<editorsnote>Hi, I'm Jen Friel, and we here at TNTML examine the lives of nerds outside of the basements and into the social media, and dating world. We have over 75 peeps that write about their life in real time. (Real nerds, real time, real deal.) Sit back, relax, and enjoy some of the stories!!</editorsnote>
Last Friday, I went to the local watering hole with my best friend (who happens to be gay, a guy, and not into anything tech), and somewhere near the end of our first glass of wine, I referenced a gif I had sent to a guy on Bumble, "let me show it to you," I said grabbing my phone.
As I pulled up Bumble, I quickly realized I couldn't find the conversation.
"Oh, I said laughing, he clearly googled me and unmatched."
"Why would someone unmatch with you?" he asked confused.
"I fully disclose in my profile that I'm a writer and that I have the blog. Some men get weirded out by it."
"Why do you need to fully disclose your blog to people?"
I took a moment, and thought about it, before responding with "you're right! I've spent my entire 'career' disclosing that information because my website and myself were one in the same. It's been (almost) a decade, and one full lifetime later. So, why am I still doing this?"
I immediately deleted my entire profile (and also took down my TedX picture) and changed my profile to this ...
The results were immediate, and on Monday, I texted him my findings ...
As I was texting him, I got YET ANOTHER text from YET ANOTHER date ...
I'm a sapiosexual, so leading with "just" my looks was the LAST thing on my mind. I'm a hot chick, why the fuck did I not think of leading with that!!! Who knew dating could be so easy???
Well done, Friel. You're for once not over thinking things.
Now, onto the post ...
The more honest I've been able to be with myself, the more that I realized I never actually made dating a priority. I made dating a business yes, but a priority no. When I reread texts or (even worst) posts, I noticed a pattern in starting them off with ... "I thought I was going to meet this guy, and then I had this work thing come up ..."
If I really want what I say I want, this should be the only coming I'm focused on ...
The "episode" I had back in September was such a blessing in disguise; it forced me to face my own mortality, which then lead to a stronger focus on what my intentions are.
I want a family, and to make that happen, I have to shift my priorities.
I then popped on Bumble, and matched with a guy who is in the C suite of a tech company you all know.
The tall, dark, and handsome boxes checked, I then gave him my number and FOUR HOURS of gif game/ texting later (I dig a man with endurance) ... we set a date for our actual date.
<tangent> I'm one of these people that doesn't want to text back and forth before we meet. Once the date is set, it's set in my mind and I go about my day. It doesn't mean I'm not excited to meet the person, it just means that I've got shit to do. </tangent>
iCal appointment added, I then opened up safari and googled him. Historically, I've preferred to get to know someone first before googling them, but in this case, I knew he would be considered a public figure and I was curious to learn more.
I typed in his first name (which is all Bumble gives you) and the company. The results were not great.
Review after review spoke really ill of him. One review directly called him a "bully" and what a "horror he was to work for." Clearly these are just disgruntled employees, I thought thinking the person I had just talked to seemed far from being a "bully." Depending upon how the date goes, I will tell him about his ORM (online reputation management) and offer help (if he asks), I thought.
We agreed to meet at the Belmont at 9pm (we both had meetings that ran rather late), and as I grabbed a LYFT over to my happy hour, I noticed he still hadn't texted to confirm.
"Still on?" I sent.
"I wasn't sure," he texted back.
See, our very last message was a sarcastic gif stating that I wasn't actually that excited to meet him. I view playful jests as flirting. He took what I said literally.
"Oh shit!" I texted back. "I must seem like such an asshole. No, I'm actually really excited to meet you, and can still do 9 if you can."
"Okay," he texted.
Shake it off, I thought to myself. Not exactly off to the best start, but that's fine. We had gotten along so well over text that I had assumed that we were vibing on the same level. Clearly that wasn't the case, but all good in the hood.
And if there's one thing in this life I know that I'm not, it's a quitter.
I arrived at the Belmont five minutes past nine and saw my date at the bar (drink already in hand).
Hi, I said excited that he looked just like his pictures.
I'll take a glass of rose, I said to the bartender as I took my seat.
Oh man, I said laughing, you must have thought I was such a jerk with that last text. I was totally just kidding.
Not a problem, he said as I caught him literally sizing me up and down.
Taking the focus off of the flesh, I quickly asked about his family and passions. I listened intently, but could tell he was a bit guarded and closed off. Unsure if that was normal for him (he happened to be foreign), I continued pushing on.
30 polite minutes later, both of our drinks were done.
Shall we get another round? I asked.
Sure, he said, let me just first use the restroom.
Okay, I said, waiting.
Five or so minutes later, he returned saying that he thinks he has food poisoning from the dinner he had the night before. (He admitted to being with the CEO of his company the previous night.)
Does food poisoning have a 24 delay effect? I thought but didn't say.
"I'm so sorry to hear you're sick," I said. "Why don't we call it a night then so you can go home and rest."
