Frankenshit


Now usually I don’t do this but uh…(smoke inside, that is. but everyone else does it here and it’s THE WEEKEND and I’m by myself on my computer so…party. Also I spent the whole day doing yoga and looking at recipes on Pinterest I AM A DUAL PERSONALITY)

It’s been so long since I’ve been up front about my antics with you guys. As in, so long that I am about to tell you stories from October while currently planning my XXXmas party. Maybe I was sleeping on them because, well, October wasn’t the cutest of months and I am only now recovering. But I think…I think I’m ready.

It was the week of October Something, and Moe and Bradford, being the ONLY MEMBERS OF TEAM BIG THINGS THAT CARE ENOUGH, came up to visit me on their fall break. We kicked off the celebration by going to Wreck Room, a divey, Carrboro-esque bar with car seats as booths and graffiti scribbles everywhere and regular live noise-pop.
Reuniting feelz so good, y’all. Pretty sure this was a “pinkies out for Bernie Mac” moment. 
Of course I started the night a little overconfident and splashed a 4 dollar beer in my eye right of the bat. 
No night is complete without some casual adult breast feeding and a little street-anal.
The next day is when things started to get a little strange. By this point in the month I had somewhat successfully balanced my new job at the salon with drinking 40s at Winston’s and hosting visitors from home. I’d had the job for about two weeks, and although the ins and outs were still a little confusing I was getting the hang of it. I had almost forgotten that a few weeks before, in a frenzy to find fast cash, I answered a craigslist ad to be a bodypainted server/model at giant a masquerade Halloween warehouse party. I had sent them my picture because I thought it would be somewhat funny, and they were offering $1000 for one night of “work” which, let’s be honest, I’ve kind of done for free on multiple occasions. I’d be kidding myself to think I was above it, right?

By now they’d gotten back to me, “they” being this dude’s assistant (the guy owns a hotel or something and has had some small hollywood roles). They asked me to come by for an interview, which I had scheduled right after my interview at the hair salon (it ended up working out great because I wore a slutty black dress for “versatility” and it may have been the only reason I got the job at the salon. My boss is a straight man). The interview consisted of me waiting around for 20 minutes and then going up to the empty penthouse of this dude’s hotel and talking to him for five minutes about the size of my breasts and my level of comfort with toplessness. I thought it so was bizarre at the time, sitting on the patio of the 11th floor with the Empire State Building looming behind me and interviewing to be a go-go dancer. But I thought, “there’s a first time for everything” and “yolo” and “$$$$” and “who cares?” The man offered me drinks and food about 50 times to my decline. He told me about the different positions, one as a cocktail waitress that gets paid $500, and one as a “party masseuse,” which is a girl that walks around the party body-painted (with panties on!) and massaging people on ecstasy. Those are the girls that get paid $1000. That’s the one I said I wanted.

“We’re going to need a few photos of you,” he said. He meant topless photos. I gave him a nervous look at first and then shrugged. “I understand if you’re not comfortable,” he said. “But don’t worry, these pictures aren’t going anywhere. I have thousands of naked pictures on my laptop.” “So do I,” I said. What’s another person with a topless photo of me at this point? He departed and went downstairs, leaving me in the room with his assistant. She told me to strip down to my underwear, which was just a thong. I took my dress off while she checked her blackberry. Then, on the back of my application she wrote the number 27 in permanent marker. 27, my same number from the Miss National Pre-teen of North Carolina pageant I did when I was 11, where I won first place in sportswear modeling but fifth overall due to my “age inappropriate” glamour shot photos (I sat in fake sand with my legs open. I was wearing makeup and knee length shorts. I was 10. It shocked the southern masses). Having been made to feel like a slut for the last 12 years of my life, damned if I’m ever going to be ashamed of my body at this point. I held my number and did a series of poses for the assistant, slipped my dress back on and skipped out.

