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Archive for November, 2013|Monthly archive page


In Iván & Taghrid, upper body on November 12, 2013 at 8:15pm11


1. If able to style yourself, what would you choose as the accoutrements?

A wolf.


2. What say?

She’s the only accoutrement I know at the moment, so why make something up? And to be clear, I was discarded in the wilderness with bits of fig, prosciutto and Bleu du Bocage smeared all over my sweater. What began with my current proprietor licking the hell out of me has devolved into her simply carrying me around. In her mouth. Thank you.

fig 1

3. How does a beautifully crafted specimen such as yourself get left behind in the wilderness?

“I remember the exact moment I knew it had to come to an end. There was a work function, a big to-do and he came and he brought her. Usually, in these situations, I was good at keeping my distance — the obedient ‘side-piece’ as present day vernacular so eloquently puts it. I was caught up in conversation. You know, those discussions with a bunch of people talking shop with everyone talking over each other? Anyway, that’s when I saw her, the wife. She was alone and passing by this line of perfectly barren trees filled with white lights. I remember thinking she looked so beautiful, so strong. This woman who had stayed home to raise his kids and made vows and made his home a happy one. I don’t know why, but I set out after her — forgot to even say goodbye to the people I was talking to. I went to the restroom, assuming that’s where she’d gone. I entered but she wasn’t there. In any case, since I was there, I relieved myself and when I exited the stall there she was, washing her hands. I felt like someone had punched me square in the gut. I just stood there. She looked up and smiled. The eye contact couldn’t have lasted more than a second, but in that second I searched her eyes, and I mean, I searched, trying to get just a hint of if she knew. I got nothing outside of a very kind person offering me a smile, which of course made me feel like complete and utter shit. In that moment, I did the only thing I could do which was return the smile and leave. I didn’t even wash my hands. I went straight to the coat check, picked up my jacket and got the hell out of there. Once home, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for hours, replaying in my head how I had arrived at this point. This man, my mentor, a titan revered by all, everything I looked up to… How did I get here with him? He called the next day but I didn’t answer. And I knew I could avoid him at work; he’s a pro in every sense of the word and so there was no way he’d ever remotely acknowledge this side of our relationship at the office. Don’t get me wrong, I was aware everyone knew but as long as they buzzed about it behind our backs I was okay. Crazy, right? Anyway, outside of work I just continued to ignore the calls until they finally stopped. One day, I was having breakfast with my dad and I told him. Up until that point, I had told no one, not even my mom. I guess I told my dad because I knew he wouldn’t judge me. I was wrong about that. He told me he never thought I was capable of disappointing him. That’s all he said then went back to eating his eggs. I was gutted. I honestly could’ve thrown up right there. He still loved me, that I knew, I was his little girl, but he hasn’t been able to look at me the same way since. So, nine months later the titan had taken up with a new hire and this time he left his wife. After hearing the news, I blew out the deepest breath. In my mind, this really concluded my direct involvement with the most clichéd pastime the world has going: life as the other woman. I was finally ready to move on. That’s around the time I met you at Iván and Taghrid’s. I knew fifteen minutes in you were quite possibly the most amazing person I’d ever met. So amazing that I told myself I’d never deserve the best parts of you. I tried with everything I had to keep you at a distance but eight months in I can’t keep denying I love you too. And that’s why I haven’t said it back. I gave myself two choices: I could either never say it or I could say it but if I did I’d have to tell you the truth. I think you deserve to know every part of me, even the parts I wish I could hide away forever.” What you just read was my former girl’s painful admission of being the other woman to a man she knew with every fiber she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Tucked away in a corner at Buvette, it was this very admission that started me and my former girl down the road toward eternal separation.


4. What the hell did your former girl’s guy say?

Quite possibly the best response to such a story, “Life can be very messy if you want it to be.”

