I have always been the type of person who did everything all the time. In high school I was in 9 clubs, stayed after-school everyday. Life hasn’t changed much. I work two jobs, perform burlesque at least twice a week, volunteer, organize art events, make art and read daily, and I still make time for my friends and family. Even though I am a big girl, I definitely spread myself too thin, and it is exhausting. I wait till the bitter last minute to finish everything. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m laying in my bed writing this blog, only hours before deadline when I should actually be sleeping. Trying to trade sleep for productivity is dangerous. I wish I didn’t have to sleep to live – life would be better if I had those 8 hours to do other activities. I was always the little kid who fought to stay up all night. Sleep is the cousin of death.

However it is important to take care of yourself. Nobody thanks you for burning out. It’s important to have some time for yourself. Relax, take a bath, do some yoga, smoke a bong, and pet a kitty. Then go! Go! Go!

cat hot dog

Improvisation is the key to surviving and striving through all the little shit storms life throws at you or the ones you jump into face first. You have to be able to make things up as you go along. Who knew the best ideas were just sitting up your ass waiting to be pulled out? Confidence will coax those little gems right out of you, just don’t flush them, flourish in them. Recognize your own genius and rise above all obstacles. Nothing is unconquerable. My best performances are often thought up minutes before a show or even during the performance itself.

Time management is key. Multitasking is also very important. I often find myself doing my full makeup at red lights on a way to a gig or work. I’m terrible about eating in the car too – a double cheeseburger in my hand, often my only meal of the day. Don’t do this! Fast food is absolutely terrible for you. There is often no nutritional value, but a high fat and sugar content. If you are already running low on energy this will do no good for your body. Take care of yourself.

Life is fucking stressful but you can’t let the stress control your life. Write down all the stuff you need to get done and always schedule in down time and fun stuff. Remember, you are only capable of doing so much. I need to listen to this advice. When I try to do everything, I can’t focus on anything and my whole life suffers.

Watch that temper! Lack of sleep and too much responsibility can make a person cranky. Never take out your stress on someone else. Make a conscious effort to think about why you are so angry and fix it before you bite someone’s head off. Innocent bystanders often suffer the wrath of those who bite off more than they can chew. Spit some out and ask for help. Don’t let pride get in the way of progress and success.

Learn from your failures and recognize your strengths. Positive energy gets shit done. Take good out of every situation. It’s either a lesson learned or a job well done. It’s never the end of the world. Accept help. You are capable of so much, but not everything, and that’s ok!

It’s easy to subscribe to having no regrets and living each day like you have terminal Cancer. You truly could get hit by a bus at any time. The YOLO generation wants to have their cake and eat yours too. Everything always, instant and constant satisfaction guaranteed. Kids raised by the Internet. Sometimes jumping in without considering the debt and consequences. Are they wrong?

The things you are reluctant to do the most are the ones that you need and love the most in the end. I know that I would feel better if I exercised more and cleaned my room. To be free of clutter and full of energy would be absolutely incredible. I need those things. Just like the tap shoes I have never learned to use, the hula hoop hanging on the wall, and the lil pink ukulele that I still can’t play.

These things that I want so badly but have not put in the necessary effort to achieve. My laziness absolutely disgusts me. It’s so privileged American, it’s so my generation, if its not easy it isn’t happening. Fucking stupid way to live. I’m sick of it.


I’ve always had one foot on the ground, protecting my heart at all costs. I know that I have loved, but none of them knew it. I never have said “I love you” to someone who I was with. Don’t really know if I’ve ever had an orgasm either, never really let go.

I am a pleasure delayer. Sometimes I just hold back because I know I can. Having control over my own success Keeping the things I love the closest only to push them away right before touchdown. Is the longing and lusting better than the touching and caressing ,the finishing?

Do the best things simply need more time to marinate? You must plant the seeds, nurture the strongest, then once the plant is mature… well, you fuck the plant.

Waiting for just the right moment can last a lifetime. The moment just might pass. I guess that means it wasn’t your moment. You missed your chance to kiss them and now they kiss another. Jumped on the train headed west never to look back for you. Love comes on slowly but can die instantly.

I have wanderlust and no passport. I talk about going on tour but have made no action to book gigs. The queen of professional procrastination.

I get desperately jealous when I see my friends conquering the world and seeing so much beauty. I know I have an incredible life, but there is so much more than I need to explore. I need to stop talking and just go! Get the fuck out of Dodge and put my mark somewhere new and exciting.

I want to buy a van, paint a mural on it ( I’m thinking Jim Kelly riding a unicorn), make it cat friendly, and go across the country. I need to soak it all in.

unicorn football van

The people I look up to the most are the ones who selfishly take everything they dream of. They jump blindly in the dark and end up with an epic win. I have spent too many nights working when I should be doing other things. I’ve had to say no to shows because I had to work and each time I died a little inside.