"Okay," he quickly replied seconds after I finished my sentence. Equally as fast, he then pulled out his phone and called an Uber. The car arrived a minute later.
"It was nice to meet you," he said standing up.
Shocked, but sympathetic, I said, "I hope you feel better."
The entire date lasted less than 45 minutes, and he was out the door sans a second glance.
Well, I thought, you're all dressed up so you might as well make the most of it. I ordered another drink, as I texted my bestie.
I've discovered in my old age that I fester far less (if at all) if I just vent. I don't need anyone to fix anything, just let me say what I need to say and be done with it.
We continued to text ...
I then finished my drink, and asked for the bill.
Hi, I said grabbing the bartender (the bar was quite busy), can I have the check for the rose?
"Yes, you had the rose, and the beer too, correct?"
The words "and the beer too" hit like bullets as I quickly processed that he stiffed me with his bill ... his $7 bill.
See, because he had gotten there before me, I just (again) assumed that he had already paid cash. Tears immediately welled up and poured from my eyes as the bartender quickly offered a discount.
In my 20s I got drinks because I was pretty. In my 30s? I got one because I was pitied.
I'm not sure what was worse, the date or being served an unwanted side of sympathy.
<tangent> I feel like the fact that the bill was only $7 made it THAT MUCH WORSE. If you're experiencing money problems, no big deal! I can pick up a check, but someone in his position doing something like this? Money is not the issue!!! </tangent>
Still processing, I typed the words "and he actually stiffed me w the bill. Now it's on."
I then called my LYFT and headed over to another local bar. Tears still present, I sat down at the bar feeling sorry for myself. You're allowed to be sad tonight, I thought not wanting to compartmentalize my emotions to the point where I stopped feeling them. Give yourself tonight to feel sorry, and then move it the fuck on, I thought.
My GF arrived moments later, party hat and all ...
The previous weekend we went to my friend's birthday party and he had these tiny poop party hats clearly meant to be worn on a child, and as adult children - WE WERE GAME!!!
I nearly spit out my wine, as she danced through the door announcing "we're going to take this shit show and make a shit salad!!!"
We're gonna need a round of shots, she said to the bartender. This girl just had a REALLY bad date.
Oh no, said the female bartender.
I went into enough detail to highlight how horrible it was, but not enough to continue crying.
Fortunately, she didn't say "that this one was on the house," but she did comment on the fact that this was true sisterhood.
"Yeah, I said tears completely dry (the poop hat helped). This girl was in bed, and not only put on makeup, but I mean look at that hat."
That night, I might not have gotten the guy (THANK GOD!), but I did solidify a best friendship.
She then asked the next day if I had heard from him, and I said no.
"His intentions were pretty clear with his actions."
"So, why not message him and tell him to fuck off?" she added.
"He's not worth it," I said. "People hang themselves, and one google search alone revealed plenty."
"Congrats on being the bigger person," she said.
"Yes, the bigger person with a bestie who showed up in a very tiny poop hat."
"Well that's what friends are for!"
Onto the next ... and fortunately with my new game plan, there are plenty.
I shot out of bed like a bullet this morning (which is rare considering I am the furthest thing from a morning person). It finally hit me that this week I am about to have a life experience that I have spent EIGHT YEARS preparing for ...
What the executives are about to see is a 30 minute presentation.
That was work, and from my perspective I've executed my goal.
I'm in this exact moment able to enjoy my success.
I haven't had that life experience before.
Now onto the post ...
Back in May, I got asked to prom by my good buddy @smasherbrown. See Asher owns a studio in downtown, and when you have that life experience you throw parties.
Bring your best friend he said over email. You can both be my date, and make sure when someone asks you if you're vegan you say "you're considering it."
Done, I emailed back as I set the calendar reminder.
See, I would date Asher in a hot minute if only we shared similar passions culinary wise. I am a massive, massive carnivore. Remember the #BJDiet? He is a massive, massive vegan. (Literally head of the YouTube Vegan mafia - which is actually "a thing.") I utterly adore the human being, but fundamentally speaking we both draw a line, and I respect that.
With a partial side eye questioning if I had entered cougar territory, I quickly explained that it was a Vegan Prom hosted by my good friend. "He owns a studio in downtown I said, and his parties are the best I've ever been to." The declaration and guarantee of a good time was enough for my friends to ask if they could come too. "Of course! I said back, the more the merrier."
I then sent out the Facebook invite link, and got texts back asking about the $90 price tag attached.
Let me see what I can do, I texted back not wanting to be a douchebag and assume that I could get everyone in for free.
See, the event was hosted by the Human League, and was technically a benefit.
Did I mention MOBY WAS THE MOTHER EFFING DJ?!?!?!
Not only was Moby part the soundtrack to my high school life experience, but he's also featured in an Eminem song.
