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.

CHAPTERS:

I: WHAT’S YOUR TWENTY?

II: THE INEBRIATED TRUTH

III: TASTE THE LIMELIGHT

IV: THE CATWALK

V: ZEN AS FUCK

VI: LOST WOODS

VII: SEATTLE FREEZE

VIII: THE DISAPPEARING ACT

IX: BLESS YOUR HEART

X: LIVE ALOHA

XI: CABIN FEVER

XII: VAGABOND

XIII: LEAVE HER WILD

CHAPTER I: WHAT’S YOUR TWENTY?

Smoking weed, drinking cocktails, and laughing with celebrities seemed like an ideal career path to me. Chelsea was living my dream. She was blonde, rich, sexy, confident, and hilarious. Most of her success came from writing about her boobs, dogs, and vodka sponsored adventures. I admired people like her and hoped to be one someday. 

After studying her show’s credits, I friended the cast and crew members on social media. Somehow I managed to weasel my way into a few interviews. Then E! offered me an internship at Chelsea Lately!

Chelsea and I were going to be best friends, I could feel it. Blunts on the beach, standup shows, photoshoots, ski trips, the works. 

I sent a follow up email to the producers to thank them for the opportunity and ask them a few basic questions. They responded saying there was a mix up, because the show couldn’t bring on any more interns at that time. I was crushed. Especially since I had already bragged about it to all my friends on social media.

A few months went by and I reached out again, this time to Maggie, one of Chelsea’s assistants. After some DMs back and forth, Maggie hired me as her personal production intern. I was beyond stoked to be Chelsea’s assistant’s assistant’s assistant! It didn’t even bother me that it was an unpaid gig. It was my foot in the door to Hollywood! 

I couldn’t believe how Chelsea the Chelsea Lately offices were. Chelsea’s name and face were plastered all over everything! It was Chelsea Chelsea this and Chelsea Chelsea that. Bras were hanging from the ceilings and there were pictures of her tits and ass decorating the walls. 

If you want to be a star you essentially have to be a narcissistic egomaniac. You have to believe you’re the shit in order to convince others that you’re worthy of the spotlight. Not like I should judge, I’m a total attention whore. 

Chelsea met Maggie way before she got famous. The two of them became friends while working at a comedy club, back when Chelsea was touring on the road. Chelsea later met a rich man with major connections. He helped move Maggie out to Santa Monica to work as Chelsea’s personal assistant towards the beginning of her career. 

It took me a really long time to figure out that I was Maggie’s secret illegal intern. She told me to stay downstairs away from the rest of the cast and crew. My office was a closet that was decorated to look like a dungeon. Maggie even put a sign on the door that read “intern dungeon.” It was way too far away from the vodka water cooler and breakfast buffet.

Cameras add weight, so the female comedians taught me all sorts of diet tricks, like how to scoop all the bread out of a bagel before toasting it. My dungeon was next to the stage and guest dressing rooms, so I saw movie stars and pop stars more than my actual coworkers. 

Reese Witherspoon was one of the first celebrities I met in real life. She was so kind, funny, and itty bitty. Her face was glowing and her positive energy changed the vibes of the whole fucking building. I really wanted to tell Reese about my Legally Blonde themed thirteenth birthday party, but Chelsea made me nervous, so I hid in the corner instead. 

Maggie told me that some of the male comedians got upset when they heard that I got the original internship offer. They didn’t want some random dumb blonde Orange County girl working there. I looked like I “might break a nail.”  My heels, push up bra, and platinum blonde extensions weren’t helping. 

The crew wanted a strong man who could get shit done, which was why they revoked their previous offer. I couldn’t believe how much sexist bullshit was going on behind the scenes of a show hosted by powerful women. 

In hindsight, I might have dressed inappropriately for the interview. I looked like I wanted to be on the show, not work on the show. I was all dolled up, ready to take the stage!

The male intern they chose instead of me came from major family money. He bounced around the office on a yoga ball while drinking margaritas with the comedians. He lived in a mansion in the hills while I couch surfed around town. I loved him, but hated the fact that I was doing all the work, while he 

got all the credit and screen time!

My coworkers bragged about their wild drunken drug fueled adventures while I suffered from major fomo. I was excluded from all the big company parties and vacations, because I was an underaged secret employee.

Chelsea and I were never formally introduced, even though I worked for her for years. At times I would be in her home or office doing my job and feared she might catch me working. 

Maggie had two rules: #1 Don’t bother or talk to Chelsea. #2 Never ask a celebrity for a photo or an autograph. “Remember, you want to be a friend, not a fan!”

Chelsea was a blur. Sometimes I would see her quickly passing through the hallways between shows, flights, photoshoots, or pilates lessons. She had a reputation for being a total fucking bitch, but seemed like a really kind and generous person. Chelsea worked her ass off and funded multiple people's lives. She played pranks on friends and family members, but rewarded them later with things like bikes, cars, and vacations… which sounded like a pretty fair trade to me.

Every once in a while Chelsea would stop and look at me. She was probably wondering “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” I would quietly stare back at her like a deer in the headlights before bolting. Her confidence scared the shit out of me.

Chelsea’s life was abundantly filled with money and success, but I couldn't help but wonder, was it all worth it? Did she ever get a break? Would she ever get a chance to relax and enjoy everything she earned?

There was something appealing about that kind of lifestyle, even though it looked fucking exhausting. She was constantly creating and helping others. I admired her extreme level of ambition and ability to put herself out there.

Chelsea spoke to psychics for years. She didn’t talk about her magical beliefs publicly, but I desperately wanted to know more about them. Maggie told me that a famous LA psychic helped lead Chelsea towards her abundant destiny.

The power of fame and having a platform is undeniable. 

Chelsea adopted her dog from a kill shelter, which inspired people to save older dogs, instead of buying puppies. Many people sent pictures of their beloved pets to the show to thank Chelsea for influencing them to adopt animals in need. 

Taking Chunk outside for his morning shit was my duty. He seemed to time out his dumps perfectly. I was often picking up dog poop on the side of the road while celebrity guests arrived. We even made it into a few paparazzi shots!

Chunk had a snobby elitist attitude. He knew he was more rich and famous than me. He sure won the dog lottery by getting adopted by Chelsea. Shit, I wanted her to adopt me too!

One time the crew members filled my car with bottles of vodka for me to deliver to Chelsea’s friends for the holidays. No one seemed to care that I was an underaged teenager. 

It was wild seeing so many famous faces and families in real life. Most of them had butlers or servants answer their doors. Some of the celebrities invited me into their mansions to hang out, eat, or chat. Everyone assumed that I knew Chelsea personally, which made me cool by association. 

Jay Leno was eating a giant turkey leg when I walked into his office. When I handed him a bottle of vodka from Chelsea he said “LET’S TAKE A SHOT!” I was so scared of getting caught underaged drinking and driving with all that liquor in my car, so I yelled “HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!” while waving and running away from him.

One night I delivered a bottle of vodka to one of Chelsea’s friends in Malibu. She invited me to stay for Christmas cookies and snacks. She gave me a tour of her beachfront mansion while sharing stories about her fun times with Chelsea back in the day. 

People always wanted me to say something to Chelsea for them. I agreed, but never relayed their messages. They asked me so many questions about her and I would make up answers that seemed fit. Is she nice? Sure. How is she doing? Great. Is she a bitch? Totally.

Chelsea had no problem with co-workers dating one another. Where else would people meet if they were working all the time? There were lots of overlapping office romance dramas. Everyone gossiped about who was fucking who. It was hard to know what rumors were true, because the comedians lied and pranked each other all the time. 

One of the crew members went through a break up with Chelsea’s best friend and then dated Chelsea’s assistant. Then a comedian that Chelsea had a crush on dated her other assistant. He ended up dumping her and dated Chelsea later on. That relationship gave them tons of fame and attention. They gave off endgame vibes, but it didn’t last long. His comedy career took off thanks to Chelsea, but I’m sure he wanted to be single for his little fifteen minute movie star moment. Koy isn’t known for playing it coy. 

People sent Chelsea free stuff all the time. There’s so much power in being an influential trendsetter. Since Chelsea didn’t want most of those things the rest of us got to keep them. I basically got paid in extra small Juicy Couture sweatsuits and gigantic bottles of Belvedere Vodka. 

Maggie and I loved getting wasted off all the free vodka from Chelsea’s endorsement deals. We would go out to clubs looking bomb as fuck, but wear fake hillbilly teeth. Guys would hit on us, we would flash them a smile, and watch them react. Most got flustered, spilt their drinks, and ran away. It didn’t matter if other people found us funny, because we thought that we were fucking hilarious.  

One night, we got some fast food, after some bunts and cocktails. We saw a poor, sad man sitting on a bench. Maggie always wanted to help people, so we bought him some Taco Bell. When we gave him a burrito he threw it on the ground, leaped into a fancy sports car, and zoomed off while flipping us off. We thought that he was homeless, but he was just a hipster. Whoopsies. 

Chelsea drank regularly, but never drove drunk. She always had a designated driver give her a ride home. I helped her assistants get her vehicles back to her house after many drunken nights out. 

I ended up living with Kara, who was Chelsea’s main assistant. One night Chelsea got drunk and Ubered home so we had to get her car back to her house. Kara accidentally scratched Chelsea’s Bentley that night while driving and was scared to tell her what happened. Chelsea didn’t even care. It was no big deal to her. She was beyond understanding and had plenty of money to fix it. 

Kara got married young back in Oklahoma. She moved to LA to pursue her Hollywood dreams. Her husband and dog came too, but they weren’t built for that scene, so things didn’t work out. After their divorce Kara started dating one of our coworkers. The three of us lived off of tacos, Marlboro Lights, and Modeleos in West Hollywood for a few years. Now they’re real grown ups, married with a baby!

One year Kara got to spend Thanksgiving with Chelsea Handler and Jennifer Anniston. Our apartment was covered in Friends memorabilia and pictures of Jennifer Anniston. I wondered if either of them knew that Kara was a Friends superfan. Kara is pretty quiet, shy, and introverted compared to them. She was probably fanning the fuck out on the inside while trying to play it cool. 

Maggie lived in a lavish modern loft near the beach, dated hot celebrities, and only wore designer clothes. I drove her to most of her plastic surgery appointments. Her surgeon, Dr. Dubrow, was famous for appearing on reality shows. His work was incredible! I loved watching his surgical process in real life. I took care of Maggie at a fancy resort in Newport post rhinoplasty. She recovered inside while I drank poolside. Maggie ordered us everything off of the room service menu, which was Chelsea’s routine during standup tours. 

Chelsea had a little nugget sidekick named Chuy on the show. Most of the jokes about him involved his height, weight, or race. He loved it, but there’s no way that shit would fly today. Chuy gave so many hot young girls tours of the stage and office. We wondered if they were bunnies or strippers. I didn’t get many lines on the show, but they had him check me out in a few scenes.

The stylists didn’t think I was skinny enough to play sexy roles. They layered me up in corsets and shapewear to help make me look more attractive. In one episode Chuy stared at my tits during a yoga scene. For some reason I was really proud to play the office slut for free. 

One day the wardrobe department forgot to put a dress in Chelsea’s car before a big event. I raced over to her mansion, parked outside the gate, ran up the hill, and delivered the gown to her house manager. Somehow I ended up getting locked inside of her property. Nobody answered the door and her assistants never responded to my calls or texts. I wanted to climb over the gate to get out, but I worried I might break it, or it might impale me, so I just nervously waited around her yard. I was scared Chelsea might call the cops and report me as a trespasser. What if I got arrested for doing my job? What if the security footage ended up on the show? Chelsea was too busy to know what was going on. Chunk judged me through the window. He wanted to be outside while I wanted to be inside. Somebody must have eventually seen me, because the gates randomly opened, and I managed to escape.

When I first started working there I was so young, innocent, and naive. I remember the comedians talking about how they wanted to get an eight ball for the holiday party. I thought they wanted one of those plastic magic eight ball toys to answer random questions. Luckily my queer friends in WEHO cleared up that confusion real fast, before I made a complete fool out of myself in front of the comedians. They all lowkey scared the shit out of me.

The world was a different place back then. Comedy was funny. People made jokes and didn’t care about offending other people. In a way, that was kind of the point. Being able to laugh at ourselves and others helped make life more bearable. There were no real rules back then, which was why we had so much fun. People got way more sensitive over the years, including me.

It was wild to see Jim Carrey shamelessly rawdog his ADHD vibes at Chelsea Lately. I’ve always appreciated artists who embrace authenticity despite all the societal pressures to be basic. 

I’ve always loved Jim Carrey. He’s a real renaissance artist. Actor, painter, dancer, writer, chameleon extraordinaire! His work can be so funny, yet dark. All the dramatic highs and lows speak to me. I usually enjoy hearing his perspectives on art, religion, politics, and spirituality. 

Everything Jim Carrey did should’ve been cringe, but it was so fucking hot. Confidence plus humor equals sexy. Guess you could say he has a certain je ne sais quoi! Just ignore my daddy issues and go with it. 

Justin Bieber came on Chelsea Lately towards the beginning of his career. He kept trying to flirt with Chelsea during their interview. Since Justin was just a teenager it upset Chelsea. She probably felt like he was framing her to look like a creepy ass pedophile. I thought it was kinda funny. Little did Chelsea know that an unpaid teenager was in the next room drinking all her vodka.

Maybe Chelsea did know about me. Maybe she knew what was going on the whole time. Maybe she just looked the other direction. Maggie would always say things like “Chelsea is so proud of you!” and I’d think “Chelsea doesn’t even know that I fucking exist!” The whole thing was such a mind fuck.

By the way, when Chelsea got mad at Justin for hitting on her I thought that she couldn’t take a joke and that she was being too dramatic. Now that all the Diddy White Party Freak Off stories have come out, I know that Chelsea made the right decision. Unfortunately Justin Bieber was used to adults taking advantage of him emotionally, morally, sexually, and financially. So many hosts and celebrities were inappropriately hitting on him publicly when he was just a little boy. Back in those days I really wanted to go to a Diddy White Party, I had the worst FOMO, but now I’m glad that I wasn’t invited.

I was an intern, a coffee barista, and a college student all at the same time. It was a bit much, especially considering how much I was partying.

One time when I was working at the register at Starbucks a lady asked me if she could use the restroom. When I told her that we didn’t have a bathroom she screamed, pulled down her pants, and took a massive shit on the floor. The intense rage and eye contact seemed unnecessary. I ran to the back of the store, told the manager what happened, and announced that I wouldn’t be cleaning it up. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull while he let out a long audible exhale. He took care of the mess and quit that job shortly after. 

Most of my barista coworkers were stoned surfers, who taught me all about sex and drugs. It was the education I needed. Their wisdom made me seem like less of a fucking loser around the comedians. We often closed the coffee shop early to hotbox the place and eat all the pastries. Starbucks didn’t have any security cameras back then, so nobody gave a fuck about anything.  

One day while I was working, a mentally ill homeless man asked me a series of questions about bus routes that I was unable to answer. He yelled at me for being a selfish bitch and threw someone's innocent latte on the ground. Whatever I said must have deeply upset him. After that he started stalking me around town, which was fucking terrifying. He came back to the shop a few days later, to show off his collection of knives that were lining the inside of his jacket. Then he gave my coworkers a “present” for me. It was a rusty old penny, in hopes that I would “shove it up my asshole and die a horrible blood curdling painful death.” The new manager told me to never come back to that Starbucks again.  

The company transferred me to a different location, which was stalker free, and way less chaotic. Some might say I was the crazy one there, instead of the customers. On my last day I wore hillbilly teeth to work and most people thought they were real. My coworkers loved it, they put me on register. Only men shared their verbal opinions about my appearance. One dude was such an asshole, he ranted about surgical options, while his girlfriend elbowed him to shut up. Another guy got startled and spilt hot coffee all over himself. One guy commented that I could potentially be attractive if I fixed my teeth. My social experiment proved how shallow people can be, especially in California. 

The Chelsea Lately comedians were proud of me for pranking strangers. It felt like I was finally part of the crew. We even kept that stupid joke going by doing a sexy photoshoot with fake hillbilly teeth. 

Around that same time Maggie got really into Agape, an LA Christian based religion focused around love and positivity. She acted ecstatically happy all the time and got rid of all of her belongings. 

Maggie confidently believed in manifestation, positive thinking, and the law of attraction. We expected our lives to be filled with fame and fortune. She started posting about her beliefs around the same time the network changed filming locations. It didn’t look good for the show. Some might say it wasn’t “on brand.” 

The show cut her from production, so we both had to find new jobs. Luckily Maggie always knew how to look on the brightside. She dreamed of being a famous rapper and finally had time to pursue that goal. 

Working in the entertainment industry taught me way more than school did. Colleges were ripping off young people, by charging them tons of money to learn about outdated technology. There was no need to learn about media from old people, old equipment, or old textbooks. 

Going into debt over a piece of paper, just to impress some old squares, never made sense to me. College parties sucked compared to stand up shows, red carpet events, and Playboy mansion parties.

My family totally freaked out when I told them that I dropped out of school to pursue show business. Chelsea never went to college and she was fine! Somehow I’d learn how to survive. 

Going to an elite school could get me into rooms or parties with the right people, but so could show business! I could make impressive connections while working in Hollywood, without having to go into massive amounts of debt. That route sounded way more fun, exciting, and lucrative.

I knew that my curiosity and adventures would continue to expand my mind. I could always keep learning new things from experiences, travels, books, stories, shows, etc. There's always much more room for improvement. 

Ho hired me to be his assistant. He was a comedian on Chelsea Lately for years. It was awkward working as a personal bitch for someone who didn’t trust me. Ho would ask me my opinion on things, but do the exact opposite every time. I tried to talk him out of so many bad wardrobe choices. Chelsea always roasted him for being a fame whore with terrible outfits. He obviously enjoyed being bullied by her. Ho always worried that I didn’t find him funny. I went to most of his standup comedy shows and he would get upset if I didn’t laugh out loud during his routines. 

I heard his jokes repeated so many times. If you want to hold an audience, keep things new and fresh! He had a good bit about his mom, who’s name is Kum Ho. I guess it was more of a fun fact than a joke, but it was still funny. 

Whenever Theo Von performed I nearly died laughing. I’d be crying while suffocating in response to his jokes. One time he performed in Irvine and I was the only person in the audience laughing out loud. I slid into his DMs after the show and said “Rough crowd, but I think you’re funny!” He said “Yeah, Irvine is full of tight asses.” As someone who’s from Orange County, I couldn't agree more! We exchanged numbers, but never spoke, or saw each other again after that. I’m sure we both have different phone numbers now, but I still have him saved in my contacts. Ho was funny too, but his sense of humor was a little too tame for my taste. Nikki Glaser slut shaming herself while roasting the fuck out of celebrity strangers was way more my speed. 

My favorite work days were when I got to assist Ho at E! News. I idolized hosts like Joan Rivers and Chelsea Handler, so I couldn’t believe I was working with or around them. Maybe someday I could be a confident funny blonde bitch on tv too!

Whenever I was in the same rooms as Joan Rivers and Chelsea Handler I felt completely invisible. Even though I was right there next to them, it was like watching them on TV or behind glass in a zoo. I remember walking by the Fashion Police in the hallways at E! Kelly Osbourne was the only host that looked me in the eye, said hello, and asked me how I was doing. She’s the only famous person I’ve met that treated me like a human being. It’s not like we were besties, but it was nice to have her acknowledge my existence.  

Ho didn’t trust any of his employees. One time he had me stay at his place to watch over his maids, because he was afraid they might steal something. His apartment was extremely modern and minimalistic. There was nothing for them to take even if they wanted to. Towards the end of their shift, I ran downstairs to put some money in my parking meter. While I was outside, a fire started in his building, and I got locked out. His maids were gone by the time I got back inside. Ho fired me after the fire. 

Years passed by while I watched Maggie post some questionable pictures online. They concerned me, then inspired me to reach out. I relentlessly questioned her until she confessed that she was living on the streets. 

When I got Maggie to meet up with me her skin was so sunburnt and her clothes were falling apart. It was wild to watch someone fall so far that fast. Her life looked like a dream turned into a nightmare. 

She was still so positive, despite losing everything. Maggie believed that experience was the street cred she needed to fulfill her dream of becoming a famous rapper. 

Maggie told me stories about the different homeless clicks and how they would perform or compete in the streets. They had dance and rap battles on Santa Monica Beach and Skid Row. Maggie’s struggles made her strong and fearless. She hit rock bottom, survived, and felt completely invincible. 

Homeless people in LA are usually pretty talented. They moved there with big dreams, but never accomplished their goals. There are actually really hot homeless people all over that city. Most of them can’t hold a home or a job long term due to addictions and mental illnesses. 

Maggie apologized to me for making me work as her secret illegal intern. She confessed that she collected all the paychecks for all the hard work that I completed at Chelsea Lately. On some level I kinda already knew the truth. Luckily that experience led me towards other opportunities. In a way she helped me more than she hurt me. We agreed to laugh it off and put our past mistakes behind us. I considered her my best friend, before I knew that she was taking advantage of me. It’s smart to forgive, but dumb to forget!

Maggie was too embarrassed to ask for help, but that didn’t stop me from reaching out to Chelsea’s other assistants. I was concerned for her safety. 

Chelsea gave Maggie money for clothes, doctors appointments, and a ticket back to her home state. There’s nothing wrong with being rich. The more money you have the more you’re able to help others! 

The last time I saw Maggie was when I drove her to the train station. I told her that LA fucking sucks. It isn’t worth all the pain and suffering. Maybe at a certain point it’s best to let go of some dreams and move on. It was time for her to go somewhere nicer, better, calmer, fresher, and easier. 

I should have listened to my own advice. Little did I know that I was about to face my own series of borderline amazing rock bottom moments as well. 

Everyone has problems, no matter what their lives look like on the outside. 

Our biggest fuck ups are our best stories. 

Let’s laugh and learn from them together. 

CHAPTER 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 ugly 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 went out for drinks with one of our coworkers. When she drove him home he started crying while looking out the passenger window. She asked what was wrong and he said “I just really want to be an actor.” 

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 at Starbucks before going to work. One time he ran up to a tour group to chat, but it was during one of the mandatory clips we had to play…so my coworker Justine who was hosting the tour just ignored him. She ignored Steven Speilberg, because we had to play some stupid fucking clip from War of the Worlds.

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 told them to “just act cool and let it slide, because 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. Then 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 Chis Brown 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. 

All 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 those crystals are 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,” which was 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 in my ear “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 (so go shopping on my sites: danicasdiaries.com & planetdanica.com)! 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. 

It’s rare for interviewees to become friends with interviewers, but magical when it happens. Bob and I had a similar dynamic to Kurt and Bob, but less intense. I’ve only remained friends with just a few people that I interviewed over the years and I’m grateful Bob is one of them. 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 that 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 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 show business, the entertainment industry, 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 that 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 Hollywood 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 say that I look like Marilyn I 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 bathrooms 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 usually 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. It felt like he was urging 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 FUCKING SEE US RIGHT NOW!” Then they all started nagging him “WE KEEP SENDING YOU SO MANY 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.

CHAPTER III: TASTE THE LIMELIGHT

After abruptly quitting my job during a psychedelic comedown, I came across a Craigslist post from an anonymous company. They were looking for chatty people who love comedy and pop culture. It sounded like a great fit for me, so I went ahead and applied. 

The company ended up being TMZ, one of the biggest entertainment news outlets. During the interview I gossiped about Vanderpump Rules and Real Housewives, which impressed them, so they offered me a job. 

So just to recap, I heard about Robin Williams death through a TMZ report while tripping on mushrooms. It inspired me to go after my goal of being on TV, so I applied to a random Craiglist job post for an unidentifiable company, which got me on the show TMZ. It felt weirdly full circle. What a fucking trip.

Since an early age I intuitively felt like I was supposed to be in the public eye. It was never necessarily a goal or desire to be straight up famous. Recognition can lead towards money, success, popularity, support, ego boosts, and opportunities…but there’s always a catch. 

Sacrificing safety and privacy is usually the cost of fame. It seems to leave most people feeling empty and broken. For some reason I still wanted to put myself out there, despite all my anxious introverted tendencies, and all the potential downsides. Something about that lifestyle looked exhilarating.

Passionate people inspire me to embark on all sorts of creative adventures. There are undeniable powers that come from confidence, talent, and having a platform. 

I loved being on TV. That sounds vain, but whatever. Part of me really enjoys high intensity things, because they make my anxieties feel more normal. 

If I’m on a rollercoaster or a stage it makes sense for me to be a little stressed, frightened, jittery, nauseous, excited, surprised, nervous, or overwhelmed. If I have bad anxiety while nothing is happening it feels wrong. 

Most people in my life don’t perceive me as shy or introverted, and maybe I’m not. I just felt that way next to other performers who were much more loud, bold, confident, outspoken, and extraverted.

TMZ broke all the big stories and the other outlets would copy them. I was shocked to see how credible and accurate they were. There was a fast paced sense of urgency and pressure to break stories before anyone else. TMZ on TV shared our personal opinions, which gave the show a unique edge.

I totally trust TMZ, but that’s about it. Most other outlets are total fucking bullshit. A lot of magazines, tabloids, blogs, and social media accounts are filled with ridiculous rumors. Celebrities have to deal with people lying about them all the time. If you believe everything you see or hear that’s on you! 

One time I heard a rumor going around about how Lizzo killed someone with her weight while crowd surfing. It was just a bullshit lie from some loser on the internet, but imagine reading something like that about yourself.

Another time I saw a picture of Paris Hilton in a white wife beater tank top that read “STOP BEING POOR.” She didn’t actually wear that, some asshole photoshopped that onto her fucking outfit. 

Working for TMZ changed my perspective on life, news, and the media. They hired me to work as tour guide and cast member on the show. We recorded in the mornings, went off to our other TMZ jobs, then watched the final edit air in the evenings. 

On the show a bunch of us sat around the office to chat about the latest entertainment news stories. They expected me to bring in some footage of celebrity sightings from my tours, but that rarely happened. It was awkward going up to famous people with a camera in the wild. I didn’t know how they might react. I never intended to be invasive. 

It’s crazy how many people have kissed my ass or cussed me out because of my association with TMZ. Most days I came into the show with no footage, but the producers still gave me clips to work with. We took turns pitching stories based on our recordings, then everyone would chime in to add their own opinions. 

Some of our chats evolved into hilarious banter while others flopped. The editors turned our conversations into quick little bits. We never knew what parts of the show might make the final edit. Sometimes our conversations seemed funnier and more interesting in real life, other times the editors and voiceover artists really helped us out. The funniest shit people said was too inappropriate to air on TV. 

One time we talked about an actor overdosing then going to rehab. One of my coworkers said “It’s just coke. What’s the big deal?” We all died laughing, because it’s always snowing in Hollywood! 

The producers usually gave me footage to pitch that interested me. I tried to call dibs on all the Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber stories. Most of my favorite stars weren’t discussed often. Nobody cared for my Flight of the Conchords references. I wanted to know what Chris Lilley and Noel Fielding were up to, but they’re too far out of the Thirty Mile Zone.

The TMZ tours were on public streets, so we had to deal with traffic, fans, stars, cops, and crazies. If we spotted any famous people, it was my job to interview them for the show. I had no problem talking in front of tourists or cameras, but I felt so fucking awkward approaching random celebrities on the streets. Some encounters were iconic moments of my life, but I could tell they were pretty forgettable conversations to them. Passengers would often spot famous people and I wouldn’t know who they were. It was hard trying to interview someone I knew nothing about. When in doubt I would just ask them their opinion on whatever we talked about on the show. 

Some fame whores were dying to be seen. They would linger by the famous hot spots on the bus route, waiting for us to give them attention. If I didn’t feel like talking to people, I would pretend like there was no room to park or time due to traffic. They would get angry when I had the driver keep going, instead of pulling over to chat with them.

There were also tons of stars who hated TMZ. They bolted when they saw me on the bus. A few of them refused to talk to the tourists or cameras. Some of them cussed me out for drawing attention towards them. I think those people are fucking idiots. They just made themselves look bad. Why not embrace free publicity and use it to your advantage? They felt like TMZ was interfering with their personal lives and privacy, while we thought that we were helping their careers. Now I see both sides. I became fans of people I hated and hated people I used to love. 

Paris Hilton had the best footage. She was always so kind and patient with her fans. It looked like she genuinely enjoyed taking pictures with people. Her hot rich bitch persona was totally an act. She had a much deeper voice in real life. My coworkers told me that she had a chill down to earth stoner vibe in person, which kind of surprised me. 

I got to guest host some shows where we would talk about celebrities outfits and rate them for being fab or drab. I thought it was funny, but people gave me so much shit for judging other women. Whatever. Anyone with anything worth talking about is going to have people talking about them. 

Arts and entertainment should be discussed. Especially if it’s controversial enough to stir up a room. Could you imagine if Lady Gaga released a new album and nobody talked about it? No comment about Seth Rogen's latest film? No response after an Andy Cohen reunion? That would totally fucking suck!

Lala was my favorite cast member from Vanderpump Rules. She co-hosted TooFab with me one time. We judged designer red carpet looks while I wore an ugly ass outfit from fucking ROSS. I wince at the thought of my Goodwill shoes and unnecessary extra buttons. Lala fucking slayed. I loved her style, vibes, humor, and energy. I didn’t know if I wanted to be her or be with her.   

Back in the day I hosted a Vanderpump Rules After Show at Afterbuzz. I had interviewed most of the cast members except for Lisa Vanderpump. One day I went up to her at PUMP in West Hollywood. I introduced myself and asked her if she would be willing to do an interview with me someday. 

Lisa snarled back in her bitchy British accent “No. Giggy is signed with CAA. You can reach out to his agent. Maybe he’ll give you the time of day.” Then she handed me her dog’s agent’s business card. I actually grabbed it, while walking backwards in slow motion. It took me a few minutes to process our interaction. It wasn’t just cringe, it was mortifying.

Whenever my coworkers pitched stories about Lisa Vanderpump I’d interrupt and yell “Why the fuck are we talking about this bitch again!?!? Can we talk about anyone else!?!” They would listen to me and move on to other stories. 

Sometimes when I went by SUR and PUMP on the TMZ Tour bus I’d see Lisa waiting outside for attention. I’d tell the drivers “Don’t stop! Just ignore her!” 

The other tour guides would interview her, but I would interrupt their pitches on the show. Lisa complained about how she did tons of TMZ interviews, but never got featured in the final edits. Lisa probably watched that show every fucking night in hopes of seeing herself get some free publicity, but she had to watch ME on TV instead!

Karma’s a bitch, just like Lisa Vanderpump!

