INTRODUCTION

Hollywood prepared me for the wild. It gave me the strength and ability to endure rejection and redirection. I learned how to improvise and adapt to a variety of situations. I know to expect the unexpected and accept the things I can’t control. It taught me to learn from my mistakes and laugh at them.

These stories are dedicated to rebels, artists, nomads, black sheep, vagabonds, witches, and weirdos. May you stay bold, wild, and unapologetic!

We need freaks like you.

II: THE INEBRIATED TRUTH

I got a day job working as a tour guide at Universal Studios, which happened to be Chelsea Lately’s new filming location. It was weird showing tourists my old work at my new job, in front of my new and former coworkers. 

Most of The Studio Tour artificially replicated nature. It was filled with fake jungles, earthquake simulations, dangerous cgi animals, faux flash floods, and animatronic creatures. 

It was my job to dramatically react to each scenario. I screamed and cried while Bruce the mechanical shark devoured my fake husbands. 

Movies often villainize animals by making them seem more threatening than they are in real life. Hollywood encourages people to hate and fear sharks. Animals can be aggressive, but humans are much more destructive. Never underestimate the power of hungry or threatened creatures.

People are fucking crazy. All sorts of weird shit happened during my tours. I never knew when or if someone might scream, pee, smoke, throw up, fight, drink, masterbate, bleed, give birth, start a fire, or shit themselves. 

I made myself learn how to talk in-front of people and cameras by working as a performer. Even if I was sick with anxiety, I forced myself to develop communication skills. It’s smart to use jobs as educational experiences. That line of work taught me how to improvise and fake confidence. Adaptability is my superpower!

A lot of the tour guides were aspiring comedians, who were in constant search of their next source of material. We did all sorts of fun stupid shit, just for the sake of a good story. 

Our employers had such a hard time getting us to wear our dorky ass uniforms at work, but we had no problem wearing them out to the local bars and strip clubs. 

There were so many rumors about tour guides dumping tour guides for other tour guides. Everyone got drunk and fucked everybody! It was so much fun.

My roommate and I went out for drinks with one of our coworkers. On the drive home he started crying while looking out the passenger window. When we asked him what was wrong he sobbed “I just really want to be an actor.” Then he drunkenly begged and cried for one of us to suck his dick.

Most of the people I met in LA were desperately thirsty for fame and so was I! Creative journalism always appealed to me. I’ve always been a sucker for a good story.

We gave lots of private studio tours to wealthy celebrities. I’ve met so many stars over the years and most of them were conceited assholes. Not all, but most. The people who worked behind the scenes were generally much more tolerable than the ones we watched on screens. 

It was hard to tell if the talent on the backlot wanted to be seen. Most of them were friendly, they would come up to say hi, or take pictures with the tour groups. Some of them screamed at us for interrupting their scenes. A few of them jumped behind cars or bushes to hide.

If you want to be in the spotlight, you have to be okay with it shining on you all the time. The lights and cameras don’t turn off at the end of the show or movie. The audience’s attention will follow you wherever you go, especially nowadays thanks to social media and paparazzi. That level of attention from fame doesn’t just turn off, unless you disappear. Some people run away from it all for their own mental health and sanity. Others end up getting canceled or dare I say fucked. 

I’ll never forget the time Lorelai Gilmore rolled her eyes at me and yelled “LOOKS LIKE WE'RE ON SAFARI AGAIN!” I interrupted her Parenthood scenes way too many times. 

Steven Speilburg often came up to the guests to say hi, talk about movies, and take pictures. Sometimes I’d see him grab coffee before going to work. 

Jimmy Fallon was the virtual co-host for the studio tour. When I was lazy I made him carry all the weight by playing clips of him the entire time. Other days I would make the tour my own personal stand up comedy show and cut him out of the routine. 

I developed a little coworker beef with Jimmy over the years. I loved him on SNL, but his big hit single “TRAMTASTIC DAY” haunted me. I heard that song all day every day. Some of us tour guides boycotted playing it for a while, which got us in trouble. Our managers barked at us for playing too much Eminem and not enough Jimmy Fallon. 

Around that time I made the mistake of telling a man that I’m an SNL fan. We had only been dating for a few months when he gifted me a DICK IN A BOX for Christmas. Yes, he cut a hole in a wrapped up box for his limp little dick. I don’t remember how I reacted. I might have blacked out. 

Sometimes movie stars would take their families on the VIP Studio Tours. It was awkward teaching actors about films, because they actually worked on them, unlike us. Imagine trying to teach Brad Pitt about filmmaking. 

Russell Crowe brought his kids and their friends on the tour for his son's birthday. He warned all the tour guides that he was on a strict diet for a big movie role at the beginning of the day. Throughout the morning he asked us about our goals and dreams. He gave us some advice and seemed genuinely interested in our Hollywood career paths. Then he dropped tons of money on candy for all the kids. Soon after that he went into hangry beast mode. He demanded healthy food, something like spinach, so I ran all over the place searching for fresh vegetables. The theme park served beer and churros, so I failed at fulfilling his requests. 

During one of my tours I tore my achilles tendon while tripping over a fake cobblestone on a movie set. Of course the people on that tour were snobby assholes. They laughed when I hit the ground crying. One of them felt bad, so he gave me a fat tip. I tried to file for workers compensation, but I filled out the forms wrong, and fucked myself over. People later told me that the wealthy guests on that tour referred to me as their “Poor American Peasant.” 

Dancing was my favorite way to create and release. When I stopped moving due to getting hurt I developed an unhealthy relationship with my mind and body. Even after I healed I continued to stand in my own way, because my skills weren’t as strong as they used to be. 

Haunted houses freaked me out, I never went inside of them before working at that theme park. I’ve struggled with anxiety, depression, and sobriety for most of my life. It was next level while working as a performer, especially for anything horror related. I didn’t want people to judge me for being scared of fake things, so I numbed my fears with weed and alcohol. One of my tour guide coworkers called me out in front of everyone “Are you fucking high!?! You haven’t said anything all night and you’re supposed to be giving a tour!” 

In my defense I had to take something to help with the pain from my injury. At least I wasn’t coked out of my fucking mind like some of the other tour guides and scare-actors.

Most nights I got paired up with rappers, who secretly smoked me out, before I led them through the haunted mazes. They were used to being mobbed and frightened by people. Their desperate super fans scared me way more than the monsters.

One of the theme park employees told us to make our guests put out their joint. In response I said “Just act cool and let it slide, it’s Chris Brown.” The theme park maze op went into full fangirl narc mode. He loudly squawked over the walkie talkies “THE TOUR GUIDE SAID TO LET HIM SMOKE CAUSE HE’S CHRIS BROWN.” Tourists overheard and came chasing after us. We got trapped in a swarm of teenage girls. They all kept squealing “REVENGE FOR RIHANNA!!!” while trampling us. I’m team Riri too. I was just doing my fucking job. Plus I wanted him to smoke me out, which never happened.

A few of my coworkers had to ask their guests to stop smoking cigarettes on the backlot. In response that group cackled then blew smoke into all the tour guides faces. At the time none of us knew who they were, but we later found out that they were the lead cast members from the show Vampire Diaries. 

Famous people can be such entitled dicks sometimes, because they’re used to special treatment. Laws and rules are easily bent by wealthy celebrities.  

Watching the scare-actors audition for roles without their costumes was hilarious. It was just a bunch of creepy people snarling and limping around like zombies. Some of them were relatively normal people, just doing their jobs, but a few of them were a little too into the gore. We could always tell which ones waited all year to act out like their morbid criminal alter egos. 

At one point I had a crush on a guy who played a murderer. His victim was a mannequin that looked way too much like me. We went out a few times, but I never went home with him, because I feared he might stab me then throw me in the trunk of his car. I just couldn’t get over the fact that he looked and acted like a psychotic killer. 

The murderers were way hotter than the other Universal Studios characters. FUCK, MARRY, KILL: Spongebob, Norman Bates, Shrek

Horror related things became more tolerable the more I was around them. My roommate Alex was a special effects makeup artist who turned me into all sorts of goblin, witch, and alien-like creatures. Our fridge was usually filled with artificial blood, ears, or eyeballs. She helped me realize that the gore was all fake and just another form of art for the sake of entertainment. 

Since Alex worked on movies she was gone for weeks or months at a time. She let me live at her place while I figured things out, which took me a full year. The crotchety old Jewish woman who lived below us fucking hated me. She banged a broomstick on her ceiling every time I had sex, in hopes of making me shut the fuck up. 

Alex was a makeup artist on E! News for years. Back in the good old days when my favorite shows were The Girls Next Door and Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami. Alex later got into special effect monster makeup and starred in a reality tv makeup competition show called Face Off. 

Around that time I fantasized about being an E! News Red Carpet Reporter. I got a taste of that life while working there for Ho. All the E! News hosts were so shockingly skinny in real life. I was the only person there who ate lunch. Sometimes people at E! would ask me if I wanted to split a side salad. No. I’d rather have my own normal full sized salad. Diets, heels, and spray tans felt mandatory. I never fit into that world, even though I wanted to be a part of it so badly. I felt the same way at The Hills finale at The Roosevelt Hotel. Everybody on the show was so tiny and skinny compared to how they looked on screens. I couldn’t help but feel like a self conscious ogre towering over every famous celebrity. FEE! FI! FO! FUM!

Ho interviewed most of The Hills cast members when I worked for him. I thought Kristin was such a bitch on the show, but so friendly in real life. She ran up to Ho and flung her arms and legs around him. It looked so romantic and unprofessional. I wondered if they had a secret little fling. Spencer Pratt was my favorite cast member by far. He had such amazing vibes and energy. Maybe the crystals were working! 

Sometimes my friend Alex did Bill Maher’s makeup. I would tag along to watch the show, meet celebrities, and eat some free food. One time I saw Jane Lynch crawling under the snack table to sneak some extra sodas. She whisper-asked me if I wanted to take any home. Another time I was sitting on Bill Maher’s makeup desk. When he came back from commercial break he yelled “SCRAM!!!” in my face and I bolted the fuck out of his office as fast as possible. He scared the fucking shit out of me. 

A lot of our friends worked on shows with celebrity coworkers or castmates. We kinda got used to being around famous people. I’ll never forget the time I met Ashton Kutcher on the set of Two and a Half Men. Even though he had lead roles that got him tons of money and fame he seemed super depressed. I’m pretty sure he had just gone through a big breakup with Demi Moore, so he was going through some heavy emotional shit at that time. He didn’t give a fuck about that acting job, he was ready to bounce, and go party at Buring Man. Ashton was super generous and welcoming though. He let me and my friends hang out in “Club Ashton,” his fancy gigantic motorhome party bus that was bigger than my entire apartment.  