My friend is hosting a party and Moby is the DJ, I thought to myself recognizing that I was now ONE DEGREE away from one of the loves of my life.
... those loves include Eminem and Pitbull. Technically speaking Pitbull is my future baby daddy, and while I love him, I wouldn't date Eminem as he speaks so ill of his exes. I find that very declasse.
<tangent> Holy crap!! As I grabbed this video to post, I also just recognized that Syrus (who I just matched with on Bumble) was ALSO in Eminem's video for Without Me. I AM ONE DEGREE OF SEPARATION SQUARED!!!!
Breathe Friel, deep breaths. Get back to your post ...
</tangent>
As the week went on, my gfs and I planned our outfits. "I have the perfect dress for you," said my bestie. "It's a showstopper."
DONE! I said knowing that as a woman one of the easiest ways to market yourself is to go above and beyond in the outfit department. Not only do I enjoy from a creative perspective being a complete weirdo, but I've made insane business connections over the years simply because I turned up and turned out.
An hour and some change before the event I grabbed the dress from my gf's house as I confirmed for myself the fact that it was indeed a showstopper.
Holy crap, I said staring at the very shiny gold garment. We then got ready and as I called the uber, I was stopped by the building's security guard.
"You look incredible," he said.
"Thank you!! I'm going to prom!!" I said very excited.
<tangent> Nothing I do btw surprises our building's security team.
I've previously left the building dressed as Katy Perry ...
the Easter bunny (repurposed from Ralphie from a Christmas Story) ...
a Lisa frank coloring book ...
the monopoly man ...
a snowman ...
a "freelance charlie chaplin" (pants being optional) ...
and (my personal favorite) an astronaut ...
</tangent>
I then picked up my date as we trekked the hike from the hills to the heart of Los Angeles.
"Please tell me we're not going to have to sit through a dinner or some sort of long talk," she said.
Ehhhhhh ... I thought but didn't say as I quickly changed the subject.
We arrived shortly after the sun was beginning to set. See, I needed to make sure everyone that wanted to come could get in. (The price tag of the event being optional.) To do that, I needed to scope out the security detail (translation: I had to get there early and report back my findings). I purposefully did not give my name at the door (in case one of my friends needed to use my name).
"Hi, we're here as Asher's dates," I said confidently and quickly.
Not a problem, she said walking us immediately into the studio and into the back room reading "VIP."
Here's his seat, she said pointing down at his name tag and plus one chair.
I paused for a moment wondering where I was going to get another chair as all of the place settings were taken. My gf looked down at the brochure for the evening, and confirmed that we were in fact going to sit through "a talk."
NOOOOOOO!!! we both thought in horror.
Moments later, Asher arrived (tux in tow) saying we could put our bags in the back office.
"I have to do this thing first," he said, "so why don't you guys make yourselves comfortable in the other room. The doors open for everyone in an hour or so."
My date and I looked at each other with pure glee recognizing that while yes, we were technically not invited into the VIP dinner, we were winning at life by not having to sit through a Sarah Mclaughlin style slideshow reminding us of what horrible human beings we are because we enjoy ...
Immediately, we were off like a prom dress ...
We then grabbed a drink as we moseyed on over to the DIY corsage table.
"I've never been happier to be kicked out of a VIP dinner," we said cheersing.
One hour, two corsages, and three new besties (courtesy of our fabulous outfits) later, my friends began to arrive. I texted everyone that they had to get there early and if they didn't, that was up to them, but I wasn't going to be the person that spends half the evening waiting for people - I was actually going to enjoy myself.
I then quickly slid the loose wristband off and walked back outside. Pro tip: when a bouncer of any kind is putting on a wristband, explain to them you feel "claustrophobic" if it's on too tight. When it's loose, you can slide it right off your wrist and pass it to someone else. Before you pass it though, make sure you say "one second, I'll be right back" to the security guard so they have a visual memory of you and you can reenter sans the band. It doesn't work every time, but 9/10, you're good.
Oh fuck, I thought noticing that the security detail changed entirely. What was a simple checklist was now a FULL line of people, a red carpet, press, and beefy looking security guards.
Well, I thought, the worst case scenario is that they're going to have to either wait until after the dinner is over (and I can ask Asher to help get them in) or two, they're going to have to pay at the door. I couldn't control the fact that the atmospheric conditions changed, I could only make the best of what was given.
I befriended the (many) guards, as I said I had left something in my car and would be right back. I palm passed the band whispering "act as natural and confident as possible. Give my name at the door if you need to and text me if you have any problems."
I then went back to the DIY corsage table, as I blankly stared at my gf saying that "I have no idea if anyone is going to get in. The ENTIRE security detail changed."
"You're doing the best you can," she said.
"I'm also going to buy a series of bands in different colors. The majority of times they're the same style, the color is the variable."
"Wow," she said, that's really smart.
The new plan was noted as the first friend arrived inside. To my surprise it wasn't the one that I had passed the wristband to.
