages already turned, what would make you think that this person wants to talk to you? 

But , this thought does not occur to you, so you approach this person anyway.  They make eye contact and then continue to look at the book.  (Note: if someone does this they most likely don't want to talk to you, they want to read.) Still you continue to try to delve into conversation.  You ask question after question, and each response is increasingly more and more vague with a pause in the middle, and the continual glance back to the book. ..essentially you continue to force this person into conversation.  Finally this person has to say to you (after repeatedly giving you subtle hints) "Look, I don't want to be rude, but I'd like to read please."

You  walk off feeling wounded.  The person feels as if they were being rude.  No one feels good. 

 

This (if you haven't figured out) just happened to me.  I'm walking along the beach, trying to find a deserted table to sit and read a little bit.  On the walking path ahead I see this old surfer dude peaking at me from the beach path.  I should have continued to move on.  Somewhere in the back of my head I had the feeling that I was going to get harassed by this guy.  I don't get much in the way of men trying to just assault me anymore, my years of living in various places has taught me how to avoid it.  However I do still get lot's of generally unattractive/annoying men still try engage me in conversation for long amounts of time.  The problem is that they have no inkling that I don't give a fuck about them, and that they are not simply engaging me into neutral conversation, they are pissing me off, and I feel invading my time. 

Buy me a drink, a meal…a hot outfit, or just straight up hand me money…sure I'll talk to you.  I'll talk to you for however long you keep shelling out money.  If you aren't shelling out the cash, and I'm not smiling widely and leaning forward here's a newsflash: YOU'RE TAKING UP MY TIME AND PISSING ME OFF!

   For some reason I find that white male travelers especially have no idea about this.  They think that the world owes them some conversation, that as a woman I am obligated to put up with it.  Because I am an attractive, interesting looking (as in physically different than white people)individual.  In the back of the mind is indeed the drive to try to fuck me, because I guarantee these things don't happen straight out to men.  I catch people's eyes.  Never is there the thought that: "hey maybe she doesn't give a fuck about me at all.  Maybe she was acknowledging my humanity by giving me eye contact and I should just walk on by."  No that doesn't occur to these men.

I come across this in Thailand a lot. Expat guys LOVE to harass western women.  Not particularly to fuck them per say (and this my friend is the fundamental breakdown of social propriety) no they actually just want to talk.  Though they don't really want to have a conversation. 

No, they just want a woman to understand what they are saying.  Because they have an abundance of pussy, so much that it is staggering.  But the only thing is that these deliciously hot women just sit, giggle and smile…oh yes, and nod.  They don't comment back, don't make any gestures to show that they understand what has just been said.  Even if they have understood what you are saying, it is impolite for them to really comment on your topics, so they just smile and nod.

So when an expat (sexpat) gets a western woman's ear around he talks and talks and talks. But the thing is he forgets about the cultural norms.  Forgets that just because this woman is not sexually interesting to him he doesn't need to have those gentlemanly gestures.  Though he doesn't treat her as he would a man.  He's actually elated to have a female perspective in the world.  But he's lost all his manners and chivalry.   He forgets to buy her a drink, or pay for her meal, or hold the door, and engage her in conversation.  No, he just talks and talks and talks and talks, but won't necessarily let the woman leave, or talk either. 

The other weekend I was in a club.  Just dancing, and looking good as I tend to do.  I chat with this cutie with a blue cowboy shirt with white ribs.  He's a stylist, we have a nice conversation, I flirt, he flirts, he walks away, but buys me a drink first.  Then he quickly gets chased away by this annoying as fuck dude, who fancies himself a psychoanalyst, leaning into my face over and over, as I move back and back and back.  Finally I say to him: "look if you want to keep talking to me, you need to buy me a drink."  So he does, and keeps talking." 

Yes, I do put monetary value on my time and conversation…and presence in general.  Stay tuned for more.

 

Terry the Tube sock lived mostly in the top drawer with many other socks. He used to have a matching partner and Jemima would wear Terry out all the time.

But one day when Jemima took some socks out of the drawer the partner fell from her arms and onto the ground, it had gotten stuck to another pair of socks and then plummeted to the ground. Terry tried to get to the edge of the drawer to see where its partner went, but Jemima closed it before Terry could get to the edge. Somehow Terry knew that the partner was lost forever. There were stories from the other socks who’d lost their partners. Socks would get stuck underneath the washing baskets and the closets. These socks would fall from the drawer or washing and were mostly never seen again. Sometimes they would come back all stained with holes in them and find out their partners had found new pairs.
So they would retreat to the back corner of the drawer with all the other single socks and await the day that they would be turned into rags, and be shoved into piles of dust or in toilets…

Jemima would only wear socks with partners.

Terry missed Jemima very much, he never got to leave the drawer anymore. But he met other socks in the drawer who didn’t have partners. Since these socks were for all different occasions, all the socks had different stories to share. But it was just to pass the time. They all knew that Jemima would never wear them again. They were all just waiting for what was to come. And he knew that he too was only waiting to be turned into a rag! It was disgraceful.

The other socks would tease them and call them names. Perhaps because they were afraid of the same thing happening to them, they knew that they would likely lose their partners too. It was just a matter of time. For two socks to stay together until they were worn out was very rare. All over the place were opportunities to get lost.

Sometimes Terry would go up to the tip of the drawer and wiggle to the top so Jemima would see him and hopefully decide that she would wear him again. But she never did. She always chose a pair of socks, a pair! Never would she mismatch.

And then it happened.

The day came.

