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Gambling.
I never saw myself doing it. My thoughts on the subject prior to today were as such; casinos are places where silly people drop their money into blinking machines for the joy of pushing a few buttons. I just didn't see the point. After today, I feel that casinos are places people go to lose a lot of cash. (Or me at least.)
I'm nineteen. On my eighteenth birthday I visited Castle, our local sex shop, and smoked a vanilla cigar. Gambling didn't even register in my head.
Why did I wait so long?
Alec's mom drove me, Sean, Alec, and his Gran Gran to the Toppenish casino tonight. She funded the whole extravaganza. I started with forty dollars and was lured in like a moth by the bleeping noises and shining lights of a Cleopatra machine. All went well, my luck was with me. I turned a five dollar bill into fifteen. It was nearly alchemy.
Then things got bad.
I spent the forty faster than a horde of seagulls eat a chunk of stale bread. Then I moved on to the nine dollars I had in ones. Alec's mom saved the day, and bestowed me with yet another twenty dollars.
Then things got worse.
The twenty dwindled. Until I, remembering the scarcity of cigarettes and gasoline and general-anything-at-all in my life, stopped playing after I lost another ten dollars.
(Oh I forgot to mention that there was smoking allowed in the casino! That was probably one of the most thrilling parts.)
Finally things spiraled into an uncontrollable plummet to the depths of despair.
I discovered the slot machines with the levers. How could I resist? It was a LEVER. And I pulled it. And I pulled it again. And again.
The whole time my money was being consumed I kept desperately hoping that I would win a thousand dollars and live in comfort and luxury.
Needless to say, it didn't happen.
I lost it all. All of Mrs. Chunn's money, and some of my own pitiful stash.
Goodbye money, I will miss you, truly.
Gambling...not a great idea, but a lovely time all the same.
Why does this world revolve around money? I wish it wasn't so; if only I could get by. It's just no good.
I'll have to sell my body to some eatery and service customers.
"Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems..." -Led Zeppelin Marketing my paintings and churning out "popular" material would make me ill. If I wrote songs for the general public I'd sound like an idiot.
I believe in music having either inventive/solid lyrics or great instrumentals. Or both...
I like the words to my songs, but my voice is abysmal and I pretty much suck at the guitar.
Then my paintings. Who wants to buy some creepy animals-dissecting-people painting? Correction, who with money would want to purchase that?
So I'm left with a terrible dilemma. Paint grapes and wine bottles, possibly take panoramic landscape photos of the Columbia river...or keep brewing nightmares/fantasies.
I know which one I'll chose right up until I become an emaciated crack whore.
McDonald's here I come?
Despite my personal financial disaster and all the unfortunate occurrences in May/June, I have real hope for July. Yeah, I'll be stuck in an awful statistics night class. Yeah, I'm still incredibly broke. But honestly, I'm happy. And I'll get a job at the tea garden.
Things to do this month:
1. Go to Vancouver, WA
2. Go to the Sandy Beach again?
3. Get a job.
4. Ride my bike somewhere.
5. Play guitar at the park.
6. Finish Chocolate Eater's
7. Have a picnic in the middle of the night.
I haven't been sleeping enough. Writer's club is creating some dark circles under my eyes. I don't mind, in fact, I love it.
(Not the circles, the club)
I can't write anymore without talking about a certain gentlemen. And I'm still feeling insecure about...things, so I think I'll wait to regal you all with great letters of my affection.
You don't mind, right?
So in conclusion, have a fantastic July everyone.
I haven't been nurturing my artistic soul enough as of late.
I don't know when my last honest to goodness photo-whoring was. (And Haley, don't get all offended, I'm talking about glitter, fake eyelashes, high heels, a strange set, fake blood, and a film camera.)
Recently I have been entranced with Lilith. I want to do a scary succubus of man photoshoot. She's a red head who gives birth to hordes of demon spawn.
I'm thinking some lonely mountain for the setting...but perhaps that includes too much walking/hiking.
Also I want desperately to do the water nymph pictures in the river. Too bad I don't have an underwater camera. But I'm envisioning draping trees with barefooted girls roaming about in soggy white nightgowns.
In other news, does anyone want to see a fantastic video of the "I Hate Gabe Knutzen" song?
I could upload one soonish...
The book is stalled right now because someone is too lazy to attend writer's club. And someone else is too bored to write her story.
I need an angry fan base to yell at me for my underachievement.Maybe then I could pick up a paintbrush and finish the alien abduction painting.
Or better yet, illustrate Attack of the Chocolate Eaters. And yes, I freaking italicized my BOOK. Someday it will be just that. A book.
I found hope the other day at Walgreens when I stopped to read The Big Ugly Monster and the Little Stone Rabbit by Christopher Wormell. It was beyond depressing. So tragic. And the ending left much to be desired. I figure that a dead parakeet in my book isn't the end of the world. (You guys should read it, the drawings were very good.)
My point though is this,
Actually it is more of a plea for help.
Someone inspire me to get off of my ass and make creative-ness.
Please?
Someday.
(http://monislawa.deviantart.com/art/A-Way-Of-Suicide-126952127)
The picture to our left is by Monislawa on deviantart. I love the photographs that this lady takes. (Just giving credit where credit is due)
Last night I discovered something about myself. My self preservation instincts are a bit lame. Imagine, you are deeply asleep. It is two in the morning. In the middle of a strange dream about headless men in business suits you are awoken to the soft creaking of your front door. You live alone, in one room.
As your head turns toward the formerly locked door, a man's silhouette is looming near your bed.
What would the typical person's response be?
"AAAAHHH!!!" Right? Possibly an accelerated heart rate, a defensive posture?
Mine was, "Who are you?"
I said this very calmly and remained peacefully wrapped in my blankets.
It was Nick.
He used his key (which I made him give me back) and we had an odd talk about his life. I felt like a Catholic priest. Except my hair was a hot mess and I was wearing sweatpants.
He left and insisted on leaving me cash. A donation for Jesus?
I woke up around eleven today and decided it must have been a crazy dream. Nope.
The money was folded up neatly by the bed.
Drat. I have been floating along now for two or three weeks, waking lazily at noon. Sad times are ahead; I signed up for two classes at CBC this summer. It is all a part of the whole Western plan...but how I loathe the thought of statistics at eight in the morning.
My schedule:
8:20-9:30 M T W TH
Statistics
(Online Class)
History of Jazz
This will bring my total credits to...65! Yipee.