"How did you get in?" I asked.
"I just walked in and wasn't stopped."
Fuck yes, I thought, full faith in fun returned.
Let's dance, said my gf as we opened up the floor.
See, I can't be friends with people who don't make fun a priority. When I say we opened up the dance floor, I actuallymean it ...
We're just here to get weird.
A few songs, arm flaling and a handful of hip thrusts later, more friends began to join. Relieved that everyone was getting in, I wandered off to relieve my own self by using the restroom. En route, I was stopped by an old friend.
JEN FRIEL, she said excited. I have something for you ... I looked down and saw a tiny mint case and a series of pills. "Want some Molly?" she asked. I took a moment considering my own condition. I was a glass of wine in, and as long as I immediately switch to water, I should be fine, I thought. (As you never want to mix molly with alcohol or you run the risk of becoming too dehydrated.)
<tangent> Bumping into someone btw and being offered something like drugs is a totally normal life experience if you are a blogger and openly talk about your explorations. I happened to very much trust this person, which you should also take into consideration (obviously). </tangent>
Yes, I said, without skipping another beat.
"We have to go over here," she said pointing behind the stage (the event was a couple hundred people deep at this point and while at first it seemed illogical, she was actually right as it was one of the only places with privacy).
Moby took the his place onstage as we entered directly behind him.
She opened up her pillbox again (hehehe) as I looked down at the Molly and over to Moby. This is actually happening, Friel.
I grabbed the pill savoring both the second and the (soon to be) mental vacation.
We re-entered the dance floor and as I bid my friend adieu, the theme song from Titanic began to play. I grabbed one of my new friends and started slowdancing (making sure to leave enough room for Jesus).
"Do you like ... stuff?" I asked awkwardly mocking middle/ high school dances.
"Yeah," she said immediately playing along. "I like the stuff my mom buys me."
"I have a mom too," I said excited.
We both started laughing as we high fived and joined the rest of our friends.
I whispered in the ear of my gf that I had just taken molly in front of Moby.
"Of course you did," she said.
Moby's set was incredible. He opened with California, and much like his tweet promised, did play plenty of Beyonce. We also took the opportunity to have him in the background of our photos so that we can say we had the life experience of being in an all female glam band featuring Moby (since that's what our costumes looked like anyway) ...
Life experience accomplished.
By the end of Moby's set, the molly fully kicked in - and I made sure to stay hydrated. My friends exhausted from dancing asked if we could all go outside to get some fresh air.
Not a problem, I said clearly not mad about anything in the world.
<tangent> I actually prefer ecstasy to Molly. Molly is amazing, don't get me wrong- but I only do drugs once in a blue moon and if I do them, I want to do them right. Ecstasy truly lets me get lost in my own little world. I find there's more of a mental rush that I enjoy. </tangent>
We then walked outside, the entire group in tow, and as we stood over by the step and repeat, we were stopped by a familiar face. It was TV veteran journalist and author Jane Valez Mitchell ...
"Can I take a picture of your group," asked Jane?
Absolutely, I said grabbing my two good friends.
Remember that whole networking thing based upon turning up and turning out? That paid off in this EXACT life moment.
I then turned to Jane's friend, and realized I recognized her as well. It was uber powerhouse attorney (and Gloria Allred's daughter) Lisa Bloom.
I turned to Lisa and introduced myself asking how she had heard of the event (I conduct market research apparently on Molly, don't judge).
"We're both vegans, and we heard about this in one of the event calendars we subscribe to," she said.
That's GREAT! I said excited knowing that my homie's marketing worked.
"Are you vegan," she asked?
Without skipping a beat, I said "I am considering it, and that's why I appreciate Asher so much. He throws these incredible events with great people, and even as someone who currently calls themselves a meat eater, I feel so welcome." I topped it off with a "I'm super excited to learn more!"
"Let me give you my card," she said, quickly realizing that she didn't have one on her.
"Here," I said, "I'll just shoot you an email real quick so we have each other's contact info." I cced in my friend making sure he connected with her for future events knowing each of their levels of "klout" could move mountains.
<tangent> That night I also made sure to quickly introduce them (so they each had a face to the name) and Monday even followed up with another email to them, and gave my friend a solid heads up on her background.
He replied ...
That's another thing that I've learned over the years ... I don't take anything personally anymore. Even though I yes, identify as a meat eater, it doesn't mean it's who I am. It's only one aspect of myself, but who knows! I could get hit in the head with another brick and wake up and decide that bacon sucks. Do I personally ever think that will happen? No. Was I going to be rude to anyone at the party knowing? No, never. I simply listen.
I find this meme hilarious ...
... but that was far from my experience that evening. </tangent>
We then got the full group together and took our official Vegan Prom photo ...
I then went to go and get some more water, and as I walked down one of the metal ramps, I witnessed one of the female guests epically eat shit.
Shake it off, I said quickly grabbing her and reassuring that she was fine and that no one saw.