I continued to watch The Real Housewives and Vanderpump Rules despite disliking Lisa in real life. It’s too bad we didn’t click. We both love animals, elaborate cocktails, and playing dress up!  

Vanderpump Rules is the greatest show of all time. Even though Lisa is a fucking bitch, it’s totally worth watching from season one. It deserves all the Emmys. Lisa’s character is totally irreverent on the show, minus it featuring her name and restaurants. Just fast forward through her boring scenes.

In Beverly Hills I often ran into Real Housewives. I talked to Kyle Richards all the time through her car windows. She was always so incredibly nice to me. I loved her whole family! When I told her that she was my favorite she said “Don’t say that too loud. Lisa Vanderpump might hear you!” Girl I want Lisa to fucking hear me. Fuck that bitch! 

Even though I watched tons of TV it was hard to remember all the famous people. Most of the time I wondered who the fuck we were talking about. 

Smoking weed before the show did not help. By the time I finally thought of something to say we were onto the next topic. Timing my comments was the hardest part. I couldn’t stop interrupting everyone. I wondered if I might be neurodivergent.

People around me would get so beyond stoked to see certain celebrities. Even though I knew that we were meeting important people they didn’t make me feel any different. 

What’s the big deal? They're just people. Rich, popular people. 

Was I missing something? Or was I just fucking depressed? 

One of my coworkers asked me why I looked like a deer in the headlights. Her comments made me realize how apparent my anxiety issues were. The lights were too bright, the sounds were too loud, and there were too many fucking people everywhere! My lifestyle was such a sensory overload. It was screens in front of screens with some more fucking screens. I wondered if I was on the spectrum and on the verge of autistic burnout. Everyone handled the politics and stress of the entertainment industry better than me. 

I think that minimalism is a societal response to sensory overload. Most art and architecture got simplified post smartphones. Older things are usually a little more extra or over designed, because there was a greater demand for entertainment back in those times. Now people crave a moment of calming peaceful nothing. Humans need silence sometimes. 

TMZ hired people with big personalities who said and did whatever the fuck they wanted to. I’ve always appreciated people who do their own thing, so it was fun being surrounded by interesting authentic characters. 

Comedy has helped me through so many hard times. It didn’t take long for me to realize that most comedians are really depressed. If you can’t hold a “real job” because you’re an emo stoner alcoholic, try working in comedy! Laughter eases pain. 

People slept around the office, but it was pretty secretive, compared to the other places I worked. I discussed bikini bodies and sex tapes while averting eyecontact from the guy I was fucking on the show. It’s kinda crazy that we 

got paid to watch porn at work with our horny coworkers. 

One morning a bunch of people were gathered around an office computer. They were watching Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, and Pamela Anderson sex tapes while drinking coffee. Some of the guys kept making comments about their “lack of performance” because they weren’t acting like real porn stars. It made me uncomfortable, so I went outside to smoke, and take a break. 

I loved working with Harvey Levin. His humor, self discipline, and work ethic was next level inspiring! I was usually tired and bloated from binging Astro Burger after bottomless mimosas. Maybe if I ate blueberries with kombucha while working out with Arnold Schwarzenegger I’d be snatched and mentally quick like him too.    

Harvey and I were both queer, but kinda secretive about it. Sometimes I’d make the gayest comments on the show and Harvey was the only person who would notice (or at least he was the only one who would call me out). 

TMZ helped me come out of my shell. My close friends knew that I was a bisexual stoner, but I was still pretty closeted around judgemental family members. For some reason I had no problem talking about women or weed on TV, even though I avoided those topics in real life, especially around my strict close minded family members.  

Sharing my thoughts and opinions at work inspired me to finally come out. My mom thought that I wanted to be bi, because it was kinda trendy. She gossiped about my sexuality being just another one of my desperate ploys for attention. Getting judged and cyber bullied by homophobic assholes was brutal. Becoming shameless enough to be myself was liberating. 

Authenticity provokes repressed people.  

I always knew that I was bisexual, but felt like I couldn’t label myself as bi without real experience. So I met a really rich famous couple on Tinder in the valley. They were looking for a unicorn which sounded like fun to me. 

Alex was the heir of a famous fashion line and Dana produced a bunch of sexy mainstream movies. We gossiped about both of them on TMZ all the time. I still can’t believe that I met them through Tinder. 

Alex was married to a woman for years before dating Dana. My car was so busted and I didn’t want either of them to know that I was poor, so I had my friend drop me off at their Toluca Lake mansion. They gave me tours of their wine cellars, weed collections, sports cars, and weapons. Since both of them liked women, they had threesomes with hot Playboy models pretty regularly. 

Before we hooked up they asked me my age. For some reason I jokingly said that I was sixteen, because I thought that was funny. Dana freaked out and told me to get the fuck out of their house. I laughed then showed them my ID and explained that I have a weird sense of humor. Luckily I calmed them back down. They were both kinda soft spoken and serious compared to me. We got wine wasted on their boat before having a threesome, which totally confirmed how fucking gay I am. 

After that I tried dating girls, but they all scared the shit out of me. Lesibans move fast. One girl introduced me to her mom on our first date. We went to The Abbey and her family just happened to be going to SUR and PUMP. The second time we hung out I met her friends, who said they were excited that she finally met the one. She was the last single person in their friend group. Everyone was so coupled up. That was some fucking Noah’s Ark shit! After that she ordered us the biggest blackest strapon. It terrified me. Girl scared me straight!

Dating in LA sucked. Everyone seemed way too into themselves to care about other people. One time my friend Emy came over to hang out at my place with our friends before a date. The guy she was going to meet up with  asked if he could see pictures of what her friends look like. Emy sent him a few photos and he responded by saying “My friends don’t want to cross the 405 for your friends.” Emy still planned on meeting up with him later, but he stood her up. He ghosted her, but at least nobody had to cross the 405. 

For the longest time I had a crush on my friend Cryus. It felt like we were the only people in Hollywood that looked at the stars in the sky instead of the ones on the ground. We both seemed connected to the moon. He even liked cats! People who care about nature and animals are hot as fuck. Sadly he had a girlfriend. It was easy to ignore her existence when they were long distance, but after she moved to LA we stopped hanging out. I expected him to dump her, because she wasn’t hot, nice, or funny. Maybe she was secretly rich or good at sucking dick. IDFK.

One of my friends said she was straight, but liked playing around with girls, which sounded like fun to me. We hooked up with no future expectations. It was great in the moment, but it totally fucked up our friendship, and made things weird. 

I had a stupid little crush on one of my bosses at TMZ. He had a wife, but joked that she was just for the green card. His accent was kinda hot when he showered me with compliments. We spent most of our time gossiping while chain smoking cigarettes on the clock. 

Getting involved in stupid third party bullshit was a toxic pattern in my life. Guess it was my weird way of avoiding relationships all together. There was too much societal pressure to couple up. If I had a crush on someone who was taken, that could be a good alibi as to why I didn’t have a relationship. 

It was a great way to avoid getting hurt, rejected, or abandoned. You can’t lose something you never had. Honestly I think I romanticized third party bullshit after playing Marilyn. I don’t think either of us intended to be so destructive. Drugs, booze, and traumas can hinder people’s morals. 

When I hear about people cheating or being mistresses I usually sympathize with them. I recognize that their actions can be seen as wrong or immoral, but those types of people have usually endured extreme hardships that led them to do some fucked up shit. 

I never thought that Marilyn Mornoe was evil. She was an abandoned orphan who was sexually abused and taken advantage of throughout her short sad life. Drugs, trauma, anxiety, and depression dictated her actions.

My original love for celebrity gossip stemmed from having such a tight leash. Sexy wild slutty bad girls fascinated me. I continued to follow pop culture to keep up with my favorite artists. Many creatives have big dreams, but only a few of them actually go after them. 

Being around successful goal oriented people could motivate me to finally get my shit together. Tearing artists down was never my intention. 

So many people have asked me if I ever felt bad for talking shit about other people. To be honest, I didn’t really see myself that way. I thought I was the nice one on the show. It’s not like I was trying to talk mad shit about people, I was just explaining or commenting on whatever happened. Most people gossip about others, whether they’re paid to do so or not. 

Okay, maybe I was a professional gossiper, who totally talked mad shit, but whatever. Maybe I was just jealous, because I wanted what they had. 

It’s not like I was trying to destroy Judd Apatow. I want to be friends with him! Maybe someday we could smoke a joint and write a script together. He likes comedies and cats too! Creative collaboration was my motive, but I had the wrong approach. 

Who you know is how status is measured in LA.

When I introduced myself to Stassi from Vanderpump Rules she said “I know who you are. You’re that girl that called me a bitch on TV.” In my defense Stassi won the title “Villain of the Year” at an award show, so I wasn’t the only person to have that initial impression. I actually really liked Stassi on the show and in person. I’m super inspired by her career path. Hopefully I didn’t hurt her feelings too much, because I’m a big fan! I love how she's a preppy bubbly blonde bitch that’s obsessed with darkness and murder. 

There’s nothing wrong with being a bitch. I’ve always loved bitches on TV like Andy Cohen, Joan Rivers, Chelsea Handler, and Stassi Schroeder. I want to be a bad bitch too!

Haters make stars. Every successful person has people talking about them. If they don’t have anything to say about you or your work, that’s a problem. Just because someone has an opinion that doesn’t mean you need to take it. 

I’ve watched enough reality tv and celebrity gossip shows to know that being a crazy fucking bitch can weirdly pay off. Do people make up lies, rumors, or theories about you? If so, that means you’re a star. Let them talk. Let them fucking talk!

My favorite reality shows feature people who create their own things. It’s exciting to watch their ideas unfold and see what obstacles get in their way. I’ve spent hours watching housewives turn into models, authors, popstars, actors, and business owners. Even when their goals flop, it’s exciting to see how they personally evolve and transform their entrepreneurial visions. 

Fame doesn’t necessarily require talent. A lot of Hollywood stars have back stories involving sex, politics, lawyers, bribes, money, agents, or technology. I grew up around artists that were way more gifted than most people on TV. Sadly they didn’t have the connections, confidence, or drive to “make it” to that level. 

I love seeing artists do their own thing. Dave Chappelle ditched Hollywood for Yellow Springs Ohio and Tyler Perry created his own film empire around Atlanta. I’m such a sucker for watching stars abandon LA or NY for random small towns. It’s a great reminder that we can be creative no matter where we live. 

Most people who make it big seem to have a really strong sense of self. They are firm about their values and purpose despite what others think. It’s all an act for some people, but they are professionally fake with financial incentive. 

Being on TV changed my relationships drastically. My day to day life wasn’t very different, but people altered their perspectives of me. Fame whores that never gave me the time of day, suddenly wanted to be my best friend. They thought that associating with me would lead towards notoriety. The people that I expected to be supportive never watched me on the show. My friends got jealous and weird, so they stopped opening up to me. They excluded me from all the tea, because they thought I would tell everyone about it on the show. It’s funny they thought their muggle lives were juicy enough for TMZ. Maybe they should have been more concerned about my journaling habits. Some people wanted to be friends with me while I worked on the show, but once I quit they had nothing to do with me. Acquaintances assumed I made bank and expected me to spend money on them. I was still a broke ass tour guide talking about show business, but my job was more publicly seen. Just because someone’s on camera that doesn't mean they’re rich. 

Tour guides and reporters need stories just as much as artists need publicity. People spend tons of money on publicists, when they could get free coverage from media outlets. Successful creatives use TMZ to their advantage. Some public figures would ask if they could do interviews with me to promote their latest work. Those were always the best interactions. They were excited to get coverage and I was stoked to have footage for the show. It’s smart to collaborate, help eachother out, and be on the same team. 

50 Cent was a guest host on TMZ one time when Harvey was out of town. When we cut to commercial break I yelled across the room “FIDDY!!! THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE FUCKING MY BOSS CHELSEA HANDLER!” The camera crew screamed back at me “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT WHEN WE WERE FILMING?!?” 50 ran up to me and gave me a huge hug. He said “I knew it! You keep looking at me like I’m supposed to know who you are!” 

As if HE would remember ME? I was his ex-situationships secret underaged illegal invisible intern years ago. I wasn’t even sure if Chelsea knew about my existence. One of my coworkers asked him “Would you rather host TMZ again or get shot again?” Fiddy joked that he’d rather take more bullets. 

I love Fiddy, but if I didn’t I wouldn’t admit it. He takes beef to the next level. 50 Cent's pettiness and trolling skills inspire me. It’s never too late to stand up for yourself or seek revenge! I actually really enjoyed my personal vendetta against Lisa Vanderpump while working at TMZ. It made my job way more fun, plus I got to help underrated underdogs get some publicity.

Being on TV had its perks, like getting free food and drinks all over town. Most LA business owners knew the power of the media. If I were to name drop their bars and restaurants on tours or TV shows that could be great publicity for them. 

The Abbey was my go-to spot. I was friends with the owners and managers who always hooked me up. During my TMZ Tours I would stop by for a quick shot of tequila. I had a fucking blast living and partying in West Hollywood.

One time I saw Nick Jonas getting tacos on Sunset Boulevard while I was giving a tour. He hopped on the TMZ Tour bus and we gave him a ride. Nick told us some intense stalker stories. When he was doing a Jonas Brothers tour in South America girls kept sneaking into his cars, luggage, and hotel rooms. I can’t believe how creepy people stalk celebrities. TMZ may seem invasive towards famous people, but trust me their fans are much worse. 

TMZ is separate from the paparazzi. They have their own camera people in LA and New York, but they also buy pictures and footage from the paparazzi. People often reach out to TMZ in hopes of getting publicity. Celebrities hire publicists to help them get media attention. It’s all part of a big machine that makes people famous!

I staged a little publicity stunt with Chuy from Chelsea Lately just for fun. I told him to wait outside by The Saddle Ranch on Sunset Boulevard. When I drove by on the tour bus I acted surprised like “OH. MY. GOD. IS THAT CHUY BRAVO FROM CHELSEA LATELY?!? TMZ CELEBRITY SIGHTING!” When he got on the bus one of the drunk girls onboard gave him a lap dance. I filmed it and pitched it on the show the next day. He was so happy to be back on TV. 

Chuy asked me out on a movie date. I loved him as a friend, but I wasn’t interested in him romantically, so I told him that I was busy. Shortly after that he DIED. I felt SO BAD. Maybe I should’ve gone out with him anyway. He had such a great spirit and sense of humor. Rest In Peace Little Nugget.  

During one of my tours I made a stupid joke comment about The Church of Scientology. They had huge signs all over Hollywood, it was kinda hard not to mention them. My tour bus happened to be filled with Scientologists who were outraged. They told their church and the congregation confronted TMZ. My managers called me into the office for a very serious meeting. I thought I was going to get fired. 

They told me to respect their beliefs by never speaking about their “religion” again. Every time my bosses said “religion” they used air quotes. We made fun of everyone and everything on TMZ, but Scientologists were deemed off limits, because of me? I wish I could remember what I said on that tour. I’ve heard terrifying stories about people getting on The Church of Scientology’s bad side. I didn’t want to be another one of their enemies who mysteriously went missing.  

My roommate Betsy got jealous of the attention I was receiving. She told me that she wanted to cut off my face and wear it as a mask, so people would like her more. She sounded like a total fucking psychopath, so I told her to move back to bumfuck Alamaba. In response she threw a bunch of ceramic plates at me, but luckily she had a bad aim. After that I broke my lease and moved in with my best friend Kaia, who I lived and worked with for years. 

Kaia gave me a kitten as a present, because I was sad to say bye to Betsy’s cat. Giving people pets as gifts is not always the best idea. They require lots of love and care. It’s a big responsibility, but I’m so grateful for my kitty boy! Kaia thought it would be hilarious to give our black cat a black name. She’s a Star Wars nerd so she named him Lando, but she almost named him Denzel. My black friends think Lando’s name suits his looks and personality perfectly. White people get upset and offended over it. If I explain that my nerdy black friend named our cat, that makes things worse, and digs my grave deeper. 

I can’t believe how many people make racist or superstitious comments about my black cat. I love Lando more than everyone and everything. He’s my soulmate. My ride or die kitty baby! He’s been by my side through thick and thin. Lando has been the only real source of stability throughout my life. 

TMZ was surprisingly filled with nature and animal lovers. When my dog Freckles died my coworkers were more empathetic than everyone else. My boss Harvey was a vegan. He wanted to become a pescetarian to get extra protein, but he felt guilty for eating fish, because they’re “too majestic.”

My dog Freckles was my best friend and like a brother to me. He was hyper, goofy, and never did anything halfway. He had the world's biggest smile, it always looked like he was laughing. I could’ve had the worst day ever, but coming home to his happy face always made everything better. We danced, played dress up, and had elaborate photoshoots together in the wilderness. I’m an only child, so my pets have always been like family to me. Freckles had such a big impact on people. Whenever I run into childhood friends we reminisce about him. He was larger than life. Losing him destroyed me. 

Around that time my mom’s longterm boyfriend Clark legally adopted me. Shortly after that she dumped him and ran off with a stoner surfer dude that she met at yoga. I was left in the middle and had to explain what happened to everyone. All of my mom’s breakups were such emotional rollercoasters. 

Clark and his family continued to spoil me and include me even after that disastrous breakup. The whole thing was traumatizing, but now I’m glad it happened. They weren’t very compatible anyway.  

Partying was my way of coping with pain. Binge drinking and chain smoking while snorting West Hollywood up my nose was fun yet destructive. Traumas create addicts! 

Turns out that if you talk shit, watch shit, and consume shit, you’ll start to feel like shit. It took me a long time to learn that there are healthier ways to release pain and heal. 

In LA I often hit Hollywood breaking points. After a long day of cringe worthy auditions or filming I would pack up my car and bail. Alone time with nature calmed me down and helped me feel grounded. Big Sur was my usual goto spot. I’d drive up the winding coast with black coffee, the perfect playlist, and a pack of cigarettes. I always made sure to bring plenty of bomb weed and comfy clothes. Walking around the beautiful rocks, plants, and waters was always healing. I got do whatever the fuck I wanted to do, because I was all by myself. If you enjoy your own company you’ll never really be lonely!

I accidentally ate a 100mg edible one night before filming. It hit me at work the next morning and I malfunctioned on air. The producers yelled “DANICA IT’S YOUR TURN TO PITCH!” I responded “WHAT?” in a Seth Rogan stoner voice. Then Havey said “Oh my god I forgot that it’s 420.” It just happened to be my favorite holiday, which kinda gave me a pass, thank god. 

People kept making comments about my attitude and appearance on TV. They urged me to put more effort into my hair, makeup, and outfits. I simply didn’t have the neurotypical drive or energy to keep up the good work.

My family collapsed, my dog died, and my friends sucked. Plus I publicly came out of the closet which was traumatizing. It was hard to read all the hater troll comments about my personality and sexuality. I didn’t give a fuck about anything. I wanted to die. 

Harvey came up with the concept of TMZ while drinking margs and gossiping about celebrities with his friends. Those types of hangouts were always my favorite past times. I couldn't imagine life without margs and juicy hot goss! Harvey ended up going stone cold sober while I was working for him. His ability to handle the stress of his job and the news really impressed me. 

I got invited to speak at an arts event for kids alongside some reputable broadcasters. Sam Rubin, one of the best news anchors, was alongside me at the event. Before we went on stage he came up and introduced himself. I couldn’t believe Sam Rubin knew who I was! My mom watched him on KTLA every morning throughout my childhood! Sam told me that Harvey stopped inviting him to his parties. I bitched that he didn’t invite me to any either! We heard that Harvey would throw big parties at his fabulous homes and wish all of his guests goodnight around 8pm while walking up the stairs before going to bed. It sounded like a scene from The Sound of Music.

Sam Rubin had great stories and career advice for the kids at the event. My stoned ass told the children that any publicity could be good publicity, before losing my train of thought. All the professional news hosts, reporters, and anchors disagreed. I wondered if Sam Rubin knew that I was baked. Maybe we should have thrown our own party. A little puff puff pass in the parking lot could’ve been fun! 

A few TMZ stories wrecked me emotionally. When Lamar Odom overdosed at a brothel we had to call some prostitutes to get the full story. TMZ has a fun comedic energy which was pretty hard to hold while talking about tragedies. I didn’t want to joke about drugs or hookers that day, because he could have been dead by the time the show aired. There’s no need to act distasteful or disrespectful while somebody’s life is on the line. Plus I felt so bad for Khloe! 

Seeing her go through so much was heartbreaking. Khloe has always been beautiful and hilarious, but sadly you can see the traumas and insecurities brewing from within. Even wealthy famous people who seem to have it all go through devastating life changing events. 

But at least hardships make us funnier. Some people think that dark humor is concerning, but they haven’t been through enough to know how hilarious or healing it can be. 

I wanted to work on comedy shows to ease my pain. Those jobs were a strange mix of sadness and happiness. Some of the funniest people have darkest pasts. Like Bobby Lee! He was a total fucking meth head by age eleven. ELEVEN!!!

When I was growing up I loved watching Lindsay Lohan and Amanda Bynes movies. They’re both such talented actors! It was hard for me to watch fame and drugs destroy the people that I love. 

The story that really fucked me up was about Jim Carrey. His girlfriend overdosed and died. If that wasn’t bad enough, he got sued for it, because the drugs that killed her belonged to him. Watching my favorite artist get harassed, shamed, heartbroken, and exploited was rough. When we talked about it on the show I was speechless. It was exhausting having to urgently discuss people’s deaths on a comedic show. 

I saw Donald Trump while I was working for TMZ. He was campaigning while I was rooting for Bernie. America needs younger politicians that care about environmental issues!

The United States is controlled by geriatric senior citizens. All of our political candidate options looked like they might keel over and die at any moment. 

Most American politicians were born rich and have never struggled. They don’t know what it’s like to be sad, cold, hungry, thirsty, desperate, fucked up, or mentally ill. The people who are in charge can’t relate to the citizens, because they’ve never faced adversity, so they don’t know what the real problems are or how to fix them.

Even though I am not a Trump supporter, it was kinda exciting to see him. He’s the most famous person on earth, but don’t tell him I said that! 

My friend’s sexy hot model friend acted like she didn’t know who Trump was when she met him. She was like “Hi I’m Stephanie! What’s your name?” TO DONALD TRUMP. He was stumped. 

I’d speak up about environmental issues on TMZ, but my comments usually got edited out. I felt pretty morally conflicted about working for FOX during Trump’s big campaign era. It wasn’t aligned with my morals or values. 

I went to Australia to visit my friend Aria around that time. Everyone there asked me about Donald Trump. Australians watch American politics in their bars and restaurants for entertainment. America was a joke and the rest of the world was laughing at us. 

Australia was safe and clean compared to the US. That trip made me want to ditch the states for more international adventures. I should have worked on the show Summer Heights High! 

Oh by the way Australia had intense political drama back then too. The country kept flip flopping. They made gay marriage legal than illegal then legal again. Those cunts need to make up their fucking minds!

All that political stuff was super annoying, because I wanted a vacation away from that shit! I overdosed on Hollywood, news, politics, and social media. 

I don’t agree with people like Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, or Kim Jong Un… but I would totally have a chat with them. They are some of the most influential and powerful people in the world. I’d do it just for the plot. Plus I’m delusional enough to think that I could help them see our world from a different perspective. 

America became so divided. People stopped talking to people with different viewpoints. If I only talked to people who agree with me I’d probably never speak to anybody ever again.

Such extreme political divides create wars. If we could figure out ways to compromise and meet in the middle some major issues could be resolved. 

Religious extremists founded America a long time ago and the country is still operating on outdated rules and values that don’t fit our current world. Most of the laws and constitutions need a little makeover glow up. 

I want to create a publicity stunt that helps protect wildlife. Famous people watch shows like TMZ all the time, because they want to see what others are saying about them. If influential stars were to give nature and animals space to live and thrive, they could inspire others to do the same. 

Celebrities could document their conservation efforts through social media, documentaries, or reality tv shows. They could get donations and publicity through nonprofits and charity events. 

When Kim Kardashian went vegan she inspired hundreds of thousands of people to do the same. Influencers should influence people positively. Most of them unintentionally encourage others to be wasteful and destructive. 

Could you imagine “Kourtney & Kim Take The Amazon Rainforest.” Maybe Kendall Jenner could create a show about enjoying nature, animals, and tequila! It seems like she really wants to do her own thing anyway. I would totally watch “Khloe & Kylie’s Beach Cleanup Party.” Just spitballing ideas. I should call Kris Jenner!

Want to be a trendsetter? Why not create something that helps others? Let’s rewild ourselves and our planet. We need wildlife and biodiversity to survive!

I love the glitz and the glamor of Hollywood show business, but I hate how much animal cruelty it involves. Let’s figure out cruelty free alternatives for furs, feathers, and leathers. Can somebody please make a line of vegan dance shoes already? Kris Jenner?

I loved working on comedy shows, but it kinda felt like we weren’t allowed to make jokes anymore. It was such a sensitive time. My goal of becoming a TV host seemed pointless. It felt like that profession was generally dying off. 

People would rather see their favorite artists, comedians, or personalities host shows. Someone real, unique, and relatable. Flaws and all! It seemed like everyone was collectively over the fake shallow materialistic bullshit. No more scripted cyborg prostitute TV hosts. I’d rather watch a chaotic mess of an unhinged yet relatable human being on TikTok anyway.  

TMZ was unscripted and featured authentic people, which helped their shows survive. Most other shows, like E! News, had to completely change and adapt to the latest trends in order to maintain an audience. 

The entire time I worked in entertainment news I suffered from creative fomo. I placed too many people on higher pedestals than I put myself. I was living like an extra character in the background of my own movie. I needed to become the main character of my own fucking life! 

Maybe I could model, dance, sing, write, and take fabulous pictures on a beach in the tropics too! At a certain point I realized that I needed to follow my creative impulses, instead of talking about other people and their work. 

I knew that my media knowledge would come in handy somehow someday, no matter where I went next.

CHAPTER IV: THE CATWALK

Print modeling got my face out there, but fit modeling paid way more. I loved my agent at Ideal Models. She was super professional and had tons of experience in that industry. We made lots of money together. Unlike my past sleazy male agents, who were unqualified fame whores, that just wanted to get laid. 

Working as a fit model felt like being an alive opinionated mannequin. I was required to maintain the same measurements while designers made clothes fit for my body. Sizes mean nothing. I have worn small, medium, and large outfits all while remaining the same measurements.

I met with designers regularly for fittings. They would send adjustments off to manufacturers and have me come back to refit once the garments were returned. I got to watch the clothing creation and alteration processes for a wide variety of different international companies. 

Since I was constantly changing, I got used to random people seeing me naked. Feeling exposed became normal. Especially since I was modeling lingerie, swimwear, and little tiny costumes. 

I’ve been every kind of slutty nurse, maid, or princess imaginable. Of course I never wanted to offend the designers or their work, but it was hard not to laugh at some of the assignments. 

Most companies manufactured clothes in other countries. A lot of the designers spoke in foreign languages, so I rarely understood what people were saying or what was going on. 

One time a lingerie company had me stand on a table in a latex dominatrix costume. The owners drank green tea and chain smoked cigarettes while screaming at each other in Mandarin around me. It sounded like they were talking mad shit, but I wasn’t sure if it was about me, or their cheap skanky little costumes. 

The designers at Leg Avenue were amazing. I loved working and playing dress up with them! One day an owner or manager lady came into a fitting and started screaming at the designers for using me. “Why are you using this flat ass model with big fat titties? Our customers have butts unlike her. Get a new model immediately!” It was beyond awkward listening to people talk about me as if I couldn’t hear them. Like hi bitch I’m standing right here!

Frankie’s sexy bikini company hired me to do fittings for them. All their print models were hot young famous celebrities. Frankie’s large swimsuits were made to fit my body in private fittings. All the it girls like Delilah Belle and Kylie Jenner modeled their extra small swimsuits in public on the runway. On my first day they told me that I was too pasty, so they had me leave, and go get a spray tan. That didn’t make sense, because we weren't even shooting, I was just there to try on clothes. I always needed to look hotter, tanner, and blonder to be part of that world. The fake tan ended up getting all over their fabrics, which pissed them off even more. Frankie got mad at me for wearing a nude thong under her bikinis during fittings, but hygiene is very important to me. I don’t know where the fuck their other models have been! Their rude comments and sexy branding made me feel like a pale frumpy fat bitch. It was hard to hear their team compare me to all the fabulous hot skinny print models on their social media accounts. They even asked me to cut my agent out of our deal, even though she was the one who connected us. I was going to quit working for them, but they ended up firing me for losing ten pounds. 

Sunsets Swimwear company had me try on a bunch of sexy bathing suits for their team of designers. The company owner came into the room while I was trying on a bikini that was way too small for me. It was super cheeky, so he asked me to pull it down, to cover up more of my bottom. I told him that I’d rather have my ass hanging out than my front. That response deeply upset him, so he stormed out of the room. The designers explained that the word ass offended him. I couldn’t believe that a sexy bikini company was owned by an old prude conservative man. Part of that job was to change in front of people and he sure seemed to enjoy watching. Honestly, I didn’t know that ass was a bad word. I thought I was being polite by saying front instead of pussy. 

My weight and appearance became my obsession. I would measure myself multiple times a day. Don’t even get me started on my strange relationship with mirrors. If I was too thin before a gig I would binge eat. If I was too fat before a gig I would starve myself or throw up. 

The more I obsessed over losing weight the more my body clung onto it. Modeling was such an unhealthy mind fuck. Especially since I was trying out so many diets and workouts around the same time. It was hard having my insecurities constantly scrutinized by others publicly. 

Most of my friends grew up performing in Orange County. Confiding in them about body issues was pointless, considering they all struggled with eating disorders. Some of them gave me tips on how to pretend to eat in front of other people. “Just twirl your spaghetti while gossiping. Push it around your plate. No one will notice you’re not eating.” 

Good lord. Who doesn’t have an eating disorder in Orange County? 

All the people that I surrounded myself with were constantly putting me down. It felt like everyone hated me, but no one hated me more than I hated myself. 

My mental and digestive issues kept getting worse and I unintentionally ended up losing a bunch of weight. Since it was my job to stay around the same measurements I lost all my clients. They praised me for looking hotter while firing me. 

Natural Model Management had me model for a campaign that featured healthy bodies. Their goal was to promote a variety of different shapes and sizes. Most of their roster was plus sized and they ended up cutting me for being too thin. The agency director told me that I needed to gain or lose over thirty pounds if I ever wanted to be a “real model.” 

I was signed with Natural Models for a few months, but didn’t book anything through them. The agency owner convinced me to hire her boyfriend to take pictures of me. Once again I dropped hundreds of dollars on my portfolio for an agency that couldn’t get me any work. That experience was such a waste of time considering I was already booking my own gigs online regularly. 

