i love masks. i collect masks. why the fuck don’t i just make some masks for a living and leave it at that? who the fuck am i kidding? i can’t wait tables. I hate working for people. I hate serving people. I hate adding shit together and making it look presentable. my handwriting is crazy. and I think picky eaters are stupid. take what you can get. and if you can get alot, then make that investment. (no ttrying to pick on people who actually cant digest alot of stuff, or have diabetes… thats different.)
I mean SERIOUSLY who are these people who order crazy ass particular made up things at restaurants? I’ve never officially barrrristaddd before, but if i ever tried it, I am sure I’d blow a casket. or a gasket. or hot air.
one of the best things my boss has said to me in the past week (and everything she says is a product of broken english and PASSIONATE yelling in half korean/english lingo that is all her own language) is
I FIRE EVEN THOSE OF MY FLUSH BLOOD!!!!!
isn’t that just great?
product of my lungs, thou flush blood!!!!!
I never ever want to be part of the fashion world. and i dont want to do bitch work in curating. and I don’t want to be a librarian. but I want to be surrounded by beautiful things. Therein lies the dilemma.
But my interest in fashion has always verged on the theatrical and macabre… in the craft of persona making. and of course, I’ve made something like 50 headdresses in my college career alone. So why not learn how to make high quality masks? making faces at people and for people for the rest of my life. when im not writing. to pay for writing about the characters i make.
besides, bearing resemblence to your flush blood is one affliction that you just cant cure, can only cover up and hide for as long as you can handle the discomfort of it. or your face melts off. and all you’ve got is the personality that you made, that your parents imprinted onto you.
this is a concept i like. or love.
IN OTHER NEWS.
yesterday at work somebody started asking me about me. this happens sometimes. especially when its a lady who likes my jewelry or a hornball who says likes my freckles (meaning??????)
anyway…. i told them i was a writer and they asked me for a card. i said all i could give them was vibes.
unless they wanted to order desert and give me a big tip.
vbes and cheesecake, ya’ll. thats what im good for these days.