One time Alex did an elaborate makeup on me at a makeup convention for a magazine photoshoot. I had prosthetic fake eyes with crystals shooting out of the sockets. My real eyes were taped shut underneath. I met some of my favorite celebrities while blind and in character. It was strange hearing their commentary about me, without being able to see them or fully respond. 

That’s actually how I met Jay aka “Laganja Estranja” the stoner marijuana drag queen from RuPaul’s Drag Race. Even though I was blinded in the crystal eye makeup we totally hit it off and exchanged social media handles. Alex ended up creating a similar makeup look on Jay for a photoshoot collaboration that we all did later on.  

It’s crazy how many hosting, modeling, dancing, and acting gigs I juggled simultaneously. The hustle and struggle were real. All of my favorite jobs involved my friend Jason. Something about him made me want to drunkenly dance on tables or get impulsive tattoos. Jason was always fun to be around. That’s probably why he became so successful! I’ve met so many interesting people through shitty jobs over the years. 

We hosted shows for Afterbuzz TV, a podcast outlet that never paid us. The owners, Kevin and Maria, solely profited from our faces and likeness. Most of the unpaid hosts shared a similar ambivalence towards that experience. In a way it was the practice we needed to get bigger opportunities later on, but the whole thing was still pretty sketchy and fucked up.

When Afterbuzz first started, the studios were built inside of an old shitty house in the valley. The neighbors noticed hosts and celebrities coming and going all the time. Several people reported them to the police for running a secretive business with hundreds of unpaid employees. They had no choice but to change their location and start fresh. Afterbuzz later rebranded as a hosting podcast school for educational purposes, but it went under shortly after that. 

Kevin and Maria always looked picture perfect, but they had reputations for scamming people and burning bridges. They seemed to ruthlessly crave attention and notoriety. Anything for an extra second of fame!

People knew that Afterbuzz was cheap and sketchy, but they were shocked to hear about my similar experiences at Chelsea Lately. Of course I could have left those places sooner, but for some shallow reason, I enjoyed being associated with famous people. 

It was my fault for agreeing to work without getting paid. Guess I thought those jobs made me look cool or impressive? I was letting my ego and other people’s perceptions control my life. It felt like they scammed me and took advantage of me, but I signed myself up for that shit. 

My friends thought that going from Chelsea Lately to Universal Studios was a major step backwards, but at least I was making some money. Both of those jobs were for the same parent company NBC, so I’m glad they finally started paying me. To be fair they didn’t know that I was working for them for free. 

I wonder if Kevin and Maria thought they were helping the Afterbuzz hosts. Most people have reasons to justify all their actions, even if they seem shitty or fucked up to others. I really loved Chelsea, Maggie, Kevin, and Maria, but I definitely grew bitter about my experiences working for them over the years. In hindsight, those job situations were super fucked up. 

When I first started hosting for Afterbuzz, I asked so many sexy celebrities to come on our podcasts for interviews. The whole thing was really just my weird way of hitting on hot rich people. 

Deleasa talked about his new music on Afterbuzz with me and my co-host Kelly. His sister married a Jonas Brother. They had such a fabulous family! During our interview I caught such a fat crush on him.  

We ended up going out on the town with Deleasa and his friends one night after he played a local gig. When I went to the bathroom Kelly swooped in and brought Deleasa home with her. 

The two of them didn’t even seem to click. I felt completely blindsided! Kelly seemed like another wannabe Maria. She was unrealistically perfect, skinny, and well dressed. Kelly came across as aggressively competitive. I couldn’t help but wonder if she even liked him or if she just wanted to win. 

I covered the premiere of Stranger Things for Afterbuzz. Most red carpet events give the reporters barely any space. All the hosts, photographers, and writers get piled on top of eachother. It’s a total fucking nightmare for anyone who needs personal space, but it makes the stars look more popular. 

I stood next to a professional gossiper from People Magazine on the carpet. When Winona walked by he loudly whispered “Ask her what she wants from Saks this season.” She overheard and stormed past us enraged. 

The entertainment industry weirdly suited me. Most gigs only lasted a few hours, so by the time I got sick of the job it was over. People judged me for acting like an egotistical fame whore, but whatever. That path looked way more fun than other career options, which seemed boring and tedious in comparison. 

Hosting reminded me of ballet. People make it look so effortlessly easy, but it takes an extreme amount of talent, knowledge, strength, and discipline to actually be good. 

Andy Cohen’s hosting skills have always impressed me. He hosts live shows and does those reunions, where he interviews like ten wasted narcissists at the same time. Andy’s next level style of interviewing stirs the pot, but he’s managed to remain likable, despite being a gossipy little bitch. What an icon!

One night Jason and I drank a bunch of tequila. We decided to visit a psychic around two in the morning with a group of our friends. The psychic seemed to know that we were coming, it looked like she was waiting for us. She told Jason that he was spiritually fucked up, probably because he made me take pictures of his reading, through the neon signs in the window. 

My experience was much more positive. The psychic told me that I was going to become a household name. Not from performing, but from sharing my thoughts, words, stories, and ideas. I’d make money from selling things online with pictures, words, and sayings on them. She envisioned my creations decorating people’s homes or bodies! Of course she also told me that my destiny would change if I told anyone about that reading. I had purple hair, red lipstick, and a bright pink kimono. She could tell that I wanted to be seen and heard just by looking at me. 

Bob was the funniest writer and director to come on Afterbuzz. We bonded during our interview and became immediate besties. Hanging out with Bob in real life felt like being in one of his episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. The two of us went out on the town a few times in his sexy convertible. Canter’s Jewish Deli became our goto spot for knish and martinis. He kept buying me cocktails while making me laugh. We talked about his iconic colleagues Larry David and Kurt Vonnegut while bonding over our love for cats and cocktails. 

Back in the day Bob and his friends worried they might have to take care of Larry David someday. They assumed he was an unemployable curmudgeon, but he ended up being more successful than all the rest of them! 

Bob idolized Kurt Vonnegut's books and filmed a documentary about his life. He followed him around with a camera for years and they became friends. After Kurt died it took a long time for Bob to put all the pieces together. So it goes. He had collected all sorts of art, notes, drawings, and interviews from Kurt over the course of time. Bob later released “Kurt Vonnegut: Unstuck in Time.” It was unlike any other documentary, because he was a part of it. Bob wasn’t just some random guy interviewing him, they became genuine friends from doing such a long project together. 

Vonnegut’s books made me wonder if I should be more creative with my storytelling, instead of being so fucking blunt. Maybe someday I’ll get to play around with time travel too. 

One night Bob gave me a fancy bottle of champagne for me to keep for the next time we hung out. I accidentally drank it immediately with my friends, so that never happened. 

Later on Bob wrote a script with me in mind. I was supposed to play the hot leading lady in “The Hollywood Hawaiian.” The story was about a Hawaiian Themed Hotel in Hollywood that held Jewish writers workshops back in the 1950’s. I was meant to play the front desk girl, but it never got picked up. 

Each episode of Curb ended with Larry doing something cringe, then it would flash to the credits: “Written & Directed by: BOB!” People thought it was so funny, they turned it into a meme. They would post embarrassing videos and edit them to end with the show’s soundtrack with Bob’s credits. There were meme accounts posing as him that had millions of followers. Some people even got tramp stamp tattoos of his name and credits. Watching friends go viral or turn into memes is such a fucking trip!

The Inebriated Truth was my genius show idea. I got my friends drunk as fuck and recorded them answering a series of questions. I asked them if they could get away with any crime, what would it be? Most of them said rape or robbery. Nobody wanted to hurt anybody. They just wanted to get rich or have sex with people who were out of their leagues. My editor never finished their end of the project, so the show was never released. Most of my friends were relieved it never aired, it probably would have gotten them canceled. Most shows became aggressively politically correct shortly after we finished filming the project. It seemed like a bad time to release something like that.  

Jason got a job as a director for a big outlet in New York City. He casted me to play the hungover girl in a skit for Cosmo. My job was to guzzle mimosas while binge eating vegan mexican food. It was the role I was born to play! I guess I’m a method actor. Jason directed me by chanting “CHUG!!! CHUG!!! CHUG!!!” in front of the celebrity cast. Our lives were so Vanderpump Rules coded back then.

I was really excited to meet Will Ferrell at a movie premiere. I spent all day glamming up to impress him. Maybe I went a little too overboard with the hair, makeup, heels, and outfit. I looked like I wanted to be an actress, not a reporter. When I asked Will for an interview he looked me up and down with a stank ass face and walked away from me. I couldn’t believe that he was so likable on screen, but such a fucking dick in person. Kevin Hart was next to him and they were both way too cool to talk to me. I immediately marched over to my Kia Rio and ripped the “MORE COWBELL” sticker off the bumper. Then I drove straight home to throw away my Spartan Cheerleader uniform. 

Will Ferrell’s rejection hurt so much. We both grew up in Orange County, so I wanted to ask him about his childhood! What was his favorite beach? Was he ever a mall rat? Does his mom still teach at the community college? How did he stay creatively inspired in boring beige Irvine?

Back in highschool my mom wanted me to join or start a club to be more involved, so I became the president and creator of the Saturday Night Live Club. There were only two of us members, just me and my friend Elena. We usually ate cake while watching SNL together. I loved Will Ferrell as a cast member, but enjoyed seeing Jimmy Fallon die laughing at him even more. 

Years later I was hungover at the beach laying around on a rock like a lizard. I was smoking a blunt with a burrito while taking pictures of the water when Will Ferrell walked right in front of me. 

I immediately put my camera down. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to shoot him. Will Ferrell came right up to me and started ranting. “ISN’T THE OCEAN BEAUTIFUL!? HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!? IT’S MAGICAL!” It was refreshing to hear a Hollywood asshole give a fuck about nature. He was pretty mean to me back when I looked pretty, but super nice to me when I looked like shit. Maybe he wanted some of my blunt or burrito. 

I guess he managed to redeem himself. I’m a way better person in Laguna Beach compared to Hollywood too. When I talk about Hollywood I’m usually referring to the entertainment industry in LA, not the shit hole city. 

