Today started well. My first official day without the car, with commitments and things to do, places to be and people to see. My first adventure was a trip to Dr Reef, in Beverly Hills, and well… perhaps I should start at the beginning.
I dropped off my rent check last night, divided into two checks. 800 from earlier December in cashiers check (to ensure the money was still there come the 1st) and 665 in personal check (because I failed to remember rent was due until yesterday, Sunday Funday good bye benz day. After spending the morning working on my proposal, which I am glad to say I’ve finished up to the excerpts from the four chapters I’m going to submit, it was time to head down to the bank to deposit a little money. The walk to Chase was lovely, crazy people fill the streets of Hollywood, and while I have a tendency to become buried in Twitter as I walk, I did my best to watch the world as I slowly moved through it. I had a 1:45 bus to catch, it was 1:10, and everything felt fine.
As soon as I deposited the money, the teller handed me my receipt. Which showed my total amount as only the money I had deposited. Which meant that the entire sum of money in my bank account was now gone. Vanished. The balance before deposit was $18.00. This is not a good sign. I got on the phone with Chase, and calmly asked them where the fuck my money went, at which point they started rambling off charges that are not of my doing. Perfect. Perfect first 4th of 2010. Because the charges are still pending I am unable to file any claim. But because the charges are still pending, the money has already disappeared from my account. Fucking new age technology and shit man. Fucking cards.
I hopped on the bus right on time and began the journey across town. I stood in the aisle because no seats were available, and I was too flustered to sit anyway. As people moved about the train, I leaned into one of the women taking up two seats, and started to lean out again once the movement died down. As I leaned back out into my standing position, this fucking woman began pushing me by my ass back into the aisle. She then took a kleenex and covered her mouth and nose with it, like that’s going to protect her from any fucking germs. I asked her to stop and she continued with the pushing. Finally I gave her the “If you touch me again you old germy cunt I will grab that fucking kleenex and force it down your throat so all the germs it’s caught are quickly ingested into your blood and your death will be sure and swift. And then I’ll feed your stupid fucking hat to my dog and watch her shit it out,” all less than 2 seconds, and moved to an open seat where I began furiously texting Eric.
Me: The world is against me. Some cocksucker drained my account. No Car. No Money. Old cunt face pushed my ass and violated my boundaries. I’m going to murder everyone on this fucking bus.”
Eric: Do you want the managers number?
I’d already left a message for the landlord after the exciting conversation with Chase, and he happened to call right after I said yes, I’d like his number. I told him the situation, and because honesty has a way of making things work out, he said he understands and for me to pay him when it’s settled. I’m hosting two parties and will have money by monday, so that is the latest it will take~ I told him this fighting off tears of anger and frustration. The first month in my life I’ve been able to pay my rent by selling artwork, the first month of this brand new year starting off sober, happy, carefree… His ability to understand my situation, and be compassionate, helped to turn my mood around really quickly. I rode the rest of the ride playing Zen Bound on my iphone, not worrying about the money, the stops, the bus riders or the car. Everything works out as it’s supposed to. It has thus far, and will continue to do so for as long as I put my recovery first.
I went to therapy with Karim and told him that I spent New Years with a lovely gentleman, a gentleman I’m interested in seeing as more than just a friend, and we talked about what the year plan actually means. I told him that choosing a year of celibacy was more than just counting 365 days until I can have sex again. It means waiting until I find someone I care for deeply and wish to be with. I said the year date was more to keep me from being tempted to seek out relationships, or men to satisfy my loneliness and discomfort. Never did I expect that 7 months into it I would meet a wonderful man who lights up my day, nor did I think I’d still want to talk to a man I’m attracted to after two months of getting to know him. Karim smiled as he jotted down notes, does everyone wonder what the fuck their psychiatrist is writing in his little book? I told him about the wonderful Christmas with my father, the issues surrounding my mother and he asked if the rest of the family understood her disease as I did. I replied everyone understands it except her husband, who enables her to continue the behavior. But we’ve all had enablers in our lives, and it certainly isn’t my place to point fingers. A few more notes and we concluded our session by talking about the book proposal, upcoming reality tv show potentials, plans to be of service and what the bank said about my lack of funds. I thanked him and left, whistling on the way down.
After therapy, and a difficult hour of being flustered by Mr. Mystery Criminal, I felt cupcakes were an order and walked down to get a pecan chocolate cupcake and a chocolate vanilla cupcake. I got on the bus as it pulled up, and watched West Hollywood and then Hollywood pass as I came home. On Hollywood Blvd, I saw Captain Fantastic again, this time in white jeans. I don’t think he’s homeless because I’ve never seen any homeless man in white jeans. Perhaps he is just that fantastic.
I went to dinner with my boy Jew Hefner, who still works in the adult business and caught me up on his day to day life as a talent agent and professional good guy. I miss very few people from the biz, he is one, but I don’t miss the business at all. When the conversation turned to music, dreams, aspirations and life outside the sex industry, I felt myself lighten. One can only talk porn for so long. It’s all just the same story anyway.
Then it was home for some Friday Night Lights with Deezy and the rest of that delicious cupcake.
When I began writing this, I wanted to categorize it as a Terrible No Good Very Bad Day, but I can’t help but feel the little blips on the map of my day weren’t terrible, or no good, or very bad. Just minor challenges. Certainly nothing in that hour of frustration could cause me to say the entire day was bad. Because it wouldn’t be true. The day was great, even if a few moments of it were not.