How Anne saved me from a pizza related death!

Dear Diary,

You know, as I sat down to write this, something occurred to me: lately, a lot of my Diary entries have been about my life almost being snuffed. Hopefully this isn’t a dark foreboding or something. 😁😭 Anyway, continuing the tales of the attempts on my life, I have another culprit to add: pizza. It almost killed me.

Dead serious, if it weren’t for my Baby Squirrel, I’d likely be in the hospital…

 

See, I was typing away furiously at Devious Bitches (second revision! 🙌) when Anne forced me to quit working and eat something. If you know anything about me, you know how I hate stopping mid-project – I get mouthy, violent, and generally just murderous. However, I was hungry, so I decided to throw something in my stomach real quick and jump back on writing.

So I settled for one of those small microwavable pizzas, the kind with the hard foil bottom that makes the bottom of the pizza crisp when you nuke it. I had it on a small microwavable heavy glass plate and set it for the suggested time. When it was finished, I let it cool for a minute (as the instructions suggested), then opened the microwave to retrieve it.

So far, so good, right?

Well, Anne asked me a question right before I grabbed the plate, so I stepped away to answer her, then stopped when I started hearing weird cracking sounds coming from the microwave.

 

I turned around, and the motherfucker exploded.

 

The plate the pizza was sitting on just… blew up. Shards went everywhere. Some even bounced off me. Had I grabbed it when I was going to, I would have been all messed up.

Life is strange like that, you know? Unexpected things can just happen in the blink of an eye that changes your life forever. And the biggest of these, the things that drastically change us, seem to happen when we are at our most unguarded, when we least expect it.

It’s humbling.

One of my friends informed me that this was gods way of sending me a message, of trying to illuminate me to the fragility of life. And to, apparently, scare me into believing in it.

She actually got mad when I laughed.

See, I’m not a Christian. Or any other religion. I’m not an atheist either. For the longest time I thought I was a nothing, but a close friend of mine came at me one day and informed me that he knew what I was: a Deist (because, you know, people just have to find a label for things otherwise they flip out).

 

In general, Deism refers to what can be called natural religion, the acceptance of a certain body of religious knowledge that is inborn in every person or that can be acquired by the use of reason and the rejection of religious knowledge when it is acquired through either revelation or the teaching of any church.

 

I have to admit, the shoe fits. Succinctly, I believe we were created by something, but mankind has no idea what. I refer to my mindset as comfortably ignorant: I don’t know, and I’m perfectly fine with that.

You would be surprised at how many people are offended by my beliefs for some reason. Which baffles me – I mean, why do people care enough to get emotional over what I believe? Do these same people get emo when they discover that I don’t like a food they favor, or my sense of humor (yes on both counts I found out recently)? Or a political… never mind. People get offended by that too. 🙄 In fact, not only have I lost Patreon members recently because of my political viewpoints (I am not a fan of Trump) but friends as well.

This is why I tweeted the following:

 

Now, if I could just get people to participate…

Anyway, sorry for the rant, but then this is my Diary entry after all. You knew what you were getting into when you clicked the link. 😁

#Alexaliens

 

“I made no resolutions for the new year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.”

– Anais Nin

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

My brother having a weak pullout game, Devious Bitches, and Beer-fi!

 

Dear Diary,

So my brother almost killed me today. Again. Last time it was with taco meat. This time? A Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion song…

 

(Law & Order clinking sound effects)

 

I finally got him to sit down and listen to WAP. I was dying to see his reaction to it, considering how straightlaced and stoic he usually is. I was nibbling on some fries, Anne was playing on her might-as-well-be surgically attached phone, and his model-ass bitch of a girlfriend was smirking, just as anxious to see his reaction as I was.

Partway through the song, he paused it and turned to his girlfriend and asked, straight-faced as all hell, “What’s a weak pullout game? Do I have one?”

Pandemonium erupted. I choked on my fries, Anne leaned forward and started laughing so hard she nearly dropped her phone, and his girlfriend’s face screwed up in this pretty little grimace before she alternated between laughing and trying to be serious. When she started womansplaining to him what that actually meant, he stopped her and said he already knew; he was just fucking with her.

I adore my brother, but I want to kill him sometimes. 😂

 

(Law & Order clinking sound effects)

 

As far as writing goes, I’m currently working on what was supposed to be a short story called Devious Bitches. The title pretty much sums it up. It takes place shortly after Phi Beta Pie and features several of my favorite characters (like Penny, Song, and Antonio) and a few new ones to boot (like Julie and Lori Marshall, Rachel Pritchet, and Peter). I finished the rough draft, and now I’m revising and flushing it out. It’s sitting at 42,900 words, but I have so many things to add that it will probably end up double that.

