First and Last Beach Day (2015)


Today I went to the beach for the first time all summer. After setting up shop, the woman next to me took out her full hookah and set up her shop. The kids in front of me were having a great time until their dad came and started yelling at everyone. He ate a lot of spaghetti. A kid went missing and the first time they announced his name it was Henry. The second time, it was Cameron. But maybe there were two different seven-year-olds wearing red Spider-Man shorts. Maybe.

What it feels like to get fired a day after a biopsy:

Soul-crushing and liberating. Heart-breaking having to remind yourself that this is not a reflection of your self-worth.

Being released from an unnamed (make-your-own) chocolate shop on the Upper West Side where you had an asshole boss kind of feels like chocolate.

I had no plans on leaving the place any time soon. My co-workers were great, playing with chocolate was fun, and customers loved me. Like most people, I love being loved.

The only person who didn’t love me was my asshole boss. Maybe it was because I was on for three months and people took a quick liking to me. Maybe it was because of that one time I told her I wasn’t cool with her treating me like I was stupid all the time. She had told me to not take it personally, to which I smiled and said, “I could not take it personally, but you could also just stop.”
I’m not a trouble-maker but I stand up for myself.

I had e-mailed her far in advance to let her know that I needed to make a schedule change because of some health problems. I told her boss “I might have cervical cancer,” and started sobbing. Which may have been embarrassing for him but wasn’t embarrassing for me because I own my feelings. And am not embarrassed by them.

She never e-mailed me back, or mentioned anything about the email the next time we worked together.

I was starting to get very minor anxiety over not receiving my schedule because she’s a shady human and also because I am psychic. The day, when I got my biopsy done, I actually called the store to ask her why I hadn’t gotten my schedule yet. She blubbered and sputtered and spat, “I haven’t made them yet!” After we hung up I texted my main choco-homie and he said he had gotten his schedule.

Now I was cackling because I laugh when I’m angry because I am kind of insane. It’s no big deal.

Opening the store with her the next day, the first words out of my mouth were “[Choco-homie] said he got his schedule.” She rebutted with, “We’ll talk later.”

Now I, as the trouble-maker I swore I wasn’t above, was not happy with this. She went downstairs, I finished opening the store and followed after her.

“Can we just talk now? You’re being weird.”

Her face pained up into some odd smile. I thought (hoped?) she was having a stroke. She laughed:

“Did you finish everything upstairs?”


The stroke continued, “Everything?”

I couldn’t even entertain that. My face gave her the ‘stop’ look and she stopped.

“No, we can’t talk now because I’m waiting for Chef.”

Chef was her boss. I laughed. “Alright dude.”

Going back upstairs, I mentally prepared everything I would say when either of them gave me the boot.

Bring up the cancer. Don’t bring up the cancer. Tell her you’re not surprised her son doesn’t want her to visit. Let her know her husband is only with her because he has a fetish for Asian women. Yes, your mom does hate you for forgetting her birthday. Eat shit.

Moments passed, I took some customers. Not many because it’s not the most popping place. I was cute and nice and sweet as always, and I’m not sure why. I could’ve gone out with a bang. I could’ve done a lot of things.

Instead, I waited until she came upstairs with a Manila folder and said we could talk now.
She let me know that when she hired me I had open availability (and could work 50 hour weeks, close the store at 12 and open it at 9 the next day, train other people, not take tips, etc,) and now “through no fault of your own” I don’t have open availability. Told me my last day would be tomorrow.

And then I was mad. She just avoided my termination and my questions so she could get me to work out the week. What a joke. I told her I’d come in tomorrow. What a joke.

“So…when you told me you hadn’t made the schedule, you lied?”
She laughed and avoided the question.
“Why would you not give me an ample amount of notice?”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way, I had other things to take care of.”
“You know this is totally uncool, right?”

She got up and walked away.

I carried on manning the counter and asked to go on a break. Packed up my bag and left that chocolate-sicle stand. Didn’t look back. Wish I could say I wish her and the shop nothing but the best, but honestly, I hope nothing but ill will lands that way. And I take it back, I don’t wish I could say otherwise.

So, getting fired the day after your biopsy feels like dark chocolate. Bittersweet. It also feels like a bad simile. Something that has to happen just to get it out of the way.

This week it was nice to find out I don’t have cancer, and it was even nicer to get my last paycheck in my bank account. This week it was nice to land a better job. This week it was nice to have time to write again. This week it was nice to start classes. This week it was nice to breathe. This week was nice.

What’s Inspiring Me Today?