Classroom Chaos to Control

5. That was it?

It. He paid the bill in silence. He didn’t appear angry whatsoever, but my girl wasn’t about to say another word and she had done enough soul-baring to last a lifetime as far as I was concerned. After leaving Buvette, they strolled for a little while, both remaining completely mum. I think the silence became too much to take and so they eventually said their goodbyes. I have no idea where he went, but I know we set out for the Strand. In all her years, this was the only place, where once inside, she could truly escape; she could crack open a book and let someone else do the thinking. She plucked a few hardbacks from the shelf and we nestled in a corner for pretty much the remainder of the day. The second book chosen, she flipped open to the following passage, “You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” That’s Kafka. Warmth from an existentialist. Who woulda thunk it? We stayed with this passage for a while. The more she read it the freer she began to feel. In a weird way, the words were telling her that her time with the titan was something she possibly needed. She had to travel so low, so far into the depths of every emotion possible in order to emerge with a true understanding of herself. She finally realized the onus to be forever guilty was no longer on her.


6. Well, good for her but why does she deserve to be happy? She ruined lives. At least go to the ex-wife and tell her what she’d done. I don’t think it’s fair she gets to carry on “feeling bad” from time to time and that’s it? And another thing, her attempts at making the Kafka passage relevant to her situation was a reach at best. She’s selfish. There, I said it. She’s selfish and if she can explain away this major misgiving what good is she to anyone? Honestly, if I were the amazing guy I’d run. He should have no problems finding someone worthy. 

Right, because that’s the only option. Forgiveness is a very hard thing to get behind with your kind, isn’t it? Not caring and only worrying about yourselves are close seconds.


7. Oh please. Don’t you dare try to lay some guilt trip on me. Let me ask you. How do you feel about your girl and what she did?

Former girl. And I feel each and every one of you has a different way of getting by in life. While my life can go on for hundreds of years — depending on the care given — in comparison, yours is short and it’s fleeting and from what I can glean you all spend way too much time on someone else’s bullshit. You hold onto way too many things, schadenfreude seems to always be on deck as the sentiment of choice and if the menagerie of comment sections is any indication, I’m almost positive you, as a race, want to be doomed to fail. My former girl’s guy put it perfectly, “Life can be messy if you want it to be.” It’s a choice. My former girl did a bad thing but she paid her penance and now she was ready to put it behind her. It’s not my job to judge. Keep her warm while looking amazing, that was the mandate handed down by the gods — and by the gods I mean Svetlana — therefore, that is what I do. Well, what I did. And not that you seem excited to know, but the guy actually called the next day. They talked, most of it small. As they were getting off the phone, he told her he was heading to the mountains to survey some land he was thinking about purchasing. She asked if she could tag along and he agreed. Yes, there was the slight hesitation in his voice but he did agree. She packed two bags: one with clothes, shoes and toiletries and the other with food – that’s where the fig, prosciutto and Bleu du Bocage came in. And so, the next morning he picked her up and they took to the mountains. The first day consisted of sparse glances, tip-toe conversation and sleeping in separate sleeping bags. The second day, however, consisted genuine laughter, the admission that he once shoplifted an Outliner pen when he was six and the two of them making sweet, sweet love under the cover of the moon. Of course, I was tossed out into the night once they both decided clothes weren’t helping matters. My point to the story is, the guy, the one person who had the right to decide if my former girl was worthy of his commitment? He could look beyond it. What would your world look like if everyone had the ability to love unconditionally? Don’t save it for mothers, monks and nuns (I’m leaving priests out of it for now) but give it to everyone. What exactly would it look like?


8. Whatever. So, what happened? Did they stay together? Break up? What?

HELLO! I’m currently the ward of a fucking wolf! How the hell should I know?!

9. That’s right. I’m sorry. Should I call for help?

Nah. To be honest, she’s starting to grow on me. My existence is a lot more serene out here and plus, I think she’s pregnant. Don’t ask, just know some things have happened on top of me and I’m almost positive she’s with pup. Or pups, rather. That said, I wouldn’t mind sticking around to see the little ones. As crazy as it is to admit, I’m a part of this thing now.

Gray wolf or timber wolf mother and pups.


In feet, Fran Lebowitz on November 9, 2013 at 8:15pm11


1. If given the chance, what would you choose as your accoutrements?

A Clare Deve necklace, a Balmain velvet blazer, a pair of ‘Fayza’ Diesel jeans and a Maison Martin Margiela (ca. 2007) clutch.