Now it was the “callback,” and I went back to the hotel to find the other girls, none of whom looked older than 19, waiting nervously by the elevator. I immediately became Stripper Mommy and tried to engage everyone in conversation to pump them up. “I heard there’s going to be an open bar!” It sort of worked. I made friends with a girl from the Philippines who didn’t speak much English which seems to be a running trend lately. Slowly more and more girls arrived, and before I knew it at least 100 of us were standing in a line, signing waivers and being forced to give up our cell phones. Here we go.

Once we got up to the penthouse we were all supposed to take off everything but our thongs to be bodypainted. All the girls were fun and hilarious, and most of them were comfortable with the idea. We undressed on the patio and went back to the main room where there was a DJ and the open bar I had hoped for. There were only four bodypainters and about a million of us, so for the first hour everyone was just standing around semi-awkwardly, chugging champagne and looking at each other’s tits. I was making jokes left and right and befriending this baby hippie who was telling me about her latest dubstep festival. I couldn’t stop laughing and staring at everything. It was the weirdest thing I had ever seen, by far. Sponsors from somewhere were walking around scouting who they wanted to represent their brands at the party. The owner of the hotel was walking around with his two tiny dogs and all white ensemble as if he does this every week, which he might. Photographers were snapping photos and one woman was making a video of the charade. A funky girl that looked like a thuggish Tila Tequila was getting a ravey blue Tarzan tanktop painted onto her perfect body by this sexy new-age black man with gauges. I never once saw the bottom of my glass.

As the girls and myself started getting drunker and drunker I started having more fun. I was surrounded by 100 friendly, super confident babes that loved their bodies. This never happens, and it was not what I had expected at all. The DJ was playing all the songs drunk girls love, from “Ur Luv is My Drug” to “Call Me Maybe.” Before I knew it all the ratchet girls had formed a giant krump circle, their asses never more than 6 inches off the ground at any given time. When “Single Ladies” came on, Baby Dubstep Hippie shocked everyone by jumping in the circle and doing the entire choreo start to finish. I have never seen a room full of women this excited in my life.

Finally I got painted, a bikini top in the shape of apples even though I never liked red on me much. We took group photos and I smoked cigarettes while looking around cautiously as the owner started taking girls aside to chat with them privately. “I’m not here to be anybody’s girlfriend,” I thought, and said, multiple times that night. I put my name on the list for the highest paying position and left. It was midnight on a Thursday and my friends were in town…hello…I’m going out.

Before I left I took a picture of my apple tits and instagrammed it. I won’t post the picture here. I like that it’s ungooglable for now and it’s a great reason for you to follow me @catdookie.

When I left the hotel I went to meet Bradford, Moe, Emma and Lamonday who were out for CMJ. I am lazy and bad at finding stuff like this to do because I don’t care enough, but when Moe’s in town I am always on the list for something. Tonight it was the Spin party, with AraabMuzik, Chromeo and MNDR, which, whatever. There was another open bar, which always earns points, and the douchey crowd made it easy for me to skip the line for the bathroom by showing them my apples. I won’t say this was a low point for me, because I’ve been really low before. It certainly wasn’t the best party either, but I was having a good time. Just your average night, I suppose.
Just to give you an idea of how thrilled I was by the atmosphere of this event. They were handing out promotional trucker hats made of paper.

Obviously I ended up having some fun that night.
The next day Hotel Dude’s assistant called me and told me I had to come for my second callback that night if I wanted the job. She told me the other girls and I would meet Dude at the hotel bar at 10 and then go to “the loft space,” which I thought meant the eventual location of the party. I said yes even though I had work the next morning at 9:30, because it sounded like this was “my only chance” and she said it would only take until 1 am. When I showed up at the hotel there was only one other girl waiting, an adorable Brooklyn native that barely grazed 5 ft. Dude was overseeing a nightclub act and had his bartender serve us unlimited beverages. I told myself I’d only have a few drinks, but we were waiting for a while and the drinks kept coming one after the other. The girl and I talked about our brothers and she showed me pictures on her blackberry of the food she’d eaten recently. I asked her how she found out about this job and what she thought the “second audition” was going to be like. She wasn’t sure, and we both started feeling a little off about the whole thing. Where were the other girls? Why were they taking us to a second location? Where even was this second location? We established our limits (no bottomless, no touching) and decided to ask Dude to his face what he had planned for us. He very candidly explained that the “audition” would consist of us going to go to his apartment, getting naked, and “massaging” him. Girl and I looked at each other. I’m no hooker, and if I was do you REALLY think I’d work for free? Heeeeeell nah. We walked.