I was a production assistant for the SAG Awards for a few years. One time I was in charge of the green room for the Modern Family cast. I was excited to meet Sofia Vergara, because she was beautiful and hilarious on screen. She was absolutely drop dead gorgeous in real life, but not very friendly. I totally hit it off with Jesse Tyler Ferguson though! We both went to Retro Fit gym in WEHO. He was so kind and friendly every time I saw him around town. By the way, that gym got me into the best shape of my life! This isn’t an ad, I just wish it was one. 

For a few months I worked as a production assistant on the show So You Think You Can Dance. I lead the dancers to their interviews after getting kicked off the show or moved to the next round. It was my job to amp up their emotions for the camera. Having to make people feel worse after they failed was brutal. Especially since I knew some of the performers auditioning for that show. 

One of the dancers I grew up with made it pretty far in the competition. It gave him such a huge ego. When I told him I was working on the show he said “Oh yeah, you’re like one of those little people doing stuff behind the scenes right?” He thought he was so cool for being talent not production. I hope he enjoyed his little fifteen minutes. Break a leg bitch!   

When people get out of prison they are given a list of jobs they can apply for that don’t require background checks. Extra acting was at the top of that list. Let’s just say I met some interesting people through those types of gigs. 

I used to be an extra cheerleader actor on the show Glee. One day I noticed that another background girl got a bigger plot line than the rest of us on the squad. Her character wore a neck brace after we filmed a scene featuring us dropping her. She even got some pointless lines. When I asked her how she got the featured role, she told me that she sucked the director's dick. 

A lot of the lead actors from Glee died way too young under such strange circumstances. It shocked me to hear about Naya Rivera’s death. She drowned shortly after we worked together on things for Cosmo and Fox. 

I couldn’t believe how many cast members from Glee died in such abrupt tragic ways. No wonder Ryan Murphy’s work changed tones. Sometimes the horrors of life can be creatively inspiring. 

Another extra acting gig was looking for people to play overweight dumpy midwesterns. The plot took place in Indiana, but the show was filmed in LA. I was offended when I got the part, but took it anyway, because I was broke.

The show ended up being Parks and Recreation. It was strange watching all the famous actors talk, text, and eat in their natural habitat. When we filmed Leslie Knope’s wedding reception scenes a creepy old man kept grinding his dick up on me. He refused to give me space or fuck off. 

Sadly I’ve had way too many me too types of moments on sets, but that one was bad enough to get other people involved. I told my supervisor and they fired him for harassing me. The other extras ganged up on me, because he was a regular actor on that show, which was his only source of income. The directors saw me get groped then bullied, so they gave me way more screen time, near all the main characters.

One of the production assistants yelled at me for smoking weed in my car during our lunch break. She told me that Brad Pitt got fired from extra gigs for doing the same thing, as if that would stop me. I’m sure Brad recovered from that just fine. Getting fired from shitty jobs is a blessing in disguise.  

The best extra acting gigs were for the show How I Met Your Mother. They filmed their scenes super fast. I’d go to the studio, sit down at a fake bar or bagel shop, then go home five minutes later. Even if I worked for just a few minutes they would pay me for the full eight hours. Best job ever! 

Sometimes I’d see big famous actors do stupid little gigs around town. One time I was shopping at The Grove, barely anyone else was there, except for Neil Patrick Harris, who was unveiling a “BIG SURPRISE!” Since I was one of the only people around I stopped and watched his little performance. Guess it was a private show, just for me! He revealed a giant M&M statue that was hiding under a huge sheet. We both died lauging over how fucking stupid the whole thing was. His enthusiastic reaction was dripping in sarcasm. That gig was so shockingly dumb, it brought tears of joy to my eyes. At least I wasn’t the only one doing ridiculous jobs all over LA.  

The backlot held auditions for an actors showcase, which was an opportunity to get discovered by an agent or manager. Every tour guide that wanted to try out had to team up with a coworker to perform a breakup scene from a romcom. 

During the audition the casting directors asked me and my coworker to do our scene again, but make it a sex scene. My partner ended up getting into the showcase unlike me. Maybe I sucked at having fake sex.

It’s kinda crazy that I dry humped my sexy coworker in those ugly ass tour guide uniforms on the floor of a conference room with our bosses watching from behind a table. It wasn’t my hottest performance, but the whole thing was awkward as fuck. 

When I told the guy I was dating about the audition, he got jealous that I kissed and fake fucked someone else. I didn’t think it was a big deal at all. Long story short, we got into a huge fight, and broke up. He was worried I might leave him for the hot buff actor dude, which is fair, because I totally hooked up with him after we split. I kinda felt like I had to redeem myself sexually, after that flop of an audition. 

People would ask me out and then get mad at me for doing my job. Those fuckers knew what I did before dating me. It’s like they all expected me to dump my career for them. My longest relationship was mostly long distance. It’s crazy how many years I spent dating someone who wasn’t even around. He worried that I might cheat on him with a model, actor, or dancer. After we split I found out that we was fucking other girls the entire time. 

Part of me was kinda relieved that I didn’t get into the backlot showcase. It was super sexual, but not in a hot way. There was no need to fake orgasm on stage with my coworkers just in hopes of impressing some strangers in a crappy old theater. Despite being rejected by the casting directors, I helped out at the event for some extra money. After the show an agent approached me while I was cleaning up the venue. He said that watching me fold tables was hotter than the sex show. I was the only person who got representation and I wasn’t even in the fucking show. 

The agent told me that I needed some fresh new looks, measurements, and pictures. He kept urging me to lose tons of weight, so I ate laxatives and ran around like a maniac. He would ask questions like “Do you want to be the hot leading lady of the fat funny best friend?” IDFK. Whatever pays more?

A lot of agent and model stories seem to have a similar plot. Hot young girl fucks old creepy dude who claims he’s going to help her make it big. At one point my agent convinced me to drive down to his house in San Diego and pay him hundreds of dollars to take pictures of me. His photography was great, but that’s not the right way to start out with a new agent. I ended up spending more money on him than what I ended up making with him! 

He was extremely flirtatious and loved sharing stories about his hot model hookups. I never put out, but I let him take me out a few times. Guess I was in it for the food, even though he judged me for eating it. He always asked me to act calmer, sexier, and more seductive. My hyper bubbly personality was quite the boner killer for him. He preferred when I acted soft, quiet, and sensual. He told me to wear tight clothing to show off my curves. He taught me how to breathe in through my nose and out of my mouth slowly, to get that perfect sexy model pout. 

Even though that agent totally sucked, he helped me embrace a whole new level of confidence and sensuality. I didn’t book shit through him, but his little tips and tricks helped me get tons of roles and attention. Submitting myself to projects was usually more promising than trusting other people with my career. At least he motivated me to get into better shape. 

One night I went to the Playboy Mansion to cover a red carpet event before a big party. That’s where I met Shaq, a true real life gentle giant. I was tired of being fat shamed by my agent, so it was nice to be around someone who made me feel dainty. 

I wanted to go into the Playboy Mansion even though I wasn’t formally invited to the party. My cameraman and I hid our press passes, linked arms, and walked right in. I saw a Playboy Bunny in full costume and yelled at her “OH MY GOD!!! YOU LOOK FUCKING AMAZING!!! LET’S TAKE PICS!!!” As if I knew her. We just acted like we were supposed to be there and it worked. Later that night I added my name to the official Playboy Mansion Party Invite List, so I got invited to all of their future events.  

Hugh Hefner totally gave off Gatsby vibes. He watched over the parties from his balcony, while chillin in his robe and slippers with a cigar. I loved learning about how he started Playboy. Hef was such a legendary inspiring character. His iconic brand celebrated sex, art, politics, and culture. He was truly avant garde and revolutionary! He put Marilyn Monroe on the first cover of Playboy and now they are buried next to each other. I’ve always been a huge fan of those sexy talented superstars.

I saw Snoop Dog smoking a blunt with some famous people at a Playboy Party. I had no idea who they were, but he was so starstruck! They were probably famous athletes or something. I walked up and said “MMM THAT SMELLS GOOD!” and he handed me the blunt. I was kinda excluded from the conversation, but I was in on that fat blunt rotation, which was good enough for me! Smoking weed with Snoop Dog at the Playboy Mansion was the most iconic moment of my life, but it was probably pretty forgettable to him.  

The mansion was only renovated and updated in the areas that were on camera. The rest of it was kinda old and dingy with seventies shag carpet. There was a side house with a bunch of pinball machines and a spinny circle bed with mirrored walls and ceilings. My friend and I started hooking up on the Austin Powers circle bed, but we were quickly interrupted and kicked out. It was supposed to be a WHEN IN ROME kinda moment. Having sex at the Playboy Mansion would have been legendary! We ended up going back to my place, which didn’t really have the same appeal. 

Playboy parties always had the best food, but no one ate it except for me. Most of the girls starved themselves and refused to eat just to look skinny. Whatever, their loss, more for me! I was there for the food, so I made sure to get super baked before each party. 

I actually got another job at Universal Studios, working as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. There were thirteen of us playing the same role. They ranked us based on looks, size, and acting abilities. Naturally the character dressing rooms were filled with drama and gossip. It was so funny watching a bunch of Marilyn Monore clones talk shit about each other. The hardest part of that job was having to speak in a slow sexy baby voice while getting groaped by drunk tourists. So many wasted old men tried honking my padded titties. 

Sometimes we had to stand over fans that blew up our skirts. It felt pretty great during the summer heat waves in the valley. During a show one of the Marilyns started her period while doing the fan bit, which made the tourists scream. Luckily Universal Studios is known for their horror nights. Everyone thought it was funny, except the girl it happened to, who quit shortly after. 

Acting like Marilyn became a huge part of my life for years. She helped me embrace my sexuality and book modeling gigs. I had a hard time separating who I was playing from my real personality. My makeup, wardrobe, and home decor morphed into a pinup style. We wore wigs at work, but that didn’t stop me from chopping off my hair and pouring bleach all over my head. I acted like Marilyn all the time even when I was off the clock. 

My Marilyn Monroe inspired alter ego led me to romanticize toxic things like cigarettes, affairs, drugs, depression, and suicide. 

That’s show business baby! 

Marilyn Monroe died at age thirty six. I wondered if Universal Studios would fire me when or if I reached that age. I guess all the old ass Marilyns could switch over to Disney to play Cruella.

One of the other Marilyn Monroe impersonators hated my guts. I heard her talk mad shit about me in the dressing rooms multiple times. Most of those girls were try hard pick me prudes, which was weird considering who they were playing. I was the wild stoner Marilyn that chain smoked cigs and ate french fries in costume. The other girls were much more goody two shoes. I doubt they’ve ever touched drugs, or even worse, carbs! 