They actually had another girl named Danica on their roster who did tons of shoots. She was like a bigger, louder, richer, blonder version of me. Back in those days the modeling industry embraced extremes, so it was hard for me to get much work as an “in-betweenie.”

Most gigs required me to maintain a certain look or size. One of my first auditions ever was to be a Radio City Rockette. Everyone they hired looked exactly the same. Blonde, tall, skinny, with legs for days. I starved myself for weeks before that audition. I covered my room in magazine pictures of inspirational anorexic waifs. I ate watermelon followed by sweet potatoes, to absorb the water weight. The Rockettes required their dancers to be tall and skinny. The maximum weight they allowed was 125 pounds and I weighed in at 124.5 pounds. I made myself pee and throw up right before they weighed and measured me.

The Rockettes tap choreography at the audition was super intense. I was way too hungry and sluggish to get through the routines. I’m surprised I didn’t keel over mid shuffle ball change. They offered me the chance to play a dancing Christmas tree in the background of their tour. I declined the job and decided to go in a different direction. 

One time I showed up for a Pair of Thieves socks and underwear photoshoot super hungover. One of the brand owners introduced himself then asked me if I wanted any coffee. When I said yes all of his employees glared at me. They obviously put him up on a pedestal. 

Cash was hot as fuck and we hit it off right away. I think he appreciated being treated like a normal human being. I loved hearing how much he enjoyed seeing his work on my body. 

Another one of the models viciously confronted me. “Do you even know who he is?!?! He’s married to Jessica!!! JESSICA!!!” That bitch must have been a really big Jessica fan. I probably should’ve known who he was from working at TMZ. People seemed to recognize him for being a movie star's husband, but failed to see him as his own hot successful entity. 

We only spent a few hours together, but I felt like we got to know each other pretty well. When we finished shooting he asked me if I wanted to go out to lunch. I said no, because that other model made me feel like a homewrecker. Fuck that bitch! I should’ve gone out with him anyway! It’s rare to feel so connected to someone that quickly. 

The other model followed me out to my car to yell at me even more. “Didn’t you see all that HONEST stuff in there?” Honestly, I didn’t even notice it. She was in fan mode while I was in flirt mode. 

I think she was jealous, because she wasn’t the one having conversations with him. Nobody cared about her boring stories about her boring husband. I know this sounds dumb, but he kinda made me believe in love at first sight. Who knows if we were even flirting, he was probably just trying to be nice. 

Cash and Jessica are both outrageously hot, rich, and successful. It’s not like I’m the only person that finds them attractive. They probably get invited to threesomes all the time! 

By the way, I don’t think any of the photos from the shoot turned out. Probably because I was talking in each shot. I never saw them posted anywhere, but whatever, it was a pretty fun day of work. We got paid to shoot champagne guns at each other while running around town in our underwear. 

When I told my friends about my crush on Cash I got such mixed reactions. Some of them encouraged me to pursue him while others urged me to back off. I didn’t want to fuck up his family or anything. I probably could’ve gotten lunch with him though. People don’t usually feed models. Guess I just stayed neutral. I followed him on social media and moved on. I was reading into our interaction way too much anyway. 

Pair of Thieves had me come back again for some fittings. When I returned the receptionist said “I sure remember you” in a snarky voice. Later on I overheard their team gossiping about me being a gold digging bubbly flirt. Towards the end of the fitting, an assistant came by, and handed me some underwear in a size extra small. She asked me to wear it for the owners in their private offices. The designer thought that was extremely misogynistic and inappropriate. She apologized and told me to go home immediately. It sucked because I really wanted to see him again. I probably would have walked into his office butt ass naked. In my defense, who doesn’t love CASH?

I was kinda in a similar situation back at Afterbuzz with Kevin. His business partner girlfriend Maria was so pretty, skinny, and famous. They were both unrealistically perfect, just like their pictures online. Everything they did was for media attention. Their relationship looked like a management business deal. He made sure she was always dressed up, with a full face of makeup, ready to be seen. I heard lots of rumors about their flings with other people. 

One of my friends worked in production on Dancing with the Stars. They told me that Maria and Derek were shamelessly flirtatious over the walkie talkies. 

Dancing is sexy. It brings people closer together!

Kevin told me that I was his favorite employee. When I asked him why he said it was because I liked getting wasted and having fun. The other people we worked with seemed like desperate thirsty tryhards. 

Every woman Kevin dated became famous thanks to his management, deals, connections, and advice. He invented Carmen Electra and Maria Menounos, so he gave me an offer to be his next one. All I’d have to do is suck his dick, lose thirty pounds, dye my hair blonder, and wear high heels. Then I could finally be a STAR! 

My reaction was so fucking awkward. I enjoyed hanging out with him, but I couldn’t imagine having to be on like that all the time. My personal lifestyle revolved around smoking weed on a couch in cozy sweatpants with my cat. 

Their lives looked so fake and exposed. I had no desire to dump my comfortable privacy for uncomfortable fabricated publicity stunts. 

Shortly after I rejected Kevin’s offer he publically proposed to Maria on a radio show and then married her on a TV show. I think they’re perfect for eachother!

After making a stupid gold digger joke that didn’t land well, they set me up on a blind date with an elderly billionaire. His private driver picked me up, served me champagne, and drove me to a fancy waterfront restaurant. Mr. Billionaire looked older than my parents. His little bald head barely reached my nipples. Most of his money came from making dolls that kinda looked like me. We demolished bottles of expensive wines and ordered multiple entrees. I didn’t understand any of his ancient jokes or references, but I laughed at them anyway, just to seem polite. 

In the middle of our date Mr. Billionaire got a call from Ryan Seacreast. I made him answer and put it on speaker phone. They had been close friends for years. I assumed they were childhood besties. They had so many inside jokes that went straight over my head.

We spent most of our date night drunkenly chatting with Ryan Seacrest. He told me that I have a great name for show business. “No need to get a stage name!” Seacrest kept practicing introducing himself as a host version of me “Hi, I’m Danica Kennedy & you’re listening to 102.7 KIIS FM!” 

At the end of the date we hugged and went our separate ways. I ate and drank way too much that night. There’s no way I could have put out even if I wanted to. That date inspired Mr. Billionaire to get back with his gold digger ex wife. My friends were sad things didn’t work out, because they wanted him to pay for our next vacation. They encouraged me to keep going after wealthy senior citizens. “You don’t even have to look at him. Just do it doggy till he dies.”

I’ve struggled with money issues, mommy issues, and daddy issues for most of my life. Maybe I should’ve pulled an Anna Nichole Smith! 

Afterbuzz had a spin off network called Black Hollywood Live. The black hosts worked for free while the white owners kept all of the profits. It was giving slavery. Anyway they threw a Black Hollywood Live event one night. I got verbally invited at the last minute and I wasn’t one to turn down a party back in those days. Nobody told me it was a serious fancy black tie event. Since it was held in a backyard I assumed it was just a casual summer BBQ pool party. Most of my black friends had big family gatherings in LA filled with great food, music, and dancing…so that’s kind of what I was expecting. 

So, I showed up in shorts, a tank top, and flip flops, with a watermelon purse. A JAPANESE WATERMELON PURSE AT A BLACK EVENT. I was one of the only white people there and I had no fucking idea that there was a racist stereotype about black people loving watermelons. I mean, who doesn’t love watermelons? They’re delicious! Kevin pulled me aside and gave me one of Maria’s tiny little outfits to borrow. Her closet was the size of my apartment, but it was hard to find anything to squeeze into. The whole event was giving GET OUT. I bounced as fast as fucking possible.

If you thought that Elle Woods bunny costume or Cady Heron’s ex wife costume were cringe, trust me, my party outfit of choice was way worse. 

I was so nervous to tell my half Black half Japanese roommate about my Little Tokyo Kawaii styled watermelon purse incident. Luckily she thought it was fucking hilarious and she made me tell her entire family. Then I turned it around and started blaming her “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? HOW’D YOU LET ME LEAVE THE HOUSE LIKE THIS?!” My black friends thought it was funny, because they knew I was completely oblivious, but my white friends were super offended. Let’s just call it a dumb blonde moment.

I’ve had weird experiences with a lot of famous people. Their public appearances through the media and my brief interactions with them do not explain who they really are. I know that my viewpoints of them are skewed from being in strange or uncomfortable circumstances. 

A lot of people looked down on me for being an intern, extra actor, tour guide, fit model, and production assistant. My stories and perspectives are from the bottom of the Hollywood food chain.  

Kevin and Maria have big hearts and mean well. I don’t think they’ve ever intended to use, hurt, or offend anyone. Sometimes money and notoriety can alter people's moves through life. I know that I have come across as a thirsty ruthless fame whore too, even though that’s not how I see myself. 

Humans are complex creatures with conflicting characteristics. Most famous people have substance, morals, values, and real lives that we never see. 

Kevin and Maria rescued tons of dogs over the years. I think it’s kinda weird that they only save little white dogs, but whatever. Anyone who gives a fuck about animals will ultimately win me over. I could totally see myself hoarding black cats, so who am I to judge? 

BET hired me to host an event. I thought it was weird that they picked me, because I’m white. Everyone seemed confused and upset when I showed up to work. They assumed that I was black because of my name. The casting director got in huge trouble when everyone saw what I looked like. The crew gave me bomb food and drinks before asking me to leave. At least I didn’t bring that fucking watermelon purse.

Talking about racism in America is uncomfortable, but we need to have hard conversations to progressively move forward. I’ve been unintentionally racist out of ignorance, which is so fucking embarrassing. I never intended to hurt or offend people with my stupidity. I have also seen and experienced intense racism all over the country. I considered editing those stories out of this, but I think there are valuable lessons to be learned from them. Segregation still exists in America, especially in the south and in the beauty industry. 

By the way I got drunk and took another host home with me that night. The sex was really fun, but of course he confessed to having a serious girlfriend right after we hooked up. Every man in LA that made a move on me had a wife or girlfriend. People in relationships need to get out of the dating pool.

That BET gig reminded me of when I got fired from hosting West Hollywood drag shows. I guess somebody eventually realized that I’m not a real drag queen. My dramatic wigs and makeup stumped a few people at first. Most of my friends were theatrical gay men who loved to perform and party with me. Of course it makes more sense for gay clubs to have real male drag queens host drag events, but I was crushed when I lost those hosting jobs, because they were so much fun! 

For some reason I seem to come across as a black girl or a gay boy on paper. People are always shocked at what I look like when they eventually meet me in person. I’m not sure if it’s my name, resume, or all the places I’ve lived, but it’s happened so many times throughout my life. A lot of my friends have said things like “Oh my god you’re such a gay boy!” I’m like ‘Is this how people find out they’re trans? Am I like the last person to know?!”

IDENTITY CRISIS!

I booked a few print modeling jobs with DryBar. They wanted to pay me with hair products instead of money, but I convinced them to give me a couple hundred bucks instead. I drank a bottle of wine the night before their shoot, so I was hungover as fuck on set. The makeup artist complained that my lips and skin were too dehydrated, but I knew that the bags under my eyes were the real problem. 

Pictures always turn out best when the model doesn’t give a fuck or try too hard. It’s the model look, ya know? DGAF vibes. Less is more sometimes. 

The DryBar owners praised my poses, even though they were a bit out there. Their retouchers fixed my face in post which made me hot, but unrecognizable. 

I went on a trip to New York and it was crazy to see my face all over the place. Those highly edited hungover images of me were plastered all over every DryBar, Nordstrom, and Sephora in America. It made me feel like a fucking star! It was my big supermodel moment. 

The modeling gigs that put my face everywhere paid me barely anything compared to the work that no one ever saw. 

People assumed I made bank from that big DryBar photoshoot. Meanwhile I was making pretty great money modeling slutty Halloween costumes for Leg Avenue in the designers private offices. 

Fit modeling gigs usually paid around three hundred bucks per hour and they had me working regularly. It was an easy job minus all the mental problems from constantly obsessing over my looks, weight, and measurements. 

Many companies used their name and notoriety as a form of currency, but it’s not like I could pay my bills with that shit. Sadly people take advantage of artists all the time. I did all sorts of unpaid projects in LA with the hopes of them leading towards bigger or better things, but they rarely did. It’s so embarrassing, but humiliation was the cost of entry to that fucked up world.

One of the reasons hosting and modeling appealed to me was because I thought it might help boost my self confidence. Those jobs often left me feeling insecure, not beautiful. Sure, there were fun times, but it was hard being picked apart regularly. The constant criticism about my looks, size, and attitude left me feeling broken and ugly. Over the years I learned there are healthier ways to boost self love and self worth. 

As I got older I started booking mom roles, which felt like a sign to reroute and change directions. The kids playing my children never bothered me, but their stage moms were the fucking worst. 

I modeled holiday pajamas for one of Steve Harvey’s shows and they gave me a sexy fake husband. He moved from Oahu to the mainland to pursue modeling. I love Hawaii! I couldn’t wait to get back out there to reconnect with nature and wildlife. I desperately needed to hug a fucking tree or touch some fucking grass. Sexy model boy couldn’t understand why I would want to leave a city filled with opportunities for some tropical plants in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t believe that he ditched paradise for shit hole LA. 

He worried that my modeling career would end if I moved to Hawaii, but it already felt like it was over thanks to all the mom roles. Ditching some soul sucking Hollywood gigs in exchange for some much needed aloha sounded like a great trade to me. 

It’s natural for people to outgrow environments and see what else is out there. I guess some people are perfectly happy staying in the same place forever. That sounds stagnant and boring to me, unless you live on Kauai. 

Steve Harvey’s show was filmed on the Universal Studios backlot, so my former coworkers would pass by me on the tours. Seeing people stay in the exact same place as where I left them made me appreciate change. I’m so proud I have the strength and endurance to keep moving forward, despite all the obstacles and setbacks. 

It’s true that cities have more job opportunities, but that was not fulfilling my true desires. Working was no longer my main priority. I was ready and eager to escape the rat race. Nature has always been my true happy place. Hammocks on a beach between palm trees sounded better than the lifestyle I was living. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but the city life struggles were real. Hollywood was filled with high highs and low lows. I will always love art and performing, no matter where my life takes me. 

My fake husband asked me about modeling agents while I questioned him about volcanic adventures. Our fake son's stage mom was such a cock block, she kept sitting in between us to keep us from talking. I was just trying to flirt with him to feel closer to Hawaii. 

During Steve Harvey’s fashion show we strut down the runway wearing flannel pajamas and thick ass robes. The outfits and stage lights were so hot, we profusely sweat off all our makeup. The pajamas really confused my Hawiian hubby. He asked me if people really sleep in “Christmas Costumes” on the mainland. 

It kinda got stressful not knowing where my next paycheck was coming from. Imagine reapplying or re auditioning for work every single day. 

Constantly attempting to convince people that I was talented led me to doubt myself. I got tired of spending all my time and energy building up other people's bank accounts and empires instead of my own. When my main focus was on being a part of somebody else's vision, I neglected to follow my own dreams, goals, visions, and passions. 

The smartest artists focus on making their own things, but they also participate in creative collaborations to help get their work and ideas out there. 

If anyone wants to be an artist they could use the internet as a platform to perform and connect with likeminded people. I could’ve built my own stage, had creative control, and probably much more success. When you work for someone else the money goes to them. If you work for yourself the money goes straight to you. 

I started a photography business with my best friend Kaia. In a way she was the photographer who made me a model and I was the model who made her a photographer. Since I was aging out of the young modeling game, working in photography appealed to me. I’ve always been such a shutterbug!

We loved playing dressup and taking pictures together. Most of our friends were brilliant artists. So we had so much fun creating different teams, looks, concepts, and images with our favorite characters. 

People warned us that living and working together could ruin our friendship, but we didn’t listen. Our bond felt unbreakable. Best friends forever!

It was hard running a business with someone who didn’t want to work. Kaia was a very talented artist, but she was also extremely unmotivated. Trying to get her off the couch was nearly impossible. She wasn’t driven to make money, because she didn’t have to be. Her wealthy parents spoiled the shit out of her. She just wanted to smoke weed and watch TV all day everyday. We definitely could have used more balance. Our artwork was amazing, but it was a pretty stagnant and unproductive chapter. 

By the way there’s nothing wrong with spending your life on a couch, smoking weed, while watching tv, if you own it. Shit if my life was sponsored I’d be chillin too!

Some people wanted to work with just her while other people wanted to work with just me. Making ourselves an exclusive team held us both back from so many opportunities.

Kaia and I met at The Orange County School of the Arts while performing. An Orange County billionaire hired us students to put on a surprise musical about his wife’s life. 

Mindy Burbano got discovered while cawing like a crow from Oprah’s live audience. She later became a host, model, and actress. Shortly after that she retired and married rich. Mindy’s husband acted like he was just taking her to some random kid’s show. She had no idea it was going to be a whole musical showcase about her entire life story.

Mindy was hella pregnant. I wondered if her water was going to break on stage or somewhere in the theater. Kaia played Oprah while I played a bunch of random extra characters.

I was sleeping beauty, a dental hygienist, a baseball player, a singer, and an audience member all in a thirty minute show. The whole time I was stripping in the wings in hopes of getting into my next costume on time. 

At the end of our performance I was totally winded. The billionaire came up on stage and started acting like Oprah. He yelled “YOU GET A LAPTOP! YOU GET A LAPTOP! YOU GET A LAPTOP! YOU GET A LAPTOP!” He gave all of us brand new MacBooks and printers! Even the broke kids like me got spoiled, because we had great connections and opportunities in Orange County. 

Oprah Winfrey was invited to see our musical, but she didn’t show up. I’m sure she had better things to do. That musical showcase was such a funny way to befriend someone. Especially Oprah, I mean Kaia. 

One time Kaia’s Parisian artist friends flew out to LA for a photoshoot with a famous pinup model dancer named Dita Von Teese. We met up with them at a Hollywood Hills mansion in hopes of them hiring us both to help out at the photoshoot. They were such cliche French people who were way too cool for us. The creative director looked like an emo goth vampire. We expected him to levitate around and float from room to room. He spoke in a whiny French baby voice when he begged for some drugs. Kaia was on it. She went to go fetch him some pills while I talked to their team about creative ideas. 

They asked me to help out at the photoshoot. I agreed to assist them, because I was beyond stoked to meet my favorite pinup model! I assumed Kaia would also be included, considering they were her fucking friends. 

The team ended up telling Kaia that they didn’t need her at the photoshoot. I probably should have turned down that gig for the sake of our friendship, but I went anyway, because I was broke as fuck, and needed some money. Her “‘friends” later told me that they didn’t want some “druggie girl” around everyone on a “professional set.” They acted like she was a meth head, but she was just sharing her ADHD meds! I guess adderall is kinda methy. 

Of course I was the first one to show up at Dita Von Teese’s house on the day of the shoot. She answered the door in a robe with no hair or makeup. It was shocking to see the pinup queen au natural. Her mansion looked like a cottage from a fairytale. She was like a burlesque Snow White princess. When I told her I was there for the photoshoot she looked confused. She didn’t have anything on her schedule. The vampire-like director magically appeared then begged and cried in his French baby voice for her to model for his creative visions. 

MERDE! ZUT ALOR! PUTAIN! 

S’IL VOUS PLAÎT! MON AMOUR! POUR L’ART! 

SACREBLEU! HON HON HON! 

*french choking sounds*  

I had no idea what the fuck was going on. 

Dita Von Teese obliged to the emo artist's requests, but was not pleased with his ridiculous spontaneous surprises. He was an incredible photographer who had shot her many times before. I assumed she felt indebted to him due to their past collaborations. Everyone knew the plan except for the talent who owned the location. If they gave her a heads up before flying everyone out I wonder if she would have turned down that gig. The team wanted her to do it more than she wanted to be part of it.    

We busted into her fairytale mansion cottage with tons of equipment. Her taxidermy decor creeped me out. Everyone on set spoke French and I didn’t know what was happening. Towards the end of the shoot I stopped giving a fuck which won all the French people over. Once I quit being a desperate try hard they gave me cigarettes and let me join their angsty emo artist clique. Kaia was a photographer who spoke French and smoked hella cigarettes. She would’ve fit in with that rich Parisian artist crew way better than me.  

My French teacher in high school spent her twenties modeling in Paris. She had platinum blonde hair, tan skin, and gigantic boobs. She taught me how to properly drink wine and curse in French. Some people said that she used to be a bunny. She wore tiny denim shorts and rode a sexy motorcycle to work. I think she was the only teacher who got dress code violations. She inspired me to embrace different cultures and live a fun sexy fabulous life. 

Back when I was modeling I worked with a pinup clothing brand regularly. I was warned that the owner brutally fired people and slammed them online for any minor mistakes. Over the years I heard many horror stories about the way she managed her employees and business. I still worked with her, because it wasn’t happening directly towards me. She hired Kaia and I to do some photoshoots for their site and everything was a fucking mess. It was so unorganized and unprofessional. I had to hunt down our paychecks after every fucking shoot. 

Later on the owner reached out to us to do another photoshoot. I sent her a photography contract to make sure we would be getting paid for our work. She went fucking ballistic and talked mad shit about our business all over social media. Shortly after that her business went under. I don’t think she ever planned on paying us, which was why she freaked out over the photo contract. I should’ve known better after hearing so many bad stories about her from other people. We had some wonderful clients over the years, but the bitches made a bigger impact. Bad people teach good lessons.  

I kept banking on other people appreciating my talents. It’s like I was always playing a role, even if I wasn’t acting. Fake for the sake of maintaining toxic relationships. 

Kaia had a huge crush on our friend Levi. They hooked up back in college, but never dated. She was in love with him and he used her. It seemed like everyone knew about their history, except for her boyfriend Sawyer. Levi claimed he didn’t like Kaia back, even though his life revolved around hers. 

Despite their strange dynamics we had a pretty solid friend group. At times we all lived and worked together. When Levi asked if he could move in with us and let his brother stay over I was stoked. They were some of my closest friends who I considered family. Plus I was sick of third wheeling Kaia and Sawyer all the time. 

Kaia got pissed that I said it was fine by me if they moved in. She thought it was inappropriate to live with him considering their history, but she never spoke up for herself. It wasn’t my responsibility to speak on her behalf. I did that sometimes for our business, which was a bad habit in hindsight. 

Instead of telling Levi that she didn’t want to live with him, she bitched about it to me and all our other friends. Kaia kept stomping around while slamming doors and cabinets after he moved in. She even changed our wifi name from “The Shire” to “Minas Tirith.”   

Levi cared about the planet and had a silly sense of humor. He was in touch with his inner child, which helped me bring out mine. Levi performed off key songs and raps that never rhymed, while the rest of us smoked and watched from the couch. His rap name was Lil Pee Pee.

Before we moved into that place we looked at a way better apartment, but Kaia didn’t want to live in it, because the previous tenants died in the unit. I was such a hardcore Atheist back then. The discount and epic views made it seem worth it! We’re all going to die somewhere somehow someday. 

I shared a large bathroom with Levi. One day I got really mad at him for shaking the door handle while I was trying to take a shit. I was like “DUDE LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE AND GIVE ME SOME FUCKING PRIVACY!!!” He had no idea what I was yelling about. We later figured out that my cat Lando was trying to bust down the bathroom door. 

Kaia overheard part of our conversation about the door handle mysterious rattling. She was afraid of ghost, so we decided to fuck with her. We both kept making up stories about weird things happening around the apartment. 

One night Levi randomly placed a long piece of string over a light switch. He was talking to Kaia about the ghost when my cat pulled on the string, which turned off all the lights. My spooky black cat was the mastermind behind all the unearthly happenings. Kaia freaked out and truly believed that there was a ghost haunting our apartment. 

I eventually told her that it was Lando and Levi, not a ghost. I thought Kaia would laugh it off, but she got angry at us for fucking with her like that.

One night Levi and I were dancing in the living room and our moves kept getting progressively sluttier. We grinded up on eachother like horny freak dancing middle schoolers, which led to us having sex. We could’ve been each other's dirty little secrets, but we were both raised Catholic, and felt the need to confess our sins. 

Kaia was pissed. She thought I was selfish for getting with someone she had feelings for, but I thought she was selfish for trying to keep people who like each other apart. Especially since we were single and she was in a serious relationship with somebody else! 

Levi and I tried dating, but our friends treated us like monsters. They kept ridiculing us for having feelings for eachother. Kaia said she would get over it eventually, but that never happened. She couldn’t trust me or look at me the same way after that. 

Levi’s perfectionism was his best and worst quality. It made him talented, but he lacked confidence, which caused him to judge mine. He couldn’t believe that I had the audacity to be a performer. Probably because he would never have the balls to put himself out there like that. He would perform like a total dork in privacy amongst close friends, but there’s no way he would let anyone record him. Levi always projected his insecurities onto me, which led me to doubt myself. His lack mentality was super contagious, even though I preferred to dream big and aim high. The key to success is being delusional. 

Kaia and I got our own places and Levi moved in with me for a little bit. He ended up breaking up with me to camp around the country with his tent and backpack. Levi chose being homeless on the streets over living with me. He planned on leaving to travel before we hooked up, which made things much more complicated. 

Levi made it very clear that our relationship was one sided. He constantly critiqued my weight, skin, height, and voice. In hindsight he was mocking and bullying the shit out of me the whole time. It hurt to hear him tear apart my appearance, especially since I was already enduring that at my modeling gigs. Guess he wanted a flawless perfect girlfriend, even though he was an unemployed short borderline homeless loser. I don’t know what I saw in him. 

He acted like a nice kind person towards the beginning but his true character eventually came out. Levi told me that I had too much sun damage. Then he called me a Dalmatian and advised me to never go outside again. He asked me if I ever played connect the dots with the imperfections on my skin. Then he called my fupa stomach pooch my “third boob.” After bullying the shit out of me he’d ask me where my smile went or accuse me of being depressed.

Throughout that shitty short term relationship Levi made so many comments about my height, weight, and finances. It obviously came from insecurities, cause homeboy was short, poor, and not in shape. He expected love, care, and support from everyone even though he brought nothing to the table. Such a taker, not a giver! Kaia and I paid for most of his bills and meals. 

Levi sat me down and pointed out that I was showing signs of schizophrenia. I was so fucking offended, because I felt misunderstood, and thought he was attacking me. Turns out he was just the first of many people to call me out for showing signs of mental illnesses. 

I wondered how we let such a shitty human into our homes and bodies? I had to completely reevaluate my circle, health, self worth, boundaries, morals, goals, and standards. I’d rather vibe alone than hang out with people who don’t respect me. That fucked up little fling was my canon event. 

Who the fuck was he to treat me so poorly? How did I put up with that shit? Levi seemed kind towards the beginning, but ended up being such a shallow asshole. I hated how much I loved him and loved how much I hated him.

Sawyer ended up being the only one who was still nice to me, but he didn’t know the back story. He had no idea all that drama was going on. I felt so bad for lying to him for Kaia’s sake for years. I wish I got to tell him my side of the story in person over some strong cocktails. 

When I first started living with Kaia I hated her boyfriend Sawyer. He was another homeless unemployed bum on our couch who contributed nothing. Kaia and I both desperately needed to raise our standards. 

Sawyer ended up being the best person in that shitty friend group. He went from last place to first place in my books. I couldn’t help but feel bad for him after seeing Kaia and Levi’s secretive flirtatious relationship. It was so selfish of them to keep their secret just from him. 

Before shit went down Kaia and I had a great bond. We lived together for four years in three different apartments around LA. At times I wondered if we had telepathy, because it felt like we could read each other's minds. She was such a funny, creative, inspiring, and generous person. 

All our friends sided with Kaia. They shamed me for sleeping with Levi, even though we were both single. At one point they even started bets over if I would fuck him again. The whole ordeal was giving Easy A Scarlet Letter vibes. It’s safe to say that I got slut shamed out of our friend group. 

Of course Levi was never shamed for what he did even though it was the same “crime.” There’s such a double standard when it comes to men and sex. I was shunned while he got taken in and appreciated. He was the hero and I was the whore. Everyone embraced him and shamed me, even though we were both guilty of doing the same fucking thing.

For years I tried to get Kaia to hang out, travel, or work with me again. She was unable to truly forgive me and move on. It’s kinda sad because we had so many great times together in the past. 

Part of me wondered if I sabotaged our relationship subconsciously. It’s not like I intended to hurt her, but our business wasn’t working out, and I knew that I would have to move on to survive. 

Around that same time I fell for “the love of her life.” I wonder if I inadvertently derailed everything as a not so easy way out. Maybe Levi hooked up with me as a way out too. He wanted Kaia to stay in the friend zone. Fucking her best friend could be a pretty effortless horn dog escape.  

Working with friends, living with friends, or falling for the same friends ruins friendships. Kaia and I went through all of those things at once. No wonder things didn’t work out. 

Of course I was a part of the problem but wasn’t ready to take any blame. There’s no way I could own up to failure or being wrong even though that was usually the case. I was too crazy and crossfaded to notice or care about anyone else’s feelings. 

Levi ended up moving in with Kaia’s family after he dumped me, which was a total mind fuck. He was such a fucking dick to me post breakup, but I didn’t really understand why. 

He confronted me for being unwelcoming towards him and his brother, even though I had opened up our home to them multiple times. I knew that Kaia complained about them to our friends. Somehow that gossip circled back to Levi and he assumed it came from me. Kaia was the one who didn’t want to live with them, not me! I enjoyed their company before the shit hit the fan. That wasn’t the only time I took the fall for Kaia’s words or actions. We both needed to learn how to speak up for ourselves.

When it came to fight, flight, freeze, or fawn I FROZE. I couldn’t speak up for myself for some reason. There was too much emotional abuse and mind game bullshit going on in my life. I couldn’t handle it.  

It seemed like Kaia would do anything to keep Levi and I apart. Her life was full of lies. Fake photos, fake hair, fake nails, fake followers, fake alibis. The grass was never greener in LA, it was fake! Luckily Kaia was a pretty bad liar, so most people saw right through her bullshit. I’m sure she trashed my name in fear of the truth coming out. 

Why was I okay with my bestie roomie business partner being such a liar? I couldn’t trust her and she couldn’t trust me. It’s sad how things ended, but at least I won full custody of our kitty boy during the divorce. 

Unfortunately that wasn’t the first time I chose a guy over a close friend. My childhood bestie May dated my friend Andi during high school. I hooked up with him before that, but never dated him, so it didn’t really bother me that they were together. The three of us were besties who hung out all the time! We loved throwing drunken bonfires on the beach together. 

When May went off to college she joined a sorority cult and all her sisters became her new besties. She drunkenly fought with Andi until they broke up. 

One day May blew me off after I had already driven hours to go see her. I impulsively ended our long term friendship, because it felt super one sided. Then I drunkenly hooked up with Andi a few months after that. 