I felt a little sordid for what was really the first time in this whole process. Partly because I was out 1000 bucks and the whole world had already pretty much seen me naked. But mostly because I was bummed that what I had approached as a fun, sexually freeing experience rejecting the stigma of nudity had ultimately turned into the run-of-the-mill exploitation anyone else would have assumed. I got free drinks out of it and had a lot of fun, so I don’t feel like I lost much. Hey, I’ll try almost anything once, but I drawing the line at prostitution. And, like, crystal meth.

“Come with me,” the girl said as she grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the hotel lounge. “I know some people.” Before I knew it, it was the hour I’d planned to go home and I was walking clear across town with a girl I’d just met to a club I’d just heard of for the first time. Maybe you know of Club Amnesia. It’s like the Pacha of hip hop, I guess, although I’ve obviously never been to Pacha. We get to the door at the front of a line that wraps around the block. My tiny friend gives the doorman a kiss on the cheek and we cross the velvet rope. Girl is actually Latina, but I could feel the piercing group side-eye at what must have looked like two little white girls cutting in line. “Miguel is supposed to be here tonight,” she says to me while the security guards search through our bags. I’m already wasted at this point, wide eyed and freaked out as a man twice my size metal detects between my legs.

My new best friend told me we were only drinking Hennessey and cranberry that night, and I was happy to oblige as I was not yet used to getting paid every week and temporarily thought I was rich. Because I’m a complete idiot I offered to buy the drinks. She gave me some money for tip, but I ended up spending $80 on four drinks. I was having fun for a few minutes, maybe even hours, and then everything went sour. I realized I had work in 6 hours at my brand new job and I was wasted and getting dry-raped in this intense-ass club. I think I tried to make out with Girl which was a no-go. Miguel very well could have been performing and I would not have realized. I was gone. I waved goodbye to my friend and darted out the front door, towards the street and into the back of a cab.

The thing is, when you catch a cab in Manhattan and tell them you live in Bushwick you ALWAYS need to be giving specific directions to the driver. CASE IN POINT my ass was so drunk that night I told homie to take the Williamsburg bridge, rattled off some cross streets and pretty much lost consciousness until I was in a part of Brooklyn I had never ever seen before and the driver was yelling at me to get out. Next thing I knew I was crying on a street corner at 4 am, drunk and exhausted, hooded strangers walking right by me without a glance. When I first moved to New York I thought it was only a “certain class of people” that you’d find rambling to themselves in a ball on the sidewalk. I quickly realized everyone that lives here takes turns playing the part of the destitute and clinically insane. That night it was me, and not for the first or last time.

The night ended with a kind stranger driving by and offering me a ride, the sort of thing any intelligent or non-desperate person would have turned down. But at this point I would have accepted anything, and having gained a little more control over my senses I was able to direct him to my apartment using the map on my phone. I was no less than a 15 minute drive away. He dropped me off and I thanked him sincerely without ever getting his name.

That night I slept for 3 hours before getting up for work, where I was to spill an entire large coffee all over myself and get called out by a coworker for smelling like alcohol. Luckily at the salon we just spritz each other with perfume and go about our day like nothing is wrong even when it really, really is.

