What Doesn't Kill Me Gets Easier with Vodka

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, what did I get myself into? I must've hit the crackpipe before I scheduled this lovely line up: The Dating Game at Your Mother's, Hottiefest at The Beach Grill, and Heather's Toga Bday Bash at my place. Yes, back. To back. To back. And the success of all 3 lie on my shoulders. But you know what? Piece of cake. *snaps fingers* I can handle this no problem-it's in my blood. Supergirl in full effect.

More artsy, less fartsy.

What the ass-hander is all the little stuff that comes up that may or may not be event related. Like people backing out of commitments and having to scatter to find replacements. Things are easy to replace, like a lipstick, a hammer, or booze from your neighbor's liquor cabinet. People really aren't.

Or when you break your last favorite wine glass. Or a highball glass from your brand new set. Or drop 20 pounds of cat food on your foot then you SLICE the HELL out of your finger opening the bag with the sharp scissors from your really expensive and fabulous knife set. And then you find out the couches you were expecting are no longer coming because a dog ripped the arms to shreds. And you keep trying to spell shred 'shread.' And then your kitten runs away. And then you get hit on via FB by creepers who used your business as a means to an 'in.' And then you get nasty messaged by some uncouth, know-nothing guy you don't even KNOW because you didn't return a FB message about his hanging a sign about his really idiotic business in places it doesn't belong, calling you garbage. And then you blow a fuse. And then an ex comes on to you because he hears you're single again. You know what? Single is just a word; your heart decides your status, bucko.

So where is that vodka bottle? Let's make this day easier.

Found it!

(This is from a photo shoot for a cigar bar. Photo

cred to my photog in heaven Mia Photo.)

Fish, Clowns, & Going to the Dentist

Right now I'd happily hold the hand of a naked man rollerskating if it would make this pain in my tooth go away & I don't have to go to the dentist.

I'm not afraid of much, but the trifecta of my fear lies in the motley grouping that is fish, clowns and going to the dentist. The fish part is weird because I like being on the water and am known to drown worms on vacation ('being a stripper is a lot like being a fisherman--you gotta get used to the pole to be any good at it.'- me, on Otsego Lake), so I think it stems from my parents making me watch Jaws at the drive in when I was a child. Although I could escape the scene on the screen there was no escaping the sound from the speaker put illogically in the backseat window. Hearing the carnage was worse than seeing it for me.

The clowns stem from yet another This-Is-Fun-Idea my parents had. They decided to take me to a haunted house and after about 20 yards in my father realized their epic fail in guessing what I would find fun in my 7 year old world. Although I squeezed my eyes tight, I could still hear the eerie laughter and slaughter, and when my eyes popped unwillingly open there was the scariest clown I'd ever seen leering at me, arms outstretched. I screamed and practically crawled into my dad's jacket. Flash forward to the movie Killer Klowns from Outerspace that I unfortunately stumbled across on cable one day and that fear was solidified. Oye.

That brings me to my final fear frontier, one that I will have to face mouth-on in about an hour: going to the dentist. It all boils down to the same premise: I can close my eyes, but the sound of pulling, ganking, and drilling is going to be in my ears with me unable to escape the noise.  Add in the reality that the noises belong to my dental pieces being extracted from my mouth is enough to make me pass out before he even numbs the area. This is true, people.

The moral is if you want to scare me try the aural route. If aural was missing the U & R and replaced with an N, well, that'll scare me, too. Look, now I forgot about being scared of the dentist.

For a hot second.