The drawer opened and Jemima carefully took out all the pairs and put them nicely on the bed. Then her face darkened slightly as she opened a white plastic bag and began reaching into the drawer. Terry and friends were scooped up by the handfuls and tossed into the bright white bag. They were all pressed together in the hot and sweaty plastic, with their faces against it so they could see through it. Someone called from outside the door, and Jemima set the bag down beside the dresser. For a long time they stayed like this, many days.

Soon after this, Jemima’s friend Salvador came to Redlands to visit her from San Francisco. He was a paralegal in SF and hated always having to match his clothes. Especially his socks! Salvador was always in a rush and forgot about things. When he was packing to come to Redlands he had forgotten to pack some socks. Jemima became very nervous when Salvador told her that he didn’t have any, because she knew that once you loan someone a pair of socks you never get them back.

Now, Salvador may have been a man in a rush, but he had no lack of intelligence. He could sense this look of fear in Jemima’s eye. Also, he remembered Jemima’s compulsion for matching socks. From the corner of his eye he saw a bag with many brightly coloured and plain looking objects.

Terry and all his other friends tingled in anticipation.

"Oh! Well look at these socks. Are you going to throw them away?" Jemima nodded. Well then, can I borrow these? They are so fun looking."

"You can have them, I was just going to put them in the garage to use as rags." She said.

If socks had hearts, they would have all dropped. This person who they had only ever known, their lives revolving around her, thought nothing other of them than something to wear. When they lost their partners they knew that they had been shunned. Yet hearing it so blatantly, hurt tremendously.

Never the less, a new life awaited them, and the excitement of a new beginning sent a buzz through the community. They didn’t know how they felt about being worn by anyone other than Jemima.

But there were a few socks in the drawer who had been borrowed by Jemima by some of her friends. They let the others know that being worn by another owner was not so bad. They might return to Jemima, or maybe not. Terry was one of those who was afraid. Though he felt rejected he didn’t want to leave her.

Chester was the sock who’d been without a partner the longest. He made a very good point: as long as they were in the drawer or the plastic bag they would never know anything other that this. They would never be worn, they would only ever be a rag, disappear into the funk behind the washing machine, or become lost into the unknown world that the lost socks disappeared into. Now they could have new adventures, a new life. They were all friends and could now go out together and have new adventures.

In fact, Terry was with Frederique the night Salvador left Redlands, so beautiful and sparkly in the light of the disco ball. Jemima and Salvador went out all night dancing and had a blast. His flight was at 6 in the morning, so they would go straight to the airport after. As usual Salvador didn’t pack until the last minute, so he threw all the socks into his bag and took it to the club.

Poindexter’s Departure: Poindexter crept slyly out of the crack in the bag to peak out. He had never been to a club before, and could feel the music pumping, and wanted to take a look. It was wonderful! Chester pushed him until he squeezed out and could smell the wood of the chairs, and the table and the drinks. But the best part was all the different kinds of socks he saw walking by. Sometimes the socks would peak out from under the pant leg and say hello. There were two socks who kept walking by. Hey were green arguille with yellow flecks. They introduced themselves as Gordon and Lee. The person who wore them was named Ricki.

The two arguile socks asked Poindexter if he would like to come out and dance with them. He thought about it, but the socks walked away. Though they came back. At this moment Ricki glanced down at the bag and saw Poindexter lying there. Now Ricki loved arguile socks, whether they matched or not. He bent down and snatched him up and put him in his pocket. At first Poindexter was scared, but when he was put in the laundry with his two new friends, they explained to him that everyone in the sock drawer were partners and pairs, it just depended on the day. So Poindexter relaxed and awaited his new life with Gordon and Lee and all the other friends.

The socks waived goodbye to him, happy that he had found new friends and a new life. Terry tried to tell Frederique about Poindexter, but she was talking to another stocking called Franceska, she seemed to be pretty interested in the conversation, so he figured he’d tell her about it later and just kept dancing.

On an entirely random whim I’ve literally jumped on a plane and ended up with my mate in Singapore. Then I’m treking my way through Malaysia, possibly with a few moments in Indonesia, not sure yet though... to end up in Australia for a month.

Now the trick here is that I really don’t have any money. I mean I have a little, and it’s supposed to last me until September when I begin to work again in SF as a model. the money cushion that I’m landing on now was supposed to be for a computer. But I seem to always let love conquer all. When am I going to become a cold bitch who doesn’t love or care about anyone?

These next few months until I return from the states will be about re-connecting with people I love, all over the world. So I guess this is the right move, and truly, serendipity seems to be taking care of the details.

After this I’m off to Australia for a month and am either going o have to turn myself out with one of the hotties that my friend introduces me to, or live so absolutely simple, that I might be going sober before I know it. Though, I seem to be good at looking good, smiling pretty and giving worthwhile blow jobs these days so that men shell out money to keep me around (hence this nice profile photo). It’s not exactly prostitution...and I’m not ashamed if it is.

The safety net is that I haven’t sold my possessions back in Chiang Mai yet, so I’ll get a little bit of money when I get back, and I did already start to invest in some things so ...whatever.

The point is that I’ve done it again. Selling everything, making decisions on the whim and hoping, expecting, praying that the universe will take care of me in some way shape or form. I’m confident that it will though. Wiggling my toes on the edge of a dock, leaping and turning my body into a 180 degree dive to abandon my body to what will happen as I dive deep into the water, with my sinuses inundated with fluids and bottoms sliding off my ass. Now I’m doing this with life.