Barely able to speak, I recognized she needed to find her friends fast. I helped guide her to the couch, and as I did I saw yet another familiar face. It was someone I was friends with on Facebook named Dustin.
See, when you send someone an invite link on Facebook it shows you who your friends are that are also attending the event. One of the people I saw was this guy that I had yet to meet IRL (but I'm assuming was a fan of Talk Nerdy).
I made sure she was okay, and as I placed her down on the couch walked over to introduce myself.
Dustin! I said, Jen Friel with Talk Nerdy To Me, Lover.
"YOU'RE A REAL PERSON, he said super excited as we embraced."
"Oh I'm definitely real, I said. And I really appreciate the read."
His friend clearly in need meant he couldn't join our group, so as quickly as we met, I quietly exited stage left and back to my own friends.
<tangent> Later that weekend I got a message from him on FB ...
</tangent>
The evening wound down at that point as Asher and his team began the clean up and get the eff out process.
"You guys should stay, he said, your friends are all so awesome."
Still feeling the Molly I wasn't willing or wanting to go anywhere. Plus, clearing all of the people out means that we can dance around and take full advantage of all the artistic perks that studios have to offer.
We grabbed roller-skates, caution tape, spray paint, and had ZERO problems making ourselves perfectly at home ...
The after party raged on, and around 5am the Molly finally began to wear off. I sat down on the couch next to Asher (and his birthday girl date). I placed my head on his shoulder and said, "this might be the Molly talking, but this has been the best party I've ever been to. Not only did I get to see my friends in their artistic 'element,' but everyone I met tonight was so great. No one judged me for eating meat, nor did I judge them for their choice not to."
Asher looked over to his date and said, "Jen saying this is the best party she's ever been to means a lot. You should read her blog."
My gf and I then grabbed our belongings, which included a vintage beaver stole (we truly wanted to mess with people) and we called an uber as I swapped out my heels for ruby red slippers. That's not a euphuism btw, these are the shoes I went home in ...
I then hugged everyone goodbye and laughed to my gf on the way home. You couldn't make any of this up if you tried.
"I know" she said. "That's the best part."
"No," I said. "The best part is the company, thanks for that."
Now, I'm off to sell a TV show. I'd say wish me luck, but I'm already lucky. I didn't need to be "invited to the table," I had to learn how to build my own.
<editorsnote> Dear mom and dad, this post is probably not a good post for you to read. Love you! </editorsnote>
So, last night, I thought I was going to dollar taco night in the valley to catch up with some friends (in crypto) and pitch an idea that I have in the space ...
... only I wound up at the Waldorf Astoria rooftop (not my recommendation) ...
... got kicked out of a (coincidentally) crypto-event-based happy hour ... tried talking my way out of it (with a full plate of every food they were offering at the buffet later) ... epically failed ... only to walk back over to the table and ask my friends confused wondering "what gave me away?" My new "girlfriend" and I happened to be stopped by a group of guys as we were leaving, so I wondered if security thought we were "working the event?"
Considering our happy hour tab was SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARSI kinda wish I was "working it."(We had a big group but not SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS big.) Only not selling my body for sex. Cause, that's kinda not my thing. BUT I was a findomme once. And yes, that actually IS a thing.
Per UrbanDictionary:
Maestro ...
Last June, I got an email from a new Talk Nerdy fan ...
Most are interested in being one of my slaves, but some generally ask questions about the "scene" and or life in general ...
The funny thing is that when you ignore them, they actually enjoy it ...
Like I'd ever accept a slave that starts a sentence off with "yo."
I'm not sure what it was about his Financial Domination email that interested me. Timing? Maybe. Money certainly isn't a motivator, nor is the idea of accepting gifts from someone I don't know. (Remember this post?) I view "gifts" of any kind as a form of power; I am only willing to accept something if it has meaningful value and as someone who is very selective, it made me question if I could go through with this.
Isn't that the point?, I wondered.
I thought back to when I accepted my first slave, six years and one FULL lifetime ago. I was naturally curious with the radical honesty of the slave and while on my end it wasn't sexual, I did discover my own voice and power in the process. But now? I know what I have and quietly carry that with confidence. Why repeat the life experience, I wondered?
I took a full 24 hours to think about it before I responded.
As an entrepreuner, I find myself frequently asking for money so being in a position where I demanded it felt like a (pun intended) value add.
Besides, at that point I wasn't dating someone and if I'm not fucking someone, I might as well fuck with someone.
He followed my response with another email ...
I read the first sentence and immediately flipped into full Domme.
Always with the puns.
Two days and one decision later, I sent another email ...
Typing the word "pig" made reminded me of the nursery rhyme and how I'm not sure if this is what they actually meant when they sent "that little piggy off to the market." Funny, how that rhyme is also about feet.
A few hours later, he sent this.
He also sent a screenshot (which was nice since I didn't have to click a link and wait those extra seconds for the page to load).