Everyone responded better to me acting like Marilyn. I knew that if I turned on that charming sexy seductive energy I would have better reactions from others. Whenever people told me that I looked like Marilyn I’d tell them that my last name is Kennedy and I don’t know my dad.  

One of my trans friends confronted me for hiding my true self in hopes of accommodating other people's expectations. She called me out for acting like different people based on who we were around. I felt embarrassed, but grateful she pointed out some of my toxic patterns. Ultimately her feedback was uplifting, even though it felt pretty brutal in the moment. 

She was able to recognize people living out of alignment more than others, because that’s how she operated for most of her life. Being authentic is such a huge flex in a world filled with people who fear judgment.  

What she said was true, but nothing new. Sometimes I’m too adaptable and get lost without even noticing. I grew up learning from strict piano teachers, severe ballet instructors, militant yogis, and stern catholic nuns. There was an undeniable pressure to be perfect and obedient. Over the years I acted like different versions of myself to make certain people comfortable. I loved playing different characters, even though the real me was somewhere deep down dying to get out. My chameleon style people pleasing tendencies took years to outgrow. I eventually learned that being creative is the best way to express myself.

All those childhood cotillions, bible studies, and manners classes ultimately backfired. Marilyn was way more sexy, adventurous, and fun than the past versions of myself. My newfound wardrobe and confidence made life more enjoyable. That kind of change was empowering. 

It felt like I was getting closer to being the real me, compared to the way I used to present myself in the past. At least I was losing myself in the right direction.

Fame, drugs, youth, and mortality were constantly on my mind. I came to work high every day and claimed to be a method actor. At times I thought I was losing my mind from repeating the same jokes, stories, and phrases so many times. 

I dyed my hair baby pink in a desperate attempt to separate myself from who I was playing. That work experience gave me mad respect for actors. Pretending to be someone else was fun, but it wasn’t great for my mental health. 

The summer was long and hot. Most of us performers desperately needed a break. It was time to get out of town, let loose, and go wild. Vegas Baby!

A big group of us went out to the desert to party on the strip. We ate a fuck ton of mushrooms, which was not our best idea, considering how much coke, weed, and booze we consumed. It’s like we had a death wish. 

The casino lights and carpet patterns looked like they choreographed epic dance routines for us. At one point I went to the bathroom and stared at the wall for way too long, because it looked like it was dripping black paint. I went in there to pee, but the toilet freaked me out, so I just stood there for hours. Later I found out it was less than a minute. I had no concept of time or reality. People looked like ancient swollen playdough balloon animals. We tried to act natural in front of strangers, but they freaked us out. Everyone looked wrinkly and bloated at the same time, which was not their best look. Walking through that circus themed casino was terrifying. Children running through the hallways looked like evil gremlin monsters chasing after us. 

One of our friends decided he was going to take whatever drug was offered to him. Some random guys approached us to sell us some “V.” None of us knew what that was, but my friend paid for it, and took it anyway. It ended up being Viagra. His raging boner deeply hurt and upset him. We got stuck in a crowd of girls wearing skimpy festival outfits, swimwear, and lingerie. One of them was wearing a sunflower on each boob and a tiny black thong. She turned around and yelled at him to stop poking her in the back! His rock hard dick was such an embarrassment to our whole group. He couldn’t find a way to hide or get rid of it. I thought it was fucking hilarious, but he felt so creepy and disgusted with himself. He disappeared in an attempt to take care of it, but the porta potties were too gross for him to successfully masterbate.

For some reason we thought it would be fun to sample some hot sauce on our journey. It was so spicy we had to sign a waiver before tasting it. One of my friends reacted by cussing everyone out. I busted into a candy shop and stuffed my face with ice cream. Another guy ran into a restaurant, collapsed on the floor, and started convulsing. Everyone else ran straight into traffic. 

The surrounding tourists were horrified by our behavior. That hot sauce was more intense than drugs. I’m surprised we didn’t shit ourselves. We’re lucky to be alive.

On our way back to the hotel we sat down at a bar to order more drinks. As if we weren’t fucked up enough already. A lady turned to us and said “HOLY SHIT. TMZ just reported that Robin Williams killed himself.” 

It was hard to hear about his suicide while tripping ballz.

Robin’s story resonated with me. We both loved comedy, but struggled with depression. Our lives were filled with fabulous people and adventures, but we both felt sad, despite the smiles on our faces. Depressed people don't always seem unhappy, some of them look like Robin Williams or Marilyn Monroe.

Most animals bear their teeth as a form of protection. It’s a survival instinct. I always had a huge fucking smile on my face to mask my issues. In a way I was programmed to act like things were fine, even though they never were.

I know this sounds bat shit crazy, but I think Robin Williams visited me from the other side that night. He urged me to go after my goals while I still had the time. 

The whole thing was trippy as fuck. I know that I was hallucinating, but I heard Robin Williams psychedelic cartoon ghost voices ringing through my head. He sounded like a wise old genie version of Euphegenia Doubtfire. 

Robin reminded me that we need to be ourselves and do what we love while we can. If you want something, go after it, despite what others might think. 

My friend said he was able to see his goofy spirit guides while tripping. His three silly angels were more shocked that he could see them than he was. It blew all of their minds. He said they were running around him while waving and yelling at each other like “OH MY GOD! HE CAN SEE US RIGHT NOW!” Then they all started nagging him “WE KEEP SENDING YOU SO MANY SIGNS AND MESSAGES, BUT YOU ALWAYS IGNORE THEM!!!” 

Mushrooms have the power to connect humans to the spiritual world. Plants have magical powers that can change our limited minds, bodies, and senses.

Did I really hear Robin Williams? Did my friend really see his spirit guides? Did we tap into another dimension? Did we communicate with the dead? 

Maybe it was just a bunch of crazy hallucinations. 

Maybe we let our imaginations get the best of us. 

The next day we were hungover as fuck. It seemed like we were gone for months, but it was just one crazy weekend. We kept talking about death, life, art, religion, spirituality, and so-called reality. 

I impulsively quit my job in an email on our drive back to LA. I didn’t care or worry about the fact that I was broke and had nothing else lined up. Robin’s suicide inspired me to reevalute my life and take action towards my dreams. 

For some reason I wanted to be an entertainment news reporter on tv and knew it was time to make it happen. I had so many interests. Interviewing a variety of creatives could give me inspiration or a little taste of their worlds. 

Even though that trip was fucking insane, the mushrooms gave us clarity, which helped us view our lives from new perspectives. I recognized which relationships, jobs, and hobbies held the most value. Psychedelics showed me what I needed to change and get rid of before the next chapter.

XII: VAGABOND

I never planned on being such a nomadic person, but if the rug keeps getting ripped out from under you, you’ll learn to jump before it happens again.

After Lake Tahoe I had the hardest time finding a place to live. The rentals were astronomically expensive all over the country. My credit score, lack of funds, and unstable track record disqualified me from renting most places. I ended up traveling all over America AGAIN while being borderline homeless. Luckily my generous friends let me couch surf, while I bounced around from state to state again. 

My favorite places in America were Seattle, Big Sur, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, The Rocky Mountains, Yellowstone, The Grand Tetons, Cascade Mountains, and The Napali Coast. 

Everywhere west was best! At least for nature loving stoners like me. 

People from California and New York usually talk mad shit about the rest of the country. They call everything between LA and NY “the flyover states.” The areas I used to judge and avoid ended up being surprisingly beautiful. 

The Colorado Rocky Mountains were incredible. Drive through dispensaries, next to drive through coffee shops, next to fabulous ski resorts? Yes please! The rocks, trees, rivers, and mountains were insanely gorgeous. Part of me wanted to stop and settle down there instead of traveling through. 

At one point I pulled over to take a picture and my car got stuck in the snow. Lando meowed and cried while I dug the tires out with my hands wrapped in trash bags. Neither of us were prepared for the harsh winter storms.

I couldn’t believe how much I liked Utah. It’s such a beautiful underrated state. I have to go back to Park City for a ski trip someday. I couldn’t get over the epic mountain views, rocks, and farm lands. Everyone looked kind, healthy, and attractive. I didn’t see any sketchy mentally ill homeless drug addicts in that state besides me.

Some random Karen bitch cussed me out at a gas station in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Utah. She was mad that I quickly ran inside to use the bathroom while my car was still filling up. When I told her that I was trying to multitask and keep my cat in the shade she threatened to pull a gun on me. That cunt had furs and leathers covering her carnivorous body. It blows my mind how little people care about others, especially animals. As I drove away I yelled “BYE BITCH! HOPE YOU GET SOME WEED OR SOME FUCKING D!” She for sure wanted to murder me. 

Lando and I almost got sucked into a tornado while driving through Kansas. I saw it in the distance approaching the freeway, but it was hard to tell how far away it was. We passed by just before it hit our path. All the heavy winds and static electricity in the air made my hair and Lando’s fur stand up.

In the middle of bumfuck nowhere North Dakota I stopped at a gas station. Luckily I locked my doors when I got back in my car, because a drugged up psychopath tried to break in and attack me. He crawled onto my dashboard and started licking the front window while meowing. I turned on my car and started driving. He rolled off the car like a tumbleweed. Of course he had a gun and only one fuckin tooth. I’m shocked we survived whatever the fuck that was.

Life on the road was not as fun as creators make it seem on social media. I loved all the adventures, but it wouldn’t be enjoyable for most people. There are epically beautiful places all over America, but people rarely share stories about the dangers and hardships that come along with nomadic lifestyles. 

Horror stories lie behind pretty pictures. 

I weirdly enjoy talking about all my fuck ups and bad experiences. Nobody wants to hear me or anybody brag about being an amazing person. People like that are annoying as fuck! Also what are we supposed to get out of that? You were an outstanding employee? Cool story bro! I’d rather hear about the juice and the drama! Entertain me with stories or lessons. Please don’t bore me with perfection.

Lando and I traveled throughout the entire pandemic and it was wild to see such a dramatic increase in crime and murder cases. All sorts of crazy shit was going on everywhere, especially in America. It was hard to know where to go and who to trust. 

There are dangerous predators in cities and the wild. Having a variety of flashlights came in handy more than anything else during our travels. I wanted to be able to see what was around me at all times. 