I’m not sorry. 🙌

Oh! Some exciting news! You might have heard already if you stalk me on social media, but if not: I just (re)launched my Ko-fi! If you don’t know what that is, it’s a place where you can buy a creator (like moi) a $3 cup of coffee. Or two. One beloved (who put their name as Somebody) actually bought me 18 cups! Love it! Although I love coffee, for me, this is more of a beer-fi (I’m not gonna lie!), but they wouldn’t let me call it that, so… anyway, do me a favor and check it out, and maybe buy me a beer coffee while you’re there! I would greatly appreciate it!

I also now have a Subscribestar.adult, which basically allows me much more creative (read: adult and mature) freedom than Patreon does. Not that I’m getting rid of Patreon, because I love it, but I want to be able to push the envelope a bit further occasionally, you know? I like creative freedom, and I’ve butted heads with Patreon a lot over it. Also, I’m planning on diversifying my portfolio a bit. Currently, I’m working like hell to catch my Subscribestar.adult up with my Patreon. It will take a while, but it will get there.

Anyway, that’s all that’s going on in my little world for now. Stay tuned, my beautiful #Alexaliens!

 

“I think one of the things that language poets are very involved with is getting away from conventional ideas of beauty, because those ideas contain a certain attitude toward women, certain attitudes toward sex, certain attitudes toward race, etc.”

Diane Wakoski

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

Do not inhale taco meat!

Dear Diary,

Do not inhale taco meat! I’m serious. Don’t try it. I speak from personal experience when I write that this is a painful, life-changing event. Interestingly enough, it can also be thought-provoking and introspective.

Let me rewind a bit.

I was switching back and forth between furiously typing away at the rough draft of my current project, Devious Bitches, and catching up on last month’s tasks when my big brother came into my office and announced that we were watching a movie. I raised my eyebrow and informed him that I was busy. He nodded, walked over, and picked me up from my chair and carried me to the couch, carefully sitting me down and grabbing a plate of tacos for me that he made for dinner. His girlfriend was already there, as was my pet squirrel.

Fast forward an hour.

There I was, sitting on the couch, sharing tacos with my pet squirrel next to my big brother. His girlfriend was sitting on the floor in-between his legs. She likes to sit on the floor for some reason; me, I refuse to even walk around barefoot. I will straight levitate if I somehow miss putting on my house slipper.

Anyway.

We were watching this weird little movie on Netflix called Cam about this cam girl that gets her identity stolen by some paranormal… you’re just going to have to watch it yourself. Shits weird, yo. Anyway, at one point in the movie the plot is revealed fully, and it’s sketchy as all hell – and makes almost no sense. My big brother, right as I was rolling my eyes and taking a bite of my taco, busted out with, “Get that 2020 shit out of here!”

I lost it. I laugh-snorted, which caused me to inhale taco meat, shoot it out my nostril straight bb gun style, and BOY. The pain! My pet squirrel went flying, I kneeled over and spilled my plate right on his girlfriend, my brother started pat-slamming my back like he was a chiropractor or something… I wasn’t at my sexiest, y’all. 😭

I understand where he’s coming from, though. 2020 Was a hell of a year, filled with chaos, drama, and heartache. So much so that I, and many of you, are dead set determined to not let this year be anything close to the previous.

I know, it started out a bit rocky, but just because something starts out bad doesn’t mean it will end that way. Personally, I can’t wait to see what the year holds. Sure it will have letdowns and drama, but that’s just Life. I expect it.

So here’s to a new year.

Keep your heads, hearts, and souls up.

There’s nowhere to go but up. 🙌

#Alexaliens

 

“I have tried sex with both men and women. I found I liked it.”

Dusty Springfield

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

The 100 Things I Like About Selina

Dear Diary,

So Anne and I were out the other day running errands, risking our lives by riding public transit as bougie bitches like us are wont to do. She was completely oblivious of everything, as usual, while I was damn near dying over an intense smell of putridness that seemed to hang in the air. I was trying to ignore it, focusing on instead flushing out a quick, err, Quickies story while simultaneously drafting out my next Patreon post (see what I did?! I snuck in two plugs there!) until I finally had enough and decided to look around for the source of the stench.

Everyone was already staring at him. A homeless man slumped in his seat, looking to be completely unconscious, wearing raggedy soiled clothes and a nearly visible disgusting odor surrounding him. He got off abruptly at his stop, and the second he did, everyone started talking smack. This irritated me for several reasons.

Look. At one point in my life (and for several years), I’ve been homeless. I understand it, and I know what kind of programs exist out there for both men and women (especially in Dallas, where we were) to prevent people from degenerating like that. I’m still friends with several homeless today, and the lessons I learned on the streets I carry with me / apply in nearly everything I do. I understand the hustle. I literally do it every day. Which is how I know that there are so many ways a person can help themselves. No one has to live like that, especially not in Dallas. This means to get (and stay) in that state means two things are happening:

Instead of figuring out how to take care of your most basic of needs, you made an active decision not to, and

Not caring about yourself to the point where you not only see yourself as someone that should live like that but are comfortable living like that as well.