Me. Mostly me. I am inspiring myself today and that’s the most I could ask for. Here are some photos:

Read More »

So I started a blog so I would write every day and now I don’t write every day what do you know. Don’t listen to what anyone tells you. Don’t get a full time job. Hustle, hustle, hustle. If it’s an office job it’ll just fucking suck. If it’s a serving job or retail where you’re on your feet all the time, you’re just too damn tired by the time you get home to do anything but masturbate and gossip with your bitch about how good you make a hairnet look. It is hardly worth it. If you’re not masturbating you’re out getting all kinds of fucked up and looking for someone else to do it for you.

On this day off, I popped some popcorn on the stove and made dinner with the fresh callaloo I (kind of) grow in my backyard. All that is tight but last year I had a dream and this year it is really cloudy.

Last week I got into a club but the two guys I was with didn’t and one of them was my girlfriend’s boyfriend so she wasn’t going in without him and it really made me think. Because TUH I was so ready to leave them behind because, well, whatever.

What’s Inspiring Me Today? How good I look, honestly. I’ve been feeling so great and that’s really nice.

Photo on 7-8-15 at 7.54 PM #2

Photo on 7-8-15 at 7.54 PM #3

Brown skin poppin like oxtail gravy

Governors Ball 2015

It’s been a while. A lot has happened. I’m moving to New York next week. I wouldn’t even call it a better place. My mom’s birthday party is on Saturday, she’ll be 60, and that’s amazing and cool. I start a new job on Saturday where I have to wear a company t-shirt so that will be something.

Anyway, I’m only here to post pictures from Governor’s Ball. It was amazing and fun and I’m happy I sucked it up and went. I fell a little bit more in love with my friends and my “friend.”

Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015


Flying Lotus. I was never a fan or not a fan before, I just knew he’d be sick to see and man was he something. My friend Jake insisted we stick around and wait to see him so we could get a good spot, which we normally don’t do. We’re those assholes who shove to the front because we have no patience. I don’t regret it at all. There’s no one out there doing what Flying Lotus does.

Tame Impala. Just a really good band doing good things.

Drake, need I say more?

Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015


A few months ago The Black Keys played at Barclays and my friends and I went. I didn’t have a good time and I thought it was because we had nosebleed seats and I’m a prissy bitch. It turns out I just don’t like The Black Keys. I just don’t care about them or get it or anything and I try really hard. I don’t think they’re a bad band or anything like that, I totally understand why everyone loves them, I just don’t. When I think of them I think of “the good ole boys,’ whatever that means. I think I just hate fun.

Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015
Governors Ball 2015

By now I’m sure you’ve seen your artist friends complaining about the “outrageous” gallery display on Instagram photos by the “fucking asshole” that is Richard Prince. And if you haven’t, you probably just haven’t been on Facebook. And that’s fine because Facebook can be extremely emotionally taxing.

So if you’re not up to speed and don’t want to perform a simple Google search, I’ll sum it up:

Richard Prince is making bank off of adding comments to other people’s Instagram posts, screenshotting them, blowing them up to fit ~6×4 canvasses and basically masturbating in his genius. And furthermore, the original Instagram holders are getting no credit. And no compensation. After searching through any pictures I could find of the New Portraits showing, on display at the Gagosian bookstore, I was mostly just extremely sad none of my selfies had made the cut. Maybe if I had kept that one up of me drooling? Drool is in right now. But after I could get past my own deflated ego, I easily found this the funniest and an extremely well-thought out piece of art. A lot of people would yell at me for thinking that but that’s fine. I was a monster in my teenaged years and I can handle being yelled at.

But think about it. This is something extremely representative of the times and that’s crazy cool. I’m someone who believes art that reflects the times is very important because how else will the future get to know us? Art should promote discussion, art can shock, and today Instagram is art. Instagram is art and news and fame and celebrity. It’s an important tool that has been utilized by now word famous models, brands and Richard Prince.

© Richard Prince. Courtesy Gagosian Gallery. Photography by Robert McKeever. Photo: ? Richard Prince. Courtesy Gagosian Gallery. Photography by Robert McKeever.

Very Kardashian, New Portraits is shallow and deep and outrageous and hilarious and deserves a pat on the back. And some people also think it deserves about 90k a pop to take a piece home. I don’t have 90k and I have nowhere to put a blurry blown-up screenshot of a JUNGLEPUSSY selfie in my apartment. That’s okay, though. I don’t need to own beautiful things to appreciate them.

I understand the argument, I get why people are pissed off, and they should be. Richard Prince just white man capitalized on so many artist’s hard work and if they want to send him bags of shit, they should have a right to. Every opinion I’ve heard about this phenomena has been valid. 

There’s that quote that’s something like “good artists copy, great artists steal” that people keep attributing to Picasso but I’m almost 87% sure someone on Tumblr just made up. I’ve always agreed with it because if you take a look around you, everything is stolen on some level. But once you’ve stolen something, it’s now yours. There’s nothing new under the sun, blah blah blah.