Some say that hyper independence is a form of trauma. I think that sounds about right. Most of my life I felt like a misunderstood black sheep outsider. That’s why I have a long history of being a quirky, insensitive, weirdo. Plus I’m an Aquarius. If you choose to be authentic you have to accept that most people will not like you. 

If you’re a woman traveling solo, it’s best to avoid being out alone at night. Owning a dog or cat helps scare the creeps away. Having pepper spray, wasp spray, or bear spray is smart for self defense. Just make sure that you don’t aim for yourself. Some of us like learning things the hard way. 

Whenever I slept or went to the bathroom in my car I covered the windows with black trash bags or construction papers for privacy. That’s also a great way to hide valuables, because it just looks like tinted windows from the outside. Having a small portable camping toilet came in handy, since most public restrooms were closed during the pandemic. Baby wipes helped me stay clean if I didn’t have anywhere to shower or wash my hands. Having extra water, toilet paper, and snacks on hand is always a good idea. 

I love my ride or die kitty boy more than anything else. He was cage free for all of our US road trips. Lando and I stopped and rested at the big 24 hour gas stations. Most of them had security, lights, cameras, bathrooms, food, blankets, and pillows if needed. 

Lando loved the car’s seat warmers. He sat in my lap most of our journeys. I gave him treats and water along the way. He eventually got used to moving and traveling. I doubt other cats would be so well behaved. I had a plastic cage with the bars taken off in the back seat that was filled with toilet paper for him to use as a litter box. It was easy to clean up, because I always had supplies ready to use nearby. Lando isn’t a fan of traveling, but he adjusted to life on the road overtime. Don’t worry I made sure to spoil the crap out of him the whole time.

After our Lake Tahoe adventures we bounced around Norcal in search of housing. Since I couldn’t find an affordable rental in Big Sur I considered joining the Esalen Institute, which is a rich hippy yoga wellness center that offers free employee housing. Super exclusive, reservation only! 

Unfortunately, they don’t allow cats, so we got disqualified from their program. I kinda wanted to join that famous NorCal hippy cult just for the plot and experience. Maybe someday I could just visit Esalen for some sort of workshop, instead of trying to make it my entire lifestyle. 

The commune life sounded a bit intense anyway. I don’t think I like people enough to pull that off. If I couldn’t handle having roommates, boyfriends, girlfriends, or coworkers the commune lifestyle probably wouldn’t really work out for me long term. 

I dramatically went the opposite direction. I found a modern minimalistic tiny home isolated away in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The landowner told me I was their finalist, but then he ghosted me. I told him that I was staying in hotels, but he still didn't have the balls to tell me that he chose somebody else instead of me. I wasted so much time and money waiting to hear back from that fucker. 

After some shitty pretentious job interviews and rental nightmares I realized that Big Sur and Santa Cruz were not the right options for me at that time. Everything was way too expensive! Plus everyone in Santa Cruz was like a little baby college kid or an old as fuck senior citizen. 

I was technically homeless while living in a series of cars, tents, and airbnbs. It was kinda like taking a vacation at rock bottom. When people asked where I lived I would say “I’m a nomadic artist!” It sounded way better than saying “I’m a homeless jobless loser!” I delusionally romanticized my fucked up life until it actually started to get better. 

If you lose everything, all you’ll have left is faith. 

That’s why so many people meet God at rock bottom. 

My friend Kali had just moved to Seattle. I really missed the arts, nature, and culture up there in Washington. It sounded like a civilized safe haven after my adventures in the woods, farms, volcanos, and mountains. Kali let Lando and I stay with her while I looked at home and job options there. Just another attempt to dig myself out of a hole I created. 

At first it was such a relief to be back around some smart, hot people, with amenities. Then I realized just how hard it would be to jump back into the rat race matrix city life after living so remote in nature for so long. 

I would check things out in the city, but run back into the woods after any minor inconvenience. It was hard for me to go out to bars, restaurants, and concerts again. I became so socially awkward after being trapped in a cabin during the harsh winter storms. I was still recovering from the never ending pandemic. I was numb yet hypervigilant.

Kali and I struggled with PTSD from our adventures. One day we passed by construction and a nail gun went off. Kali screamed and ducked while I had no response. Both of our reactions were equally concerning, but they kinda paired well with Seattle’s vibes. I was so emo and angsty. I was like dead inside. Maybe we were both still recovering from getting haunted in Hawaii. 

I got a job as a photographer at The Space Needle, but all the hordes of tourists overwhelmed me, so I quit immediately. I looked at apartments all over town, but they all sucked. Anything tolerable was out of my budget. 

At times I worried about not having a steady home or job, but I remembered that flexibility is my superpower. My life never really had stability. Everything is constantly changing. Luckily I have generous creative nomadic friends that totally get me and let me stay with them. I knew that I would figure out how to survive, because I always do. 

Even back when I had my own place and a job I wouldn’t fully settle down. There’s no need for furniture if you want to keep moving. I was always able to do freelance photography gigs and little side hustles all over the country.

My social battery did not last long in Washington. I kept ditching human friends to hang out with plants or animals instead. I ended up spending a couple days on Orcas Island with my mom and her friend Dee. The island was absolutely magical, but hanging out with them sucked. It was like an interrogation vacation. 

It was blatantly obvious that my mom and Dee had been talking mad shit about my mental health issues before meeting up with me. Out of nowhere Dee said that as a spiritual person it upsets her to hear people talk about spirituality when they are really describing psychosis. She made comments about how she used to help out her brother, but stopped because he does drugs. All the stories were very pointed and judgmental. I felt so attacked.

I can’t handle listening to alcoholics judge stoners. Dee always had a gin martini in her hand. I can’t even drink gin, it makes me a snarly fucking  bitch. She saw me smoke a joint years before and judged me ever since. I assumed she would be chill with that considering she was a Seattle based artist. Isn’t everyone a stoner in Washington? If not, they should be. They have the best fucking weed in the whole country!  

When I first cut my mom out of my life she gossiped about my mental health to anyone who would listen. She didn’t tell people that I cut her off, she just continued to project her narrative of me being an insane problem in her life. 

The truth is that she was an emotionally abusive and manipulative parent. She continued to gaslight me into believing I’m a mentally ill problem while lying to me and about me. At a certain point I had enough.  

I let her back into my life briefly, but she was walking on thin ice. The only reason I started talking to her again was because of my grandma's death. I wanted to stay on good terms with her while we figured out memorial and burial plans. Maybe my mom hijacked my dead grandma's ashes as another attempt to control me or drag shit out as long as possible. 

Before my grandma died my aunt called me ungrateful for never thanking them for all the money they sent me. I had no idea what she was talking about. My aunt and grandma had sent me thousands of dollars through my mom for Christmas and Birthday presents, but she pocketed all the money. We confronted her for stealing and she said that I didn’t deserve it, so she was saving it for a rainy day. Whatever the fuck that means.

My mom stole thousands of dollars from me, spread lies and rumors about me (like a full on smear campaign), ruined my reputation, and she got away with it! She could no longer control me, but she found a way to control the narrative about me. Most people knew that she was full of shit, but some dumb fucks totally believed her, without caring to hear my side of the story. 

When I was borderline homeless after the Tahoe avalanches my mom helped me out financially, but it wasn’t worth the price. She used money as a way to breadcrumb, dangle the carrot, and manipulate me. She played the victim by crying to her friends and family about me being a horrible burden. 

According to rumors my mom “bought me a car” and “gave me sixty grand.” BULLSHIT! In my dreams. The only way I know how to cope with pain is to learn how to find the humor in it. I mean it’s kinda funny that she’s such a fucking loser. She has to lie or steal to get any ounce of love or attention, because she’s such an insufferable bitch. Actually it’s really sad that all of her bad qualities drown out the good ones. My mom is extremely talented and beautiful, but she’s more focused on tearing others down than building herself up. Worst of all, I know that my parents suck, but recognize that I’m just like them. I love myself, but it’s hard sometimes, when I remind myself of the people who abused and neglected me. 

My mom never liked me for who I am. She constantly hounded me with negative comments about my weight, health, career path, and choices. She attempted to control every single aspect of my life! Thankfully we had some amazing pets to distract us from our shitty relationship when I was younger.

After our trip to Orcas Island I texted my mom and explained why I felt verbally attacked. She didn’t respond to my messages. The next time we spoke I told her why I wouldn’t be going on any more family “vacations” with her. She insisted that the intervention interrogations never happened, because she didn’t remember them. Just because she is a bad listener that doesn’t mean conversations never happened. It was a great trip from her perspective. She accused me of being dramatic and asked me to stop making things up AGAIN. What a fucking nightmare gaslighter! 

When I directly asked my mom if she thought I needed help she told me that I was perfectly healthy and that there was nothing wrong with me. She kept bullying and gaslighting me over and over and over again. Whenever I would confront her or stand up for myself she would accuse me of making things up or being too dramatic every single time. 

My mom kept sending her little flying monkeys off to confront me. They told me I could never achieve my goals or dreams because of my record. I was like “WHAT RECORD!? Since when do I have a record?! That’s news to me. What the fuck did I do?!?”

By the way, I’m not denying mental health problems. I just hate when my mom and her friends judge me without hearing my side of the story. They have no idea what I’ve been through. They also aren’t qualified to diagnose anyone! I think they’re the ones who need to get fucking diagnosed. They’re the lead poisoned baby boomers who have creepy dementia stares. I literally can’t with the intense eye contact. They were like fucking dementors trying to jump down my throat to snatch my soul. 

Baby boomer haters love to judge me and call me psychotic. They never really got me or saw my potential anyway. Dare me to give a fuck! I don’t have to like anyone and nobody has to like me. If you constantly have to explain yourself, you’re with the wrong people. I refuse to be manipulated into doing things I don’t want to do. I don’t care about what they think. I care about what I think! Those prude old fucks are going to die out soon anyway. Why would I live my life for them instead of me?

Maybe people should focus on bigger global issues instead of worrying about what other people do or think. The state of our beautiful planet concerns me way more than keeping up with the joneses. 

My mom begged me to stop manically posting on social media. She told me that I was embarrassing myself, but I was really embarrassing her. Then she asked me to work on my mental health by getting evaluated. 

Whenever I brought that stuff up to her as a kid she denied me needing help. I asked her if I could get evaluated for AuDHD when I was twelve and she said no. Her way of dealing with me was to keep me as busy as possible to get rid of my hyper activity. No time for rest. DANCE MONKEY DANCE!