2. Is there anyone out there representing houndstooth besides those wearing you?

That would be Ricky. I think it’s pretty obvious our paths will never ever cross and I’m not upset by that fact, but I do have to admire his commitment to the pattern. And he’s never suitable for work, so don’t even try it.

3. Let’s say we removed fire and brimstone from the end-of-days menu, what do you think would take its place?

A Twitter rant.


4. Are you more Michael & Kelly or more Michael Kelly?




I’m going with Mr. Kelly. His reading of “Joyland” was the perfect complement to Mr. King’s words.



5. What is the woman wearing you looking for in a partner?
She’d like to know the person sleeping next to her loves London Grammar as much as she does if not more.
6. If not you then what?

A closing argument.

7. Is there something you oft think about?

This picture of a young Fran Lebowitz and what she must have been thinking about.


8. Uh… That’s not Fran. You know that, right?

Keep telling yourself that.


9. Right. But in all honesty, it’s really not her. Now, I know you all deem her the ultimate get. She’s vengeful, wears the hell out of a cowboy boot although some of you prefer her in a tasteful loafer, she’s great to cuddle with while listening to “Besame Mucho” and she’s not a fan of those spilling their guts in conversation. All of that I get, I no longer question any it even if every part of me longs to, however, I have to draw the line at blatant lies! I’m sorry but this ends now! Okay?!

It’s Fran.



In Cousin, upper body on November 8, 2013 at 8:15pm11


1. Listen, my cousin? Well, she had an emergency and couldn’t be here so, you’re stuck with me. Okay, let’s do this. Now, if you could choose your– Whatever, you know how the story ends, right?

I do! I would choose a Topshop tee, a Fausto Puglisi skirt, a pair of Fogal pantyhose and the Lanvin lace-up heel!



2. What is making you very happy at the moment even though the world thoroughly sucks?

Oookay. Well, autumn is upon us, a time of year that always gives full reign to my pattern — plaid, tartan… Call it what you will. The fact is, I’m here to rule the season, so look out world!

3. What’s your most cherished moment not that anyone really cares because people are selfish creatures who only care about themselves?

Are you okay, dear? I only ask because I’m sensing there might be a problem. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.


4. I’m fine. A most cherished moment, please?

Right. Well, my pattern has always played a very big part when it comes to back-to-school outfits and so I’d have to say that would be my most cherished moment. Being worn on the first day of school by a person ready to take on the new school year armed with a great attitude, the willingness to learn and the want to be kind to everyone!

4. Ha! Good luck selling that. Anyway… is there a song that best represents you and your kind?

and just because…

5. Are you aware you’re a fraud? Follow me as we travel over to the land of facts: “The Irish never wore tartan or kilts of any colour. The traditional dress of the medieval Irish and Scottish Gaels was a linen shirt dyed yellow with saffron (the ‘leine-croich’). Tartan was a late development in Scotland (it’s not recorded before the 16th century), and the kilt was a later development still. About a hundred years ago Irish patriots were casting about for an Irish ‘national dress,’ and they invented a saffron-coloured kilt for men, and for women they invented the silly little frock-and-shoulder-plaid outfit, embellished with ‘Celtic’ interlace decoration, that Irish dancers wear. But the operative word here is ‘invented.’ These clothes have no genuine, ethnic origin,” signed Yahoo Answers. Basically, your whole thing’s a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. *BURP*

Wow. And we’re quoting Churchill for reasons I’ve no clue, not to mention someone surely knows how to throw a wrench into an otherwise festive mood. Let’s be clear, myself nor House of Pain ever said my pattern was representative of any specific culture or country or time period nor did we set out to embellish the truth. Furthermore, looking at their video in addition to surveying my overall attitude, it’s clear we’re all simply in this to have a good time. Now, are you sure you’re okay, dear?


7. I’m. Fine. Would you like to share any more worthless facts about you and your otherwise pointless existence?

Look, despite your claims, it’s very clear something is wrong. And while I’m pretty good at empathizing, I draw the line at being irrefutably disrespected.