I thought, before opening up the image ...
I actually happened to like the shoes he picked (practical and I can dress them up and down), but I wasn't going to accept any sort of first offer.
<tangent> Giving myself the name "Mistress Jennifer" helped me compartmentalize the dynamic; my whole life I've been Jen (and mostly Jen Friel - all spoken as one word). I was only ever called Jennifer as a child when I was doing something I wasn't "supposed to," (hehe) and now as an adult I'll call myself Jennifer only to someone I've met when I don't want them to google me. It's not hard to still connect the dots, but I feel like it helps. </tangent>
It's important to note the boundary of time (which is important in the sub/ Domme dynamic). Once I gave him a command, he was truly out of my mind until he performed the task to my satisfaction. Then and only then did I begin to think about him again.
Needing to stay on task of time myself (particularly living with an out of sight out of mind mentality) meant that I set an alarm down to the minute from when I clicked send on the email (and not just when he received it).
::sets alarm::
I set it to "slave fail" knowing that the likelihood of him ACTUALLY pleasing me would be so low.
Four hours is very generous, btw; I was testing to see what he would do with it. Is he the kinda sub that would wait until the last minute? Those won't last long with me. If I was going to do this, I needed to be in complete control of his mind at all times, and make sure I was one step ahead or I ran the risk of being "topped from the bottom."
Two hours and 37 minutes later, he completed my command.
18 minutes later, I sent a reply ...
31 minutes later, he sent this ...
11 minutes later I sent this ...
4 minutes later he sent this ...
Exactly at 9:45 the next morning, I sent this ...
I also attached a photo of the polish ...
31 minutes later the shoes were ordered (with the expedited shipping).
(It reads: Yes, Mistress Jennifer. I have ordered your shoes and paid for the expedited shipping. Thank you for allowing me to purchase these shoes for you Mistress. I am very thankful for this opportunity. I will give you the tracking information as soon as I receive it Mistress Jennifer.)
I opened the attachment ...
$118 - told you I was worth more than an amazon gift card. ::pfft::
36 minutes later I sent this ...
Three hours and 10 minutes later he sent a link to the tracking ...
Command complete, my attention went to things that had value.
Testing his willingness to submit, I gave a second command in the same day (technically speaking two hours and 46 minutes later) ...
17 minutes later he sent this ...
By sending this he failed. Do you see what I did? I said VERY SPECIFICALLY for him to take the photo but to also send me an email when he was ready. Knowing how eager he would be for me to see that he is pleasing, meant that he would more likely than not miss that part - going straight to just the action. If he didn't miss it, I'd now know how detail oriented he is and to stay EVEN MORE ontop of my game to avoid being topped myself.
Remember the part about having to stay one step ahead of him mentally?
That photo is me succeeding.
I let him learn of his failure four minutes later ...
58 minutes later he sent this ...
16 minutes later I sent this ...
I'm still proud of that line, "I don't speak the language of beg. Start groveling."
23 minutes later he sent this ...
I waited until the next morning to respond.
At 9:30 I sent this ...
At 11:25, I checked with our office manager to see if I had received a package.
Not yet, she said.
I explained it was from a potential slave and if it wasn't here for my meeting at noon, he has failed.
She smiled, but wasn't surprised.
See, my plan was to walk into my Talk Nerdy TV development meeting saying the sentence, "my new slave just bought me these," and put the shoe box down on the table in front of the executives to freak them out a bit.
If he failed, I wouldn't have that life experience. That would leave me verrryyyy disappointed ...
Two minutes after 12, I sent him this (the headline read failure) ...
44 minutes later he sent this ...
9 minutes later I sent this ...
60 minutes later he sent this ...
I then went to my meeting, and when the executives asked how my day was, (without skipping a beat), I said "fine until my slave failed. It's so hard finding good ones."
I then explained what I was doing and how real all of these stories are. "There is so much more too," I said sitting down on the couch "and you can ask me anything but I'm really excited to show you what we came up with." (The "we" referencing the woman who actually wrote the pilot and my true partner in crime.)
By the end of the meeting, the execs left with a smile ...
And on the drive home, I wondered what I wanted the slave to do next. So many disappointments, he clearly wasn't taking this seriously enough.
As I put my hair in a pony, I noticed some split ends.
I got an idea as I emailed CLEARLY FEELING GENEROUS ...
Two hours and 38 minutes later, without a reply, I sent this ...
54 minutes into pending termination, I looked down at my phone (obviously to respond to a man worthy of Goddess attention) and noticed there was still no response.
<tangent> The term "Goddess" btw is common for a domme "in the scene." The use of capitals is also intentional. </tangent>
General rules in a scene is that you have to be crystal clear when something is over. Not receiving the information requested, I terminated his consideration.
I'd say that I cared, but I had better things to do.
Sometime the next day, he sent me this ...
I didn't respond.
