i was hunting for an empty sketchbook to start for this new phase of life i am entering, to do some non-verbal explorations of what i learn, and i rediscovered the guestbook i started three years ago when i lived on riverside. it has invites to housewarmings to my first apartment, the classified party we had, (fuck the alex p. keatons of this world),

This was pre-jesse, remember, with jasmina, and the classified coupons one in which is written, "woman seeks beating heart." and "wanted: really big huge enoirmous magnificent sense of humor." and graffitti from some weird hairdresser's boyfriend who came really late - rememeber that? how can i forget that night? it is when i wore my beak and wig and snagged my first boi.

so i didn't sleep all night, had totally weird shivering dreams of e.f. and my cat lay lengthwise along my side and still i couldn't sleep, no matter my breathing techniques or whatever, and decided to make coffee and go running and when i came downstairs the front door was wide open and papers were blowing and my wallet and computer were sitting right there, untouched. this is not the first time this has happened.

i forget to lock the door and it blows open. panic in beijing. and a very old friend, kelly, (she does shoots for milfhunter.com called at 2am, he always calls really late, and i had heard but didn't pick up, and friends are worrried about travelling to toronto, and tornadoes, and genetically enhanced tomatoes, and well, how much coffee can a girl drink? i'm living proof