8. I’m sorry. You’re right. You are right! I’m a bitch and I should not have taken my frustrations out on you, but it’s not totally my fault. Here’s the deal. I got into a cataclysmic fight with my fiancé last night because he was flirting with this girl who’s this journalist  — whatever, she writes for a fashion website — and she went to Cornell plus she was wearing a plaid jumper and I guess some people would label her pretty and so I might have accidentally dumped my drink on her head which lead to the fight with my boyfriend. I mean fiancé. I’m still getting used to the title. Anyway, it’s not as if I don’t listen when he has something to say. I mean, I know how to listen. I’m not a total animal however I might have points to get across too, ya know?! So there’s a minute chance I might talk over him while he’s attempting to get his points across and my points might be a little long–winded, high-pitched plus meandering and hard to follow and accompanied by a lot of fingers pointed in his face but it’s not as if his friends are so great! They can think I suck all they want! Plus, I would never, ever, never, ever, ever label them the most annoying person on the planet but I digress! Should I have digressed?! Who cares! It doesn’t matter! My point is, I’m a good person! And I mean well and I deserve–

GAH! SHUT! UP! Here are two pieces of advice that I hope you will carry with you for the rest of your days: It is entirely okay for you to  shut the fuck up and no one cares that much! If you ever get the slightest sense that they do?! Stop! That sensation will be based on a total lie people will tell you in hopes of giving their compassion skills a test run! Now, go tell your cousin her vetting process sucks and after that go to your fiancé and tell him to take that ring from your finger, punt it into the abyss and go in search of the man he and everyone in his life know he was raised to be!



Uh oh. I am so sorry. That was way out of line and honestly, not what I’m about. I’m so sorry. I have no excuse. Please stop crying. I feel terrible. I don’t know what came over me. *deep breath* You’re not going to stop crying, are you? Oh, God…



In all over, Howard Schatz on November 7, 2013 at 8:15pm11


1. If you could style yourself what items would you choose?

A Missoni coat, a Shaun Lean tusk bangle, the Miu Miu ankle boot and a bag of groceries. Girl’s gotta literally eat.



2. What is a dream you’re working on realizing?

Becoming the main attraction of an unboxing.

3. Do you have a favorite malapropism?

“Keep your eye on the tiger.” Christopher Moltisanti

Christopher Moltisanti 00

4. If you could be re-imagined by any artist who would it be?

Zaha Hadid.

5. What is something not advisable to do in you and your chosen cohorts that you would love for someone to do in you and your chosen cohorts?



6. In a hypothetical world where dreams actually came true and you could parkour around town, what band would take up the lion’s share of the soundtrack?

Obviously the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

7. Is it safe to thank the gods for the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club?

 I think it is.

 8. If given the chance to choose another person to ask the questions who would it be?

For the win, I’m going with Mr. Howard Schatz. That’s not Howard down there by the way. It’s Sir Ian McShane. Wait. Has he been knighted? Anybody?


9. Alrighty. Reaction time. Can you please show me how you would respond to the following?

a. You have somehow ended up in the hands of a quilting bee on a mad hunt for “hip” patterns.

b. The horrible date of the woman currently wearing you licks his lips and oscillates his gaze between her breasts while telling her the eyes are the window to the soul.

c. The woman currently wearing you has just been told by her trusted psychic that you were Nero’s toga virilis in a past life.



In bits on November 1, 2013 at 8:15am11


1. If you could style yourself what would be the accoutrements?

The prAna ‘Halle’ pant, the Patagonia waterproof Drifter, a Leatherman multitool and the REI ‘Passage 2’ tent.

15078548_621.fpx150-11502. What did you do for Halloween?

I traveled through time, thirty-one years into the future to be exact. What was simply one day to you was thirty-one, harrowing years to me.


3. Hmm… Okay. I’ll go along with you. Did Halloween still offer all the requisite frights?

The first Halloween did. However, the second year it offered the greatest fright of them all: change.