The next week was Halloween Friday, the first in what was to be several consecutive celebrations of the same holiday. After work, Hannah and I went to Ricky’s to snag some children’s costumes and fake blood for our half-baked zombie hospital theme: “We’ll be the surgeons and Winston can be our escaped patient! We obviously need cleavers.” If you have “the body” for it, I highly HIGHLY suggest buying children’s costumes for your next Halloween extravaganza. They are usually pretty expandable, if the arms and legs are a little short, and you save like 50 bucks. I dressed my brother in our Great Grandmother’s old nightgown which I may or may not have ruined with fake blood that may or may not be machine washable. All in all I think we came out great.
That night we met up with two aliens, a dead fox and Tony and went to one of the infamous Bushwick mansion parties. I don’t remember much besides Tony spending 20 minutes pouring Joose into my face and getting chased for trying to steal the lightup statue.

And then Sandy happened. I don’t pay attention to the weather ever, but my parents started frantically texting me something the media dramatically named a “FRANKENSTORM.” I rolled my eyes at the phone all like, “Remember the Derecho last July? When everyone freaked out and the only thing that happened was a few cool instagrams of clouds? We’re gonna be fine.” Just in case, I bought some rad candles and an ample supply of Cap’n Crunch.

Natural disasters are about sharing! Sharing cereal with your cat, or a bottle of Jim Beam with that guy you always wanted to sleep with, or you know, electricity and hot water with your friends from Lower Manhattan.

So I was kind of wrong, but not quite. Much of New York, as you know, was super fucked by Sandy. But my neighborhood, being as far inland in Brooklyn as physically poss, was largely unaffected. The worst that happened to Bushwick was that the trains were shut down for like a week, and all the white kids with internships and retail jobs in Manhattan had to celebrate Halloween together five fucking days in a row.

That Tuesday I went to Tandem, probably my favorite bar in Bushwick as it is mostly queer and generally pretty dancey and fun. I wore a pair of fairy wings and did that thing I always do where I get drunk and come out as a full-on lesbian. The jury will always be out on my sexuality, though, as it fucking should be. Unsurprisingly, I saw a Sarah Cousler imposter. If you look hard enough you can find them in every cool city in the country, maybe even the world. They try their best, but they will never be quite as good.
By the time actual Halloween rolled around, I was almost completely over it.
Almost. I sent this picture to all my best friends as a kind of holiday ecard. 

Instead of going out again, I smoked two joints with Hannah and Winston and made them watch This Is It with me while I cried.

Tell me you can watch this with dry eyes.


That weekend we went back to the mansion and I spent most of the night doing mutual manual with some dude in the closet while trying not to vomit on him.


Someone at the party gave me this mixtape, pretty much making all the weirdness worthwhile. 

When October FINALLY ended, election day was upon us. A few days earlier I had mailed my absentee ballot into North Carolina like a GOOD CITIZEN. The state went red but I still felt actualized enough by the outcome of the election, and the fact that I got to take this instagram

On the night of the election I watched the returns at Winston’s with two forties of Ballantine and a box of off brand mac and cheese. As soon as Ohio went blue I was sucked into a vortex of mania that led me to watching the Crazytown “Butterfly” video 3 times, convincing everyone to huff dishwasher detergent and I think eating a little bit of old spice.
I helped pick your president!!!

Since then I’ve been living the broke life as usual and trying to get used to New York’s schizophrenic weather patterns. HURRICANE! SNOW! 65 AND SUNNY! I’ve been buying lots of clothes and household items I can’t afford. I’ve been staying out a lot and working a lot, all while planning my upcoming celebrations of DANKSGIVING and XXXMAS. Every week is another fucking holiday. With my personality and New York’s relentlessness, I’ll be lucky if I ever get the chance to have a normal life.

…why do I even have a Pinterest?

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SHOP TALK: gchatting at work

Alexander: oh hunny

my friends

and my roomie

are in nyc

now

for cmj

maybe you should go to one of their shows and meet them!

spencer is a nice cutie patootie too

and the only single one.

me: oh shit

Alexander: they are playing tho

in a band

they are good people to know

me: lol

who the fuck do you live with

also i’m gonna need a jpeg

Alexander: i live with giuliano

pizzulo

my bud

and he’s in a band with spencer

who i wrote a script with

and who i adore

he’s a lovable jew

who doesnt really practice either

so an atheist

but he’s the best!

a jpeg?

fine

me: non practicing jewish musician slash writers are my type HOW DID YOU KNOW

am i that transparent?