I also asked her about bisexuality when I was around that age. She told me it wasn’t a real thing, it’s just something sad, confused people do, when they don’t know if they’re gay yet. 

If you were raised by an emotionally immature single parent who didn’t listen to you, I know that your needs were not met. Let’s be real. I raised myself with help from my generous friends and extended family members.

My mom kept comparing me to Maggie. She said I recognized issues with her, but not within myself. Pretty bold of that bitch to think she knows what I’m thinking about. I noticed similarities, but there were also big differences. 

Maggie dreamed of being a rapper, but never released any raps. She refused to get a job or leave LA for the longest time. That’s how she ended up on the streets. She had to figure out other creative ways to make money, which got her back on her feet. If she could recover from her rock bottoms I could too. 

I had big goals that also seemed delusional to people, but I worked towards them and focused on making money. I’ve spent years writing, taking pictures, and creating art! My mom always acted like I had no intelligence, income, or talents. Being around people who put me down was detrimental to my mental health and wellbeing. The people who complained the most about my depression and anxiety issues were the ones who ignited them.     

Comparing me to the woman who used me, by making me work her job, while she collected the paychecks was such a low blow. I know I can be a crazy bitch, but I’ve never taken advantage of people like that. I’ve been working hard my entire fucking life! That’s HOW I reached burnout. She’s the one who’s like Maggie. Both of them pocketed money that should have gone to me! 

It was horrible having my mother smear campaign me to all of our mutual friends and family members. Luckily, my time at TMZ taught me that people spread rumors about people that they are jealous of all the time. My mother can gossip and lie about me all she wants. I’ll stay unbothered like a famous celebrity dealing with tabloid rumors. Most famous people ignore rumors or they address them through creative projects publically (like tv shows, books, podcasts, blogs, tik toks, or movies).

Her smear campaign against me was brutal, but it showed me people’s true colors. Friends that I considered family were haters and enemies in disguise. Now I refuse to hang out with those close minded unintelligent old ableists. 

I read through my journals and made a list of all the things my mother has said and done to me over the years. Seeing everything written out on paper made me realize just how horrible our relationship had been. I cut my mom out of my life for good, blocked her on everything, and never looked back. 

Realizing that my mom was the evil villain in my life took a really long time. She had provided me with food, an education, experiences, and a roof over my head. She never hurt me physically, but the emotional damage was real. I had to banish that bitch from my life for good. 

Cutting shitty people and places out of my life was an amazing decision. No more forced holidays, parties, or any of that bullshit. I finally had the true freedom to be myself! Whatever the fuck that means.

Seattle was not working out, but I tried to force it to. Kali was kind enough to let us stay for longer than expected. My friends offered to let me move back to their horse farm in Georgia while I figured things out AGAIN. 

I kept on repeating patterns within patterns within patterns.  

The hardest part of moving around was saying goodbye to all my animal friends. I missed all the bears in Tahoe, all the pigs in Hawaii, and all the crows in Seattle. I was happy to be reunited with all my horse friends back on the farm again. 

It was difficult to find jobs or rentals anywhere. The car I bought wasn’t running well so I sold it back to the company I purchased it from. My entire life was like a dumpster fire that needed to be shoved into the ocean. I was so fucking lost. Such a fish out of water, especially in the south. 

I photographed a few all black weddings while I was in Georgia. The people who hired me obviously expected me to be black. That’s happened so many times throughout my life. When I walked into the first wedding I went up to the bride and was like “Hey, I’m Danica, your photographer.” She drunkenly yelled to her family “THE PHOTOGRAPHERS HERE. HER NAME’S DAN-ICK-UH NOT DUH-NEE-KA!” Her brother immediately ran into the room like “Oh shit, what up snowflake?!” Then he was like “Actually, Imma call you Elsa.” They asked me to take pictures of all the food, except the Bojangles fried chicken bags in the corner. They smoked me out and gave me some watermelon and cognac before their super serious religious southern baptist ceremony. It was so intense. The preacher was like “Thou shall not sleep in a bed without one another for the rest of your lives! Praise Jesus Hallelujah!” After the event I took some family photos and the bride invited her eighteen children and nine baby daddies up on stage. I thought “yeah she’s not going to be in the same bed as that dude for the rest of her life.”

One of the other all black weddings I shot was for a throuple! Only two of the men were able to get married legally, but everyone knew their unicorn, who was very involved with the wedding. Their reception was so much fun! One of the grooms was a Jamaican dancer, who insisted I twerked with him while taking pictures. I had the best food, made some new friends, and got to dance with a bunch of fun queer stoners. 

I love traveling and learning about different cultures. I really enjoyed and appreciated experiencing southern black culture, food, music, and dancing. I fucking love Jamaicans, they know how to have a good time! Even though I was the only white girl in many situations, I felt welcomed. The jokes about my race were playful and silly, even when I got called DAN*GGA instead of DANICA. I witnessed a lot of racism in the south, but experienced the most directed towards me while living in Hawaii. Haole life! 

Overall I enjoyed the south way more than I expected, but it wasn’t the right fit for me long term. Back in the day I couldn’t wait to leave California, but my travels made me really miss and appreciate it. I didn’t know how privileged I was, until I left all my connections and resources behind. 

Even though I love spending time alone and solo traveling, I learned that having quality friends is so important. In fact, it’s essential to my mental health and wellbeing. Spending too much time in isolation made me really fucking weird. 

I missed being creative with my favorite people! Don’t even get me started on how homesick I got for good quality weed, beaches, and Mexican food. I even missed Hollywood show business! My celebrity gossip media break was much needed at the time, but I wanted my hobbies back. I ended up binge watching so much trash tv it was like opening up a floodgate. Back to being a Bravo Bitch after going full monk mode. Instead of doing a complete 180 I did a full 360 and got back on my bullshit. As if I would miss Scandoval!

My friends that own the horse farm also own apartments all over Orange County. They hooked me up with a place in Huntington Harbor and they gave me a car! It was such a beautiful reminder from the universe that family doesn’t have to be blood. 

When I was leaving their farm in Georgia I saw a bunch of dead deer right by where I hit one with my car years before. Was it just a coincidence or a sign from the universe?

Adventuring the United States made me grateful to be from Orange County, but returning immediately reminded me why I left it behind.

My new apartment was close to the fancy waterfront house that I grew up in as a kid. When my parents got divorced, we lost everything. My mom and I moved to a trailer park in the Newport Back Bay, which was right by my new beach job at Newport Aquatic Center. We moved into a house in Huntington after some trailer, hotel, and house hopping... but I basically grew up on the beach. Being back there was such a walk down memory lane. Back to being a beach bitch! 

While I was back in OC I decided to meet my biological father for the first time. My mom smear campaigned and villainized him, which I totally believed for years, until she did the same shit to me. Meeting him tripped me out, because we were so much alike. We had similar faces, eyes, hands, mannerisms, and personalities. He loved talking about planetary alignments, astrology, energies, and other healing modalities. Meeting him felt like some sort of full circle moment and it answered so many questions I didn’t know I had. I didn’t expect him to have such a grounded woo woo astrology vibe. It made sense that my mom was triggered by my spiritual beliefs after meeting him. 

My dad told me a story about when he was a football player. He was face down in the mud and he didn’t want to get up. When he finally summoned the strength to get back up he scored a fucking touchdown. He reminded me not to quit right before things get good! I always want to give up just before my manifestations come to fruition. Trust me it’s best to power through. 

Both of my parents have good and bad qualities like most people. Neither of them are angels or demons, they’re just humans. Good or bad it’s probably smart to decenter your parents from your life. Live your life for yourself, not for other people, even if they’re blood. There’s no need to live under control. 

Working in the boating industry felt like being a half ass lifeguard half ass sailor. When I hoisted up chains and ropes or rinsed things off on the wash deck I heard the scores of Spongebob and Pirates of the Caribbean playing in my head. I curse like a fucking sailor, so I might as well just be one.

It was my job to rent, maintain, launch, clean, and steer a variety of boats like surf skis, kayaks, and canoes. Being around a bunch of outriggers gave me a little taste of aloha. I kept meeting Hawaii loving haoles there, who only lasted six months on the islands too. We strived to live aloha, despite living in overcrowded materialistic Orange County.

My coworkers were a bunch of fun, young, hot college aged dudes. Part of me kind of wanted to run a train through the place. I had the fattest crush on one of my coworkers who was way younger than me. It totally reminded me of my cougar days up in the mountains of Lake Tahoe. Once again I was accepted as a homie, even though I was the only elderly female. Most of my coworkers were stoned surfer dudes, but some people were competing to be in the fucking Olympics. 

Being around driven competitive people was so inspiring. They reminded me that most humans are scared of going after their goals, so there isn’t really that much competition out there. Especially if you’re in a niche art or sport. 

I had so much fun cruising around the back bay in launch boats with hot dudes. It was like being in an episode of Outer Banks. I considered leaning into the look by going platinum blonde and getting bigger boobs Baywatch style, but that was out of my budget. I thought about finding a yacht daddy, but quickly remembered how much I hate most people. Especially creepy old republican men that remind me of my rapist.

Even though I loved hanging out on the beach all day with hot young guys, that job wasn’t the right fit for me. No job is the right fit for me. I can’t hold a fucking job! I’m a nomadic artist that needs to explore and create! Why be in a fucking city when I could immerse myself in nature? Instead of swinging between lifestyles I should learn to find balance. Journaling made me realize how many times I need to relearn something before it fucking clicks. I knew that I wanted to be an artist and stop working dumb ass jobs, I just needed to fucking do it already. As soon as I stop standing in my own way, it’s over for you bitches. 

When I first ditched Orange County I was afraid of leaving my childhood friends and family behind. The new friends that I made there and on the road ended up being way more compatible with who I really am, compared to who my mother raised me to be. Going back to my hometown made me realize just how much I had changed over the years. I completely outgrew most of my past friendships. I didn’t know how different I became until I saw some people from my past react to the new me. “Why are you dressed masculine? Are you transgender now? Why aren’t you wearing any makeup? Are you okay?” Why don’t you shut the fuck up and mind your own business. People think that Californians are assholes and now I understand why. It’s because we are. 

I’ve experienced more homophobic and transphobic comments in my hometown Huntington Beach than anywhere else in the world! And I never even came out as trans or non-binary! Maybe I am, but I’m like the last to know? Was I in denial? My gender became such a mind fuck for me. 