I had such a fat crush on him over the years. Someone once told me that if you love someone, you should keep them as a friend, so they can be in your life longer. I eventually decided to go that route with him. I still consider him to be one of my best friends to this day. 

My inability to maintain any sort of job, friendship, and relationship made me wonder if I was bipolar or borderline. My life was full of manic euphoric highs and depressing lows.

Some people told me that my blunt honesty was too much. Other people accused me of lying, acting, and over exaggerating. My friends and family would say things like “THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN!” Was I hallucinating or were they gaslighting me? 

Andi and I kept in touch over the years. I missed my friendship with May, but didn’t want to tell her that I hooked up with Andi. Even though I knew that the truth would come out eventually. 

May went to the same Catholic church as me back in the day. We sinned and rebelled in our own ways, but we both still appreciated the art of confession. 

We both desperately wanted to be sexy bad girls after watching the movie THIRTEEN. I often think about the time we got in huge trouble at church for praying to “THE FATHER, THE SON, & THE HOLY DOUGHNUT.” In our defense the doughnuts after mass were bomb as fuck.  

Years went by and I finally reached out to May. We caught up over margs as if no time had passed. A psychic witch told her that she had already met her soulmate, who was someone that she got set up with in the past. Since May met Andi through me, she assumed that he was her soulmate. 

The three of us had a beach bonfire for old times sake. It felt like May only wanted to hang out with me to get back with Andi. She showed up at the beach with a full face of makeup and her hair blown out. She even told me that she got sugared just in case. May kept throwing herself at Andi even though he had a serious girlfriend. Not like I should judge! 

After a few drinks May confided in me. She had been diagnosed with a life threatening autoimmune disease. I could tell she was eager to settle down, because she didn’t know how much time she had left. That didn’t seem like the best time to tell her about my fling with Andi. We never hung out again after that, but she managed to fall in love with someone else. Now May and Andi are married to people who seem so fucking random to me. Whatever. 

Kaia and her childhood BFF Fawn were attached at the hip for years. They even moved to Paris to go to school together. Fawn ended up hooking up with Kaia’s friend’s ex boyfriend while they were studying abroad. 

Kaia ended her friendship with Fawn because she thought that she was selfish for sleeping within the friend group. I didn’t get what the big deal was. They were both single and liked each other! I never understood Kaia’s territorial over possessive instincts. 

Fawn ended up dating that guy for years. They even moved to Thailand together! Kaia’s side of the story was stupid as fuck. Fawn was devastated over their dramatic friendship breakup. She spent years trying to mend their broken relationship, but Kaia mocked her messages and refused to respond. Fawn was outcasted from their friend group. Everyone unintentionally sided with Kaia, because she moved back to California. I guess we all felt closer to her because there was less literal distance. Most of our friends missed Fawn, but we kept our feelings hidden from Kaia, because she made us pick a side.   

Before I worked with Kaia she had another photography business with her friend Anna. They did everything together until all of a sudden it was over. Kaia said that Anna got arrested and owed her tons of money. I wondered if that was the full story. Kaia always had a codependent female bestie. Most of the people in our lives assumed that she was a closeted lesiban. Her female friendship breakups often resembled romantic breakups, plus her style of art often showcased the female form. Sometimes it takes one to know one. 

A few of my girl friends were gay as fuck, but would never publically admit it. They didn’t want to upset their wealthy close minded parents, in fear they might cut them off financially. 

We both had a history of dramatic friendship breakups, that were pretty gay in hindsight. We each played similar recurring roles in each other's recurring patterns. If you don’t learn the lessons you have to repeat the tests!

Even though I loved Kaia I never tried to resolve our friendship. I saw how shit went down during her past bestie breakups. She villainized her former friends, so I assumed she would do the same shit to me. I didn’t want to put myself through a bunch of predictable catty drama. 

During one of our last friend group hangouts we all took the Harry Potter Sorting Hat Quiz and I got placed in Slytherin. I am very clever, resourceful, magical, and ambitious. Kaia judged my results, but she’s a fucking Scorpio! That’s like being a real life Slytherin. 

My friend Jake noticed what I was going through. They asked me why I let people treat me like shit and talk down to me. Having somebody point out my lack of boundaries and self esteem encouraged me to make some much needed changes. Thank you Jake <3

My health and goals became my new priority. There was no need to hold onto any one sided or toxic relationships. I cut most people out of my life. 

Hollywood lost its sparkle. My personal dreams, morals, and values evolved. It was time to get the fuck out of LA.

CHAPTER V: ZEN AS FUCK

My hometown Huntington Beach was not too far from Hollywood, but it felt like a different world. It was nice to be back by the ocean where I belong. If smoking blunts on the beach is wrong I don’t want to be right. 

I got a job working at a waterfront hot yoga studio. My intention was to let go of the past and save money for the future. I spent most of my time taking pictures of plants, swimming in the ocean, stretching, and smoking weed. Moving to Hawaii became my next big goal, dream, and plan.

It’s crazy how much pain we store in our bodies. Most of the people in my yoga classes had a sad dark past that led them to their practice. Everyone was busy working through something on their mats. Yoga postures help release all sorts of built up tension. People would cry, fart, throw up, and faint in class. It was better to leave the pain on our mats than in our bodies. 

My constant self deprecating jokes landed great in Hollywood, but concerned my friends at the yoga studio. They didn’t appreciate my explicit vocabulary, but cursing was my favorite form of self expression.  

One of the yoga students kept talking about her spiritual awakening and third eye opening. She hoped I’d get to experience that too. At the time I thought she sounded bat shit crazy.

When I first started working at the yoga studio it felt like all of my chakras were blocked. Of course I tried to stay present, but my mind kept wandering towards people and places I wanted to forget. There were lots of crazy toxic patterns in my life that I needed to address and work through. 

Movement helped me move forward. Our minds and bodies are extremely powerful. It’s crazy to see how resilient and adaptable us humans can be. 

Yoga has helped me manage my stress, anxiety, and depression issues. It improved my flexibility, strength, endurance, immunity, and mental health. Meditation has helped me manage my thoughts, goals, and ideas. It has helped me develop a growth mindset, new perspectives, patience, and self awareness. Those practices improved my durability and ability to overcome failures or obstacles. They also helped boost my imagination and creativity.

It’s important for us to listen to our bodies and intuitions. Sure yoga and dance are my favorite forms of exercise and release, but that doesn’t mean those are the best workouts for everyone. When in doubt, just take a walk. 

All of our bodies, lifestyles, and goals are different. We can do whatever we want instead of what others tell us to do. Sometimes it feels really good to switch things up. Trying out different options is a great way to figure out what really works and what doesn’t work. 

I had such a fat crush on one of the yoga teachers, I took his class everyday. Slayter reminded me to breathe and let shit go. For some reason I really wanted to have sex with him. I think all the stretching, deep breathing, and sweaty little outfits really got to me. I was eager to get my creative mojo back, so I asked him to model for me. I took pictures of him surfing and stretching. In return he got me “flowers” aka weed. I asked Slayter how he knew my favorite type of flower. He said he could tell just by looking at me. 

Our friendship was ridiculously flirty. He would often touch my waist or hips while walking by me. For some reason I told him that I had a crush on him. Turns out he was dating someone else. Once again I felt like a total fucking moron for liking someone who was unavailable. It sucked that I fucked up my new favorite yoga class and weed connection so quickly. Guess it was probably for the best, because his kid was a three hundred pound varsity football player. I couldn’t imagine hanging out at his house with a gigantic child and his teammates. When I told my friends about Slayter they asked me if I planned on fucking the dad or his kid. 

The studio promoted me to manager, which made me his new boss. There was a major power shift in our dynamic. He loved being a yoga guru and was used to instructing me, so he kept mansplaining how I should do my job. It was so fucking annoying.  

One day all the other teachers bailed on their classes because mercury was in retrograde. Slayter was getting ready to teach while I sulked around in a bad mood. The yoga studio was calm unlike my stressful negative energy. 

When he told me how to handle the situation I barked back “STOP TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB!” Everyone stopped and stared. It felt like a scene out of a Seth Rogan movie. Most of the students were shocked and horrified. Slayter saged the room while I went to my car to smoke, cry, and calm down. We never spoke again after that. 

Marijuana is a magical plant. I’ve been on the verge of suicide, so I smoked, and it completely shifted my mood for the better. There’s so much stigma around weed, but I credit it for saving my life. Cannabis products make me a better, happier, calmer, nicer person. Judge all you want haters!

One night I went to In-N-Out in LA with a group of friends and a car came tearing down the street towards Andi. It did not stop. It should have killed him, but some sort of invisible force pulled him out of the way at the very last second. It was supernatural! It made me believe in the spiritual world. We wondered what saved his life. God? Angels? Ancestors? The Universe? I don’t know what the fuck it was. All I know is that there’s much more going on than what I can visually see. Was my third eye starting to open?

I was stoked when I got a photography job based in Hawaii! Unfortunately the pandemic hit around the same time, which totally fucked up my plans. There were strict travel bans, so the company revoked their offer, which forced me to put my dreams back on hold. Around that same time the yoga studio I worked at closed down which left me jobless again. 

Living back home with my mom during the pandemic was gnarly. I had no sense of freedom, space, or privacy. I had to sneak out of the house like a fucking teenager, even though I was in my thirties. 

COVID didn’t scare me, I was already numb. As a kid I would fantasize about getting sick or hurt. Maybe people would notice or care about me more if I was in the hospital. I had no lust for life. 

I loved the pandemic at first. COVID forced us to stop, rest, and reset. There were no overwhelming crowds and everyone respected each other's personal space. People were nicer, probably because they didn’t have to work. Oh and the sweatpants! I loved being cozy at home in sweatpants. Of course getting sick and losing my loved ones fucking sucked, but back then we had no idea just how crazy things were going to get.  

So many civilizations rose and fell over the years and it seemed like that time was coming again. Our political and societal systems were outdated. 

One of my yoga friends offered to give me a reiki massage. It was my first time, so I didn’t know what to expect. I was just eager to release the stored up pain and tension from my body. Somehow he convinced me to undress and relax. My naked body went limp when he rubbed me down with hot oils. I didn’t expect him to lick or enter me. I wanted him to stop, but it felt like I was under a hypnotic spell. Eventually I summoned enough strength to end things just before he could finish. I’m not sure why I didn’t stop him sooner. The sexual oils and traumas gave me a painful infection that left me feeling out of balance and control. Not all happy endings are happy endings. Did I get fucking reiki raped!?! 

Maybe it was empty consent? I didn’t want to be touched like that, but I also didn’t immediately stop him. I was in shock, drugged, or some sort of trance just going through the motions while feeling dead inside. I was frozen.

I spent weeks obsessing over what had happened. I paced back and forth while chain smoking tons of joints and cigarettes. I couldn’t stop replaying every traumatic sexual event in my mind. I knew that I would get blamed for dressing like a slut and posting nude pics on Only Fans. People would accuse me of “asking for it.” If someone dresses or dances like a stripper that doesn’t mean they’re a whore. Dressing sexy is not asking for sex. 

Even though I felt violated I blamed myself for some reason. I wanted to protect the person who assaulted me. I should’ve stood up for myself and said something! I should’ve stopped him sooner! I guess that fucking reiki didn’t unblock my throat chakra. 

I couldn’t even process what happened. There’s no way I could’ve talked to anybody, especially the police about it. They would’ve blamed me. I didn’t want to have to see his face anywhere ever again. Not even court.

That man was not a stranger. We had mutual friends and I didn’t want any of them to know about it. He had a healing yogi reputation and I was known for being a drunken gossipy party whore. Would anyone even believe me?

Male validation doesn’t mean that much. Most men would fuck a hole in a wall. I’ve heard that funeral homes avoid hiring men, because they’ll fuck the dead corpses. They creep on everyone including children, animals, and dead bodies. 

Masturbation and celibacy were better options than most of my past sexual experiences. I could give myself better orgasms with no pregnancy risks or regrets. Societal sexpectations made me feel the need to engage in activities that disturbed my body and spirit. I wondered if I was naturally a lesbian or just traumatized by men. 

It’s important to create boundaries and stand up for yourself. If you are nice all the time people will take advantage of you. Women have to be mean just to avoid getting raped or murdered. Being a bitch is a form of self defense. 

My doctor told me that I was physically the healthiest person she had ever seen… mentally, not so much. Probably because I came into her office with a long list of potential self diagnosed issues. 

I assumed that I was a manic, bipolar, autistic bitch with ptsd, borderline personality disorder, adhd, schizophrenia, eating disorders, and substance abuse issues. My doctor saw me as a depressed alcoholic hypochondriac. 

She gave me numbers for psychiatrists and rehab facilities. I ripped up her recommendations, threw them in the trash, and picked up an ounce of weed instead. Bitch you think I’m depressed? I’ll show you fucking depressed! 

It was the perfect excuse for an emo goth rebrand. I decided to only wear black or denim cruelty free outfits. 

Simplifying my vegan lifestyle gave me better health while helping animals and the environment. I became more minimalistic with my diet, thoughts, purchases, and possessions. That gave me more freedom, time, money, and peace. Minimalism helped me cut out lots of bad habits and people from my life. 

Anxiety is a natural impulse that warns us when something is wrong. My life was a fucking mess. It made sense for me to be anxious and depressed.

In Hollywood I wore lots of bright sparkly loud patterns, probably as an attempt to be seen. Most of my belongings were gifts or hand me downs from other people. There was no need to carry around literal baggage from people who were no longer in my life. I didn’t need visual reminders of the past all over my home and body. I got rid of everything. My old belongings no longer fit my lifestyle, so it felt refreshing to give them all away. People and animals in need would appreciate my old stuff more than I would. 

Who doesn’t love a manic makeover? 

Of course some scammers fucking robbed me around that same time. They told me that dad died and left inheritance for me. Since I never knew my biological father and was desperate for money I fell for their fucking scam. I fell for so many fake jobs and fake apartments during the pandemic. How the fuck was I still so gullible and trusting after so many toxic years in LA?

Anxiety can show up in so many different forms. I kept losing my temper, binge eating, deep cleaning, nervously laughing, burping, hyperventilating, throwing up, overdosing, fidgeting, interrupting people, yelling, obsessively organizing, deleting everything, bailing on plans, throwing things away, and repeating the same words. 

Getting raped and scammed led me into a full on breakdown. I couldn’t seem to get out of bed, work, or maintain any relationships. Smoking weed and sleeping were the only things I could bother doing. My health was BAD. 

Dying sounded better than doing most things. I just needed to rest and get better. Once again I reached burnout and assumed I was neurodivergent. Was I mentally ill or fucking traumatized? 

Most of my actions were pretty impulsive. I committed social suicide several times by deleting everyone on my phone and social media accounts. People probably assumed I hated them, but I just hated myself. Hopefully nobody took my mental health issues personally. 

My symptoms were a total wake up call. Time to evaluate. What did I do to cause those problems? What could I do differently to create better results? 

I asked my doctor if she could test my shit. My blunt requests shocked her. She couldn’t believe that I was back in her office self diagnosing again. I was struggling with severe anxiety, depression, nausea, vomiting, mood swings, sleeping, staying awake, and suicidal thoughts. My body told me it was time to change my life. 

Her eyes rolled back into her skull whenever she heard my medical theories. I thought that I had a crazy cat lady parasite that causes schizophrenia and cat obsessions. My doctor obviously thought that I was completely unhinged, but she tried her best to maintain her polite Canadian manners. 

Even though I had been through a lot I knew there had to be even more to the story. Something was causing all my symptoms. I didn’t really want to die. I wanted to start living!

When the lab results came back she told me that I had a parasite. I was embarrassed and disgusted when I found out, but at least it explained the root of all my health problems. Of course I wanted to have an I told you so moment for outsmarting the doctor, but I managed to act somewhat mature. I killed the parasites with antibiotics, papaya seeds, and pomegranate seeds. It's better to fix problems instead of just covering them up.

Parasites and infections feed off their host without providing anything in return. My health problems mirrored my life problems.  

I was mentally and physically ill. Being locked up at home during the plague didn’t help. Wallowing in my sadness didn’t make anything better. My manic crisis was a desperate cry for health and growth. Maybe I needed to get sick in order to get better. 

Whatever we think about most is what we become. When I obsessively researched mental health issues I developed worse mental health issues. 

It was time for me to shake things up and try something new. Life was way too stressful, stale, and stagnant. I needed to work on fixing my body, mind, and soul. 

I felt the need to reach out to my estranged biological father. It’s natural for people to want to know where they came from. Some people raved about him while others shit on his name. He got intense reactions out of people, which was a quality I recognized within myself. 

I heard so many mixed reviews about him over the years. I was ready to make my own opinions. There were too many unanswered questions. Was he dead or alive? Were we similar or different? Was he good or evil? Either way he helped create me! 

Are people really good or bad? Maybe everyone’s a mix of both. Most people have reasons to justify their actions, even if they don't really make sense to other people.

Talking to my stranger dad on the phone was kinda like speaking to a clone of myself. We had a similar cadence and sense of humor. He showered me with compliments. I could totally see why most people found him charming. 

My dad told me that I could swim before I could walk. He acknowledged that I’m an Aquarius who has always been drawn to water. It sounded like he had a healthy balance of fun and wellness in his life. He raved about all of my tv appearances and modeling work. Part of me wondered if he was just blowing smoke up my ass. I wanted to hate him, because he completely abandoned me, but part of me loved him! 

Even though it was just a quick little chat it helped me see things from a new perspective. I realized there are many sides to every story. Everyone had conflicting perspectives, so I’d never know the truth. My parents divorce was too long ago for me to fully remember, which is probably for the best. 

Searching for answers to explain the past was pointless. What happened happened. It was time to make peace with whatever the fuck and move on.

Starting over sounded sexy. My natural intuition told me to move away and swan dive into nature and creativity. 

If you don’t like something, you should change it. If you don’t have the resources to do so, you can make it a goal for the future.

CHAPTER VI: LOST WOODS

I moved from Orange County California to Orange County Indiana. 

I lasted two whole weeks. 

Even the people in Indiana wondered why I’d move to such a place. They wouldn’t wish it on their own worst enemies.

Feeding sheep and gardening in exchange for a cabin in the woods sounded like a dream come true to me. I imagined myself writing, stretching, and meditating on the porch in peaceful solitude. 

The best creators have that moment where they get away from it all to reconnect with themselves and nature. Solitude meant freedom. I could do whatever the fuck whenever the fuck. 

Indiana was known as The Crossroads of America. It’s in the middle of everything, but it’s also in the middle of nowhere. The Lost Woods were isolated from the rest of the world. It was the perfect place to disappear.

Lots of people asked me why I went from “Fancy Orange County” to “Hick Orange County.” I told them I was eager to get away from the distractions and opinions of other people. Southern California was shallow, expensive, and claustrophobic in comparison. It left me craving nature, space, and privacy. I might have overcorrected a little bit. 

The closest town was a notorious hiding spot for famous criminal gangsters. True crime fans flocked to the area to tour the secret underground tunnels and passageways. The Lost River caves were entrances and exits to private bunkers. Most of the locals were ashamed of the town’s dark history, but I found it fascinating. 

Most of the people in The Lost Woods were Amish or Mennonite. All the locals were excited to talk to me, they had never met someone from Hollywood before.

The small town gossip spread like wildfire. Everyone knew everything about everybody. I was the latest news or dare I say star. A younger version of me would have killed for that level of attention.

People told me I was the smartest person in town. It was a pretty low bar considering none of them had a formal education. Most of them didn’t even have teeth. 

There were less than a thousand people in town, but they had over thirty five churches. People invited me to worship but I feared I might burst into flames or a thousand bats. That would’ve been sick, but I’d rather spend my time chillin outdoors with a glass of bourbon and some woodland creatures. 

When I first moved into the cabin, I asked the landowners for the key. They acted like that was a high maintenance request. The husband told me that people don’t lock their doors in The Lost Woods. I had already gone through enough stalker issues, so I persuaded them to give me a key anyway. 

The wife desperately wanted a new codependent best friend. She kept showing up on my porch unannounced with her kids. She regretted having children and envied my freedom. I wanted all of them to fuck off, so I could smoke and write in privacy. 

They were kind, generous people, but they had no concept of hygiene or boundaries. At one point they warned me not to be gay. They probably burn queer stoners bitches at the stake out there. 

The cabin had no plumbing or electricity. I got water from the local spring or farm hose. There was a compost outhouse toilet facing the woods. Overall it was a much needed grounding experience. I unplugged from technology to be present with nature. I simplified life to enjoy the views. I planted flowers, ate from the earth, and danced barefoot under the stars. 

Leaning into my natural primal spirit gave me much needed relief. It felt so good to just be. No need for masking or acting out in the wilderness. Most of all it felt great to simplify and slow the fuck down. 

My new lifestyle concerned my friends and family back home. They thought that living alone in the woods sounded like the plot of a horror movie. 

Most of them were shocked that I would even consider visiting Indiana. My friends expected me to spend the rest of my life in LA. People kept telling me to come back to reality as if cities were more real than the natural world.

The landowners told me stories about the fairies and spirits they met outside my cabin door. They said that the mystical creatures disappeared after some trees were chopped down. The fairies taught them how to communicate and collaborate with plants. 

Most people in town assumed that I was a witch. Probably because I wore all black and lived in a cabin in the woods with my black cat. Everyone hoped I could bring back the magical fairies somehow.   

After spending lots of alone time in nature I started noticing interesting signs and synchronicities. All the supernatural stories started to make more sense. 

Everything I previously thought no longer seemed true. Maybe I had to abandon my preconceived ideas in order to make room for a new level of consciousness. Maybe we have to lose our minds or egos in order to go through spiritual awakenings. 

When my bare hands and feet touched the earth there was an inexplicable enchanted sense of magic in the air. It inspired me to look up the spiritual meanings associated with certain plants, numbers, and animals. 

Beautiful red cardinals made nests surrounding the cabin. I started writing, dancing, and gardening around the same time their eggs hatched. Cardinals symbolize creativity, adaptability, and spirituality. They seemed to be more active when I was being artistic. It felt like they were my little cheerleaders encouraging me to be more creative. 

Most of my friends and neighbors were deer. Since they shed and regrow their antlers, they are often associated with renewal. Deer look frightened, panicked, surprised, and confused. Their fears and anxieties are what keep them alive. Deer have the ability to move through obstacles and regenerate quickly. They seem soft and gentle despite their strong survival instincts. 

Black cats are curious, independent, flexible, defensive, and magical. People associate them with rebirth and resurrection. My cat Lando has been by my side during many life changing adventures. He hissed and growled at predators to protect me from harm. 

Sheep often represent community and peace. It was my responsibility to take care of them on the farm. Sometimes the sheep would get lost in the woods. One time they ran away, but I found them grazing at a Mennonite Church. They always stuck together as a herd and were easy to control with food. Holding newborn baby sheep felt more healing than drugs or therapy. 

The spiritual symbolism behind most of the plants and animals encouraged me to follow my creative passions and natural intuitions. That sounds like a pretty good idea, no matter what you believe. 

All the mystical theories I heard from the locals started to sound increasingly more plausible over time. The trees were my friends, so communicating and collaborating with plants sounded natural. Was I going crazy or waking up? 

Years ago I heard a Native American story that spoke about the future of our planet. It said that many people would die, some would survive, and the rest would lose their minds. That time had come and I knew what group I was in.

Maybe I was losing it, but wasn’t everyone? Our world had too many fucking people. We were in the middle of a global pandemic. Normal people were weird for not being crazy. We had to learn how to adapt to survive a post apocalyptic dystopian plague! 

Most Amish people hate the American government, healthcare, food, and education systems. They enjoy arts, plants, and animals. I appreciated their lifestyle choices and wanted to be more like them to a certain extent.

In the woods it was our responsibility to take care of our own waste. We composted, burnt trash, and drove the rest to the dump. Everybody out there strived to be eco-friendly and self-sufficient. 

Some people were embarrassed that they had to burn their own trash. I told them that bonfires were a pretty big deal back in my hometown Huntington Beach, which inspired them to throw a campfire party. 

Most people in that area avoided technology and preferred crafts or live entertainment. We sang songs, played instruments, and danced around a campfire. The locals ate roadkill and begged me to perform. They gathered around me and started chanting “Sing! Sing! Sing!” I told them I wasn’t a singer, but they didn’t care. They really wanted to hear my voice. At first it was hard to sing, but once I started I couldn’t stop. 

It was refreshing to be an artist without having the pressure to be good, competitive, or impressive.

Out in nature I was able to be myself and enjoy art for the sake of being creative. It wasn’t about being good, it was about having fun. The Amish people helped me realize how much I loved and missed performing arts. They made me feel like a kid again. 

Growing up I loved drawing, singing, dancing, acting, and playing dress up. I didn’t care about what other people thought. I cared about what I thought! It was all about self expression and cathartic release. My art was made for me by me. I needed to decenter the audience and recenter myself again. 

Our bodies are meant to move and create. Guess I lost my creative instincts after so much heartbreak in Hollywood. Leaving LA felt like the grand finale, but it was just the intermission. I thought that was the end of my life, but it was just the beginning. 

Leaving people and places behind dramatically improved my life for the better, even though it looked concerning from the outside. If you reconstruct your home or life it’s going to look like shit before it starts looking better. 

The deepest healing happened when I could be my wildest true creative self without the fear of being judged. It’s crazy how much growth and potential we can find in the most unlikely places. 

Doing things alone is a great way to meet like minded people.

In Orange County Indiana most people were poor, but happy. In Orange County California most people were wealthy, but miserable. They seemed happier in the woods, because they were connected to nature, instead of ignoring it or destroying it. 

Hollywood obese was Indiana anorexic. People kept trying to feed me. The local produce came straight from the Amish farms. The fruits and vegetables were usually covered in dirt or bugs. Most of the neighbors hunted and ate deer regularly. 

Watching animals die in the woods was shocking. I was probably the only vegetarian in town. The west coast was vegan heaven compared to the midwest. Roadkill upset me but excited the townspeople. If you ever hit a deer in Indiana, go tell some locals, they’ll be stoked to eat it for dinner. 

My only source of income was from selling nudes pics online. It was hard to find the privacy to shoot and even harder to find wifi. The local market and library had horrible internet, but that was better than nothing. I tried to hide my screen from the Amish locals, because I knew they would judge or die of shock. It’s not like I had any connections or job opportunities out there. My skanky ass nude pics helped me survive. 

Indiana was a great place to people watch. One day I saw some hillbillies take a canoe out onto a large lake. They got wasted and lost their paddles. The Amish people sat back and watched them drunkenly struggle to get back to land. They failed and ended up sleeping in the canoe. When I saw them a few days later they looked extremely sunburnt and dehydrated. 

Another day some Amish people rode by my cabin and saw me drinking on the porch. Even though I knew that they don’t drink, I offered them some wine anyway just to be polite. I was shocked when they said yes. They drank the wine like a shot instead of sipping it. I kinda enjoyed watching the guilt wash over their faces. It’s safe to say that I was a bad influence. 

Most Amish people looked like ancient teenagers. Their diets, sun damage, and lack of teeth seemed to drastically age them. It was hard to tell people’s age in Southern California too, thanks to botox, tanning, and plastic surgery. 

Stoner Dean, the town hero, lived on one side of me. He ate roadkill, drank beer, and shot cans on his porch. He was a true hippy who had no desire to work or participate in society. Most of the locals appreciated his ways and helped support him. On the other side of my cabin was his ex wife Jolene, who was by far the coolest person in town. She had a goth vibe and worked in the yoga industry. It was strange living in between a couple that was in the middle of a gnarly divorce. One of their daughters sold weed, so they hooked me up with some top shelf bud when I arrived. Their other kid was a heroin addict, which made them the main characters of all the juicy small town gossip. Thanks to them I got to smoke some big ol doinks in Amish. 

It was weird knowing so much about the neighbors, considering how many acres were between us. Back in Hollywood people avoided acknowledging their neighbors' existence while living on top of each other.

Even though weed was still illegal in Indiana that didn’t stop people from smoking it. Many locals grew their own bud and used it to barter for other crops. Since we were on the border of several other states, it was easy to drive elsewhere to shop for it too.

People would ask me about life back in Hollywood. It was hard for me to explain entertainment news and modeling work to them. My LA life revolved around famous people they had never heard about. Having to explain the concept of celebrities to them made me realize how strange my culture was. I kept making pop culture references out of habit and people would have no clue what I was talking about. Those experiences inspired me to reevaluate who I was keeping up with and why. Over time I became more interested in the stars in the sky than the one on our screens.

I met some interesting characters in town at the laundromat. When I told one guy about my living situation he said it sounded worse than his military training camps. A lady overheard us and loved the fact that I was living in the woods amongst nature while learning about religions and spirituality. She was obsessed with angel numbers and encouraged me to learn more about numerology. Her daughter owned a big plot of land and she lived in a cabin on the corner of the property. Her ex baby daddy lived in a different house across from her on the other end of the same property. It was normal for exes to be neighbors out there, because there weren’t that many people. 

The hottest town gossip was about an Amish girl who ran away from home and got a job as a truck driver. She wanted to see the world after spending her life on a small secluded farm. One day she drove a gigantic truck over a tiny historical iron bridge. The structure collapsed and the townspeople were outraged! Being so sheltered from the world made her lack common sense. Even though the locals were uneducated, they were very creative, kind, and hard working. 

After a couple weeks there was a strange shift of energy in the air. It felt like someone was spying on me. Sadly it was not the magical forest fairies.

Unfortunately, one of my neighbors was creepy as fuck. His signature look was a camo hunting outfit with a beer in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He kept drinking and driving his tractor onto the landowners property. One time he asked me if I wanted to take a ride on his lap. I yelled “NOPE” then turned around and walked away. That creep gave kids rides on his lap all the time. It was super inappropriate, but totally normal out in hicksville. 

The landowners asked me if I could clean their house and watch their kids instead of feeding the sheep and gardening. What the fuck? No. That was NOT our agreement. Their socially awkward homeschooled kids scared the shit out of me and their home was filthy as fuck. 

The scary old neighbor kept parking in front of my cabin to get drunk and stare. That guy made me so uncomfortable. I repeatedly asked him to go away and leave me alone. Sometimes he would move a few yards away and continue to watch me. I told him to fuck off, but that didn’t stop him from stalking the shit out of me. Bitch made me feel like a Pretty Little Liar. 

I ran over to Jolene’s house to ask her about the landowners and our other neighbors. She told me that everyone was insane and urged me to leave as soon as possible. Then she gave me a list of safer farm options in the area.

Jolene said that the landowners spent time in the local psych ward after sharing their stories about the fairies they met by the cabin in the woods. 