(yes.)

it’s either that or impotent asians with arrested development

i believe it’s most efficient to divide and conquer culturally when it comes to sex

right now i’m on jews, next is puerto ricans, then over 40 polish men that work in fried chicken restaurants

Alexander: ooooo chicken!

me: free food should not be discounted

are you going to tell me more about this cutie pie

Alexander: http://thepantryparty.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/incan-abraham-pic.jpg

the one on the left

far left

me: JEWTIE PIE

Alexander: (we’ve made out before)

me: yeah

Alexander: i think that’s an old photo

me: i don’t trust straight men whose bffs are gay

it’s policy. i know how things work.

Alexander: it was one time

and we were on drugs

calm down

me: haha I’M SO UNCLAM

Alexander: you are rude

im trying to set your up with GOOD PEOPLE

you dont have to hook up you know

you can have friends

stop thinking with your vagina

me: i’m not being rude at all you psycho

you’re the one who told me he was single!

Alexander: i thought it would sweeten the deal!

me: AND i’m obviously joking

Alexander: arigh arigh

me: i’d love to meet themin

i wish you were here!

to introduce us

so do you live with both of them?

Alexander: no just giuliano

me: GHOULIANO

kewl

Alexander: YAH

me: you got mad at me easily alex

are you having a rough morning

Alexander: no

i was just annoyed about finding a picture

because fb makes it hard

me: hahahaha

Alexander: im like buh buh buh

me: i thought you were trying to set me up with a boo

so i needed to see what he looked like of course

are you dating anyone:

ALEX

sorry that was accidental all caps

i’ve had a lot of coffee today

Alexander: mmmmm dates

but i dont really want to commit to anything

tbh

me: yeah

same

i don’t really have a life

Alexander: so the dating is inherently

kinda lame

because i waste time and money

and im like what was that for again?

me: so if i got a man he’d like become my life probably and that would suk

hahaha

Alexander: exactly

me: have you been ~sexually active~

Alexander: it doesnt make sense really now

~yes~

it was funny

i was hooking up with this guy

me: lolol

Alexander: but he got all intimate on me

and started choking me

and i was like????

so choked him back

it was fun

but he wanted to cuddle

and i wanted to sleep

so im over it

me: hahahaha

choking AND cuddling

jesus

bipolar sex

Alexander: yeah

the funny part was that the choking was more fun than the cuddling

and it just got way to intimate

like the second date

i asked him to stay over

me: i’m sorry

for what i just tweeted

let me know if i should delete it

Alexander: ill check it later

but like

me: haha i just quoted you saying “the choking was more fun than the cuddling”

Alexander: we were doing ourselves

you know

and then he kept being like

“im thinking about you fucking me”

and i was like

….

me: what do you mean “doing ourselves”

Alexander: i dont know it was a turn off

like whacking ourselves off

me: hahaha

why was that a turn off

wasn’t that the point?

OR WAS IT

Alexander: im not sure

i just dont think i like him

so maybe it wasn’t even that

me: yeah it doesn’t sound like it

well

Alexander: normally i’d be into it (the dirty talk)

me: sometimes it’s hard for me to feel intimate towards someone in the light of day

if i don’t like them a LOT

Alexander: i did like the choking though

me: it’s either get in/get out or marry me

Alexander: exactly

me: unless i’m drunk

Alexander: yeah

and i think being promiscuous is fun

me: in which case let’s pretend to be married even though we don’t know each other

Alexander: but let it just be business then

me: haha yeah

Alexander: im more upset you didnt @mention me

me: i did!