Most of my trans friends were men who transitioned into women. It was a sexy, fun, empowering experience for them. Filled with makeup and cute outfits! My experience was completely different. I had to hide my femininity to protect her from creepy men! I missed my sexy, flirty, feminine side and wondered if she’d ever make a comeback. I was mourning the loss of my femininity while denying how masculine I had become. Since people would often perceive me as a trans, I got bullied for it, even though that’s not how I saw myself.  

Some of my childhood friends went in different directions, but we landed on similar paths in the end. The Catholic schoolgirl to drunken party slut to new age spirituality pipeline needs to be studied. My friend Amy and I both went through those cliche series of events, which ignited spiritual awakenings, health problems, and creative endeavors. For the longest time Amy didn’t drink alcohol or have sex, but she finally ditched strict Catholicism for reiki and mushrooms. She still believed in God, but in a more spiritual way. Over time she developed magical abilities like remembering past life memories, reiki energy healing, psychic visions, manifestations, and numerology. Our childhood friends judged our beliefs and questioned our sanity. Even though we both outgrew many past friendships, we were lucky to have each other. It’s important to have friends with like minded beliefs and interests. In our spare time we went to yoga and breathwork classes. We also got to explore some plant medicines, healing modalities, and spiritual conspiracy theories without passing judgment. 

Amy was also raw doggin some undiagnosed ADHD. The western medical industry sketched both of us out, so we started trying out different herbal remedies to help tame our symptoms. 

Mushrooms are magical! Reishi, Lion's Mane, and Psychedelic Mushrooms have helped me control my mood swings, anxiety, and depression issues. Some mushrooms can even break down heavy plastics that are destroying our planet. Even though I was able to cure my health problems with nature, I decided to visit a professional doctor anyway, just to hear them out.

I got a psych evaluation from a psychiatrist who works with people that have  schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. He told me that I was completely normal. I didn’t believe him, there had to be something wrong with me. He assured me that my mother was the real problem, not me. I wondered if I masked too hard in front of him. By the time I got help I was fine, it’s not like I was in the middle of a psychotic breakdown while I was talking to him. I wasn’t completely stable, but I also wasn’t unhinged. I could be crazier!! FOR THE SAKE OF ART!! FOR THE SAKE OF THE PLOT!!

Most of my friends, family members, and co-workers thought that something was wrong with me. My doctors said that there was nothing wrong with me, except for the fact that I sounded like an anxious hypochondriac that was surrounded by shitty people.  

I decided to learn more about healing plants like Traditional Chinese Herbs, Ayurvedic Medicine, Ayahuasca, Weed, and Magic Mushrooms. Consuming plants deepened my connection to my higher self and the nature of our universe. 

Disorders and mental illnesses are created by humans. People are inventing new ways to diagnose, drug, and take advantage of others. There is no right way to be human. We need to embrace differences and enjoy being original. 

In my typical fashion I poured green hair dye all over my head and manically quit my job soon after starting it. I wondered if my art career would ever take off or if I’d be job hopping for the rest of my life. Tiktok comments reminded me that colorful hair is non-binary autism in denial. 

It blows my mind that the people who had more than me were jealous of me, while I was at my lowest mentally and financially. My sincere crazy raw authenticity triggered the shit out of people. They could never be real, due to the fact that their image and self worth is based on others approval. I was handling my rock bottom hardships in a way they could not. Most people wouldn’t be able to survive the shit that I’ve been through. 

My generous family friends helped raise and support me throughout my life. They fed me, put a roof over my head, bought me a car, and so much more. Unfortunately they remained friends with my abusers, even after I explained what they put me through. Relying on people who entertain my enemies was not good for my mental health or wellbeing. I didn’t realize how fucked that situation was until I had to explain my circumstances to someone else. I felt like I had to get the fuck out of there as fast as possible, even though I had just arrived. Moving back to Huntington Beach was a huge mistake, but it was the closure I needed to fully move on. It made me realize who my real friends and family are. Be careful who you accept gifts from, because they might be trying to groom or manipulate you. Sometimes generosity comes with ulterior motives like control. 

Once again I packed up my things, grabbed my cat, said some goodbyes, and hit the road. I had barely any money and nothing lined up. Just some faith in myself, my skills, and the universe. Part of me was low key terrified that I made a horrible mistake. I could’ve really fucked myself over. I could have easily ended up homeless on the streets. For some reason I continued to follow my intuition even though she’s messy, impulsive, and reckless. Of course I was also following the guidance and signs from the universe. While I was leaving Orange County I called my adoptive dad Clark to say goodbye and tell him about my weird situation. He gave me a thousand dollars which immensely helped me move on to the next chapter.

Throughout my life I’ve always felt drawn to Big Sur. Whenever I had a bad show or audition back in my Hollywood days I would drive up the coast with some black coffee, weed, and a pack of cigarettes to get away from it all.

Living in Big Sur seemed like an unrealistic fantasy. It’s remote nature, with no cell service, and some lonely billionaire glass mansions. I doubted I could pull off living there, but went again anyways, because why the fuck not? 

When I got there I slowed down to the pace of nature and spent time with her. I played in the rivers, hugged trees, and touched some fucking grass. Then I prayed to God for a miracle to pull through. 

Then I went to a campground with cute little cabins that were nestled in the redwood forest along the river. I asked the manager if he was hiring when I pulled up to the gate with Lando riding shotgun. I told him I was interested in work that provides pet friendly housing. 

Long story short he gave me a super chill job and a cabin in the woods. It had epic nature views that were filled with wildlife action. Lando and I loved watching the foxes, skunks, cats, birds, and mountain lions roam the hills behind our back porch. 

My new job was to sell firewood, marshmallows, and hot chocolate at the camp store. It was fun, easy, and had tons of down time. So I got to work on my own personal art projects while I was on the clock! 

Having a job with free rent gave me the opportunity to fully get back on my feet and break out of survival mode. I paid off debts, got insurance, booked doctors appointments, and launched an online art shop business. I was able to completely turn my life around for the better in just a few months. Most of my health problems disappeared once I fixed my finances and removed the toxic people from my life. 

I stopped ruminating over the past. I quit self diagnosing and replaying old stories. I refused to hang out with people that make me feel like shit. Then suddenly my health got better. I was genuinely healthy and happy for the first time in a long time. 

Big Sur is a sacred, magical, healing place. I don’t want to talk shit about it, but I’m totally going to anyway. 

It’s the most remote small town I’ve ever called home. There are no grocery stores or dispensaries. Just a few restaurants, resorts, and fancy homes. The nature and wildlife was definitely the main appeal. I had to commute to Carmel for supplies. There was a huge landslide cutting Big Sur in half for years, so there was only one road in and out of the area. Complaining about the commute to and from town seems ridiculous, because it’s such an epically beautiful drive. But after a long day of work, it was such a bitch to go into town! Especially since the roads were closed at night due to mudslide reconstructions. I stressed myself out worrying about getting stuck on the wrong side of the landslides, unable to get home. Those windy coastal cliff roads ignited some intrusive OCD thoughts. It would be so easy to just yeet myself off a fucking cliff. What a way to go! 

Before moving to Big Sur I really wanted to go to the Esalen Institute to take some hippy dippy woo woo classes involving yoga, herbs, and meditations. I was eager to meet more like minded spiritual creative nature loving people. Since I worked at a campground, I got to meet a lot of the Esalen visitors, who ended up being some of the biggest fucking cunts I’ve ever met! The emo tatted up punks I know are much kinder than those bitches. “Love & Light!” What!? Bitch you were just such a fucking cunt to me, shut the fuck up with that bullshit. 

Part of me became a total hater of the spiritual yoga culture there, because I couldn’t afford to be a part of it. Most of the Esalen courses were around ten thousand dollars and the local yoga studio charged around two hundred dollars per class.

Big Sur has a huge divide in class levels. The lower class of workers ran the stores, campgrounds, and gas stations. The upper class was filled with ultra rich introverted billionaires with multiple homes. There wasn’t really a middle class, unless you count the people who commute from Monterey for work, but they don’t count as real locals. Most of the people that I met in Big Sur were tourists, van lifers, or vagabonds like me just passing through. 

The rich helped out the poor in Big Sur. Every week the wealthy people gave out tons of free food for anyone who needed it. A lot of the fresh produce was grown at the Esalen Institute. I really appreciated their generosity and all the free food. Most of the locals were kind hearted people, it was the tourists that were disrespectful assholes. Not all of them, but most of them. 

I think more rich retired people should garden and give out fresh produce to the lower class local workers. I could see that being a huge success in places like Bainbridge or Orcas Island. 

When I first got to Big Sur it was so peaceful and relaxing, but the universe didn’t let me get too comfortable. I enjoyed exploring nature, while taking pictures, and smoking weed with my animal friends as usual. I made a few human friends too, which was impressive, considering there were only a few people out there. 

Of course I made some enemies too. On my first day working in the camp store I threw out all the expired foods, which pissed off the store manager. She hated me from the start, because I tossed out some old hot sauces, so I told our boss that I didn’t want to work with her anymore. I wasn’t the only person who complained about her, so she was walking on thin ice with HR, which made her hate me even more. If she fucked up any more times she would get fired, which was a big deal, because her life revolved around the place. She constantly complained about how much she hated it there, but had no drive or desire to change her life. That campground was her home that she treated like a life sentence. Big Sur sparked painful memories of her dead lost loved ones, which made her super depressed, but for some reason she didn’t want to start over or move away. We avoided working together most of the time, but learned to tolerate each other here and there. It was so awkward, because there were only a few of us living and working there. 

The friends I made had similar nomadic lifestyles and family dramas. They also enjoyed art, nature, animals, myths, legends, ghost stories, and lore. Sometimes I get a little nervous talking about things like that, in fear of being labeled crazy again. It was refreshing to enjoy stories around campfires in nature without the fear of being judged.

One of my friends told me stories about their alien and spaceship sightings in the grand canyon. Most ghost stories are scary, but her boyfriend told me pleasant ones. He got to play with the spirits of his dead childhood dog and grandpa while running around nature on his family's farm. 

There were a few local myths and legends about the “Hatchet Man.” A guy that stalks women in the woods, before hacking them up. Chill chill chill. There were also tales of “Shadow Figures” walking near treelines at night.