Their spiritual, religious, and mystical tales sounded increasingly more plausible the longer I stayed there. Of course I couldn't tell anyone that, they would think that I was fucking crazy. Getting drugged up and thrown into a psych ward in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Indiana sounded like the worst case scenario. 

I know that others have gone through similar experiences. So many people have explained their spiritual awakenings to American medical professionals, who diagnose them with psychological disorders, then suppress their beliefs with medications. All the supernatural stories made more sense to me than our capitalist societies and healthcare systems. 

Was I going through a spiritual awakening or psychosis? 

Maybe mentally ill people are magical and normal people are muggles. If you can see or hear things that other people can't, are you crazy or do they just lack your set of superpowers and abilities?  

America needs a makeover, but we drug up and repress the people that would create the most powerful changes. Most humans are like sheep who just follow the herd. The ones who think for themselves get locked up and labeled crazy. Our government fears they’ll disrupt the system, but maybe that’s what it needs. 

Our wealthy old as fuck politicians can’t help change our societies for the better if they can’t relate to the people who are struggling. They don’t ask mentally ill or homeless people about their opinions, which could actually help solve their housing problems. They just keep making more things for normal neurotypical standards and wonder why it doesn’t work for everyone. 

When I left Jolene’s place my creepy stalker was waiting outside for me. As usual he was lurking around the corner with a beer and a gun. Sadly I was used to having stalker issues, but that dude was next level terrifying. 

I ran through the woods as fast as possible to get away from him. There were dead animals all over the place. When I got back to the cabin I looked up the spiritual meanings behind them, which urged me to move on, and start over. I still wanted to live in the wild, but I needed some money and safety. Leaving sounded easier than calling cops or buying more weapons. There was no need to wait around to see what was going to happen next. 

I knew it was best to move quickly and quietly. Most of my things got left behind, because I wanted to get out of there unnoticed before dark. I put Lando and my essential belongings in the car and drove off without saying goodbye. 

Then I called the landowners from the road to thank them for having me and explain why I left. They got super upset and begged me to come back. At least they were happy to get my old stuff for free. 

I knew that I could eventually get new possessions later on. I was already minimalistic, so everything was easily replaceable. Simply surviving felt like an accomplishment. 

If you’re ever in a situation you need to leave, just fucking do it. There’s no need to give people the opportunity to manipulate your goals and plans. You can always apologize or explain yourself later if necessary.

CHAPTER VII: SEATTLE FREEZE

Driving from California to Indiana to Washington in one month with my cat was an exhilarating but overwhelming experience. We spent a few nights in hotels to relax and clean ourselves up, since we looked like feral wild beasts after living in the woods. 

As soon as we got to Seattle I went to a local health food market. Seeing the west coast, queer people, vegan produce, and dispensaries brought tears of joy to my eyes. 

Crying in public was embarrassing, I soaked my mask and suffocated. The cashier had baby pink hair which made me feel at home. For some reason I told him that I was stoked to be out of Indiana and near queer stoners again. He had just moved from Iowa to Washington, so he knew exactly where I was coming from. We made eye contact, grabbed each other's hands, and had a moment of silence. That was the first time I had human skin to skin contact that year. Technology made it way too easy for us to be alone.

Seattle was the perfect balance of nature and city life. It provided modern amenities, but there were still plenty of big parks to explore nature nearby. All the mountain, water, and plant views were gorgeous. Spring reminded me that change is beautiful. It felt like a real fresh start. 

My mom’s friend Dee agreed to let me stay at her place, while I looked for a job and somewhere to live. Her family totally spoiled me. I got to meet their fabulous friends and hangout on their Bainbridge Island properties. 

Dee had a great sense of humor, taste in music, and enjoyed delicious craft cocktails. I loved checking out her fabric collections and listening to her play the guitar. I’ve always enjoyed being around smart, funny, creative, inspiring characters. She appreciated my stories and encouraged me to start writing them down. 

Dee reintroduced me to her sons, which was quite memorable. “Adrian is married, Dakota has the height, and Ryder has the money.” Ryder overheard and barked back “Don’t tell her about my money!” Then he hopped into his fancy new car and zoomed off while we cackled over our cocktails. Of course she didn’t mean to upset him. She was just proud of his success and the fact that she convinced him to go for the napa leather interior. “It was only an extra four thousand dollars.” I nervously laughed while gulping down my drink, in hopes of forgetting about the state of my life and bank account.

Dakota was the silly, adventurous, wildcard. I appreciated their eccentric androgynous style and bubbly sense of humor. Their brother Ryder was more of an angsty, brooding, gamer, tech nerd. It was obvious that we were both going through some heavy emotional shit. I loved his dark humor and emo music. They were both really smart, attractive, and fun to be around in their own unique ways. 

They made me wonder if I was too brokenhearted to consider dating again. I didn’t like the idea of picking one or the other, because stupid Levi had most of their likable qualities. I stuck to my default mode of being single as fuck while flirting with everyone.  

So many things still reminded me of Levi. I hated how I kept looking for him in other people. How could I still be so hung up on someone who treated me like shit? That bitch didn’t even like me! I was on a beautiful island with nice, smart, successful, good hearted people, but I couldn’t get that fucker out of my mind. He didn’t even like cats!

Maybe I held onto that story for so long, because the ending was too fucked up for me to fully accept. It felt like we had unfinished business, things left unsaid, which postponed real closure. 

Kaia and Levi hadn’t been in my life for years, but it didn’t really feel that way. The pandemic altered my sense of time and ability to properly rebound. The days were never ending while the years flew by. 

I had a little fling with one of my friends since then, but hooking up with her made things weird, and ruined our friendship. I should probably stop fucking my friends, but I like getting to know people before sleeping with them. 

Moving away helped me move on, but it was not an automatic fix. I had so much more I needed to work though mentally and emotionally. It was time to see new people, places, and things. 

Going somewhere else isn’t always hard, it’s just different. It takes time to adjust to dramatic changes. Trust me, I’ve tried out every lifestyle and hair color imaginable. 

I could tell that Ryder was broken from something, so I pried the gossip out of him the next time we hung out. I told him about how I fell for Levi and was slut shamed out of our friend group. Even though it happened so long ago, that was the first time I told anyone about it. I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable. It felt good confiding in him. I held onto that story and anger for so long, I wish I released it sooner. 

Sharing that experience made Ryder feel comfortable enough to tell me about his most recent heartbreak. One of his best friends had been flirting with him for years. He developed a crush on her and asked her to cuddle. She said yes and then freaked out on him for crossing a line. She acted like he assaulted her, even though she gave him cuddle consent. She played the victim, their friends sided with her, and outcasted him from the friend group. I couldn’t believe all that drama went down over attempted cuddling. At least in my story I got some hot sex out of it. 

Ryder and I trauma bonded and shared our emo playlists. I told him that I cut unsupportive friends out of my life, which inspired him to do the same. The pandemic taught so many of us who our real friends are. 

Another one of my friends went through a similar situation. I asked her if she noticed any differences in her life since she removed some people from it. She said that her ass got fatter when she cut toxic friends out of her life. After she mentioned that I noticed my own personal booty gains. I should’ve asked Ryder if he got thicker too. 

I hung out with Ryder and his friends a few times, but struggled to keep up with them financially. One night we went out for wine and tapas. There were opera singers belting while our table kept ordering bottles of wine. I was too broke and underdressed to be at such a fancy establishment. 

Ordering family style with bottles stressed me out, especially since the prices weren't listed and I don’t eat meat. I loved their group of friends, but they were on another level. Sadly I couldn’t afford to keep up.  

At one point I visited Victoria, Canada with my mom and Dee. All the people were so kind and the views were incredible! Dee worried that border control might not let her into the country, because of her “record.” 

When she was young she got thrown behind bars for having a “dog at large.” Dee’s German Shepherd ran around town causing havoc. The police laid down the law and threw her in jail. Luckily the border guards didn't care about her dog's past reckless behaviors. 

We saw Johnny Depp laying out on a yacht in Canada while blasting Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. All the Canadians loved that song and yelled at him to play it on repeat. 

When we got to our hotel we left our luggage at the front desk before check in. I was scared someone might jack our shit. The Canadians laughed at us for being paranoid Americans. Visiting a place that actually felt safe gave me much needed relief. The thought of ditching the United States turned me on.     

I got a job at a yoga studio in Seattle, but it only lasted a couple weeks. The owners wanted me to relentlessly and repeatedly reach out to people to get them to sign up. Their sales approach was way too aggressive for Seattleites and their fluorescent lighting drove me nuts. The other yoga studio I worked at in the past had more of a dark stoner hippy woo woo vibe, which was way more my speed. 

One of the yoga teachers ended up inviting me to go backpacking with her and her husband. At least I’ve met some cool people through stupid jobs. 

It still blows my mind that I slept in a glacier basin on the side of a volcano with total strangers. Sharing edibles, wine, and ghost stories in the woods at night wasn’t the safest or smartest idea, but it was a memorable adventure, so I weirdly stand by it. 

We found a camping spot really far out in the middle of nowhere. The moon was full and bright that night. We didn’t see anyone for miles. It would have been terrifying to see another human way out there in the wilderness.

Since I didn’t have any classic ghost stories to share, I told them about my time in Indiana. My stories totally freaked them out, they couldn’t even sleep that night. I wondered what part scared them most: the hicks, spirituality, or potential psychosis. 

They had plenty of ghost stories from their time in Australia. She grew up in a small farm town near the outback. Her mom never allowed her to visit her grandma’s house, because it was haunted. All of their family members had stories involving ghosts on that property. Whatever happened out there truly traumatized her entire family. She could barely even talk about it. 

We all slept with one eye open with high hopes that none of us were murderers. In the middle of the night we heard some rustling sounds. Of course we thought wild animals were coming after us, but it was just her husband's beard scratching up against his sleeping bag. 

I got so used to changing in front of people while working as a model. Nudity doesn’t phase me at all. So many designers, dancers, and models have seen me naked. Sometimes I forget that nudity can offend some people. 

When we were camping I changed in the woods near our tents. Maybe they saw my butt cheeks, but whatever. Everyone has an ass. Who cares? I didn’t want to go into the trees and get covered in cobwebs again. Homegirl went deep into the woods to change, which made it clear that stripping in front of her husband was inappropriate. 

Of course I ended up hitting it off with him way more than her. I grew up in Huntington Beach and he was from Riverside, so naturally we bonded over bro culture. He asked me to fetch some water from a stream with him while she was cooking. She got so panicked and paranoid, she left the fire burning and followed us through the woods. I think that she saw me as a threat and was afraid I might try to steal her husband. I was just trying to help him use their complicated water pump filter at night. She later got mad at both of us for talking too much. She wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of nature, but the two of us wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Maybe she could sense my history of third party bullshit. 

We got to watch a mama and baby bear play in the snow. The local tribes saw bears as a symbol of courage, playfulness, and protection. The other animals they noticed represented survival, while the ones I saw preached letting go. 

They kept trying to point out animals I couldn’t see while I kept trying to show them creatures they couldn’t see. I wondered if the universe was sending us our own personalized messages. 

I got eaten alive by mosquitos and they barely got any bites. I took that as a sign to stop letting drama, people, and jobs drain me. The next day I started my period. Mosquitoes are attracted to pregnant and menstruating women. I’m just glad I didn’t bleed out in front of that family of bears. 

Dee had some family coming to visit, so I had to find a new home as soon as possible. I wanted to get a place in nature, preferably on an island, but there was a major lack of housing options. Looking at apartments made me cry. I couldn't believe such shitty options were so fucking expensive. 

I ended up getting my own place in Seattle. I couldn’t believe I recommitted myself to city life again. I managed to find a spot that was affordable. It had gorgeous views of the water, mountains, and the Space Needle. 

Lando and I finally found a real home! I had been fantasizing about having my own personal clean private creative space for years. 

Seattleites are known to be distant, cold, and standoffish. The locals call it “Seattle Freeze.” The passive aggressive culture was intense at times, but I appreciated the DGAF emo angsty punk vibes. All the arts and gardens made me feel alive. Overall people kept to themselves there, which was refreshing. 

Sometimes my neighbor would knock on my door if she needed me to save her from bugs. I caught spiders in her apartment and released them outside. 

Spiders often represent birth, growth, death, and rebirth. They are creative, talented, and know how to evolve. Spiders create connected webs. They are often associated with feminine powers and ancient wisdom. 

There was a psychic in our neighborhood near the local pot shop. I thought about going there, but never actually went inside. Sometimes I smoked nearby and debated getting a reading. I think the psychic could sense my energy. She would come outside, look around, then go back inside with a confused expression. For some reason she kept crossing my mind.

I spent most of my time in Seattle writing, stretching, smoking, and taking pictures of plants. Walking around the parks and forests was extremely therapeutic. The dark rainy aesthetic matched my angsty emo goth vibes.

On the days I felt depressed I forced myself to go outside. I took blankets and pillows to the park and laid around in the sun when the weather was nice. It was a safe area and it felt better than moping around indoors. Yoga, weed, and nature always improves my mood. 

The trees in the park were my best friends, they each had their own unique personalities. My apartment was minimalistic, but filled with tropical plants. 

When I cut people out of my life I talked to my plants about it. One time I asked a fern to absorb all the negative energy coming my way and it died the next week. 

I saw deer everywhere! Their flighty tendencies have always been relatable. When it comes to fight or flight I usually bail as fast as possible. That natural instinct has helped me survive! It’s important to notice red flags and trust intuitions. 

When I worked at the yoga studio, I put some water and treats outside for the neighborhood dogs. Some crows came by everyday to soak the treats in the water and eat them. They recognized me as their friend. Food is the best way to win anyone over. When I sat outside the crows nuzzled up on me for some pets. Once I called one over to hang out and it landed on my shoulder! 

Crows are often associated with transformation, intelligence, witchcraft, adaptability, magic, and mischief. They’re incredibly smart! One time my friend's dad tried to shoot some crows and they came back for revenge. They attacked all the people who visited their house for weeks.  

Plants and animals are much smarter than we realize. It’s hard for humans to understand their level of knowledge and talent, because we all have such different skill sets. Just like humans, plants and animals have a wide range of personalities and intelligence levels. 

We are nature. We are animals. 

I became obsessed with researching spirit guides, angel numbers, tarot cards, crystals, and astrology. Younger me would have made fun of all that woo woo shit for sure. 

When I first started believing in the concept of spirituality I didn’t want anyone to know. My new friends would ask me what I believed in. I would still claim to be an Atheist out of fear that they might judge me. Back in a closet again. It was such a self sabotaging move. I kept holding myself back from meeting cool like minded people. It’s wild to see how much us humans can change and adapt over time. 

I got sucked into some TikTok tarot readings that claimed toxic people were coming after me. Witchy online creators convinced me that my ex besties put a hex on me. It was kinda believable, all my protective plants died! 

Plus those bitches literally called themselves “The White Wine Witches” I shit you not. If you’re ever in a group of friends that names themselves as if they’re in a fucking band like “WE’RE THE CIRCLE, WE’RE THE SEAONS, WE’RE THE WHITE WINE WITCHES” RUN! FUCKING RUN! 

I deleted all my social media accounts again for the sake of my mental health and sanity. I even deleted my Only Fans page which severely hurt my finances. Media is best in moderation. 

Washington was an incredibly spiritual place for me. I felt so connected to art, nature, and animals. My wardrobe and decor was much more unique than when I lived in other places. It was hard to tell if I could trust people there though. Sure I made some new friends, but were we really friends? 

I couldn’t tell if I could be successful there long term. I had opportunities, but were they going to last or be lucrative? Everyone in that city was so career driven compared to me. I craved going back to a softer life in the wild. 

Manifestation practices were intriguing, but I didn’t quite understand them. It seemed to work for some and not others. I decided to try manifesting free weed. It’s completely natural and it helps me in so many ways. 

Since then I have successfully manifested free weed everywhere I go. Stoner Superpowers! People love to give me lots of free joints or unopened eights. Sometimes I just randomly find jars of weed on the ground. I'm a powerful marijuana magnet! 

I got a job at a fancy dispensary that had cannabis products in every form imaginable. The discounts and perks were amazing, but the customers were awful. I only lasted a few weeks there too. 

My inability to keep any sort of normal job became quite evident. Working in customer service during the pandemic was horrible. I was proud to be part of the great resignation. Fuck stupid ass day jobs. Let’s be creative in nature amongst our animal friends!

The first day of training was all about addressing people by non-gendered pronouns. Most of the employees and customers were nonbinary. I felt so at home and at peace being around queer androgynous stoners. MY PEOPLE! By the way I’m happy to call people whatever they want to be called, but it was kinda hard for me to break some old habits at first. 

Back home in Huntington Beach I addressed everyone with words like guys, bro, or homie. “Sup Dude” wasn’t an appropriate or formal way to address people around the rest of the world. I had so many toxic Californian habits like saying “like” or “fuck” like every other fucking word. 

I loved sampling free cannabis products and learning all about them. It’s crazy how the plant quality and laws vary so much between each state. I always thought that sativas were more hyper while indicas were more of a sleepy vibe. That’s kinda true, but it mostly has to do with the elevation in which the plants are grown. When it comes to eating edibles the dosage is more important than the type of strain. Some companies put sativa or indica on the packages just for marketing reasons. Edibles have a heavy high that is stronger and lasts longer than smoking straight up flower. Cannabis lubes can get people high anally, but not vaginally, so they’re usually more popular amongst gay men. Weed lubes do not get women vaginally high, but they can increase blood flow, which can boost pleasure. If you want to get high as fuck take a dab or drink liquid edibles. I love smoking straight up flower, so I got into buying jars of fancy prerolls. Vape pens were a great understudy if I needed to be discreet. 

Back in the day I used to think that whatever strain had the highest THC would be the best high, because it was the strongest. That’s like going to a bar and asking for the highest percentage of alcohol. Classic cocktails are way better than drinking the highest proof, let’s be real. There are so many other things that go into making a great drink besides having a high alcohol percentage. Just like how there are so many things that make up a good weed strain besides having a high THC percentage. 

There are tons of different weed strains, just like how there are so many different types of alcohol. When I drink gin I’m such a bitch. When I smoke certain strains I can get extra anxious and weird. Over time I learned what things do or don’t work for me. I tried my best to smoke plants that were natural and pesticide free, because I didn’t want harmful chemicals in my body. I’ve gotten plenty of judgment for my love of weed. Sadly square ass prudes can’t get over the outdated negative stigma or stereotypes. 

People thought that pot caused some of my health problems, but I think it helped heal them. Weed enhanced my friendships and creative endeavors. Cannabis products helped me manage my diet, sleep, anxiety, mood, etc.

I have intense manic depressive mood swings. Weed helps lift me up when I’m down. It also helps me take it down a notch when I’m being too much. I often get accused of being bipolar, but I think that I’m somewhere on the artistic autistic spectrum. Kinda like Kanye West!

It didn’t take long for me to reach a fuck this shit burnt out breaking point. Mad respect for anyone who did post apocalyptic customer service work. Spiritual healing sure fucked up my work ethic. 

Over time I realized that I would rather be homeless in the woods than deal with another asshole customer. Jobs felt like a waste of energy. Everytime I went to work I would think about how I could spend my time doing literally anything else. 

Maybe I could be stretching, meditating, journaling, dancing, walking, or sleeping instead. I decided that I should spend my time writing or taking pictures instead of working stupid soul sucking jobs. 

I’ve hated jobs because I was forced to do them. I’ve had no choice but to work to survive. Capitalism feels like slavery. We have to pay just to live! How weird is that? 

Technology took over jobs so we wouldn’t have to work anymore. That was the whole point, but most of us still needed to earn an income to survive. Having real experiences sets humans apart from robots. That’s why I enjoy nature, traveling, and storytelling so much.

People get stuck doing shitty jobs while living shitty lives they hate, all because they need money or healthcare to survive. I disagreed with the societies I was forced to work and participate in. 

Our systems needed to be reconstructed to better fit our world. We all collectively wanted and needed to work towards changing things for the better. It was time to evaluate who or what we might need to release. Let’s tear down that old shit and build something better. 

I spent most of my time in Seattle isolated in my apartment smoking weed while cathartically writing. I finally got my productive, creative space, near nature. I used writing as a tool to examine myself in hopes of improvement. 

Journaling about the past was heavy and emotional, but I needed to work through those feelings. The shadow work was necessary, but it led me into a deep depression. I had to accept the fact that I am a villain in other people’s stories. Organizing my thoughts helped me understand some of my actions and repetitive patterns.   

I kept running away from people, jobs, places, and situations. I had such a hard time pacing myself generally. My fame whore tendencies were out of control at times. I got obsessive over things and needed to remind myself to slow down, remain balanced, and take breaks. I had to force myself to rest to avoid burnout. 

For some reason I couldn’t stay put, but maybe that’s because I hadn't found the right place yet. I wondered if there was actually something wrong with me or if bouncing around was a trauma response from never having a stable home or family. My parents never loved me, so let’s just blame them.

I’ve always felt like an ironic and conflicted character. I’m a total attention whore who needs to hide in isolated peace. I thought I should be in the city around people and opportunities, even though I craved nature and solitude. 

My anxieties, addictions, and inability to let go of the past were draining me. I needed to take more accountability for my words and actions. My temper and constant need to bail held me back from success. Noticing more of my patterns was good character development. I wondered if I had been living in survival mode my entire existence. I was pretty self aware, but wondered if it was enough to actually change my habits. It took me a long time to accept all sides of myself.

Being creative has never been an issue for me, but I’ve had a hard time following through with some of my plans. I’ve embarked on all sorts of artistic adventures, but rarely saw projects through to the end. Imposter syndrome often leads towards self sabotage. 

Even though I loved Washington I was still obsessed with the idea of living in Hawaii. I asked the universe to show me pink flamingos if I should go to the tropics. The next day I went on a little walk and saw hundreds of plastic pink flamingos decorating my neighbor’s yard. Then I asked the universe to show me a bunch of moving trucks if I should keep moving forward. The next day I saw hundreds of moving trucks all over Seattle.

I ended up catching COVID that same week, which sucked the life out of me. My lack of motivation was alarming. I layed around sick in bed and lost most of my hair and taste buds. I burned through all my money while I was sick, so I ended up moving back to my mom’s house in Orange County. 

EPIC FAIL! 

Whatever. It’s okay to fuck up. I’ve learned way more from my mistakes than my successes. Many people have risen from their ashes and maybe someday I will too.

CHAPTER VIII: THE DISAPPEARING ACT

The drive from Seattle Washington to Southern California was gorgeous, but there were some weird vibes. 

Brian Laundrie had just murdered his girlfriend Gabby Petitio while doing social media nomad life. I followed Gabby Petitos murder investigation on TikTok while on the road. I overheard van lifers at rest stops say things to each other like “babe please don’t murder me tonight.” My ex Levi was living in fucking a van, so I couldn’t help but think, that could have been us! 

In the past my friends and family members urged me to find a partner to travel with me. People have stopped suggesting that since Gabby’s famous news story broke. 

I was looking forward to swimming at the beaches in Orange County again. Indiana swimming holes filled with snakes did not have the same appeal. 

Of course there was a horrible oil spill right before I arrived in California, so all the beaches were shut down. It was heartbreaking to see all the wildlife wash up on shore. I heard that they could have stopped the oil spill sooner, but it would have cost the company too much money. The way humans treat nature and animals is truly fucked up. We have destroyed our planet and the lives of so many creatures. So many animals are extinct because of us! 

My mom’s neighbor got shot in the chest by her boyfriend during quarantine. Her silver Tiffany’s heart necklace caught the bullet which saved her life. The boyfriend got shot and died. I’m not sure if he killed himself or if she did it in self defense, but that story lowkey felt like an ad, because it made me want to buy that necklace. Another neighbor hung himself during the pandemic. His family found him hanging in their garage. 

The pandemic took such a toll on the town and people while I was gone. Most of my favorite local spots closed down. Parts of the beach turned into homeless encampments. The ocean was polluted with oil, trash, and dead animals. 

I sensed a surge of chaotic negative energy when I arrived back home. My mom looked like she was losing her mind. She came up to me full of rage with a tiny spoon in her hand. She kept asking me what it was and why she found it under the bed in my room. Then she started hysterically yelling and threatened to put me into a rehab facility. I was stone cold sober and had never seen anyone do spoon drugs before. I told her that it wasn’t mine, but she didn’t believe me. 

She repeatedly asked me who I thought the spoon belonged to, so I said one of her ex boyfriend’s names. She said that he never did any drugs. I laughed in her face and told her that he looked like drugs. 

How the fuck would I know who was in her house while I was gone? Why was she snooping through my room and stuff? Was that spoon really used for heroin or was it just tarnished? The sky was always falling in her messy chaotic house. 

My mom worked with abused and neglected children, so she was used to seeing the worst of humanity. Her strict tendencies and hatred for drugs came from a loving place, but it was too much. Her style of parenting gave off an authoritarian dictatorship vibe. She couldn’t handle the fact that I was independent and had different viewpoints from her. My mom and her friends were such basic prudes. They’re all anti drugs, anti alcohol, anti tattoos, anti piercings, anti bi, anti gay, anti trans, anti fun, fucking ableist. They wanted me to go to college, climb the corporate ladder, get married to a man, and have babies. Ew fuck no! I’d literally rather die. The American dream sounds like a total fucking nightmare to me. 

I love being alone, because I can’t handle hanging around weak minded people who project their stupid insecurities onto me. Taking my own path and forming my own opinions was seen as dishonoring the family. 

Whatever. Strict parents deserve rebellious children.

My mom kept making rude comments about how she thought psychic spiritual people were crazy. She was constantly diagnosing and judging others. I doubt she’s ever taken the time to pause, reflect, and look inward. 

Of course she was the one with the real fucked up issues. Since she was so scared of COVID, she didn’t leave her house for years, which made her a crazy fucking bitch! 

My mom and I have been through a lot together. We’ve been best friends and worst enemies. Some nights we drank wine and watched tv shows like true besties. Other nights we wanted to rip each other's heads off. When I was little I glorified her. 

She was obviously the better parent, since my biological dad was completely absent. Over time I realized that my dad physically abandoned me while my mom emotionally abused and manipulated me.

When I was little I was overly obedient. I eventually realized that I wouldn’t get anything out of that. My friends bonded over parties and events that I wasn’t allowed to go to. There were no rewards for being perfect and there were no real consequences for being imperfect. The rebellious independent path looked much more fun and rewarding. I went from being the golden gifted perfect child to being the black sheep outcasted weirdo real fast.

My thoughts, ideas, and goals were often shot down. I got into hosting and writing because I wanted someone, anyone to listen to me. My parents were both alive, but I identified as a magical orphan. At least I grew up with Harry Potter, so I could kinda romanticize it.

When I performed how I was programmed to, my mom would praise me. If I rebelled by simply just being myself she would withhold love or give me the silent treatment. For the longest time I didn’t know who I was because I had to act the way she wanted me to. 

I loved my mom, but I love myself more. I’m the one who’s actually living my life, not her. So, it’s up to me to call the shots. I’m never going to live my life according to other people's limited viewpoints or expectations. If people can’t see my talent or potential that doesn’t mean I don’t have any.  

While I was in Huntington Beach I hung out with my old friends from childhood. It was trippy catching up with them after all that time apart. When I told my friends about my adventures they would say things like “THAT’S NOT YOU!!!” As if people aren’t allowed to change. Their brains completely malfunctioned when I told them about the compost outhouse toilets in the Lost Woods.

Most young people thought I should settle down, while most old people wished they got the chance to travel and adventure like me. When people tell me that I’ve changed, now I thank them, and take it as a compliment. 

I learned to accept that I have evolved and would continue to do so. Why would I stay the same if I could keep growing? There’s always more room for plot and character developments. 

Even though Huntington Beach was an amazing place to grow up I couldn’t imagine living there again long term. It sparked too many memories that I wanted to leave behind. I didn’t want to run into any ex friends, ex family members, or ex employers from the past. 

I told my mom that I was done being accused of doing things I didn’t do. She acted confused and then completely denied the whole heroin spoon accusation. She said that I must be mentally ill and told me to stop making things up. Why would I make something like that up? It’s not like I want to have shitty parents. I can’t control how people treat me, but I can control when to leave. 

Driving through Mexico could be dangerous, but worst case scenario I would die, and I was already feeling suicidal. Death by cartel or shark attack kinda sounded like a sick end to my story. 

People talk about suicide being selfish, because it can hurt the people who loved that person, but we have no idea what other people are going through. It’s insanely selfish, narrow minded, and narcissistic to take someone’s death personally. Dying is part of living. It will happen to all of us eventually. 

After some extensive research I decided Puerto Vallarta would be a great fit for me. I started studying Spanish and read travel horror stories in hopes of avoiding scams on the road. Then I set up new car insurance, updated my cell coverage, and booked a place to stay. I was so stoked to get the fuck out of Orange County again to embark on another epic road trip adventure.

People thought that I was crazy for traveling alone, but I wasn’t just going to wait around for other people. If I did that I’d probably be waiting around the rest of my life. Plus I’m not really alone, my cat Lando is always by my side. 

I realized that I needed to let go of my past dramas and victim mentality. I was still upset about things that happened with people who were no longer in my life. I leveled up spiritually to a higher level of consciousness. Why did I care so much about the opinions of people who had no consciousness? 

Hitting the refresh button felt so good it became addicting. Lando and I hopped back in the car and hit the road without saying goodbye. I couldn’t stand being back in my hometown any longer. Adios bitches! 

My friends called me just before we crossed the Mexican border. They had just bought a farm, so they offered to let us stay there, while we figured things out. That’s how I ended up in Georgia. 

Who doesn’t love a juicy plot twist?

CHAPTER IX: BLESS YOUR HEART

Well I’ll be darned. I never planned on livin in the south. Guess I never planned on livin anywhere else either. I reckon the only thing we can expect is that life never goes as planned. 

My friends bought a horse farm out in Georgia, but they were still livin back home in California. Their southern farm house was a classic antebellum style manor with white columns and a wraparound porch. 

It was surrounded by horse pastures, forests, and wild animals. I’d been cravin nature and privacy, so it was nice to be out in the purdy country with so much space. 

I loved driving around the rolling hills, mansions, farms, woods, and gorgeous sceneries. No reason to leave, unless you’re curious like me.

Georgia was less hick than Indiana, but that’s a pretty low bar. Walnut Grove was away from it all, even though it was close to Atlanta. Most of the history from that area involved slavery and native american massacres. 

There was still a lot of fucked up shit goin on. The protests, shootins, and viruses seemed endless. It was shockin to see confederate flags everywhere. Luckily the farm felt like its own little world away from it all. 

Since I stayed in the basement with my cat next to the woods, we heard all sorts of rustlin noises at night. 