4. How did this time travel occur?

It’s a whole space-time continuum situation, however, I promised I’d never give away the actual mechanics and so I’m staying mum on that. You can make something up if you need to. Track down Brian Greene for a theory if it’s so important. I won’t mind. My point being, I can travel and I took my inaugural trip into the future and I’ve returned to tell you that things aren’t good. Let me take you back to that day. My girl sat on the edge of her bed staring up at the ceiling, playing over in her head what the evening’s party arrival would look like. For the record, she was gearing up to be Jane Birkin and the date was gearing up to join her dressed as Serge Gainsbourg. She cracked a smile, surmising most of the night would be spent telling everyone exactly who they are — a thought that stirred in her a sense of superiority, hence the smile. She got up and stood in front a mirror so she could watch herself give the explanation a test run, “We’re Jane and Serge, thank you very much. Go ahead. Be Margot and Richie. Again. Go heavy on the eyeliner, find a leopard print coat and master the woebegone pout. And you? Strap a headband around your head and grow out your beard for one week in preparation. We will be over here being cool, French people whom you knew nothing about until you asked and I told you. Yes, I might look like I’ve simply shown up to this here fête wearing a white t-shirt avec erect nipples, bell-bottom blue jeans après giving myself bangs but you’re wrong. Boy, are you wrong. I’m Jane, dammit. Jane of most coveted bag fame! Jane of–” She noticed a vein protruding from her forehead. She took a deep breath. She then decided it would be a good idea to go on a hike in an effort to lose some of the keyed-up energy. This is where I came in. She pulled me on, secured the breasts and together we took to the hill country of Griffith Park. Not only was the hike sure to provide sprawling views of Glendale and beyond, it was also sure to supply the much-needed chance to center. On the way up we passed a group, twenty–deep, out on horseback. The beleaguered string hugged the inside of the hill, making sure to get the full effect of the cool breeze sweeping up from the canyon. One of the horses stopped to relieve himself. My girl made eye contact with him. Is it just me or does every domesticated horse have a look of “How the fuck did I get here” in their eyes? In any case, the sound of the horse relieving himself was nothing short of hypnotic. Moving away from the horse, my girl’s eyes locked on a meandering line in the dirt. No tread marks and so it must’ve been a snake. She wondered where it was now and would the hike end with her being carried off the hill having been bitten by a snake. She wasn’t about to let the wide array of people taking selfies and groupies fool her, these hills were not a game. She had come face to face with actual coyotes and rattlesnakes — both babies (very cute) and “time to die” adults — to name a few critters.


5. Are you aware baby rattlesnakes are more “time to die” than adult rattlesnakes? According to Wiki Answers…

The venom of a baby rattlesnake is the same as a full-grown rattlesnake. The reason it seems more “toxic” is because they can’t control the amount of venom they pump out, the way an adult snake can. Actually, all rattlesnakes have hemotoxin and neurotoxin included in their venom. Baby rattlesnakes, however, contain mostly neurotoxin, and little hematin. It’s the neurotoxin that can be fatal. Hemotoxin is used to break down tissue, and aids in the digestive process. 

