Dear Internet,

I have been blowing it at blogging, but I have been nailing it at living.

After a year of heavy wizarding I am back to living.  Being enlightened, dallying in self exploration and reading non-fiction has been a real fucking blast, but it’s time to get back to life. Not a full pendulum swing on a wrecking ball, but I need some frickin’ balance. In addition to self awareness I need fiction, go-karts, dark chocolate, rock n’ roll, new shoes and fancy coffee. In my nobel quest to get unfucked, I had managed to get completely fucked in a new way. Now I’m going for fucked and loving it.

While I’ve been super busy fucking and unfucking, I’ve also been writing a ton, publishing a bit, and managed to help rescue a kitten who crossed Sunset Boulevard in traffic:

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I also went to the final day of The Stanley Kubrick exhibit at LACMA. My tardiness was punishable by an anxiety attack that allowed me to walk the show for forty-seven minutes before I broke. Those who hate crowds should get to the show before the closing day.

Among the other lessons I learned that day:

Kubrick’s margins filled with multi colored notes and slashing Xs through incredible dialog showed me that what you throw out is as important as what you keep. Kill the baby every time.

Kubrick killed the baby.

I also learned that unfucking via self discovery, meditation, long walks and reading books written by sages with PHDs actually WORKS.

Upon exiting the Kubrick show I pulled up at the parking kiosk. Parking at LACMA is ten bucks, no matter how long you’re there. I had a tenner in my wallet and was prepared to hand it over when the young attendant said, “Less than hour, what happened?” Sizing up the situation, the dormant hustler I’d been battering with self help and wang-chung jumped to life at the opportunity to get-over, saying, “I didn’t see the show. It was sold out. Do I still have to pay?”

The attendant said, “No of course not, sorry but you have to fill this out.” He handed me a clipboard which wanted my name, signature and phone number, so I added consonants in my name and wrote down the wrong number, just incase LACMA had time to review credit card signatures against parking lot signatures and therefor would ban me from all future events as a huge LIAR.

I pulled out of the parking lot and started laughing, as I chided myself. I drove around the block and parked my car at the LACMA parking lot exit. I walked up the hill to the attendant’s kiosk laughing and shaking my head. He asked if there was something wrong, at which point I explained that I had seen the show and that I had lied. I handed him the ten dollar bill and explained that it’s a slippery slope for me and that lying is not an option for me. He smiled and thanked me and I thanked him.

Lessons learned.

Lesson learned: Accept the Good.

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