Alexander: hrtmmm

HAHAHA

YES

into it

sorry it didnt come up till now

me: hahahha

i miss youuuu

Alexander: yayayaya

me too

i think im going to base my new character after you in my next script

but later kathryn

me: hahaha

less cray

Alexander: like 28 yr old kathryn

me: the adult, productive me

with a sprinkle of neurosis and sex addiction

I LIKE IT

Alexander: and a smidgel of alcohol dependency

(i’ve already written a little bit of the script so go with it)

me: smidgel!

oooh

i’m so thrilled future me is inspirational to you

Alexander: she’s hungover over the in the first scene

but she’s funny!

me: five years in the future and 3000 miles away

Alexander: haha

me: but still

to backtrack

it’d be nice to have a meaningful relationship with someone other than the dude who wraps my chipotle burritos

Alexander: HAHAHHAA

i just LOL’d really hard

me: hahaha yayyy

i refuse to do actual work right now

Alexander: #tweetingit

me: my assignment is to do research on these two decapitated baseball players

Alexander: LOL

me: HAHA

i love that that’s ur reaction

we understand each other

we also love ourselves so much IT’S GREAT

Alexander: i mean i can see them running around the field

and bumping into each other

and miss the popfly

and they are like DAMN IT

WE nEED OUR HEADS

me: HASHAHAHAA

this is really bad that i’m laughing at this when i just read three articles about their devastated families.

has anyone seen my soul? anyone? missing soul over here.

Alexander: LOL

me: i should have stopped eating hours ago

Alexander: HAH

i should have started doing work hours ago

me: hahaha

Alexander: see with my situation is that i could be fired

and my career ruined.

me: we should start our own business

Alexander: this is me writing last night

“THIS IS SO TERRIBLE”

i order a pizza

come back to it

and im like “eh it’s not so bad”

and then keep writing

me: hahahaha

Alexander: i think i was just grumpy

and hungry

me: and you know sometimes you just have to take a step back

how many scripts do you have now?’

Alexander: well this will be my 2nd feature

but it’s fun

ill send you logline

me: yes

is it going to be overly self referential

Alexander: yeah it already is

me: teha

did you see cabin in the woods?

it was a great concept gone bad

Alexander:YEA

i liked it

me: hahaha

Alexander: but only because i was really high

me: i liked it too

i just thought it could have been way cooler

Alexander: and i didnt know what was going on

me: hahahaha

you were probably their exact target audience

Alexander: OH

but spencer’s band

http://pitchfork.com/reviews/tracks/

they are on pitchfork today

very happy for them!

me: what’s the name of the band?

Alexander: incan abraham

me: lol

that’s a ridiculous name

i love it

Alexander: yeah im not sure either but their new song is pretty good

im more excited for their next release but since this is their first posting on pitchfork it means good things

me: yeah that’s huge

Alexander: yeah giuliano called me

this morning

freaking out

me: success for everyone!

Alexander: he was like “I HAD TO TELL SOMEONE”

me: aww

Alexander: and i was like YAY

me: are you guys getting married?

Alexander: TAKE ME ON TOUR WITH YOU

me: there has to be a division of pulitzers reserved for the worst news headlines

“All Tragic Death Team”

Alexander: hahahaa

lol

me: “A Moonless Evening, A Quiet Lake”

are these people kidding

i just said bless you to my coworker and he said “i know right”

Alexander: ?

haha

you are making me laugh today

i keep forgetting you are my muse

me: hahahahahahahahah

that is literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me

you say the darndest things

we should do this more often

Alexander: yeah

well i was having trouble engaging with my main character last night

and i realize i STILL need to base it off people i know

regardless of cliches

of the heroine

me: can i be perfectly honest when i say that i have mostly been switching back and forth between tumblr and the amazon preview of “brief history of time” for the past 2 hours

Alexander: HAH

like terence malick?

or am i just making things up

me: what about terence

Alexander: didn’t he do that

and that was like a companion piece to

Tree of Life?

me: probably

i don’t think i’ve seen a single one of his movies

Alexander: hmmmm  

well

Thin Red Line

is awesome

tree of life made me cry

um days of heaven is great

never saw new world

and badlands is classic

he’s only made 5 or 6 films

in 40 years

and there are not interviews with him

apparently

as he’s a recluse

me: haha

loser