A life is a precious thing, people. So precious. Including yours. It’s also fleeting, something so many people take for granted until it’s at risk – or until someone they love loses theirs. People throw around the words life is precious like it’s some sort of trendy mantra, but those are serious, heavy words. So instead of just hearing them and nodding sagely like you understand what they really mean, try truly understanding them. Someone told me something that I hold dear to my heart: he who knows, but does not do, does not know. It’s a profound statement, one that deserves serious thought and introspection.

Look, I’ll keep it simple: try loving yourself, loving the fact that you are alive, hell – loving life period. And never see yourself as someone lesser than anyone else, because you’re not, in any way.

Self-respect is called self-respect for a reason. You never need the validation of others to respect yourself. Only you can do that. Only you can stop. Even if you’re an emotional bougie little hoodrat like me.

I remember having an emotional breakdown one day. I asked my big brother if he loved me. His response was classic J.C.: he stared at me stoically for several long moments (just long enough to make me feel six kinds of stupid for even asking), then walked away and said, “I don’t always like the things you do, but I always love you.”

Yeah, I melted.

And then spider monkeyed the shit out of him. 😆

Why did I just bring that up? Because you will let yourself down, you will get depressed, and you will fail at some of the things you do. All of that is perfectly natural. You’ll get mad, bummed out, and frustrated. That’s cool too. But that has nothing to do with who you are as a person, and everything to do with things happening around you. So that leaves you with two choices, choices that have become increasingly part of my reality as my best friend battles breast cancer:

1. Accept the fact that there are things beyond your control and try and make the best out of the things you can, or
2. Blame yourself for things that are completely out of your power to change and sink into a slump.

So, which is it going to be? 🤔

#Alexa

 

“In high school I had sex with girls quite a few times. They were straight women who I convinced to jump in the sack with me.”

Portia de Rossi

 

P.S.: Go check out the amazingly talented and beautiful Selina, my eWife, who complains I never talk about her in my Diary entries anymore. She’s forcing me to sleep on the eCouch until her site gets a certain number of clicks. 😅😭 https://ofselina.com/

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

At least I tried

Dear Diary,

I’ve been an author for about five years now. I’ve taken December completely off from author-related tasks every one of those years – including writing and social media. Of course, back then, I had a full-time job and the occasional victim (I mean, lover) to deal with, but as of this year, I’ve streamlined my life.

I’m single (well, except for being married to Selina 🙄😂), and loving it.

I’m retired, and enjoying all the free time I have to pursue my creative endeavors.

In other words, I basically author full-time now.

So when December started to roll around, I found myself, for the first time ever, in a unique situation: what would I do with all my free time? I don’t have a job that stresses and drains me anymore. I don’t have a time-hogging lover to placate. And I already spend a ton of time with my friends and family, so much so that they get sick of me (my big brother stays getting spider monkeyed for the slightest offense). All playing aside, I’m proud to say I’ve learned to balance everything important to me.

So… what would I do with an entire month? Although technically my job now, writing is really something I do more out of passion than anything else, so could I go an entire month without writing anything? Without putting on my author hat even once?

The answer: no. I made it exactly three days.

At least I tried. 😂😭

#Alexa

 

“You know, I really miss sex scandals. They’re generally colorful. They almost never mean anything over the long run. And while they’re going on, the people who actually keep the government running are let alone to go about their business. Good old sex scandals.”

Gail Collins

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

I just get weirder…

Dear Diary,

I’m a weird person when I get angry. That, and I tend to get mad over the stupidest shit. I mean, when major problems come my way I tend to get cool, calculating, and analytical (like I mentioned in my previous Diary entry), but when the small stuff rolls around… like, let me misunderstand something someone says, and I’m liable to completely lose my shit.

True story.

Take a few days ago, for example. I had an errand to run that had nothing to do with Anne, so she was able to stay home and rest. Which she needs. That was the plan, at least. Strangely, she was hell-bent determined to come with me, which normally wouldn’t be that big of a deal but… you know, throwing up frequently due to chemo and her energy level and all that, I kind of wanted her to stay home and heal. Recuperate. She wouldn’t hear it.

So I spent the night at her place and the next morning – 6AM no less – we started getting ready. Sounds innocuous so far, right?

Well.

I was bopping around getting things situated like my usual hyperactive self. I started singing this weird little ditty, “do you wanna go night-night sucka?!” in my best imitation of the rapper DMX. Anne cried out (jokingly, but empathically) “Yes!”

I froze.