Weed was still illegal in Georgia, so I had a tough time sleepin for the first few weeks. I desperately wanted to be high like my anxieties. 

One night I woke up in a panic. The room was dark, but I could see a black fuzzy creature scratchin and snarlin in the corner. At first I thought it was my cat, but then I noticed he was sittin right next to me, lookin spooked in the same direction. Whatever that was noticed us watchin, so it scampered out of the room in a wild fury. 

It was truly untamed and unbelievable! Like a supernatural beast from a movie. I bravely turned on the lights, grabbed a knife, and searched the house. All of the rooms were completely empty. I fixed myself a strong drink and stayed up to watch the sunrise. 

I wanted to believe it was just my imagination or sleep deprivation. Watchin my cat’s equally stunned reaction made the unexplainable believable. What the fuck was that thing? 

There’s no way I could tell my friends that I thought their new house was potentially haunted. They’d think I was fuckin crazy. The hicks and ticks scared them enough already. Sometimes in the south it’s best to hush up. 

The next day one of the neighbors told me a strange story. He had visited his mom’s house the night before with his sister. Both of them heard voices coming from the laundry room, even though they were the only people in the house. The strange noises freaked them out so much, they got the fuck out of there as soon as possible. 

When they told their mom what happened she was completely unphased. The noises showed up after her husband’s death. The neighbors' security cameras kept recording an orb traveling out of the laundry room, through the backyard, and into the woods. 

That neighbor had tons of stories about horrifying southern ghosts, homes, and people. He warned me not to be so trusting. One of the nearest towns was known for mass murder. Hearin other people explain their unearthly encounters made me feel a little less mentally ill. 

One night I woke up to the sound of someone screaming in the woods. I yelled out into the darkness. “HELLO???!!” There was no response. Dead silence. I couldn’t even hear any bugs or animals. 

Once again I poured myself a strong drink and stayed up all night to write. There was no need to search the woods alone at night. It sure was strange. Recon it was just a weird dream. 

Soon after that a couple things went missin. I was the only person in the farmhouse or so we thought. My friends asked me where things went, but I had no idea. Goodness gracious where did everything go? 

Some cops came to the farm lookin for someone who was on the run that used to work there. The doors were controlled by codes. There were people on the property boarding horses, gardening, and doing construction projects. The house was rented out for vacations and events. I wondered if someone or something else was living in the house. 

Even though strange things kept happenin I was at peace. It was all hunkey dorey. Most nights I slept snug as a bug! There was no sense of fear, but maybe I was numb to the traumas of life by that point. 

Most people are scared of adventures. They’ll never get to experience the magic of spiritual awakenings, nature, or higher levels of consciousness. 

It all sounds crazy, till you experience it yourself.

The farm boarded horses and there were dead ones buried all over the property. There was also a small human cemetery right across the street. 

Locals told me all sorts of magical stories. Most of the town’s church goers believed in paranormal activity. 

Appalachian mountain people warned me not to go into the woods when it’s dead silent. They told me to quietly walk out if I ever got weird vibes. It was normal for people to see faces in the tree trunks, but that’s a sign to get out of the forest. They urged me not to stare into the tree trunk faces, especially after dark. I wondered what would happen if I took a picture of them. 

A few of the locals warned me about skinwalkers. They told me that witches impersonate voices or crying babies to lure their prey back into the woods. When people hear a scream in the woods on the west coast they assume it’s a mountain lion. When people hear a scream in the woods on the east coast they say it’s a shapeshifter. If you hear anything strange near the woods, no you didn’t. Especially in the Appalachian mountains. 

Walking through the woods next to the farm was my favorite daily routine. I wasn’t goin to let myths or legends keep me from livin my life. 

Over time it felt like someone or something was watching me from the trees. I kinda hoped it was supernatural. Anything other than a creepy ass dude. 

​​Do you know what real angels look like? I mean like the biblically accurate angels. Some Bible Belt locals told me that they look like monsters, but I thought they sounded fucking sick.

Biblical angels don’t resemble humans, cause they aren't humans. They have to be terrifyin inorder to protect heaven by scarin demons back down to hell. 

In most religious stories the angels have a disclaimer when revealing themselves. They say “do not fear” when they show their appearance to humans. People say they have tons of wings and eyeballs. I’d probably shit my pants if I saw something like that zap into existence.  

We can’t judge characters based on looks alone, dead or alive. Angels might look like demons from hell. Some of the most dangerous serial killers were incredibly handsome. A hideous person could be the one who saves your life. Some of the most beautiful animals have the most venomous bites.  

Were the ghosts, spirits, and creatures real? If we have guardian angels or spirit guides what do they look like? Who were they before they died? What type of angelic role did they take on and why? Are angels considered to be a kind of ghost? How many spirits forms could there be? Are our spirit guides other people or our higher selves? Also what the fuck was that thing that I saw? Was it the same thing that I heard screaming from the dark woods?  

My experiences along with the local myths made me question my beliefs and sanity. I decided to keep all my theories to myself and continued to research the spiritual symbolism behind each animal. 

There were beautiful bright red cardinals all over the property. They built nests outside my windows. Cardinals represent a spiritual connection with the universe. They’re assertive, confident, creative, and protective animals. They can easily adapt to new situations and are used to startin from scratch. 

Whenever I talked about the cardinals to other people, they would say that they had never seen them before. Inconceivable! They were loud, bright red, and all over the place! 

There were cute little ladybugs everywhere. They usually symbolize talent, peace, health, and good fortune. I also kept seeing spiders which represent birth, death, growth, and creativity. 

The horses on the farm were truly majestic, but some of the horse ladies were bat shit crazy! It turns out that stereotypes are for a reason. Not like I should judge, I’m a crazy cat lady. 

Horses embody freedom, travel, and endurance. Spending time with them felt meditative. They love eatin and chillin outdoors, just like me. 

It was hard to tell if the horses liked people riding them. Some barely tolerated their humans, while others truly loved their owners. If you ever ride horses please make sure you don’t override them! All animals need plenty of food, water, rest, and space. 

Southern farms were fancy compared to western ranches. I was used to the denim cowgirl look, not British derby fashion. Cleavage felt criminal along with the rest of my wardrobe. Southerners dress and act way more formal than west coasters. I looked like a fuckin ragamuffin most days on the farm. 

Ma’am is actually a polite way to address women in the south. If someone calls you ma’am in LA it’s time to crumble up your headshot and die. I was fine with people callin me things like sweetheart, peaches, or baby. 

So many locals bragged about southern hospitality, but most people didn’t seem genuinely kind to me. It felt like everyone wanted to know everything just for the sake of gossip. 

All the churchgoers in the beauty parlors talked mad shit. They all praised Jesus, but sure didn’t act like him. Those Baptist Bitches didn’t seem to love or accept anyone for who they are. 

Most southern expressions sound condescending or backhanded. I wondered if the term “southern hospitality” was sarcastic. 

My favorite thing I picked up from the south was the phrase “I’m going to let you go now.” What a great way to end a conversation. Another option is to yell “WELP!” then slap your thighs while standin up before leavin. 

I hated southern music before visitin the south, but it sure grew on me. Somethin about country music goes great with being out in the country. The word “y’all” grew on me over time too. It’s a sweet way to address people in a non-gendered specific way. 

Most of the town was filled with radical racist gun totin Republicans, but there were also a bunch of witchy goth lesbians hidin out in the woods. All the borders on the farm were women and most of them were gay. Guess it makes sense for them to hang out on a horse farm, away from homophobic southern churchgoers. 

Most country folk didn’t seem to care about their health or the planet. It was horrifying to see so much litter everywhere. I worked on cleaning it up, but I could never keep up! I hate seein hicks use our planet as a dumpster. People need to be held accountable for destructive tendencies! 

One mornin I was feedin the horses carrots when a shrill woman came out of nowhere to nag the shit out of me. She thought her horse was too fat, so he couldn’t have one. As if a baby carrot would force a horse into obesity. She wanted me to call each owner and make sure their horses were allowed to eat carrots. 

My brain flashed back to that time I yelled “STOP TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB!” at that yoga studio. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind, but instead I took a big deep breath, and explained how I was just following orders. Then I politely told her that I wouldn’t feed her horse any carrots and to let us know about any other dietary restrictions. Then I yelled “HAVE A NICE DAY!” As I walked away I burst into tears. I’m not built for post pandemic customer service work. 

Her poor horse looked so sad and left out, he didn’t understand why everyone got treats except for him. I was proud of how I handled the situation. It kinda felt like progress, even though there was still a long way to go. A younger version of me would have popped the fuck off on her for sure.

People used to get a rise out of me pretty easily. My whole life has been full of dramatic confrontational moments. There was still so much built up anger, resentment, and trauma that I needed to heal. Of course I wanted to blame others, but I had to take accountability for my life and actions. 

Another day a woman rode up to me in panic. She was frantically worried because she couldn’t find a wheelbarrow. She was so worked up to the point of hyperventilatin. I found it nearby and offered to clean the stables. That’s what I was supposed to be doin anyways. I couldn’t believe how high strung those horse ladies were even after spending time with animals amongst nature. Georgia desperately needed to legalize weed already. 

I learned all about construction, framing, electricity, landscaping, spirituality, religion, and animal care while working at the farm. I collected random new skills from my adventures all over the country. I’m a jack of all trades, but a master of none. 

I loved walkin on the trails in the woods, it was great exercise and eased my anxiety. One of the boarders was ridin on the trail and she freaked out when she saw me. She told me that the horses weren’t used to seeing people out there and told me to go elsewhere. As if she was the boss of me? She didn’t know I was livin out there or that I was already best friends with her horse.

It surprised me to see humans in the woods. I felt like the trees and animals kept luring me back into my own little forest sanctuary. The borders shocked me every time I spotted them on the trails. 

Most horse ladies were rude to me out of jealousy. The farm was their happy place and I got to live there for free with their animal friends. There were nice borders too, but of course the crazy horse ladies stood out the most. 

All the horse people got more comfortable with my existence over time. I went to one of their holiday parties which helped break the ice. The farm’s manager reminded me that I don’t need to wear lipstick and a pushup bra to a barn party. Most of the horse people thought that the other horse people were crazy. They were more fun to be around after a few margaritas. 

I met a man who told me about his experiences in Orange County California. He went out there for a business meeting at Vans and was shocked to see how unprofessional everyone was. People smoked weed while skateboarding around their offices. They called him a “tucker” and judged his formal attire. It’s rare to see people wear tucked in collared shirts in Southern California. They bullied him into smoking a joint and then took him to see the Pageant of the Masters, which is an authentic Orange County experience. 

Most southern small town conservatives judged my hair colors. They said all sorts of backhanded ‘compliments’ like “Ma’am that hairdo is just so you.” Aw, bless your heart “You must not be from around here.” Sweetheart “You sure dance to the beat of your own drum.” Darlin, “I bet you’ll find a church and a husband someday.”

I was fixin to throw some joints in their mouths. Is it rude to toss xanax down people's throats while they’re talkin?

Everyone in Georgia loved animals. They loved huntin them, eatin them, wearin them, and ridin them. Most of the local restaurants were drive-thrus or steakhouses. Findin vegan or vegetarian options was sure a challenge in the south. Luckily I found a local farm stand with fresh produce nearby. 

One night I accidentally hit a deer. He crashed into my headlight, bumper, and bounced off the driver side door. Of course we made intense eye contact while collidin. We were both frightened, awestruck, surprised, and panicked. My friend and I survived, but sadly the deer and my car did not.

I can’t think of a time I’ve felt more guilty or shaken up. I’m grateful my friend and I are still alive, but I had a hard time accepting the fact that I murdered an innocent animal. I try so hard to refrain from eatin, wearin, or usin any sort of animal products. Roadkill breaks my heart. I couldn’t believe that I was part of the problem. 

The deer crash happened while we were on our way out to dinner. When we finally got to the restaurant the hostess sat us at a table under a taxidermy deer head. It looked exactly like the stag I just hit. 

Everyone in the steakhouse was eatin and wearin animals. It was like a vegan horror movie. Luckily they had strong liquor. 

Was the deer crash some sort of message from god or the universe? Was it supposed to symbolize something? It sent me into another existential moral spiritual crisis. Talk nihilism to me!

Deer are known for their abilities to regenerate. They are sensitive, intuitive, innocent, and move through life with grace. Deer are timid, gentle, and able to change directions quickly. They know how to sacrifice, move on, and let go. Their antlers give them an assertive defensive quality. They grow back strong after they fall. 

I wanted to completely regenerate. My animal instinct told me that I needed to heal by spendin even more alone time in nature. It was time to finally let go of old thoughts and patterns that no longer served me.

The next day we saw deer in the woods. My friend told me it was a good sign and urged me to forgive myself, but what if those deer came back for revenge? I probably killed their fuckin dad!

We all need to help protect animals! They have nowhere to go and they’re goin extinct because of us humans. We all need to do better and be better. 

Most days I went on walks through the woods and would see female deer, but no males. The one I hit had huge antlers. I couldn’t get his face out of my mind. 

Luckily I was able to find some CBD shops nearby. When I asked the girl workin there where she was from she said “I’m not from around here.” Then she told me that she was from Covington, the next town over. I laughed in her face, cause I thought she was jokin. She was dead serious. 

Movin a few miles away was a big deal out there. She had to make all new friends and everything! Most of the people from that area had no desire to travel or explore different cultures. I felt like an alien visiting from another planet. 

The CBD products helped my anxiety issues. I didn’t realize how much I relied on it medicinally until I went without it. 

The girl who worked in the CBD shop was also a cat lady. Sadly one of her precious fur babies died on a day she had to work. When she found her cat dead, she lit a candle, and prayed. She could feel the cat’s presence in the room after it died, but when she blew out the candle she felt her spirit leave. 

My life was filled with art, nature, and animals. Birds woke me up with their magical songs every morning. I made sure to look up at the moon and stars before going to sleep at night. I watched the sun rise and set everyday. 

Daydreamin while watching wildlife was my favorite form of meditation. I’m my best self when I have time and space to be creative amongst nature.

The deer would show up when I was smokin and stretchin. The cardinals would show up when I was writin. Alone doesn’t mean lonely. I enjoy my own company and have plenty of animal friends.

Art has always been my favorite way to express myself. I think a lot of only children are extremely talented. They get plenty of privacy to practice arts, but they’re often too scared to show off, cause they’re afraid of what people might think. 

My friends would ask me what I was workin on. When I told them I was writin they’d laugh or tease me. One of my family members asked “Why would anybody read stories by someone who didn’t make it in Hollywood?” 

If anyone wants to judge me that’s fine. Critical people usually do the least, while successful people focus on their own lives and goals. I’d rather be the one people are talkin about than the one doing the talkin.

Most of my friends and family members encouraged me to find a minimum wage job. They just couldn’t imagine me being an artist, even though that’s all I’ve ever been. I had no desire to break back into their rat race matrix. 

The older I grow the more confidence I gain. I care less about what other people think and care more about what I think. Fuck what other people feel! How do I feel? My decisions are based on me, not other people’s judgments or perceptions of me.

My creative projects didn’t give me immediate gratification, but I knew that my hard work would pay off someday. I learned that if I really want to do somethin, I can’t tell other people about it. Sometimes friends and family are enemies in disguise. 

One of my friends urged me to go get a job as a greeter at Walmart. Fucking Walmart? Bitch was praying for my downfall. I just wanted to keep workin on my personal art projects out in the wild. 

Some of my friends and family members had a hard time with me changin. They expected me to keep bein an insecure shallow people pleasin doormat. I made strong new boundaries and reached a whole new level of cunt who doesn’t give a fuck. 

I hid my dreams from unsupportive people. I finally knew my worth. I didn’t need extra validation from others. If we each had the same point of view our world would be so boring and competitive. 

If I keep working on writing and photography I can become a writer and a photographer. Once I finally reach those goals I’ll probably get over them and move on to something new or exciting.  

It’s okay to want more out of life! Failures happen, but they make people stronger. Learning how to accept failures can lead towards positive change and success. 

There are no rules when it comes to art. You can use reality, make shit up, or create your own concoction. The weirder the better. Why not play around with different creative styles or mediums?

Journaling has helped me relieve so much stress, traumas, and anxieties. I always need a creative outlet for my thoughts and ideas. Dancing, breathing, stretching, and writing are my favorite ways to purge and release. Writin has helped me understand all of my goals and patterns. It gives me the ability to organize my thoughts in a productive way. Short term discomforts bring long term results (like workin out, writin, movin, detoxin, eatin healthy, runnin, or tryin new things). 

Writer's block is real, it’s probably best to power through it. I had to force myself to write this. I knew that I had to get some painful thoughts out of my head and onto paper. I stubbornly resisted that necessary release. 

Instead of focusing on writing something good I obsessed over makin the right margin perfectly line up to mirror the left. I would cut some lines short while ramblin on in other sentences. I let some weird sort of perfectionism hold me back from creatin something great, even though I knew these font styles and sizes would probably change later anyway. When I write without carin about my handwritin or text fonts I create better content. For some reason I kept holdin on to pain while standin in my own way.

My goals were big. I wanted to dramatically change my life for the better. I made all sorts of vision boards and manifestation lists. Movin to Hawaii to live in a tropical jungle with some wild animals was still my dream. I was ready to make that shit happen and up my nature photography game. 

Maybe fixin patterns helps manifest our desires. If I could break through all the bad habits that were holdin me back I could get whatever I want. 

I had so many toxic patterns and health problems. It’s safe to say I had trouble managin my emotions, relationships, and finances. Recognizing issues and learnin from them could lead towards better results. 

Makin myself make and save more money would lead me towards better financial stability. Standin up for myself and communicatin better would lead me towards havin stronger relationships. Feelin my emotions would lead me towards workin through them instead of bottlin them up or coverin them up with substances. Detoxin my body would reset my system, which would give me health and clarity. 

Maybe I could learn how to enjoy things for fun sometimes instead of being completely reliant on them. Most of my patterns stemmed from fear instead of confidence. If you think “how much worse can things get?” things will get worse. If you think “how much better can things get?” things will get better. 

Unresolved traumas create mental and physical illnesses. If you go through shit work through it sooner than later. Don’t bottle things up or sweep them under the rug. It’s important to make an effort to process things and move forward from past horrors before they make your life a living nightmare.

A great way to get to know yourself is by makin lists of what you love and hate. Incorporate more of what you love in your life and then fix, remove, or create boundaries from the things that you hate. 

Throughout most of my life and career I focused on what I enjoyed. I love laughin, sleepin, stretchin, eatin, talkin, dancin, swimmin, writin, gardenin, takin pictures, smokin fresh greenery, and spendin time with animals. 

Of course I want my life to be filled with the things that I love, but maybe I should focus on fixin what bothers me. I hate how humans treat animals. I hate how wasteful people can be. I hate how much garbage is in our oceans. I hate how some people treat me. I hate our political systems. I hate certain patterns in my life. I hate when I don’t have creative control. I hate being sick and poor. Maybe focusin on trying to fix what I hate could bring me more success, fulfillment, and happiness. 

It took me a long time to accept all sides of myself. Humans are complex multidimensional creatures with so many conflicting characteristics. Good, Bad, Happy, Sad. We should explore ourselves and our lives with curiosity instead of judgment.

After lots of cathartic shadow work, journalin, and spiritual healing practices my manifestations started to pull through. Thank Jesus Hallelujah! 

Heavens to Betsy I sure hope we didn’t overstay our welcome. My friends were so generous for lettin Lando and I stay out on the farm. We sure did take our sweet time. Most folks would be madder than a wet hen!

We were fixin to leave the south, but I sure liked it out there in the purty country. My life felt cattywampus so we were gettin hissy. It was time to saddle on up and get the fuck out of Georgia. Aloha Hawaii!

CHAPTER X: LIVE ALOHA

The Big Island is an extremely spiritual place. People say that if you aren’t a spiritual person before you arrive, you will be before you leave. 

My landlord gave me a tour of my jungle cottage through video chat. It was perfect, like a dream come true. I thought I should jump on the opportunity, so I booked the next flight over. He offered to pick me up from the airport, but he ended up catching COVID, so he had his friend Coconut pick me up instead.

I never really spent much time in the volcano towns before moving there. Rent was much cheaper in the lava zone. I decided to choose faith over fear and hoped that everything would work out for the best. 

Coconut showed up with the spirit of aloha. He gave me fresh tropical fruits and flower leis when I arrived. During our drive he told me all about the Big Island's spiritual nature. 

Of course I was nervous about trusting random male strangers that I met on the internet. Luckily they were kind and generous people. Taking a big leap of faith is the most important part of every spontaneous adventure. 

My mom was so pissed that I didn’t tell her about my moves, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wasn’t going to let anyone fuck up my plans. Sometimes it’s easier to make moves in silence. I kept my cards to myself then went all in. 

My mom’s lack of boundaries and overbearing tendencies infuriated me, so I dramatically cut her off when I moved to the island. Kuokoa!

Hawaiians respect their elders much more than mainlanders. Locals sought knowledge from aunties and uncles. It’s always a good time to talk story in Hawaii. 

My Hawaiian neighbor told me about his beliefs. He was raised in the church, but identified as an Atheist, until some crazy shit went down. I wanted him to tell me more about what happened, but he said it was too long of a story. He had plenty of lengthy tales, so I knew it was a touchy traumatic subject. Whatever happened led him back towards church and the belief of a higher power. He was from Oahu and wanted to move to the Big Island. No matter how hard he tried he faced intense resistance, until he became spiritual. He ditched Atheism and all the doors opened for him. 

His story was insanely relatable. When I first tried to move to Hawaii, I faced endless rejections and obstacles. After I started to recognize signs from the universe and embrace spirituality everything flowed into place. My Hawaii experiences would’ve been so different if those concepts never clicked. 

Everyone had their own spiritual and religious practices. Mine involved being devoutly vegetarian, creative, and minimalistic. My personal practices often included dancing, stretching, meditating, and journaling. Smoking weed near plants and wildlife was my ritualistic tradition.

Pahoa was magical but sketchy. It was full of lawless hippies, lost souls, and vagabonds. Spiritual shops sold crystals, bongs, and tarot cards. The grocery stores had fresh organic tropical produce and exotic healing herbs. 

People talked about native legends, witchcraft, astrology, tarot cards, angel numbers, ghosts, magic, and spirit guides. Most of the women were braless and covered in tattoos or piercings. Most of the men had intense dreadlocks and surfed gnarly waves by the lava rocks. 

My cottage was in the heart of the jungle next to an active volcano. Tropical birds, cats, dogs, chickens, pigs, and lizards were my immediate neighbors. I loved hearing the wildlife sounds at night. I tried to chase the geckos out of our place, but I eventually gave up and accepted them as our roommates. 

Most people grew their own food and weed. Many jungle homes had compost and catchment systems. Friendly strangers gave me free nugs and papayas regularly. Everyone in Pahoa was truly unique and original. 

I felt so connected to our planet and the universe while living in Hawaii. The tropical fruits, plants, and animals enchanted me. The air was fresh and the leaves were lush. I couldn’t believe how bright all the stars were at night. It was magical!

Pahoa was a wacky ass freak show, but part of me was all about it. There were no resorts or tourists in that area which was part of the appeal. Locals only.

My latest hobby was taking pictures of nature and wildlife. Watching hot lava drip into the ocean made me feel grounded and connected to our beautiful planet. Mother Nature will always be my favorite artist. 

My photography featured palm leaves, which often represent peace, victory, sacrifice, and survival. Palms are tough and can thrive in extreme climates. 

There were so many problems in paradise. My neighbor got murdered one of my first nights on the island. I heard the gunshots go off in the middle of the night. His family found his body in the street the next morning. Life is so fragile. We have to do what we can while we have the time.

The small town gossip murder mystery theories were insane. It seemed like everyone knew who the killer was except for the police. My landlord bought most of the land around us to drive out some crackhead neighbors. He was robbed a few times by people that he knew. The Big Island was way more dangerous than I expected. Guess there’s hood ass shit all over the place, even in paradise. 

There was no point in owning anything nice. The island was full of parasites and criminal thieves. If people didn’t steal your shit the humidity would melt it away. Bugs and molds spread everywhere. It was a beautiful disaster.

The window in my bathroom had paint smeared across the glass. It vaguely resembled a handprint. Seeing it in the mirror and water reflections scared the shit out of me. The neighbors told me that the house on the corner was haunted. Things kept disappearing. I wondered if thieves were blaming the spirits and menehune for their crimes. 

Of course my nervous system was shot from my past chapters. I was still processing supernatural experiences and the fact that I got robbed and raped. Plus I went no contact with my mother, but that was a relief.

My cottage was a few miles away from the old downtown. The bus was free, but never on time, if it showed up at all. Hitchhiking was quite common. So many people pulled over to offer me rides. The first guy that gave me a lift was from Santa Cruz. I told him that I was from Huntington Beach, so we bonded over being Surf City rivals. One time a local farmer gave me a ride and some fresh papayas. He had a machete in his center console. While he was driving he picked it up and threw it on the ground towards his feet. I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. He gave me some weed from his garden and professed his love to me. All the intense jungle weapons made me so nervous. 

Life in Pahoa was truly wild. I carried a hunting knife everywhere, which came in handy for tropical fruits more than anything. I loved finding fresh mangos and papayas on the ground. 

There was an outbreak of rat lungworm. The slugs slithered through rat shit and left slime all over the fruits and vegetables. It gave people brain, spinal cord, and neurological problems. I made sure to wash everything multiple times. 

It didn’t take too long for me to remember all the locals. Big island small world! The rain was my best friend, because it kept some of the weirdo criminal freaks inside. Everyone there was crazy including me.

There was a couple that brought their pet chicken on the bus into town with them everyday. One guy rode around on a golden bike covered in stars. He gave the locals free papayas, but charged the tourists. Multiple men invited me to roast pigs with them, but that’s not my idea of a hot date. 

According to the internet there were less than a thousand people living in Pahoa, but that data was inaccurate. There were so many undocumented jungle characters that were unaccounted for.

Hawaii has a brutal history of white people destroying their nature, animals, and culture. Part of me felt guilty for moving there during the plague, but I was sick of putting my life on hold. It also felt like I had nowhere else to go. 

Of course I didn’t want to be on the wrong side of history. I wanted to help keep the native arts, plants, animals, and stories alive! I’ve never intended to be invasive. 

I was warned that people would hate me for being a haole, but my Hawaiian neighbors were somewhat welcoming. They left tropical fruits on my porch and offered me rides into town. 

My race bothered them, but they managed to be somewhat kind anyway. They told me that they were only nice to me because I was nice to them. People are mirrors. 

My neighbors told me to stop hitchhiking and reminded me that the island had many desolate places with no cell service. If I were to get into trouble on the lava fields or in the jungle, nobody would be able to hear me scream. When shit went down in Hawaii the cops showed up hours later if at all. 

Everything was on island time. 

So many people shared horrifying stories about haole women getting brutally raped and murdered. They convinced me to quit hitchhiking and only catch rides from people that I know.  

Many locals told me that I moved to the wrong part of the island. Most of my neighbors wished me luck, told me to stay safe, and asked how I was doing. We all looked out for each other, because we had to. Nanawale was sketch.

Back in LA I wore hillbilly teeth with my friends as a joke. I was so privileged I didn’t know that people actually looked like that outside of Orange County. Seeing what else was out there made me realize and appreciate just how fortunate I am. 

Speaking of the fake hillbilly teeth, Maggie from Chelsea Lately reached out. She got a new job, house, car, and husband. I was relieved to hear she got back on her feet again. It gave me hope that I could get out of my series of rock bottom moments as well. 

Life gives people brutal lessons sometimes. 

Every time I left the house I carried a pack with a hunting knife, bug spray, water, sunscreen, trash bags, and cash. Since it was constantly raining I carried trash bags around to protect my stuff. Most places were cash only when or if they were open.

My unrealistic expectations have lured me into dangerous lifestyles. Thanks social media! I missed modern conveniences like cars, restaurants, rideshare apps, take out, dispensaries, and delivery services. 

Hawaii had so many wonderful beautiful qualities, but I craved an easier life. I was warned about the constant crimes, poor service, high prices, and bad vibes. Those things didn’t concern me, because I was hooked on the fantasy concept of living in paradise.

Of course it wasn’t all bad. Hawaii is an incredible place! The waters, plants, and tropical fruits were amazing. Hawaii is epically beautiful, but way more dangerous than I expected. Most of the violence came from outsiders who ruined the spirit of aloha. 

The Jungle Gym was a popular local hangout spot. They held yoga, cooking, and journaling classes. On weekends it turned into a rave. Some people lived there, but others were just visitors. They paid to stay there but also worked on gardening and preparing vegan feasts too.

Another hot spot was Uncle Bob’s which was known for its space alien welcome center, jungle raves, and fresh tropical produce. Extraterrestrials were more accepted than haole white mainlanders like me. 

My favorite place to hang out was The Tin Shack Bakery. I was addicted to their kona coffee and sourdough pancakes. Most mornings I went there to write, but I usually got sucked into the local freak show instead. Whatever unfolded was often more interesting than whatever I was going to journal about anyway. I loved when the trippy locals shared stories about Hawaiian ghosts, myths, and legends. 

Kehena was the most popular nude beach in the area. Most people went on Sundays to take drugs, skinny dip, or join drum circles. I got to go on lots of fun island adventures, but a lot of the locals in that area totally freaked me out, so it was hard to fully let loose. I expected to feel relaxed out there, not uncomfortable. 

The people we surround ourselves with have such a huge impact on our lives. The right crowd will lift you up and the wrong crowd will drag you down. It’s all about finding the right tribe and vibe. I was still looking for mine. 

The town menace was called George of the Jungle. I preferred the hot guy from the movie. George lived out of a grocery cart in the jungle. He was an angry old man with one leg who spent his time harassing everyone. Some say he lost his leg because people chased him down with their trucks. Others say that he was drunkenly sleeping in the streets when someone accidentally ran him over. He had a reputation for provoking and upsetting people. 

George regularly broke bus and store windows. The cops and bus drivers were tired of dealing with him. The police begged him to behave, because they didn’t want to have to put him in their cars again. They were so sick of filing reports and throwing him in jail all the time. Some of the locals wanted them to drop him off on the top of the volcano. He lived right next to a pack of dangerous wild boars. They were angry and violent just like him. I quickly learned to avoid that part of the jungle. 

One day I walked past a wild boar and decided to take a picture. Finally, the opportunity to get into animal conservation photography! It felt threatened by my camera and charged towards me. The boar chased me into the jungle and almost knocked me over. A Hawaiian man trapped it between his arms, truck, and palm tree, so I managed to escape. Dude saved my fucking life! 

Hawaiians worship pigs. Especially Kamapuaʻa, their untamed supernatural transformer pig god. Boars represent wealth, power, adventure, and sexual pleasure. Most of the legends involving Kamapuaʻa focused on his thirst for sexual activity. What a pig.