He messaged again ...
Look at me using the word "he." This isn't a man; I wouldn't even consider this "thing" to be a little pig. How does one fail at that?!?!
LOOK! IT'S A PIG DOING SOMETHING CUTE!!
Focus Friel. Back to the post ...
I looked at my calendar and down at my hair. I really could use some pampering after dealing with such stupidity for a whole 32 hours.
Sometime later I emailed him back ...
He then sent this ...
I sent this ...
He sent this ...
Then, (hilariously) the hair salon actually made a mistake by misspelling my last name ... Which of COURSE wasn't actually their mistake ... it his.
I sent this ...
He sent this ...
I sent this ...
Remember, the command was for him to "tell the receptionist that this is a gift from a pathetic piece of shit." I've been going to that particular salon for years, so I know they'd have a solid laugh and be down.
He sent this ...
I sent this ...
He sent this ...
He remembered to wait before sending. Looks like someone is finally paying attention.
I sent this ...
I sent this ...
Seconds later he sent this (CLEARLY NOT GETTING THE PICTURE) ...
I sent this ...
He sent this ...
The next afternoon, I sent this ...
Have you seen the video and ever read the lyrics?
Here's the chorus: 'Cause you're a god And I am not And I just thought That you would know You're a god And I am not And I just thought I'd let you go
Three hours later, a familiar pattern reappeared.
I emailed as the alarm went off ...
Oh, and I also sent him the screenshot as visual reminder of his failing ...
And there you have it. That was my experience as a findomme. Oh and the hair salon? Coincidentally my hairdresser switched salons so I have no idea if he completed the command. And for the shoes? They arrived, but he failed. So, I gave them to my partner in crime and co-pilot for the TV show.
What's the saying? One man's trash is another woman's treasure?
After all that, and he still never got a photo of my feet. Guess I'll just have to find a slave that's actually worthy. Know of any?
Six years ago, I had a man come into my life in an intrusive manner. Much like with the majority of men I met in my 20s, he swept me off my feet as I was knocked over my head and onto my ass. Only with this man, it happened in a literal capacity and what was once a 19 year sentence might be reduced to as little as six all because of a technicality in filing paperwork.
I'm sad that I have to write this post. I'm sad that I had to write the letter that I wrote. I'm sad that I'm sad but I accept that. Besides, I've learned in my old age that it's what I do next that counts ...
As some of you may know, on January 26, 2012 I was hit in the head with a brick while walking down Sunset Blvd heading to a comic book shop. See, Talk Nerdy had its first stage show the next day (with a big ol' marquee on Santa Monica Blvd), and my friend @jennhoffman suggested that studying the live show at Meltdown Comics might help. Our shows included dramatic interpretations of OkCupid emails and what I called "nerd's cup" which was a nerdy version of "kings cup." We already had our show locked, but as a life long learner, I wanted to see if there was anything we could incorporate in later.
En route to Meltdown, I stopped off at Kinkos and spent $100 printing out the programs (which considering I was still bartering was a LOT of freaking money) topping it off with a trip to Ross Dress for Less to find something nerdy that would be our actual "kings cup." Star Wars cup in hand, I then walked from La Brea down Sunset planning to walk to Gardner.
As someone who spends the majority of the day in her head, I like walking because I feel like it helps me think. I had no idea my choice to walk that night would put me in grave danger.
Halfway through my walk, I was then hit in the head with a blunt object (which was later identified as a brick).
I still vividly remember not only being grabbed by the back of my hoodie, but being placed in a chair inside a salon unable to walk or talk. (I shockingly managed to grab both the play-bills and Star Wars tumbler - which I still own to this day.) While I remember the events of the evening, I couldn't tell you what was actually real and what my brain imagined. Everything I experienced had a "fluidity" to it.
Looking back, having a concussion was similar to being on acid. I however like acid a LOT more than having a concussion.
I couldn't remember Jenn's name at that point, but knew enough to scroll through my text messages to find her info. Barely able to speak, she asked where I was and all I could say was "Attacked. Ralph's Ralph's." (The salon is no longer there, but was formerly right across the street from Rock and Roll Ralph's on Sunset. I saw the big Ralph's sign directly in my eye line.)
I remember hanging up the phone and I'm assuming I must have still been in shock. My head didn't hurt, rather it was like I had a new glasses prescription; I was suddenly and unexpectedly seeing the world differently.
I tried remembering where I was going and where I was but couldn't - I just knew I needed to see Jenn. I don't remember if I processed the words "robbed" or "raped" but I knew I didn't feel any pain below the equator and I still had my Beats By Dre headphones on my head ... only now the white headphones were stained with blood, and a lot of it.
I hope none of you ever have to see how much blood comes from a head wound. As a nerd, any sort of brain leakage is PRETTY FUCKING TERRIFYING, but all I could do is go with whatever it was that was happening which meant a trip to the hospital courtesy of Jenn and her then boyfriend Shane.