Thanks for that but when I’m finished we’ll all wish it was simply a snake bite. She found herself almost at the top of the hill and sighed, relishing the moment of near victory. It was at this moment her eyes landed on a button. A small red button stuck in the dirt. Note: the button was at an incline so steep that if you’re traveling up, you’re trying to not pass out and if you’re traveling down, you’re trying to not slip and crack your hindside. My point is, it was a button most never see. For some reason — the reason being a very healthy cardiovascular system due to taking on this particular hike every other day, allowing my girl the energy one needs to actually survey the surrounding area — she spotted the button. She smiled, stopped and reached down to press it, “Oh what the hell…” She waited but nothing happened. But then again why would anything happen? Some CalArts student probably placed it there to be clever. She chuckled, feeling silly for giving an errant button the time of day and continued on. Two seconds back on our way, a noise similar to rumbling could be heard. It was far off but definitely there. In an attempt to locate the rumbling’s origin she looked off across the horizon to see what she believed to be the San Gabriel mountain range. A little crease appeared in the middle of her forehead as she watched the range. Nothing shook but the noise definitely gave way to the movement. Suddenly the mountain range fell. Gone. She turned back to look at the button. “No,” she thought, “It can’t be!” She returned to the button and leaned down. Her finger hovered. The thought that she just did away with a portion of the earth was too preposterous to fathom but that still didn’t do away with the thought that it might be the truth. She bit her bottom lip and pressed the button. She rose to her feet and looked off across the horizon. There was the rumbling again and what followed was the disappearance of everything between the former mountain range and — if you’re measuring with your fingers from where she stood — about an inch east of the I-5. Silence. A good chunk of the earth was now missing. Behind her, the Pacific, Cedars, plenty of CVS’s and girls preparing to dress up as slutty whathaveyous remained, but in front of her…  She did this. There was no other explanation. A good portion of the earth was gone and she only had herself to blame. To everyone still in existence, it was a freak accident. The earth fell off and there’s no one to point the finger at. Global warming? Cow flatulence razing the ozone perhaps? The great creator finally putting the smack down possibly? She would let those remaining war over the exact cause by dipping into the arsenal of existing reasons, but never, never ever would she come forth and let the masses know it was a button. A tiny button her finger connected with at a serious incline in Griffith Park. For many reasons she did this. Number one being, why make the remaining devote a life to deciphering the cause of something they couldn’t reverse? She knew the answer. Don’t press the fucking button. Period. The fewer people who knew the better. “I think, therefore I’m dangerous,” had never felt more apt. Before that day, it was a thought-provoking bumper sticker that upon seeing it made you say, “Oh, yes. That’s so true and so deep and people are dangerous and–  Oh look! The line at In-n-Out is actually doable!” But now too many people knowing and thinking about this button would only lead to danger, disaster even. She pacified herself by thinking humanity would simply get used to the new state of the planet. Time, your worst enemy, can also be your best friend. Move far enough away from something and soon you’ll find it simply is.


6. So, what did you do after the world settled into (as much as it possibly could) the new state of things?

We remained in the hill country. It would be years before anyone dared to travel the hillside and when they did the sightings were sparse. A mammoth structure similar to a scaffold went up along the earth’s new edge. How people returned to life will forever be a mystery to me. I supposed they carried on in apropos fashion but for my girl what was once returning to grad school and becoming a journalist to cover important matters then meeting a well-traveled, handsome architect in Prague then settling into domestic life in London, having two kids — a boy and  a girl — vacationing in Bali one winter only to meet a land developer, fall in love with him, leave the architect and kids without so much as a goodbye, never marry but have a child — a boy —  with the land developer, split her time between the land developer’s yacht (that lumbered to and fro across the Adriatic during the summer months) and his manse (nestled deep in the hills of Kyoto) for the rest of the year when not traveling, only to have her daughter appear on her doorstep fifteen years later with tales of, “Oh mummy… How you could you leave us? How could you think a young girl could live without her mother? Father’s heart has never truly healed. My brother, your own flesh and blood, has taken to black market gaming and alcoholism and here you are living like a queen! Like a queen! Without any remorse! No remorse! You’re a monster! A monster!” Ya know, a real V.C. Andrews type scenario. Anyway, all of that had been passed over for the policing of a button in Griffith Park. And why? Well, she felt this was her only duty. Years would drift by but she would remain atop the hill in her small self-designated space. Her hair would become a nest of matted plaits. Whiskers would sprout from parts of her face whiskers should never sprout from. Her teeth would adopt a gray, almost black hue. She would get an infection in her right eye thus giving it a milky scrim. She would slip, fracturing her femur allowing it to heal incorrectly and take on a limp so severe it would hurt to watch her walk. Her stench would become something unable to put into words. For those who dare travel to the hills, all of this worked in conjunction to keep them at bay and away from the button. Halloween would adopt a different life entirely. “Boo,” said the people of yore on October 31st. Have a seat ghosts and goblins. Psht, zombies and vampires. Salem Shmalem… This day would forever be known as the day the earth fell off and not in the Urban Dictionary way. Although that definition does work when looking at it from the other planets’ perspectives, “Dag… the earth fell off after part of the earth literally fell off.” Her only friends were recollections of the days when dressing up like Jane Birkin was as important as life could get and all the Dick Mine songs she had committed to memory. Committed to memory back when she was existing as a loquacious, unshaven, liberal arts student running very much against the grain of society while wanting so badly to connect up with some sense of cerebral, cosmopolitan plight brought on by all the Cassavettes, Baldwin, Bergman, Allen, Downey Sr. and Pushkin she consumed. Real post-war stuff Mr. Mine’s stuff was and it felt very apt now. The last thing anyone should want is something created during a very lost and sad point in time having a relevant renaissance.