If a wild boar tries to attack you, back away slowly and calmly while facing it. Do not run away, they will chase you down. Try to avoid them and respect their space. They are aggressive and territorial. Fight back if you have to. If you throw the pigs some food they will probably leave you alone. People say the wild boars eat decomposing bodies of murder victims on the lava rocks. 

Nature is gnarly. 

During my first week on the island I found some dead pigs on the side of the road. In most cultures death symbolizes change. The end of one chapter and beginning of something new. I took that as a sign to release everything that was no longer serving me. It was time to progress forward. 

Life in Hawaii was filled with animal action. One day I found a kitten crying in the jungle. It was helpless. I couldn’t just leave her there! Luckily a few locals stopped by to talk story. They told me it was 11:11, which inspired them to take the kitten to the vets and find her a new home. People were eager to help eachother out. 

Most locals lived off the land. We grew our own food, but we had to race to eat it, before the wild animals. Growing papaya, dragon fruit, mango, and blackberry plants in the jungle was enchanting. I didn’t really feel safe but the lawless wilderness was part of the whole appeal. I couldn’t tell if it was the perfect place for me or if I needed to get the fuck out of there asap.

I was surprised to see bright red cardinals all over the jungle. Whenever I wrote they would sing and dance in the trees near my windows. There were also axis deer brought to the islands illegally. The deer swam from island to island. People saw them as an invasive species and killed most of them off. 

It felt like the cardinals and deer followed me there from the mainland. They seemed to guide me along my journey. We all had the strength to renew and regenerate after many wild moves and setbacks. 

Over seventy five types of birds have gone extinct in Hawaii. It breaks my heart to hear about how many animals no longer exist because of us. 

One day I got attacked by a vicious ankle biting chihuahua. Even though I got hurt, I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want the dog to get killed. People need to put their dogs on leashes to protect them and others. 

There were tons of road kill cats, dogs, pigs, and birds. People had off leash dogs that would attack others and get hit by cars. One of the locals always had a new puppy. When I asked him about his other dogs he would explain how they all brutally died after running into the street. If you own a pet the best thing you can do for them is stay present and offer protection. Animals remind me how to love and live in the moment.

Uncle on the corner told me all about the native animal symbolism. In Hawaii geckos click to warn people before someone comes over. The giant cockroaches start running around right before it rains. If a white owl flies past you that’s good luck, but if it flies towards you that’s bad luck. If you cross dead cats or black cats you can spit out your window three times to erase any bad luck (or you can throw a coin out of your car window).

There were lots of conflicting opinions over the stacked rock towers around the island. People stack rocks in honor of their dead lost loved ones. If you knock the rock towers over their ancestors might haunt you. Other people stack rocks to guide others on a path. Some people knock the rock towers over, because they think they’re harmful to the environment. Just to be safe I decided not to create any of them or fuck with any of them. 

Pahoa was known for its powerful healing plants like ayahuasca, mushrooms, weed, and kava. Most of the people in that area were fucked up and seeking enlightenment. Pahoa’s culture revolved around drugs. The shop Jungle Love sold some shirts and stickers that said “We’re all here because we're not all there.” They should make a sign for the town that says that too. I expected psychedelic stoners but was shocked to see so many cracked out tweaker thieves. 

One guy told me that he rolled himself into a fire at an ayahuasca ceremony. Even though he burnt his whole body, he stood by that decision, it was what he was meant to do. I heard a few too many stories about people hurting themselves with fire or lava while tripping ballz. That guy ended up going missing! I wonder if he’s still alive.  

The local kava bar was my other favorite spot. I was so wound up compared to the people working there. Drinking kava while smoking fat blunts on the clock looked like a sick gig to me. The employees there were so fucking cool, but it was kinda hard to get service there sometimes, because the workers were too busy smoking and socializing outside. The kava lounge was full of eccentric nomadic characters. People bragged about how they ditched the rat race and their high paying jobs to lay around in hammocks between palm trees. One of the regulars ran nudist ayahuasca ceremonies. I wasn’t sure if I should join in or run away. Ayahuasca heals trauma, which I needed to do, but some of those characters were too far gone. They bragged about doing hundreds of ayahuasca ceremonies over the course of one year. 

Trying some of the local psychedelics sounded tempting, but I didn’t feel like I was around a safe enough crowd. My state of mind wasn’t strong enough to handle all the strange Pahoa energies while tripping. Plants have magical powers. I’m eager to try and learn more about them at the right time and place in the future.

One day I met a guy who made his own psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars. After a few coconut shells full of kava at the lounge he smoked me out. I ended up getting super dizzy and lightheaded then I almost fainted. I sat back down and chugged some water. Once I was somewhat coherent I paid my tab and stumbled out the door. The guy who smoked me out followed me outside to the bus. He got on and I bounced instead of boarding. I went to the store instead, because I didn’t want him to follow me home. There must have been something stronger than kava and weed in my body. I had such a hard time checking out at the register. The employees could tell that I was fucked up. I kept entering the wrong pin number while dropping things. I was drugged up, which officially made me a local “PUNAtic.” The three mile walk back home seemed endless but the views were gorgeous. I couldn’t believe how much fucked up shit was going on in such a beautiful place. Somehow I got back to my little junglow in one piece. 

When I got back home my neighbor asked what happened to me, because I was covered in mud. I lied and said that some asshole splashed me while driving. Honestly I did it to myself because I was so fucked up. My stomach was in knots. I was so dehydrated that night I couldn’t even sleep. I wrote in my journal like a maniac. Was I getting creative inspiration from adventures or was I cracked out of my damn mind? I wondered if I smoked something like meth in that joint. I’m a victim of my own decisions! My diary could be inspo for dramatic thrillers.

The next day I apologized to my neighbor for being weird and explained how I got drugged or roofied. He told me that we never saw each other that night which blew my mind. I guess I apologized for doing something I didn’t even do? But he also said “I only had like twelve beers last night.” So we were both fucked up! Who knows what really happened.

He joked about Pahoa being an open air insane asylum. If it was, would we know? Guess we were all insane for living in such a place. PRAY FOR PAHOA! 

I was not in my right mind, but vividly remembered our conversation. It was such a trip, because he looked really different after that experience. I spoke to him regularly, but something about him seemed to change. He was longer and lankier. I swear his voice, teeth, and hair slightly morphed over night. It made me wonder if we were in some sort of simulation. Was there a glitch in the matrix? At least I wasn’t the only person explaining the unexplainable to others. Paranormal was normal on the island. So were drugs. I wondered if I had mental health problems, drug damage, or magical superpowers. 

Spiritual Psychosis was kinda normal or dare I say trendy at that time. Social Media reminded me that I wasn’t the only one struggling during the plague. My closest friends were mentally ill strangers on the internet. My TikTok FYP was filled with witchy tarot card readers and self diagnosed autistics. At least my algorithm gets me.   

It seemed like many people changed their beliefs while enduring a series of spiritual awakenings. Maybe there was a collective shift in consciousness. I wondered how many of us became enlightened. 

Am I manic or the chosen one? 

Unfortunately the kava bar wasn’t the only place I’ve been drugged. I got roofied at a college party in Berkeley. Luckily my friends were with me and they got me home safely. When I got drugged in Hawaii I was alone, miles from home, in a dangerous area. 

I thought that living amongst nature would bring out some sort of soft side of me, but it threw me into intense survival mode. I’ve had to act a certain way to protect myself from male human predators in the cities and the wild. Was the United States as great as we were brainwashed to believe? There had to be safer places out there for women to live, thrive, and survive. The thought of ditching America really intrigued me.  

All of the people at the kava bar seemed genuinely kind. I thought they were my friends. It was hard to imagine any of them wanting to hurt, drug, roofie, or take advantage of me. Sadly Puna was a hotspot for drugs, violence, and sex trafficking… especially during the pandemic. 

My neighbor told my landlord that I got drugged. He thought that I asked for it by dressing a certain way. I hate the way men think. I was covered up way more than how I dressed back in Southern California. Women should be able to wear whatever they want without having to be stalked, harassed, raped, assaulted, or murdered. 

Around that time I started wearing baggy masculine clothing to protect myself. Men went from harassing and objectifying me to making horrible homophobic and transphobic comments about me looking or acting like a man. Survival mode heightened my masculinity. I was hyper feminine when I was younger, so it felt like I lost a huge part of myself. IDENTITY CRISIS! 

My landlord was incredibly kind, but his rules were way too strict. He didn’t want his tenants to smoke weed, have sex, make noise, show skin, or have friends over. I couldn’t be myself there. The town was wild but my landlord was super religious and close minded. One time he talked mad shit about his other tenants in front of me. He hated when they wore tiny outfits and slept around with any sex. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there so I could smoke, drink, curse, and dress like a gay whore again. 

Pahoa was known for its artists, stoners, plants, and nudists. Where was all that free spirited freedom? I wasn’t sure if I should find another new place in Hawaii or go back to the mainland.

Kinky moved into the bungalow next door. She was a little old haole wahine who wore a coconut bra and sarong. When we moved into our places we promised our landlord that we wouldn’t smoke weed. I told her that I was going to rebel and smoke anyway which excited her. 

She picked up weed for both of us and we hotboxed our little jungalows. We called our landlord “the principal” or “parole.” It’s like we were the bad girls waiting to get sent to detention. Kinky acted like a teenager around me. She spent most of her life being a rule follower and thanked me for bringing out her sneaky little rebellious side. 

Kinky wished she was more wild, daring, and promiscuous when she was younger. She claimed her nickname came from her kinky hair. Bullshit. Our Mormon neighbors complained about the clouds of smoke that would blow their direction as soon as our landlord left the hood. 

It’s funny that we kept sneaking around him, because we were also friends with him. Our landlord was such a nice guy. He gave us tropical fruits and chocolates regularly. Many people warned us that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He had a really greedy reputation, but often boasted about helping others. My neighbor told me that he would park on their property and sneak around my place to sniff for weed smells. He always hated when we “cackled like witches” together. Our little stoner bond confused and concerned him. 

Pakalolo brings people together. 

I actually almost moved into a guy's fancy house on the north shore of Kauai. It was free rent in exchange for gardening. Right before I booked my flights he told me that he couldn’t wait to explore my body. He confessed he subscribed to my Only Fans and talked to me while posing as someone else. 

At the last minute I backed out of our deal and found my own place. I went to the Big Island instead, because it was more affordable. Discounts are usually for a reason. Kauai was more beautiful, calm, and peaceful. A few months went by and he reached out to see how I was doing. He invited me to come to his mansion in paradise and urged me to ditch creepy Pahoa. He proposed that he could take me out on his kayak with wine around sunset. 

He texted me “It would be summer so we'd both be wearing our swimsuits. Me in my boardshorts and you in a bikini that's nearly bursting at the seams. As the sun sets we'd look into each other's eyes. I’d slowly come closer and start kissing your neck while wrapping my hands around your waist. You'd move your hand onto my leg and my dick would immediately grow hard at the near proximity of your hand. My free hand would undo your bikini. My kisses would go lower and lower on your body until you find yourself with your hand pulling my hair while I'm eating out your wet pussy.” Then he sent me a dick pic that was so impressive I wondered if it was real. Honestly he was less creepy than Pahoa. Maybe I should’ve put out for Tunnels Beach!  

Most people in Pahoa had nicknames like Sunny, Phoenix, Mermaid, or Baby. Fairy, a local hippie, told me about her recent breakup. She was trippin balls when we met. She used psychedelic mushrooms to cope with all her traumas and move forward. It was hard for her to focus on our conversation because she was infatuated with a rock on the ground. When I listened to her stories she admired my sense of empathy towards others. Fairy gave me malachite, quartz, and tiger’s eye stones to thank me for my positive energy. In return I gave her a black tourmaline bracelet from Seattle, which happened to be where she was born. She could tell I was a fellow Aquarius. There were lots of nomadic quirky creatives like us around old town Pahoa. 

Pele the volcanic deity will curse you if you steal any black sand from the islands. She punishes selfish humans and rewards people who embrace the spirit of aloha. Most locals say that the native spirits will either accept you or kick you off the islands. 

Nature has many powerful energies that can work for or against us. People buy crystals in hopes of them having protective or healing properties, but what if your jewelry was taken from sacred land? You could curse yourself while seeking protection! Know and trust your resources. We should be able to feel when or if the vibes are off. 

When I was kid I loved collecting shells on the beach with my friends. Some of their families wouldn’t let us bring any rocks or shells into their houses. Stealing from nature could curse their homes or families. 

A Hawaiian guy told me a story about how his friend disrespected Pele.​ They hiked up the volcano and his friend started screaming “Fuck you bitch! You aren’t even real!” The sky suddenly turned black and it started raining ash. They heard the sound of pounding drums as they ran back to the car. While they were leaving they felt heavy energies in their throats and chests. They felt like they should reroute, so they drove the long way home. The next day the volcano erupted and wiped out part of the town. 

Pele was in a good mood when I was out there. I think that she liked me. Many of the locals prayed to her daily and gave her presents. By the way, Pele loves gin and cigarettes. 

It’s crazy that I lived in the jungle on an active volcano in the center of the ring of fire. Pele shocked me the first time I felt her jolt. People say she can appear as an old woman with long white hair and a little white dog. If you see her, ask if she needs help. It’s important to greet elderly islanders with the spirit of aloha. 

I went on adventures with some island boys. We smoked bomb weed, played drums, danced in the rain, and sang show tunes in the jungle. Some of them told me about how they saw fire dancers out on the lava fields. They hiked for miles, but the dancers were always in the same spot, just a little to the left in front of them. They couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive. 

Night Marchers are the spirits of ancient Hawaiian warrior fire dancers. They may be dead, but they are ready to reclaim their land. According to legends, people who look at the Night Marchers get cursed. If you whistle near lava at night you are summoning them. If you hear beating drums after the sun sets it’s time to run and hide. People say that if you hear them coming it’s best to lay down flat on the earth for protection. 

They also told me all about the menehune, which are tiny mischievous crafts people that star in many legendary Hawaiian myths. Locals often talk about seeing them in the forests and jungles at night. They shoot magical arrows at cold hearted assholes, all in hopes of making them less angry and more loving. They sound nice in most stories, but in others the menehune swarm and scare people in the wild at night. Locals say if one of your shoes goes missing, that’s a sign to start acting right, or else the spirits or menehune will steal your soul. 

Many people warned me about the haunted places around the island. Back in the day the Hilo Hospital maternity ward got burnt down and not everyone was evacuated. People who visit that area have crazy ghost stories, many of them involve hearing the sounds of babies crying. 

Most of the haunting ghost stories involved tribal warriors dancing or babies crying. The side effects included heavy chest pains, throat choke sensations, soul snatching, extreme chills, and horrific unexplainable deaths. 

One day I was hanging out at the Tin Shack Bakery when a lady sat next to me. I could tell she was a ballerina from her bun and posture. We started talking and figured out that we went to the same dance schools back in California. She made me feel at home for a moment. Meeting her inspired me to get back into stretching and dancing again. Maybe the night marcher ghosts would accept me for being a fellow nature loving dancer. Just kidding, I'm a haole. 

Both of us went to the Orange County School of the Arts for Dance. I got to take fun classes like Hip Hop, Ballet, Shakespeare, SciFi, Lyrical, Modern, Musical Theater, Jazz, and Tap. I hosted the school’s announcements and modeled for my friend’s art projects. Every class encouraged us to be unique and creative. The weirder the better!

There was a sexy Australian surfer dude at our school. He slept with all the hot chicks and was friends with everyone. About six months into the school year he dropped the accent. He confessed that he had never been surfing and had never been to Australia. Everyone applauded his incredible acting abilities. He became even more popular once the truth came out.

My friend Allie and I were both nominated for homecoming queen in high school. We didn’t want competition to ruin our friendship, so we combined forces. On the day of the dance we squeezed into the same dress and won together. We were our schools first and only siamese twin homecoming queen. Luckily most of our classmates praised anything unconventional. 

One time we wore the siamese twin outfit to an all you can eat buffet. We wanted to see if we could pay for just one person instead of two, but that didn’t work out. If we went to a normal school somebody would’ve beaten us up for sure.

Allie and I went to college in San Francisco. We loved to laugh, so we signed up for standup comedy class. We always showed up in matching costumes and flirted with all the comedy boys. Our teacher wasn’t funny at all. He hated us. We had to perform standup comedy routines for our final project and we both epically failed. My lowest report card grade was from standup comedy class. 

Most days we played dress up, took pictures, started dance parties, and ate bomb food. Life is all about having fun. We loved being silly and creative just for the sake of having a good time.

In one of my classes I met a girl named Kali. I introduced myself, because I appreciated her ridiculous propeller hat. She was relieved when we met face to face, because she thought I was her high school nemesis. Luckily we just happened to have the same hair. Later on Kali became a flight attendant. We kept in touch and continued to meet up for random adventures. 

When I moved to Hawaii Kali managed to get the flights from San Diego to Kona. It was nice to have a friend on the richer, safer side of the island. We visited all the fancy resort bars and beaches. I got to swim around without having to worry about people jacking my shit. 

Since Kali lived and traveled all over the place, she stayed in a series of haunted hotels. Most of her paranormal encounters took place in Hawaii. 

Kali flew to the island on the weekend of the fourth. Most of the locals hate that holiday, but love any excuse to get fucked up and blow shit up. 

Hawaii has a brutal history involving white people stealing native land, but that didn’t stop us from wearing dorky patriotic outfits. We weren’t really thinking. 

Since I accidentally moved to the hood of Pahoa, I wanted to check out the rest of the island while we had a rental car. Maybe I could find a safer place to call home. We went to a kona coffee shop on a hill that looked over some beautiful tropical beaches. It seemed like a wonderful area, so we decided to explore the local towns. 

The west side of the island felt much safer and more touristy. It had a better vibe than Black Sands (or as the locals call it Crack Sands). It had a richer vibe than Nanawale (or as the locals call it No More Money).

We went down to Kealakekua Bay, which happened to be where white people first reached the islands. The name of the beach roughly translates to “God’s Pathway.” It had many ancient historical sites and temples, like Hikiau Heiau, which was used for human and animal sacrifices. Some say it’s the most sacred part of Hawaii. It’s also where Captain Cook was killed. 

I couldn’t believe how breathtakingly beautiful that area was. When we read the historical and religious signs we got some weird vibes. We knew that we should leave and go elsewhere. When we discussed our options we both felt our chests get heavy and throat choke sensations. 

In hindsight it was super fucked up to wear patriotic colonizer energy outfits on sacred native Hawaiian land. When I mentioned potentially moving there I started bleeding, even though my period wasn’t supposed to start for a few more weeks.

We hopped back in the car and drove to Pu’uhonua o Honaunau National Historic Park. All the bright blue waters, tropical fish, and palm trees were stunning. It was epicly and unusually beautiful. As we hiked around the park we couldn’t seem to shake that heaviness on our chests. 

Anyone who broke the ancient laws faced death, unless they made it to the city. If they got behind the great walls they could work off their misdeeds instead of being killed. People say that the criminal ghosts still try to make it beyond the city walls in that park. So many people have stories about orbs traveling around those areas.

We kept feeling like there was something following us, but there were just some goats hopping around the lava rocks. I felt like we should turn around and leave, but the scenic views kept luring us further down the path. That was the most I used my camera that year. 

The area was known for possessing intense mana (spiritual powers). It was gorgeous, but there was such a strange presence in the air. At one point we both thought we were going to shit our pants. 

Everyone else in the park seemed to have babies with them. I couldn’t help but notice them crying while passing by certain areas. Some British tourists mocked our patriotic outfits while sarcastically wishing us a happy fourth. 

Our wardrobe choices were so insensitive along with our timing. Can’t even blame the negative energy on native ghosts. I would have haunted the shit out of us too. Haole Wahine problems.

Just before we reached Ki’ilae Village I heard Kali scream! Someone put a dead goat in the middle of the pathway. It looked like a human sacrificed it by decapitating it. It looked somewhat ceremonial, since it was covered in flowers, sticks, and lava rocks. There’s no way that goat naturally died in the middle of the pathway like that. It scared the shit out of us, so we ran back to the rental car as fast as possible. 

Next we chugged beers while binge eating at The Four Seasons in hopes of making us feel better. Then we went in the water to cleanse our souls, it was like our own little DIY baptism. We held hands while repeatedly submerging ourselves for ten second increments. We still felt haunted, so we tried some breathing exercises while swimming. Nothing helped us shake off the cursed feelings. At least I got some bomb nature pictures out of those adventures. 

Kali couldn’t wait to get off of the island. She had already gone through some other strange supernatural experiences. Kali went to a wedding at a hotel on Maui that was on sacred grounds. Everyone who attended got sick and had to go to the hospital. One of the bridesmaids was pregnant and had multiple seizures on the property. 

Since we both wanted to move, we looked up our astrocartography charts. Every place has unique energies that could enhance certain qualities within us. 

My chart was so on point. Los Angeles totally made me feel standoffish, dark, negative, and trapped. Indiana made me feel introspective, natural, independent, peaceful, and vulnerable. It also made me irrational, moody, and unpredictable. The chart said it was a bad place for business and might lead towards pregnancy. Seattle made me feel spiritual, relaxed, creative, dreamy, stylish, and easygoing. It also made me feel connected to a higher presence and inspired me to help others. The chart said it’s not the best place to make money and to beware of fake people. Georgia made me feel calm, creative, relaxed, and connected to wildlife. Hawaii made me feel lonely, eccentric, independent, and elitist. It forced me to change and be flexible. The chart said I would be more attracted to the theory of my plans than the practicality of them there. Both Big Sur and Lake Tahoe seemed like they’d be great places for me to balance independence and relationships. 

My astrocartography chart resonated with me. Nowhere is perfect, but everywhere is wonderful. There are always more places to adventure and explore. I only told a few of my friends about my desires to move and travel to places according to astrology. I was still in the spiritual closet around certain people from past chapters. 

After I dropped Kali off at the airport I used the car to continue wandering. Everything on the island was gorgeous, but there were still conflicting vibes. 

Honomu was filled with scenic waterfalls, jungle views, and creepy men. I pulled over to take a picture there and I felt someone following me. I saw a man stalking me while masterbating. Every time I turned around he would jump behind a palm tree. He kept gaining on me with his little tiny dick. I didn’t know what to do. 

For some reason I chose fight over flight. I pulled out my knife and camera and started chasing him back. I yelled “IF YOU DON’T STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME I’LL CHOP YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF!!!” 

The world is a dangerous place for women. Acting like a crazy fucking bitch is a powerful form of self defense. 

People always talk about all the invasive species in Hawaii. I was totally fine with the pigs, cats, and plants on the islands. Too many guavas? Call me. I’d be happy to take them off your hands. Creepy old men are the most invasive species everywhere. How do we get rid of them?

Most of the Pahoa energy vampires had dirty fingernails and they always wanted to shake hands. Whenever I got home I immediately hopped in the shower and deep cleaned everything. Jungle men are next level disgusting. 

I’ve struggled with my own addictions, so I don’t want to judge people for doing drugs. It’s a real problem when people’s vices affect others. I didn’t feel safe around all the next level druggies who were hurting and robbing everyone. It was hard for me to sleep because I was scared some crazy jungle crackhead might break into my place. I often woke up to the sounds of roosters crowing, gun shots, cat fights, fireworks, or squealing pigs. 

Riding the bus was a great way to meet the local weirdos. Creepy old men constantly asked me where I lived or where I was going. Sometimes I would respond by saying “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT” which really set them off. 

One time I said that to a guy and then he ranted about how white haole mainlanders ruined Hawaii by moving there. He said he was just trying to help me, but why would I tell a random stranger where I live? I didn’t want or need help getting back home. Shit like that happened all the time there. 

Men would often follow me off the bus. Whenever I’d call them out for being creepy stalkers they’d get mad at me for being white. Welcome to paradise. 

A toothless man kept stalking me in his car. He would ask me if I needed rides, I would say no thank you, then he would u-turn and ask me again. The way he stared at me was beyond ridiculous. Like rubber neck cartoon awooga moments. One time he saw me at a bus stop, so he turned around, and pretended to fix his car. I got on the bus and he followed it around for way too long. Thankfully I was friends with the bus driver who let me ride around for hours. Finally my little stalker gave up and I was able to go back home. Riding the bus in Pahoa was such a freak show every time. One time a dirty dude asked me for a fucking foot massage on the bus. EW NO. AS IF!

Whenever I took the public bus, drugged up weirdos stalked and threatened me. Whenever I walked I got chased by aggressive boars and dogs. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather deal with animals than humans any day.

When I told my neighbor about how I got harassed he was unphased. Then joked that the guy probably just wanted to rape me a little bit. He also made a comment about how he wanted to burn my house down, then he found me again later to make sure that I knew he was joking.

I ended up becoming close friends with most of the bus drivers on the island. Back in my tour guide days I sat at the front of a bus and talked to the drivers all day. I basically did the same thing in Hawaii. I’d ride shotgun and gossip about the locals with the drivers. They always knew all the juicy hot goss in town. Some of them would stop by their homes for snacks or quick breaks. The timing of everything was super laid back in Hawaii. Island time can be such a patience test sometimes, especially at the post office. 

I started having strange vivid dreams after visiting Pu’uhonua o Honaunau. My Hawaiian nightmares usually involved me shitting my pants. 

One night I couldn’t sleep because I felt a haunting presence in my room. There was nothing for me to see, but my cat was watching something. It seemed to frighten him, but he chased it out the window somehow. Once again, what the fuck? I felt crazy for believing in things I couldn’t visibly see. All I know is that there’s a lot more going on than what I can perceive.

Maybe the spiritual world tries to guide people. The living scared me more than the dead. I desperately wanted to experience more supernatural shit.

One day I was smoking a joint on my porch while watching Vanderpump Rules on my phone. A big group of Hawiian men came up to me. One guy said “We get that you like our culture, but don’t bring your culture here.” 

It made me wonder if I would ever find a place to call home where I could just be myself. I missed West Hollywood. I missed swimwear, dresses, and makeup. There's freedom in safety. I just wanted to smoke outside without being stalked or harassed. It was hard living in such a rough neighborhood. 

One night I went over to my friend's house and he taught me how to shoot guns and crossbows. I’m not a fan of violent hunting weapons, but I needed to learn how to defend myself. We were drinking and smoking when I first shot the crossbow. My arrow missed the target and went somewhere deep into the jungle. We never found it. Hopefully I didn’t hit anyone. 

I was seeking freedom through my adventures. It took me way too long to realize that money is the best form of freedom. The more money you have the more travel and protection you can afford. It gives people the ability to go wherever they want whenever they want. Most importantly, money can help people out of really shitty situations. 

Which is good, because rich famous people need it most. After dealing with my own stalker issues, I wonder how celebrities handle that shit. Back when I worked at TMZ I was accused of being invasive. Dealing with intrusive people made me understand what it feels like to be on the other end of that. 

Don’t be too nice if someone is creepy towards you. People say that rapists and murders target women who say sorry for no reason, because they are easy to manipulate. If you are too sweet it’s obvious that you won’t put up a fight or take legal action against them. Never linger anywhere for too long. Don’t let many people know where you live. Cover your windows at night, you never know who might be watching from the darkness. 

If you sell things on the internet and need to meet up with someone in real life, pick a safe public location, even if it’s more of a hassle to get to. If you live in a sketchy area do not be out after dark. Make sure to carry multiple weapons on you at all times. If you are in danger do not scream, yell for help. If a guy is harassing you, kick them in the balls. If you think someone might be following you, walk around all four corners of a block. If they are still behind you they are stalking your ass. Keep walking or driving in strange repetitive patterns while you call the police. Make sure nobody is following you before you go home or arrive at your destination. If you get bad vibes from someone that is your animal instinct, do not trust them, listen to your intuition, even if they seem nice. 

I realized that I’d rather scrape by in a nice fancy area around successful people, than be the richest smartest person in a sketchy ghetto ass hood.

Life is a gnarly competition to stay alive. Navigating predatory behaviors can be difficult. Always beware of your surroundings. 

I didn’t see many security cameras around town, but auntie and uncle were always watching. Old people spied on their neighbors through their windows and gossiped about them after church. 

Small towns have less privacy than big cities. I thought going away to a small town would help me get away from it all, but people are so nosey. My neighbors asked me why I kept leaving my house to put something in the trash can outside. I never thought I’d have to explain how or why I throw my trash out. People need real hobbies!

I reached a toxic level of independence in Hawaii. It’s good to have freedom, but it’s also smart to have people on call for health and safety reasons.

The most common crime in Hawaii was aggressive assault towards women. Every day I read tons of posts about girls going missing. Their bodies were rarely found and when they were it was too late to save them. 

I was living a loner lifestyle so I had to be extra careful. Independence can be a blessing or a curse. Nobody would have noticed if I went missing. 

MacKenzie State Park had the worst reputation. It’s known to be the most haunted place in Hawaii. Even though I lived nearby I never checked it out. That area has tons of unsolved murders, rapes, and ghost stories. The park was built by criminals who died on the job and were buried beneath lava rocks. People say their ghosts haunt the park at night. Bodies have been found dismembered, drowned, and covered in bullet holes. One woman saw a man who waved before vanishing. Dogs usually act nervous while entering the park. 

Campers have the scariest stories, if they live to tell their tales. Most of the stories from MacKenzie Park involved seeing ancient warrior men marching around with drums and torches. People fell through booby traps then into lava tubes. Piles of human bones were found underground in the lava rock tunnel walls. Cats roamed the island, but avoided that park. If animals feel the bad vibes there must be something off about that place. I think my cat can see ghosts. 

Both psychological breakdowns and spiritual awakenings change peoples minds which leads towards powerful transformations. Some cultures don’t stigmatize mental health and spirituality as much as others. 

On the mainland schizophrenia is seen as a mental illness that needs to be cured. In Hawaii and the Philippines schizophrenic symptoms are often seen as magical powers. A connection to the spiritual world. 

American doctors diagnose people then drug them up to suppress what's happening rather than curing the root of the issue. That’s why so many people end up fucked. Homeless, jobless, and helpless. 

A lot of people who seem to struggle with mental health issues are really just having natural normal reactions to living in poverty in a capitalistic world. Our people are fucked up because our societies are fucked up. 

My friends wondered why I kept exploring such strange places. The internet has led me towards questionable destinations. My addiction to social media inspired me to explore dangerous areas. People glamorize nomadic lifestyles without sharing the downsides. Humans are the most dangerous predators. There was too much violence in Puna for me to want to live there long term. 