My passion put on hold. I once worked instead of going on a family vacation, that is one of the biggest regrets of my life. You have to prioritize, family, love, and true passion comes before work 100% of the time. I mean, of course you have to work, but don’t let that shit consume you.

Don’t dream it be it is tattooed on my body, I must embody that more than ever. I feel like once I just go the fear will melt away. I just have to get off my ass and take what I want. The world is an empty stage just waiting for me to jump on.

What excuses hold you back from getting and doing what you want? Fear? Money? I don’t want to wake up old and alone in the same city I was born in. The world is intimidating and also beautiful.

Sometimes you will fall, buts it’s ok. Imagine if I never did burlesque? Imagine if I never stepped foot on a plane? What if I was too scared to make art? Fear is crippling but not real.

When I was a little girl I used to jump off the swings in mid flight, now I’m terrified to do that. I picture my ankles snapping at impact. What changed inside of me? Older and wiser? Hardly. I’m just more of a pussy now.

While it is important to consider the consequences it’s not a be all end all. Yes you might fail and fall, but you might succeed and soar too! You don’t know if you don’t try. If you never leave your comfort zone you aren’t really living life. Small failures can yield success. I would have never met all the incredible people in my life if I didn’t try new things and open myself up to new experiences.

That first step is always a bitch but once you go for it everything else falls into place. We never entirely know what’s going to happen, just gotta do our best and learn for every failure and success. Be the change. Make shit happen. Let’s go.

In light of the continual push-and-pull-and-fuck-about us Wertern millenials call “being an artist,” I present an abridged list of procrastinations here on my side of Freelance Arsehole blvd.:

1- A relatively lucrative week among the shills down here means that while writing should follow an afternoon of catching up on my more quixotic reading pursuits, I end up inevitably down at Simons looking at their latest cotton knit collection and buying a comfy, blindingly orange sweater.

2- The issue with the hustle and bustle of being boss No.1 in one’s working life—i.e., being entirely reliant on one’s own motivation to get shit done and mo’ money sans mo’ problems—is that something like Instagram, a very recently disdained and ignored network in the ether, suddenly becomes a “creative outlet” for a “constructive” “presence. In light of sweater guilt, I take the following pic and compose the following Insta-poem: “Everything is starting to look like Chandler…” It is liked by strangers, which only further serves to reinforce the time-suckiness of “presence.”


3- While there’s nothing quite as refreshing as waking up to a warm, svelte body, being woken up by one at 8AM and spending the rest of the pre-dusk day delving deeper into it’s most naked of hyperrealist nuances, and breaking only for bacon and eggs and Nutella pancakes, is by no means a way to “hit the books” and/or “make literary history.” It’s fun, though—so duh.

4- Friday: 1AM. In a much avoidable attempt to foul my own sleep before a 7AM photo shoot that may lead to some paid writing work, I mentally argue the pros and cons of using the word “bitch.”While I find no more qualms with the gendered nature of the expression as I do with that of “asshole” or “motherfucker,” I find it is undeniable that when used as a blanket term for women—outside of a self-aware, ironical context—it is indefensible. For illustrative purposes only, consider: “Don’t be such a little bitch about it.” Ew. Of course, I write none of this untimely mental practicum down, which I totally could have made into something (still trying, but failing, apparently).

5- While binge watching, the former 8-hour daily scourge of my writerly existence, has finally, I think, been gotten out of my system, the sudden return to form of Frasier in the second half of season 10 does threaten with the possibility of a relapse. For those interested who have access to American Netflix (a binger must-have): S10e11, titled Door Jam, is a Niles-and-Frasier dandyism must-watch hoot!

6- Irony alert: Internet articles. Though I’m aware there are remaining vestiges of qualified and worthwhile reading on the web (interlocutor clears throat), the vast majority of what is posted, shared and indeed trafficked shadily online is so foul and indicative of a devolution of any kind of journalistic or editorial standard that I’ve basically stopped reading anything unrelated to clothing, art and/or kittens that appears on the Internet. That being said, some time this past Sunday afternoon, I read an ill-informed FB post about the alleged “content-less” nature of Gravity that drove me up the wall, comment-reading as I went. Before I knew it, I’d commented on it, and read five unrelated, un-researched articles, and looked over the Internet edge to see how deep its shit-maelstrom now went, and I’d ranted to my naked lover about the antagonism of this “democratization of ‘information’” and the general misinformation most Web 3.0 dwellers feel entitled to spew in light of our socially networked era and how PEOPLE’S OPINIONS ARE SUDDENLY JUSTIFIED BY THEIR ABILITY TO CLICK ‘POST.’ By the time I had come up from the void of my own melancholy, and though my lover seemed oddly charmed by the haughty rant, I thought to myself what a waste of bile. I felt like an angry tween with all the shoulder chips that might, at its worst, suggest, and I had nothing constructive to show for it. Oh well. The Internet can be depressing. If you allow it to be. I cuddled it out, for shame.