It was like an emotional tsunami of guilt just slammed into me. I told her to just stay at her place and I would be back in no time, because I could hear in her voice just how tired and physically exhausted she was, but her only response was to look at me like I was crazy. Which made me look at her like she was crazy for looking at me like I’m crazy even though I was standing there looking at her like she was crazy (have I lost you yet? 😅).

Somehow, things kind of snowballed from there, with most of the bougieness coming from my end. Towards the end of it I was sitting on her bed, my arms crossed, indignant loli attitude in full force, and she had to basically snatch me up and sit me on her lap and force me to use my big girl words. Once I started talking like a sane human we worked things out, but still…

I’m not perfect, y’all. I don’t even try to be. It’s funny how I can handle the big things without many issues, but the small stuff… the small stuff always seems to get me.

There’s a meme I frequently use to describe myself to people, and I think it’s eerily accurate:

 

 

To those of you that know me (especially if you’re a member of my Patreon!), you know it’s true. 😅😭

Still, let’s be real here: my imperfections are precisely what makes me perfect. The reality is I will never be perfect for anyone, as perfection is an imaginary and relative concept, but what’s important is how I view myself. I like the person I am. When all is said and done, that’s the only thing that truly matters. Opinions come, go, and change like the wind (for any number of reasons), but the way I see myself, the way I feel in my own skin, that’s what’s really important.

This doesn’t mean I’ll never do things I regret. It means I like who I am as a whole, and understand that my miscalculations and missteps are teachable moments, and that I should learn from them, not lament.

Think of how we were as babies. How we learned to walk, for example. We tried, fell, and without much mulling, immediately tried again. And eventually, we mastered that shit. I think somewhere down the line we quit being so tenacious and started obsessing over our failures… started quitting before we really gave ourselves a chance to succeed… you know, I think if we were more like babies sometimes, we would be so much happier with not only who we are but where we are in our lives.

Just a thought. 🥰

Until next time, Alexaliens…

I LOVE YOU!

#Alexa

 

“I think British men build up the idea of us French girls having some magic extra sex appeal so much, they lose their heads. I can’t really understand the whole thing – but it makes me laugh. It’s such a cliche to think all French girls are well dressed, elegant, sophisticated, and sexy. Some are utter slobs; I promise you that.”

– Eva Green

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

Anne’s boobies, comfortable ignorance, and being a Terminator!

Dear Diary,

So a few days ago, I was sitting next to Anne while she was going through yet another chemo treatment, and, for some reason, I was more insightful (and emo) than usual. I had my laptop out with the intent to work but found myself having a difficult time concentrating. So, I sent out the following tweet:

 

 

I meant every word of it. The randomness and harshness of Life can truly be terrifying if you think about it too long. I mean, we only have so long on this earth, you know? And none of us knows when our time is up. It’s something I think about often, and is my one genuine fear: Death.

No, I’m not a Christian or any other religion. I have no idea why we’re here, where we’re going when we die, or where we came from. I am comfortably ignorant if that makes any sense. This is why Death gets to me sometimes. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not existing. One of my favorite expressions by Andrew Smith is, “People fear what they don’t understand and hate what they can’t conquer.” I can honestly say I both Fear and Hate Death. Logically I understand that all things must die, and I understand the benefits and logistics of this happening, but tell my heart that. Tell my heart that the woman I’m sitting next to might not be here tomorrow if she loses this fight, that she will simply not exist anymore.

And then tell me how that will be a good thing.

I mean, Anne’s not only one of my best friends, but I’ve known the girl for a little over 18 years. We’ve been through a lot together—more than I will ever publicly admit. Initially, when we found out she had breast cancer (about three months ago), I didn’t want to share the news with anyone, even though she said she didn’t mind. I relaxed a little and talked to my Patreon members about it, and it felt good. Refreshing, if that makes any sense.

Maybe I need to open up and talk about things more often. I dunno. That’s not something I usually do; in fact, when walloped by Life, I tend to clam up and get ridiculously analytical, almost machine-like in my focus to beat whatever it is that’s going against me. I call it Terminator mode. It’s served me well through the years. Except with something like this, where there’s abso-fucking-lutely nothing I can do. That is humbling as hell to someone like me, let me tell you…

Anyway, I know this is a bit overly introspective entry, but I am treating this like an actual diary, not a blog – hence the name. So deal with it, motherfuckers.

Oh yeah, and: I love you.

All of you.

And thank you for reading and being a part of my little digital world. 🥰

#Alexa

 

 

💡 The More You Know 💡

This year, an estimated 42,170 women will die from breast cancer in the U.S.

Although rare, men get breast cancer too. In 2020, an estimated 2,620 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year in the U.S., and approximately 520 will die.

 

https://www.nationalbreastcancer.org/

 

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.