Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Rehabilitation

He took another drag from his cigarette as I watched his perfect jawbone tense with frustration. The same jawbone that turned me on -- had me slipping out of my favorite sundress... just two months ago.

"Where does the love go?", he asked.
"I haven't a clue.", I replied.
We kissed slowly, for it would be the last. The taste of nicotine on his breath. I pulled at his collar -- the pain of letting go -- my heart sank.

What a devil, I thought.

Sunny day in August
fresh coffee for my addition
the hint of alcohol just a few hours away.

I smiled as he sang my name. Sweet voice that never seemed to match his hardcore persona.

Dangerous; my attraction

Several single minutes before we would be leaving... in opposite directions.
His cold eyes seeing right through me.
His warm smile piercing me one last time.

He liked my tiny red dress.
I liked his lustful touch.
The first month was a haze... drunk for the rest. We'll both need rehabilitation.

"I just wanna have fun", I swore.
"I'll play you like a gameboy", he promised.
"I don't want one", I laughed.
I swayed back and forth. His hands on my hips. "Something about him", I remember thinking.
How easy things were a year ago.

12 months later, sitting across my drug, I could only see moving on-- stripped clean.
"I'm just glad we got out alive", he laughed.
"Me too", I whispered.

I raced my ass to the bar. Inhaling whiskey, as women do. Chasing the urge to forget my name, a hundred dollar bill was placed on the bar next to my hand. His name was Travis. He had nothing I wanted and everything I needed. I let him buy me drink after drink.... while trying to forget my name I managed to misplace my fake id. I went home alone. I didn't leave Travis my number. After all, he probably thought I was an alcoholic.
As my "ex" would say, "all the best people are". But I think it's really the thrill of losing control, chasing the rush, letting your fantasies run wild.

That's just me

Cheers

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

21 Something (21 and drunk)

I sat with my vintage watch (given by my mother), my vintage sunglasses (thrifted for a $1), my favorite vintage blouse (thrifted for $3.49), and my hair on top of my head in a messy bun (garbage can hair? Priceless). I booked my flight. A present to myself for my 21st birthday (Nov. 11th). In a few short months I will be having my 1st (legal) drink on a 4.5 hour flight to Los Angeles. I will drink a glass of champagne and take a photo for Intagram saying something like "This is 21?" with my tongue out of course (my signature pose). I will sit sipping my over priced glass of toxic allowing everyone to think I am one of those little rich girls with daddy's pocket book. I will spend my 21st birthday... my first legal drink... alone on a flight to the city of dreams (broken dreams). But this is the life I signed up for. I agreed to it all when I signed on the dotted line. My agent smiling as if I had signed away my life to the devil. And I guess that's just what I did. Los Angeles here I come. 21, drunk, and alone. This is what every actor wants. Right?