7. What happened next?

One day, while my girl sunned herself, a man appeared. He was around fifty years of age, kempt and wore a look of remorse. He stood over us, hands in his pockets, casting a shadow. Naturally, my girl popped open her eyes and let out a hiss. The hiss always worked to send those diehards wanting to glimpse the “Hag of the Hillside” scurrying back down to the low-country, having pissed themselves a little. However, in this case, the man remained. He was cool, collected. I sensed an air of guilt. My girl thrust up. This was her second mode of defense if the hiss failed to do its duty. Usually, the wafting of her stench brought on by swift motions sent folks on their way. But not this time. The man remained, leaving my girl with no other choice but to communicate. “What,” she asked in a friable growl. The man took a deep breath, “I’ve heard tell of you. People down in the low-country say you’ve been up here since the day the earth fell. I can only venture to think one would stay up here in such a questionable spot only if one knew or found something of great importance.” “What are you getting at?” “Thirty years ago I dug a hole and inside of it placed a button right around here somewhere.” My girl furrowed her brow for the first time in three decades. Nothing questionable and or perplexing had come her way in all this time. But here it was, a tiny piece of an answer. Without saying a word she collapsed to the ground releasing tears that soon became guttural sobs. The man’s eyes welled as he watched. He held out a hand to her but never made any further movement to get closer. My girl continued to sob, her face burrowing in her hands while questions formed a phalanx in her mind, “How does he know it was the button? There’s an arsenal of reasons as to why it happened so why in the hell does he believe together we did this?” But why he believed he played a part was of no importance to her. He was correct and he was here and he was taking part of the blame and that’s all that truly mattered. She suppressed the sobs and looked to him. Tears had transformed her face into an abstract canvas, the contrasting color supplied by flesh buried beneath decades’ worth of dirt and grime. She sucked in a runaway sob, “Can I ask you a question?” He took a deep breath and answered, “Yes.” “Why?” she asked. He shook his head, “To be clever I guess. I was on a hike with my girlfriend and it was at this point I remembered the button in my pocket. I told my girlfriend to go on up ahead. I never told her what I was doing. Don’t know why. I think I felt silly. Anyway, she didn’t ask questions and went on up ahead, leaving me to do my business.” “Where’d you get it from? The button.” “A thrift store in Blythe. I was in town visiting my grandparents. We walked into the store and there it was,” he answered. “Did you ever tell your girlfriend about the button?” she asked. “No. And anyway, who would believe such a story?” “Do you think she’d believe you now?” “I’ll never know. She was east of the I-5 interviewing for a job the day you pressed it.” “I’m so sorry.” He replied with a single nod. “How do you know I was the one to press it,” she asked. “Why else would you be here. Guilt makes you do one of two things: move the truth far enough away until you’re whole again or cement yourself in what you’ve done.” My girl said nothing else. She took a seat. She could feel herself racing headlong toward the want to find answers but knew, in the end, the right answers would never materialize. My guess is the man was feeling a variation of the same. He took a seat next to her and the two simply looked out over the land.

8. How are you faring?

I will not tell a lie. I was brought into this world to keep breasts steady and add a pop of color while one endured a workout. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be a part of some weird slightly post-apocalyptic situation. I dare anyone to tell me this hasn’t been the ultimate workout. One thing’s true, Stella sure made me built to last and for that, I’m eternally grateful. And now I will travel back to my girl and we will wait. Wait to see if there are any more buttons out there waiting to be placed and pushed.


9. I just did the numbers and so, are you basically saying this will happen in exactly one year?

I don’t make the rules.