Soon after I started working there, a new male employee got hired, who had no concept of boundaries or personal space. He was obsessively in love with one of my coworker friends, like total stalker vibes. Since both of us girls are bisexual, he saw me as a threat. He got super upset when he found out that she was hanging out with me instead of him, even though we were all just friends. One day my boss pulled me aside to have a little chat. She was like “This is a weird question, but you’re wearing a top to work right?” I needed some clarification, so I was like “Are you asking me if I’m always in my work uniform or if I’m coming into work topless?” She was like “Oh I know you’re not always in your uniform, that’s fine, you live here… I just wanted to make sure that your breasts are covered up while you’re working.” I was shocked. Flabbergasted! My job was to sell marshmallows and hot cocoa to children. Of course I wore a fucking top to work! I couldn’t just sit there with my titties out like “Hey kids, you want some milk?” Like what the fuck?!

The dude who started that rumor about me later clarified that I was wearing a jacket with no top on underneath. I don’t know if he saw me in a bandeau or braless or what, but dude needs to get a fucking life! He would look into my windows and make comments to me later like “Oh I saw you were doing this and moved that then packed that.” WHAT!? He creeped me out so much! I think he was spreading rumors about me, in hopes of making me look bad in front of his crush, but he just made himself look like a prude lying fool. 

Around that same time things got really hard for me there. I had a huge infestation of Pacific Northwest termites. They ate a hole in my door, which invited all the insects from the forest inside. It was like a biblical infestation. My allergies also got really bad. I had painful sinus headaches everyday. My car suddenly crapped out on me too. Fixing it would have cost more than the car was worth, so I sold it in Sand City. I only lasted for a few more weeks after that. It felt like the universe was lighting a fire under my ass to go. She wanted me to keep moving forward! 

Big Sur was a much needed healing chapter, but I eventually started craving more city life action and amenities. I remember looking out at the gorgeous nature views, while being haunted by the thought of takeout. I was constantly daydreaming about guzzling tikka masala sauce. Most of my friends there were pretty comfortable and happy, which was great for them. But I personally needed to get around more creative energies, arts, queer people, diversity, and most importantly..good vegetarian food.

Before living there I had unrealistic stereotypical expectations of Big Sur. I thought the locals would love mushrooms, weed, yoga, and animals… but most of them had more of a republican gun lovin huntin vibe. The culture there kinda revolves around drinking and eating meat. I expected there to be way more vegetarian options and animal lovers. It kind of reminded me of livin down south in Georgia. 

Even though my expectations were totally wrong, I leaned into them anyway. I manically ate a bunch of magic mushrooms, shaved my head, and went skinny dipping in the river. I call that a Big Sur Baptism! 

Cutting off all my hair made me look way more androgynous. My style, features, and energy became progressively more masculine. I kept getting bullied for being trans even though I wasn’t transitioning. Was I somewhere on the non-binary to trans pipeline or was I having an existential gender crisis over a shitty haircut? I missed being near Portland and Seattle, away from all the homophobic Republican assholes. 

I considered coming out as non-binary, but Donald Trump got re-elected that same day, so I was like JK LOL NVM! Our country was basically turning into a mix of Nazi Germany and North Korea. Our rights and freedoms were getting ripped away from us! America was no longer a safe place. I probably should have ditched the states then and there. 

I decided to move back to Lake Tahoe for another winter season. I missed and romanticized it, even though my past chapter there was rough to say the least. Once again I had nothing lined up. Another big trust fall into the universe! I stayed in hotels near the stateline while checking out job and apartment options. Nothing was pulling through and I was burning through my money fast. I was finally able to find a little apartment nearby, but I only had enough money for the rent, not the deposit. I paid the rent upfront and told my landlord that I’d get the deposit money to them the next day. I had no idea how I was going to pull that off. I prayed to God, spirit guides, angels, and ancestors for a financial miracle to pull through. 

Right after that, my biological father randomly texted me, to ask if I got any inheritance after my grandma’s death. I told him that I didn’t get anything and he was shocked and horrified. Then he sent me thousands of dollars as a present and to remind me that there are people out there who love and care about me. I couldn’t believe it! I had only talked to him on the phone one time and met him once in person. He wasn’t around for me when I was a kid, but he sure pulled through, at the perfect timing. It was a miracle!

Remember Spencer and Heidi from the Hills? Speidi? They poured tons of money into Heidi’s music career, which didn’t really take off. Over a decade later their house burned down in the Palisades fire and they lost everything. Soon after that her music finally blew up! Her past failed art projects pulled through and saved their asses when they needed it most. Now that’s divine timing.

Their story reminded me of my life saving miracles. It also gave me hope that maybe someday my failed art projects (like this one), might pop off at the perfect time, and save my fucking ass! There’s always hope! There’s always more to the story!

I got a couple jobs, but couldn’t hold them. Then I burned through most of my money again by ordering a bunch of Indian food takeout and pre rolled joints. It was fun, but I quickly remembered why I left Lake Tahoe behind. Once again my bank account was nearly empty, but I was ready to make moves. 

I get nostalgic for all my past chapters, even the ones that were difficult. Mourning the past is a sign that you’ve lived an incredible life. Sure things have been hard, but they’ve also been amazing. I’ve been on the adventure of a lifetime!

Once again, I packed my shit up, grabbed Lando, and made moves with nothing lined up. I know my manic crazy moving stories sound so unhinged, but I always seem to land on my feet! Probably because I surrender to the universe and follow her lead. I went back to Seattle and was able to rent a beautiful clean modern minimalistic apartment with gorgeous views of the city and mountains. I was able to be my true self there. Nobody cared if I was queer, depressed, or masking. I could simply be me! It was the perfect place to call home, but I doubted my ability to hold onto it, considering my history and the state of the country.

Throughout the pandemic I moved thirteen times. It became quite evident that I was unable to hold jobs, homes, or relationships. Even though I love my connection to the spiritual world, I am a human with responsibilities. 

A lot of people with mental illnesses like schizophrenia end up homeless, because they don’t want to part with their “delusional” symptoms, even though they are unable to support themselves. 

I was so scared of getting formally diagnosed and medicated, but felt like it was the right thing to do. It was hard for me to admit that I am unwell and do need help. I got a psych evaluation which qualified me for food, financial, and medical assistance. I was able to find doctors to help me work through my trauma, anxiety, and ptsd. I didn’t want to be on disability forever…but I needed to rest and recover from what I’ve been through. I was burnt out!

America was a sinking ship. I wondered if I made a mistake by staying in the country. I decided to give the United States medical system one last chance.

If it doesn’t work out, I’ll move on, like I always do. Who knows where I’ll end up next! I’ll continue to go wherever the wind takes me.

XIII: REFLECTION

My difficult odyssey has been rewarding and informational. It opened up my heart and mind. Each experience helped me grow, progress, and evolve. I’ve learned how to embrace the highs and lows of each chapter and enjoy life as a series of adventures. 

I used to wonder why so many things happened to me, but maybe those things happened for me. Lessons can be blessings in disguise. It’s all about perspective. I see myself as a spiritual being with a divine path and purpose.

Life is messy and unpredictable, that’s just how it is. Not everything makes sense and it doesn’t have to. I’ve epically failed so many times. Holding on in an attempt to force things to work led to depression and anxiety. Luckily I had enough self compassion and confidence to continue to change my life. 

Moving around and trying new things helped me heal and accept that most things don’t go as planned. If something doesn’t work out for me I’ll just find something else. There’s a whole fucking world out there! We can change the planet when we change ourselves. 

Of course my issues followed me wherever I went. It’s like I was looking for something wrong with everything everywhere (myself, people, and places). Traveling and journaling showed me my patterns which helped me fix some toxic habits. Nothing is perfect, everything is flawed, but that’s what makes things interesting. 

I thought my unfulfilled dreams would leave me bitter, but going after them made me realize which goals are really worth it. Putting in solid effort helped me see what is or isn’t meant for me. 

Most dreams are unrealistic fantasies that sparkle brighter in our imaginations than reality. Pursuing goals can be such a reality check. Detaching from outcomes is true enlightenment. It’s a blessing in disguise when things don't work out. If I got everything I wanted right away my life would be so fucking boring. 

I’ll keep writing and editing the story of my life until I love it. Not everyone will understand my path and they don’t need to. Why surrender to being normal? There’s no need to do things by the book when you can write your own fucking book. 

I’ve endured a series of feasts and famines. Everything always makes better sense later on down the road. Losing everything taught me what’s really important. It was a complete strip down, but not in a sexy way.

Nothing THAT bad happened to me. Sure there were hard times, but I was able to get out of every difficult situation. If I’m ever in a place that’s wrong I can keep moving on. I will always find beauty in nature everywhere. 

The place you live, the job you have, and the people you surround yourself with have a dramatic impact on your life. My mental health, depression, and anxiety symptoms vanished once I removed myself from bad environments. 

If you ever need to make moves and speed up your manifestations, get rid of whatever's in your way! Sell your car, furniture, and unnecessary items. Release toxic habits, jobs, or friendships. Cut out the old to make way for the new! 

Sometimes I do crazy shit, just for a good story. Everything is art and we are all artists. We’re all playing our own roles in society. It’s up to us to decide how we want to portray our own characters. We style our bodies, homes, images, etc. Why not throw in a little plot twist here and there?

Going through a series of spiritual awakenings felt different than I imagined. I’m grateful I continued walking down the path towards self discovery. At first I thought I was losing my mind but the whole process became more understandable with each transition. I needed space and isolation to deal with every new chapter and perspective. Most of my friendships from the past fizzled out. I made room for like minded characters to enter the scenes. When I ate clean organic fruits and vegetables from the earth I felt healthier and more spiritually aligned. I got pretty particular about almost everything, especially how I spend my time and energy. Most people will never have access to my body, mind, or space. I gave up lots of shallow people and materialistic possessions for quality time with nature. Grounding practices connected me with the moon and stars. I learned how to sit in the present, meditate, write, breathe, and simply just be. Most entertainment like shows, concerts, movies, and celebrities lost their appeal. Spirituality woke me up to the realization that our societies are fucked and citizens are brainwashed. 

Humanity desperately needs a makeover. We need to evaluate the state of our planet and make adjustments. As a whole we need to learn lessons, let go of toxic shit, and create something new. We need to get rid of what has been to make room for what will be. We need a global revolution!

Luckily we are the authors of our realities, so we can switch up the plot and characters whenever we want! There’s a lot of crazy shit going on out there, but we have the power to create positive change. 

I’ll continue to share my fucks ups, even if they make me look bad. They can be entertaining and somewhat educational. Perfect is so fucking boring. I’ve watched enough reality tv to know the juicy parts of my story. 

Obstacles can be transformational lessons. 

If you don’t keep growing you’ll die! 

That's just how nature works.