7- Though I’ve been good enough to eradicate most shit-maelstrom bound WWW tangents, I still fall into the perhaps twice-weekly concussive wormhole of clothes creeping. One minute I’m exploring the edge of some polemical creative spurt against mass dysfunction, or reading something ingeniously printed on paper—the other I’m creeping agatine eyelets, ravello cordovan leather, and alpaca insoles, wondering if I’ll ever see the last two hours again. Short answer: I will not. I’ve killed them.

8- Work. This one is tricky and entitlement-drenched and gross. I like work. But I like it best when I get sent a 600-word, $150 translation that takes up an hour and then I can call it a day at noon. Sure, I love the final product of the odd $1000 week, especially in the aftermath of a $1000 month, but then I’m also left with embarrassment and the faint, sustained sting of what seems to be my own hackishness: a non-reading, non-writing and non-anything-prioritized kind of week. Hence the sweaters, the Instagrams, the lovers, and, again, the rants. MUST RUGGEDIZE 4 REAL WORLD.

9- Taking pictures of my cat . . .


10- Myself. Let’s not dwell on this one. A catchall term, let’s face it. Own worst enemy, the lot of us.

It’s that time of the week again, article time. Time for an article. Yup, time to write an article. Okay, here we go. Right now, let’s get the ball rolling. Ehh, you know what, I probably have time to masturbate first.

Okay. You ever get that feeling when there’s something you have to do that you have, like, a million other things you need to do, too? Like all of the stuff you’ve got to do suddenly has to be done at once and you don’t really get anything done? I guess that’s what they call procrastination. I don’t know if that’s, like, actually the definition of procrastination, but that’s pretty much what it is, I think. I wonder what the actual definition is. I’m going to look that up.

Merriam-Webster defines procrastination as “transitive verb: to put off intentionally and habitually” and “intransitive verb: to put off intentionally the doing of something that should be done.” Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought it would say. No real surprises there. But, hey, what’s the difference between a transitive verb and an intransitive verb? I’d better look that up, too.

Oh, that’ll have to wait, though, my stomach’s rumbling. You know what, I had so much to do today, I completely forgot to eat. I’d better order some food. But what kind? I’ve got all these menus. Not pizza, I had that yesterday. And not this Greek place, they take too long to deliver. Maybe Chinese tonight. Wow, look at this menu. This is a lot of dishes. It’s going to take me a while to go through all this. What the hell is Moo Shi? Or Ho Fun? Man, I better Google this stuff. And check Twitter.

Okay, Chinese is ordered, Twitter is all caught up, and I masturbated once more. It’s time to get going on this article. Alright, here we go. Oh, wait. Oh, I think I might have to go to the bathroom. Well, it’s not pressing, but I feel like it might be coming soon. I’d better go sit on the toilet and play a few rounds of Solitaire on my phone until this works itself out. Can’t be too careful.

False alarm. I did win one of my eight games of Solitaire, though, so there’s that. And I played a bit of Candy Crush for good measure. But now it’s time to really get down to it and write th– oh! Chinese food is here!

Right. Now I’ve eaten, I’ve shut off my phone, I’ve closed Facebook and Twitter, and I’ve masturbated one last time. Though really, I did eat a lot of Chinese food. I should probably go for a walk or something to burn some of these calories off. I mean, those sweet and sour chicken balls are full of sugar. And nothing’s really as important as my health, right? And once I get a bit of exercise, the ideas will really start flowing. Okay.

Home from the walk, and I didn’t notice while I was in here before, but this apartment is filthy. I should give it a quick clean. At least give the floor a sweep and do the dishes. And I’m kind of sweaty from the walk, I should take a quick shower, too. Might as well cut these fingernails while I’m at it, they’re getting a little long. Oh, and that copy of The Dark Knight Rises finished downloading. All of my friends can’t believe I still haven’t seen it, I told them I’d watch it this weekend, so I’d better do that.

Also, it’s been a while since I’ve visited my parents, maybe I should take a trip out to see them first. And I still haven’t really responded to that weird guy with the top hat who challenged me to a balloon race around the world. I’ve always wanted to visit Spain, I bet I could squeeze in a quick trip there before I need to do this article. But my bank account is pretty dry right now, so I’d better get a good, high paying job to fund that, although I think I’ll probably have to do a few years of university first, so I’d better get on that.

And I don’t want to be too old to see my children graduate, so maybe I’d better work on having some kids. First, though, I have to find a wife. I guess I could set up an online dating profile, maybe do some speed dating? I’ve always imagined I’d fall in love with a beautiful woman who loves classic literature, so I’ll start reading some of that, too. Probably start with Don Quixote, then maybe The Brothers Karamazov and move on from there. Wait, first I’ll have to learn how to read.

Alright, this is getting to be completely overwhelming. If I’m ever going to write this article, I have to just calm down and tackle each of these things at a time, one by one. No more excuses. Just get on it. Now, where is a good place to start? Maybe masturbate? Yeah, I can handle that.


Photo by ginnerobot via Flick