I needed to take responsibility for getting myself into dangerous situations. Of course I wanted to stay present, look on the bright side, and make things work. At a certain point I had to force myself to accept the fact that I felt unsafe and afraid of my surroundings. I needed to stop playing victim to my own choices. There’s no need to force ourselves to stay in uncomfortable and unhealthy environments. Smart people know when to give up and quit. 

You never know when creative inspiration might strike. Wanting to get the fuck out of danger lit a fire under my ass. It was time to get my fucking life together. I couldn’t handle the thought of being in the same place a year later. It inspired me to take action towards a whole new set of goals. 

Of course I wanted to talk mad shit about my Hawaii experiences on social media, but I didn’t want anybody to beat me up. Plotting my escape then sharing my stories later sounded like a safer idea. 

I needed to learn how to meet in the middle instead of having extremes. I could live amongst nature and wildlife, but also have modern amenities like transportation, technology, running water, and electricity. I’ve learned that I can enjoy both artificial fantasy and natural reality. I love cities and the wild. Combining worlds creates powerful change. It’s called balance!

People think it’s crazy that I move and travel to places alone, but there’s so much power in a solo fresh start. You can always reinvent yourself and be whoever you want to be. If you’re alone you can do whatever the fuck you want. Loners have freedom, especially if they have money. Of course there are dangers while traveling solo. Be careful if you’re a woman, especially in America. 

Most of my friends in Hawaii were men, who absolutely loved the area, but they had completely different experiences. Nobody harassed the shit out of them! 

I kept seeing dead cats all over the place. According to random blogs on the internet, seeing roadkill kitties is a sign that something isn’t working. Island life didn't work out like my idealized fantasies. I was anxious the whole time! 

It seemed like everything and everyone wanted me to leave the island. Things didn’t work out how I planned or hoped, but do they ever? There were too many red flags to ignore. I had to act aggressive for the sake of safety and survival. At least my cat was with me throughout my adventures. Lando was the only stability in my life. 

I asked my neighbors “WHERE’S THE ALOHA?” They told me things got bad right before I arrived. Everywhere got worse. The pandemic left many people homeless, jobless, desperate, and violent. 

Even though I had lots of hardships in Hawaii I felt amazing. My mental and emotional health was better than usual, because I didn’t have my mother in my life. She always belittled me. It was refreshing to simply live without her constantly cutting me down. My skin was tan and glowing. I felt healthy and happy from walking in the sunshine while eating tropical fruits. It was a hard chapter in many ways, but it was also a healthy reset. I enjoyed learning all about my personal spirituality while discovering Hawaii’s magical energies.

Hawaii has wonderful towns and islands. I just happened to pick the most dangerous area to call home. Luckily problems can lead towards powerful lessons and transformations.  

I asked the universe if I should stay or get off the island. When I looked up I saw a restaurant called “PAU” which means dead, done, over, finished. If the spiritual nature of somewhere or something doesn’t agree with you it’s okay to leave it behind. 

PAU is a common word on the islands. A lot of places close at “PAU” which means they close whenever the fuck they want. Employees often throw up PAU signs if they want to smoke or surf instead of doing their jobs. I knew that looking for a sign was a sign, but the literal sign was the confirmation I wanted. 

PAU! THAT’S A WRAP! NEXT CHAPTER! END SCENE!

There’s no need to move to Hawaii. 

You can learn to LIVE ALOHA wherever you are!

CHAPTER XI: CABIN FEVER

Hawaii taught me the importance of safety, family ancestry, native lands, and spirituality. I learned how to release expectations to avoid heartbreak.

Hawaiian cultural practices inspired me to move back to Northern California, my family's native area. The volcano Mauna Loa erupted right after I left the island. Maybe Pele got pissed that I moved away.

My grandparents owned a cabin in Lake Tahoe when I was young. For some reason I felt a strong urge to go back to those beautiful mountains. Paradise doesn’t have to be tropical.

When I arrived in South Lake Tahoe I got a call from my aunt, asking me to go to the hospital in Sacramento immediately. My grandma was dying. I got a rental car and booked it down the mountain as fast as possible. 

Even though I hadn’t talked to my mom in six months I decided to call her to tell her that her mom was dying. It’s kinda crazy that’s how and why we started talking again. Death brings people together.

By the time I got to the hospital my grandma had a stroke and couldn’t even speak. She was naturally a comedic storyteller, so it was hard to see her go nonverbal. Unable to use her voice, humor, and opinions. She died the next morning. 

My mom arrived after she passed. By that time I was already back up in the mountains, because I didn’t want to see that bitch. She sat there alone with her dead corpse in the hospital. My mom was pissed she was the last to find out about how sick my grandma was. For some reason she expected to get one of the first calls, even though she wasn’t close to any of us in the family. My mom never got along with me, my aunt, or my grandma. She should’ve been grateful we even called her!  

I loved spending time with my grandma in Lake Tahoe, she was so excited to hear that I was moving there. It’s like I was spiritually drawn back to her to say goodbye. The timing was wild. She died right after I arrived! 

My grandma was the center of attention wherever she went. She was a star who had the natural gift of gab and popularity. It’s rare to know someone so funny, smart, and attractive. Her nails and lips were perfectly painted red when she was younger. She had bright blonde hair and only wore the colors black, white, or red. 

My grandma was raised on a small chicken farm and started working hard at a very young age. Her tough upbringing inspired her to live a fabulous life. All of her travel experiences gave her an incredible eye for art, beauty, and fashion. 

Sometimes she would suck down a cigarette in one long drag, for dramatic effect, to emphasize part of whatever story she was telling. When she first got sick she screamed and cried for her eyebrow pencil while being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. She didn’t want any of the doctors, nurses, or neighbors to see her without eyebrows. It’s safe to say that drama runs in our veins. 

Even though she could be a total diva at times, she was extremely giving towards others. My grandma was always there to help all of us out with whatever we needed. Our age gap was annoying, because we could’ve been besties. We loved drinking margs and watching comedy together. Whenever I asked her how old she was she would say “twenty nine” with a smirk. She was truly an unforgettable legendary character. I miss her so much!

My grandparents were creative, funny, smart, and adventurous characters. Their homes always looked like modern art museums in magazines. They owned fabulous cars and airplanes that took them all over the world. When they were home there were always cats in their laps. I remember them showing me stars and planets through their telescope in Lake Tahoe. 

My grandpa was always looking up into the sky because he loved to fly. He enjoyed walking around nature while taking pictures of birds. I thought of him when I saw Blue Jays by the lake. If my grandpa could choose how to be reincarnated he would return as some sort of flying creature for sure. 

Both of my grandparents came from humble beginnings, but changed their lives to be full of art, travel, and luxury. So iconic. I’m lucky I got to have them in my life!

Even though I was extremely close to my grandma, I seemed to handle her death better than the rest of our family. Probably because we shared some morbid discussions about life, death, suicide, and murder. She outlived all of her friends, lived a full life, and felt ready to go. Of course I missed talking to her and wished she was still around, but so it goes. 

My mom accused my aunt of killing my grandma because she accidentally gave her COVID. It was so wrong. My aunt was the person taking care of her. She would never intentionally hurt anyone!

After my grandma was cremated my mom took her ashes back to her house in Huntington Beach. My aunt still lived in my grandma’s house and worked at the cemetery burying people for a living. The ashes should have been left with her in Sacramento, where she was supposed to be buried. My psycho control freak mother took them and refused to meet up with us to bury her! It was so selfish. 

My grandma wasn’t even invited to my mom’s house while she was alive, because they hated each other. It pissed me off that her ashes were held hostage in my toxic childhood home. She would be rolling in her grave, if she had a grave to roll in. Actually she’d probably think it was funny. She’d roll her eyes, scoff, and laugh while muttering something like “Good Lord.”

Since my aunt worked in a cemetery for years, I asked her if she had any ghost stories. She told me about a young man who died from a Fentanyl overdose. Hundreds of people showed up for his burial, so he must have been pretty popular. During the funeral a big Native American chief gave a memorial speech that turned into a ritualistic chant. A hawk circled over the grave and landed on a branch next to everyone. The bird watched the entire burial while making eye contact with all the family members. My aunt totally thought that the bird was the chief’s pet, but it was a wild animal. Everyone talked about the hawk after the ceremony. They agreed that the bird had to be their dead loved one. It made all of them believe in reincarnation. 

Blue Jays are known for being funny, bold, bright, smart, creative, and powerful. They know how to face adversity and help others in need, just like my grandparents. I couldn’t help but think of them when I watched the Blue Jays fly around the lake. 

If reincarnation is real how does that explain ghosts and mediumship? How could a psychic communicate with the spirits of the dead if they’ve gone on to live a completely different life? Many spiritual people believe in ghosts and reincarnation, but how could both those options exist simultaneously? 

Of course I had to look up all the local Tahoe myths and legends. One native tribe believed there were newborn babies with tadpole tails swimming in the lake. People said that the babies cry to lure people towards the lake so they can drown them. I also heard tales of an eagle with the face of a man who ate people. There were also rumors of a long necked nessy living in the lake. I heard that the mob disposed of their murder victims there too. Despite all the horror stories I still wanted to jump in the water. 

South Lake Tahoe had such a chill laid back stoner vibe. It suited me better than most other places I lived. Mountain people enjoy outdoor activities like skiing, snowboarding, hiking, biking, swimming, paddle boarding, and scuba diving. It was easy to meet fun like minded people that appreciate nature. 

I got a seasonal gig working as a liftie and rented a cozy little cabin nearby. Of course I needed all new clothes to match my new snow bunny aesthetic. It felt good to have a temp job with a month to month rental. Where you are does not dictate where you will go. Everything is temporary.

When I walked into my liftie training group I couldn’t help but ask “AM I THE ONLY FUCKING GIRL?!?” The room was filled with stoner snowboarder bros. Luckily they laughed and accepted me as one of their homies, even though I was an elderly female skier. Hot boxing the ganjala before hitting the slopes brought us all closer together.

Working as a liftie was a strange mix of being bored and stressed out. It’s kinda like being a lifeguard. You do nothing most of the time, but when shit goes down, you better be ready! I wanted that job for the ski pass and ride breaks. It was nice to be up on the mountain away from it all. That was a pretty chill job as long as there weren’t too many Jerrys or Karens around.   

I got paired up with a Hawaiian boy named Makoa for training. We shivered in the lift shacks while reminiscing about the tropics. Moving from summer in Hawaii to winter in Lake Tahoe was sure a shock to our systems. We needed all the water, lotion, and chapped sticks in town. It took us both a while to acclimate to the high altitudes and low temperatures. We missed knowing our neighbors and talking to strangers. 

When Makoa moved to Tahoe he knocked on his neighbors door to introduce himself and they acted like he was insane. On the mainland families seemed like strangers. In Hawaii strangers seemed like family (sista, brotha, auntie, uncle). 

In Hawaii there was no night life, so it was exciting to live near the stateline casinos. My tropical friends got such bad fomo. They wanted to follow along or meet me on the ninth island. Vegas Baby!

My snarky black cat hated the snow. He missed playing with the cockroaches and geckos back in the jungle. Moving Lando to Hawaii was such a tedious paperwork process, but he loved it out there. We both got a little seasonal depression when we moved into our snowy log cabin. 

Over time I began to notice how I remembered things differently at different times. I romanticize island life, even though that chapter was gnarly to say the least. Even though I had a hard time in Hawaii, it was harder to adjust back to life on the mainland. I’m just grateful I survived living in the fucking hood of a psychedelic volcanic jungle. 

Some of my coworkers were surfer bros from San Clemente. I couldn’t keep up with them on the slopes but we had fun hotboxing their cars after work. They taught me that bongs can explode in cold cars at high elevations. It was refreshing to work with nice funny men. They said I love you to each other when hanging up phones and walkie talkies. 

Most of the daytime lifties smoked hella weed and most of the night time snow makers snorted lines of ketamine. Driving snowcats and snowmobiles through the dark mountains while fucked up at night sounded like a great plot for a horror movie. 

I loved when we got to smoke joints and take ride breaks with our friends. Some days we spent all day shoveling snow instead. Hawaii didn’t seem that bad during the brutal avalanche storms. The grass literally wasn’t greener. 

My first real winter was like the most brutal winter of all time. There were record breaking levels of snowfall. It was a difficult adjustment to say the least. 

I missed seeing stars and hearing jungle noises at night. Hawaii is such a incredible place with some weird ass fucking people. Guess I could say the same about most of America.

Experiencing different seasons is magical if you have the right supplies. Lake Tahoe California was much safer than Pahoa Hawaii, but of course I still kept getting myself into dangerous situations. 

Part of being a girl liftie was being hit on all fucking day. Of course I loved it when the hot funny guys flirted with me but there were too many old creeps. 

Since I still didn’t have my own car I ended up hitchhiking and catching rides during desperate times. Everyone knew where I lived and worked. Privacy is a luxury. 

One day it was dumping snow and the power was out. A guy in a hummer pulled over and offered me a ride. Since we were in the same work uniform I hopped in his car. We drove about a block away and picked up more girls in the same ski uniform. Both girls were from Costa Rica and they assumed I knew that guy personally. They flipped out when I told them he was a total stranger and that we hitchhiked. For some reason they thought he was my boyfriend.  

I ended up becoming great friends with one of those girls, it’s crazy that’s how we met. I told her about strange American traditions like Groundhogs Day. I loved hearing all her stories from back home. 

Hawaii and Costa Rica are both known for having happy chill vibes. Aloha! Pura Vida! Unfortunately paradise isn’t always safe. There are way too many dangerous men EVERYWHERE. 

My friend Aria and her family took me on a fabulous trip to Costa Rica when we were teenagers. It was epic! The margs were strong, the plants were lush, and the sloths were adorable. We went jet skiing, surfing, snorkeling, atving, rafting, and zip lining through jungles. I can’t wait to go back! Costa Rica has amazing biodiversity. I could totally see myself ditching the states to live there someday.

The ski job was such a sausage fest and most of the dudes were thirsty as fuck. One of my coworkers straight up told me that his new year's resolution was to get laid more often. Cool story bro!

There was a cowboy liftie who gave me rides regularly. He was missing his front tooth and drove around town in a truck with a hound dog. We kinda bonded over weed and our past farm life chapters. He also had a Hollywood show biz phase filled with douchebag narcissistic egomaniacs. I liked him as a friend, but he wanted more from the relationship. I just wanted to get to and from work in one fucking piece. 

There was also an old former firefighter liftie who gave me a few rides. Whenever men offered to drive me around it seemed like they wanted to turn the ride into a date. Luckily I was able to make real friends with cars.

The ski resort was in the mountains above the casinos. I got to meet snobby rich people and broke ass ski bums from all over the world. Tahoe tourists usually go there to party. Some people would try skiing or snowboarding for the first time while coked up and wasted. They never let their inebriation or the weather get in their way. Total fuckin bombers. 

There’s nothing scarier than watching a fucked up beginner adult barrel down the mountain at full speed. We often had to call ski patrol for the party people. One of my coworkers said he saw more dead bodies at ski resorts than in the military. 

When I first moved to Lake Tahoe I kept eating shit. I told a British coworker that and she looked at me in disgust as if I literally ate shit for breakfast. 

One of my coworkers got chased by a bear while walking down the street with carnitas fries. He just ran into his cabin and shut the door to escape. That same dude drunkenly fell asleep while making snow angels and his neighbor reported him as a dead body. 

Another one of my friends kept falling asleep in nature while tripping. One time he fell asleep on a surfboard in Hawaii while shrooming and woke up in the middle of the ocean. Another time he passed out mid rafting on shrooms and woke up when he hit white water rapids. He was also reported as a dead body after falling asleep in the woods during a little snowboarding weed and shroom break. One day he called out of work to ski around the resort, but our manager caught him trippin while doing tricks on the slopes. They didn’t fire him, but they begged him to be less of a fuck up.  

Nature always wins. Weather can destroy even the strongest people. One of the most advanced skiers on the patrol team died while cutting through the forest post storm. If you ski or snowboard, watch out for tree wells. 

It’s crazy how many people bought lift tickets without buying or renting gear. They would walk up to the lifts ready to hop on with no skis or snowboards. How the fuck did they expect to get down the mountain? Common sense is uncommon. 

Snowboarders often broke their arms or collarbones, while skiers were more prone to knee injuries. Lots of people got head injuries from falling on rocks without helmets. Most of my coworkers rode through ungroomed woods, but I stuck to the blues and greens.

One time a girl got fucked up at her bachelorette party down at the casinos. She ditched all her friends to hit the slopes with her snow and snowboard. After doing lines in the bathroom all day she finally emerged ready to shred. We told her we were closing, so she had to get back down the mountain. She refused to leave the ski resort and gave her number out to most of the male lifties. They eventually had to shove her onto a gondola. While it was leaving the station she attempted to prey her way out of the doors and her arm got stuck in the process. She got arrested and banned from the resort when she reached the bottom. Later she texted some of my coworkers to let them know that she was newly single because her wedding got called off. She ruined her friendships with all the bridesmaids and groomsmen too.

Another time a lady wanted her own chair lift. Instead of simply asking for what she wanted, she jumped off the lift while it was leaving the loading station. She landed in the middle splits and got dragged by the next chair. The liftie hit the stop button and popped off her skis to help. She cried, screamed, and accused him of assaulting her before she got arrested.

There were some horrible storms that prevented us from working. Plus there were still gnarly viruses going around. All of us were financially fucked and scrambling to find work. I needed to break back out of the rat race corporate day job scene for my spiritual and creative sanity.

My coworker Jack talked about how God wasn’t in charge of our finances, but then he got paid double! He returned the money back to the company, but I totally would’ve pocketed it. 

He asked me if I thought my black cat brought me bad luck over the years. I couldn’t blame my precious kitty boy for our misfortunes! It was time for me to take accountability for my actions and decisions. Sometimes karma has to balance shit out.

Jack’s brother Terry told me stories about seeing ghosts around Lake Tahoe. One time he was waiting to order at the Burger Spa. He turned around and saw a bunch of dark shadow figures waiting in the line behind him. After he ordered he looked back again and they were all gone. 

Jack and I ended up dating for a couple months. I’ve always had a thing for hot snowboarder surfer dudes. That was my first time being a total cougar. I had to look up what his texts and slang words meant, because I don’t speak young or snowboarder. He never got any of my “old” references. We actually took things slow which was refreshing. It felt good to have a crush and open up to someone again. 

Jack often talked to his friends and family on speaker phone. It was hard to get him to open up to me, but I overheard his friends asking him about his manic bipolar mental health problems. He was prescribed some antipsychotic medications. Since I struggled with similar symptoms and I was dating him I wanted to hear more about his issues. 

Whatever led up to his diagnosis embarrassed him. I couldn’t get Jack to open up to me, so I knew our relationship wouldn’t work out. Who was I even dating? What did he do in the past? Maybe I could have understood him better if he gave me a chance to. He had no desire to communicate. I overshared while he under-shared.  

On the night of my birthday we ate some magic mushrooms with friends. We climbed up Cave Rock and watched the sunset with some blunts and beers. There were baby bunnies in the snow, which is a sign of good luck in most cultures. Once again the mushrooms eased my problems and inspired me to dramatically change my life for the better. 

Isolating myself in the woods, jungles, and mountains made me kinda socially awkward. I got comfortable with my solitude and forgot how to interact with people. 

The Lake Tahoe ski crowds gave me major anxiety. I felt claustrophobic working with hoards of tourists. Maybe anxiety and stress are our body’s ways of telling us that how we are living is wrong. It’s natural to want and need space, but maybe I dramatically isolated myself away from people for too long. 

I knew the liftie job wasn’t the right fit for me, even though I loved my ski bum friends. My purpose is to explore, create, and help others! 

I need to explore more of our beautiful planet. 

I need to create art and keep trying new mediums. 

I need to help as many animals and insects as humanly possible. 

My adventures showed me that I’m naturally a nomadic creative person. I could always keep moving or traveling to seek better alignment elsewhere. 

After a huge storm we had to shovel out all the chair lifts and magic carpets. I was bitching about the cold hard work when my coworker yelled “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK THEN FUCKING QUIT!” 

I quit and walked out on the spot. Fuck that place. Impulsively leaving jobs and places while PMSing has been such a trend throughout my life. I kept repeating history, but at least I was self aware?

Or was I? Maybe my PMS problems were the real problem! I needed to get my hormones checked out before officially getting diagnosed with autistic manic bipolar schizophrenic borderline personality depression disorders. It seemed like I couldn’t keep a fucking job no matter what it was. 

I didn’t have the money or health insurance needed to deal with any of my issues at that time, but that’s exactly why I needed that help! If I could get a diagnosis then maybe I could qualify to get financial or medical help, since I couldn’t hold a fucking job. I just kept boppin around while raw doggin my mental illnesses. The resources needed to help me weren’t readily available, so I kept putting off dealing with my problems.

The storms in Tahoe were gnarly to say the least. Some locals told me it was the worst winter in over thirty five years. I got mad cabin fever and chopped off all my hair. It was down to my ass and damaged from all my adventurous traumas. 

My short natural brunette hair didn’t feel right to me. My soul is blonde! My personality is blonde! But I had to get rid of that dead old hair to make room for some natural healthy growth. I’ve officially mastered the art of letting go. 

I told Jack that I wanted to ditch Lake Tahoe to explore more. It didn’t make sense for us to be in a romantic relationship since I was planning on leaving. He asked if we could work something out and thankfully I agreed. 

Since I couldn’t afford rent I found a van with a great loan. I got everything all lined up, but there was a problem with the license plates. The company wanted to send them to the address I listed, but I was moving out of my cabin and into the van. When the car company found out that I planned on living in the vehicle they revoked all their loan offers. 

I was homeless, jobless, carless, and fucked. Jack invited me to move in with him for as long as I wanted, so I stayed with him for a couple months.  

Lake Tahoe taught me the importance of having people. Jack was my best friend there and if I didn’t have him I would have been out on the streets in a fucking blizzard with my cat. Donner Party Vibes. I was so over the gnarly winter storms and eager to bail on mountain life. Independence is important, but so are friendships and relationships. I held onto some good people and we all helped each other out! 

I stayed outrageously optimistic about my goals. I switched gears, got shit done, and made moves. It was time to take control of my fucking life. 

The day the van plans fell through was surreal. Every store would only take cash or was closed. I kept seeing 555 and 1010 everywhere. It felt like the universe hit the brakes on my plans. Maybe I was unintentionally rushing her. For some reason I was trying to force things to move faster. Guess I wasn’t quite done there yet. I kept thinking about Big Sur and Santa Cruz, so I felt like I needed to visit the coast next for some reason. I hadn’t seen the ocean in so long.  

My intuition told me to finish up creative projects and move forward. The synchronicities encouraged me to deepen my spiritual practices and share them with others. It felt like the right time to write down more stories. 

I wanted to make the worst shit that has happened to me the best shit that has ever happened to me. Maybe our problems are super powers.

A few days later I was hanging out at Tahoe Bagel, stressing over what I should do, and where I should go next. I was totally zoning out, but then I realized that I was staring at Big Sur & Santa Cruz bumper stickers. Next to them was a smaller sticker that said “Don’t worry. It’s going to be ok.” I wasn’t sure if I was going through another spiritual awakening or losing my fucking mind. 

Divine guidance is psychotic, if you’re a muggle. You have to believe in the magic of the universe for it to be real. Muggles think that Harry Potter is a weirdo freak orphan, because they don’t have the abilities to recognize his powers or perspectives. Thankfully he escaped and found a magical place filled with like minded characters who loved or hated him for who he really is! Only magical people can experience magic. Of course it all sounds crazy to people who can’t see it. That’s why they call it “SPIRITUAL PSYCHOSIS.”

I was so fucking broke. I walked around town wondering if I should really be focused on writing. When I looked up I saw paintings of deer all around me. The art felt like confirmation that I was on the right path. I trusted myself and the universe. I assumed my creative endeavors would eventually pull through. Some breakdowns lead towards breakthroughs. 

I couldn't help but think about Maggie from my Chelsea Lately days. She trusted in the powers of the universe and her manifestations which led to her being homeless. I wondered if I was making the same mistake, but did it anyway. She eventually got back on her feet, so I knew that I could too. 

Did I reach a whole new level of enlightenment or psychosis? Was I about to receive real substantial positive change? Or was I about to get thrown into a loony bin for a fucking lobotomy? 

Even though I liked Jack I knew we wouldn’t last. He always had a screen in front of his face. I noticed that most people adventure through video games and movies instead of exploring in real life. Once again I realized that I need a vehicle and my own clean private creative space near nature to thrive.  

Traveling around felt way more fulfilling than artificial fantasy media. That stuff can be fun sometimes, but I didn’t want to get sucked back into that broke ass couch potato lifestyle. NorCal was known for natural hippy vibes. Maybe I could find a nice tribe of spiritual vegan nature yoga freaks nearby. 

Jack preferred fishing over drag shows. His love for hunting and lack of hygiene bothered me. Jack confessed that he put fish through trauma from catch and release, but “AT LEAST THE FISH HAD A GOOD STORY TO TELL!” 

Maybe that’s how God sees me! A creature to traumatize for the sake of a good story with lessons to share. God would totally do something like that. 

My friends and family encouraged me to speak to a professional, but that shit’s expensive! Going to therapy could ruin my artwork. Working through trauma creatively was therapeutic. Plus western medical professionals kinda scared me. What if I’m too honest and they throw me into a psych ward for a grippy sock vacay! What if their drugs suppress my spiritual superpowers!

I wondered if I subconsciously kept putting myself through shit for my art. For the sake of a story or cathartic creative release! It’s healthy to use art to heal, but it’s toxic to keep going through bad things on purpose in hopes of creating better art. I had so many photos and stories to share. I just needed to get over my crippling imposter syndrome and put my work out there already. 

If I wanted to be an artist, I would need to create art. If I wanted to be a writer, I would need to write. If I wanted to be a photographer, I would need to take photos. 

That sounds so simple, but self sabotage was my daily routine. Having a manic identity crisis was very on brand for me. Chaos became addicting. 

My lack mindset kept me stuck, borderline homeless, jobless, and unable to level up. Obsessing over the past and my mental health made things worse.     

Mountain life was magical, but the storms were way too intense. I missed being around creatives in my favorite cities. Ditching my mountain flannels for blue hair and red lipstick was such a move. I edged up my image to look more like a “real artist.” Bye clean mountain girl aesthetic, hello angsty emo bitch. 

I ended up leaving Jack the same way Levi left me. I planned on traveling before we hooked up or lived together which made things complicated. He was so kind, welcoming, and generous towards me. I didn’t want to hurt him after everything he did for me, but I needed to be single and free to roam. 

Levi’s past actions made way more sense to me after I was put in a similar situation. I was so heartbroken over him back in the day, but I legit forgot that he existed. Part of me wondered if I blocked him out of my mind due to trauma, but I think I just naturally healed over time. Moving is a great way to move on. 

Looking back I wondered why I let his words hurt me so much. Every person I have dated provided valuable lessons for the future. I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy. I’ve taken an independent path that doesn’t make sense to most other people and that’s okay. I’ll accept more love into my life when I meet the right person in my own time.

My experiences in Hawaii and Lake Tahoe were completely different from what I expected. Paradise was not calming or relaxing. Running from hot lava and avalanches left me in panicked survival mode. Now I understand why people go to those types of places for vacation, instead of living there.

The winter storms in Lake Tahoe were so bad, I barely made any money up there. Most of the town closed down. All the smart rich people got the fuck out of there before the roofs collapsed.

Just before leaving I saw a wild bobcat roaming through the neighborhood. Bobcats are curious, stealth, independent, and self reliant. They enjoy being alone and know when to leave a situation.

I drove down the mountain in a moving truck with my kitty boy and bags. We escaped the winter storms and survived! I was able to get a car before our next chapter. It was such a relief to be able to drive around freely again. BYE BYE BUS LIFE!

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 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. They had security, lights, cameras, bathrooms, food, blankets, and pillows. 

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 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 fucking 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 snarky 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 that I resent or hate.

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 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.   

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 lead poisoned baby boomer bitches suffering from creepy dementia stares.

I literally can’t with the intense eye contact. It was like they were going to jump down my throat to snatch my fucking soul. 

My 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. 

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 ADHD 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 that 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 (like tv shows, books, podcasts, blogs, tik toks, or movies).

My biggest hater and my biggest bully has always been my mother. She has isolated me from my friends and family members. She has gaslit and lied to me. She spread smear campaigns against my name and character. She has refused to respect me or my boundaries. She even stole money from me!

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, even though it’s not 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 had no idea just 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? I took it as confirmation that I need to help animals and move on to the next chapter.

Adventuring the United States made me grateful to be from Orange County, but returning immediately reminded me why I left it behind. My first night back I balled my eyes out, because I couldn’t see any stars in the sky. 

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 the 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, or canoes. Being around a bunch of outriggers gave me a little taste of aloha. I kept meeting Hawaii loving haoles there, that only lasted six months on the islands too. We strived to live aloha, despite living in overcrowded 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 of the guys 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 people. Especially creepy old men. 

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? 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 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’m not even trans! I’ve just had to hide my femininity to protect her.

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 Emy and I both went through those cliche series of events, which ignited spiritual awakenings, health problems, and creative endeavors. For the longest time Emy didn’t drink alcohol or have sex, but she finally ditched Catholicism for reiki and mushrooms. She still believed in God, but in a more spiritual way. Over time she developed some magical abilities like remembering past life memories, reiki energy healing, psychic visions, manifestations, and numerology. Our friends from the past judged our beliefs and questioned our sanity. Even though we both outgrew many past friendships, we were lucky to have each other. It’s nice to have some 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. 

Emy 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 parents were 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 the wrong 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 autism in denial. 

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 home 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. Generous and loving people aren’t necessarily the best to be around. Be careful who you accept gifts from, because they might secretly be grooming or manipulating you. Sometimes generosity can come with ulterior motives. 

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 guidance from the universe. While I was leaving Orange County I called my adoptive dad Clark to say goodbye and tell him about my 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 that I could afford to live there, but I went anyways, because why the fuck not? 

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

When I got to Big Sur I stopped at a cute little campground with cabins that was 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 cute little cabin in the woods. It had epic nature views that were filled with wildlife action. Lando and I loved watching the foxes, skunks, 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. All 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 buzzed off all my hair, ate a bunch of magic mushrooms, went skinny dipping in the river, and finally finished writing this shit. Of course I want to tell you all about the local myths, legends, locals, and lore… but I’ll leave those stories for another chapter, because I’m still enjoying experiencing it!

I’m grateful for our magical universe filled with entertaining characters. I’ll continuously keep falling in love with nature all over our beautiful planet. Big Sur is an amazing home, but I’ll continue to go wherever the wind takes me.

CHAPTER XIII: LEAVE HER WILD

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 is 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 are 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.