I wish I could say in that moment that it was one of the scariest moments of my life, but if I did, that would be a lie. I was in survival mode, and I actually wondered multiple times that evening if I was dead and this was what my "new life" was actually like.
In total, I received four staples in my head, two shots, and had varying degrees of a severe concussion for six months.
The people in the hair salon not only helped me in a physical sense, they actually chased the man down. He was then arrested and held with a bail amount totaling ...
Technically speaking $1,075,000.00, but who's counting.
Having been stalked as a teen(my father set legal precedent in the state of Connecticut regarding "cyber bullying" which wasn't a "thing" in 2001), I thought the worst part about testifying was the fact that it felt so intimate; the defendants were people I once loved who had betrayed me. Two seconds into taking the stand this time around, I realized I was ENTIRELY wrong because it felt just as bad facing a perfect stranger in a random act of violence.
Six months later, I watched this man, who was no longer a stranger, accept a deal that gave him 19 years in prison (down from 25 to life).
We had a great chat about social media and how its affecting the legal system "in a positive way," reflected her colleague. "Before my daughter went out on a date I would need their first name, last name, and DOB. Now I just need their full name," she chuckled.
The ladies were super impressed that I ran my own business online, and while I couldn't remember that day if I had enough money to pay for my own lunch, I was glad to exchange knowledge and never once had to reach for my wallet.
"It would be my pleasure," said the DA once the check arrived.
I knew what I was doing professionally would get me somewhere "someday" but in a literal sense it still meant that I constantly bartered and took the city bus for almost two years.
Upon leaving court, the DA happened to ask where my car was. I told her I was taking the bus, and she said that was unacceptable after the day I had in court.
Wait, what? I thought.
Not only had this woman bought me lunch (which was +1 from the McDonalds gift card I received while testifying), but now she's ACTUALLY driving me HOME???
If I had tears left in that moment, I would have let them expel in a dramatic fashion quickly from my eye sockets.
Pizza and a ride home. Well done, LA DA!
While I surprisingly had a great day in court, it still didn't change how I felt about the situation.
I was sad that this life experience happened. I was sad that I didn't walk on the other side of the street that night. I was sad that I watched a man receive what felt like a "death sentence." I was sad that my parents were on the other side of the country when this happened, and I can't imagine what that must have been like for them. I was sad that this happened to me. I've always been a people magnet, but who the hell gets hit in the head with a brick and lives to tell the tale? I wasn't sure if I was lucky, or so thick headed it acted as a shield of some kind. I naturally internalize a lot of my emotions, but once this happened? I.couldn't.stop.crying.
My brain was still "leveling out" (for lack of a better term) and emotionally I was all over the place. Every time I tried to write about it (which was also my livelihood) ...
I cried.
Every time I showered and felt like a modern day Frankenstein held together with staples IN MY FUCKING HEAD ...
I cried. I cried at Hallmark commercials. I cried watching late night infomercials. I cried because I slept for days on end barely able to get out of bed. I cried getting out of bed because I felt so "exposed." I cried because I felt alone. I cried because my friend's and family wouldn't leave me alone.
To say it was "right" or "wrong" wasn't going to change anything, but the letter I received this weekend has the possibility to change everything.
I, like most people, rarely check the mail. Basically anything that even involves the word mail, outside of email and actual males - I tune out. If it's important, people find you. If it's not, I genuinely don't care and won't ever pretend to care.
As I scrolled through the catalogs, AAA membership renewal option, and bills, I then noticed the very last envelope which was also the heaviest.
I immediately ripped it open and read this ...
"Nonviolent felony," I wondered. How is a brick not considered to be in the top three of items you can get hit with and it be considered a violent offense. I was super confused, and pissed.
I immediately googled Prop 57. Still confused at the classification of a nonviolent felony, I called my father (who again is an attorney). I don't know, was all he could say, followed by an immediate "are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I told him. "Even if this guy does get out, it was a random act of violence. I don't even know if I'd recognize him on the street anymore. All I do know is the man I first met on Valentines day was not the man that I saw sentenced. His medication made a NIGHT AND DAY difference. I just need to make sure he stays on it."
The reality that this man was going to spend the full 19 years in prison wasn't great. While I'm by no means an expert, I do love the law and hypothesized that based upon the strong history of violence, he'd more likely than not serve at least 10 years. While I wasn't sure if his DOB was accurate in 2012 (due to there being so many different entries with conflicting information in the courts database), I figured I was looking at a man somewhere near 60. If he serves 10 years that puts him in his 70s.
How strong would he be then? Would he be able to hurt someone? I wasn't sure, but four years shy of that goal meant that I was going to do EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO MAKE SURE THIS MAN DOES NOT GET OUT.
The first call I made in the office yesterday was to the DA's office. If you're ever the victim in a crime, they give you a SHOCKING amount of information to reach out. One ring and a quick transfer later, I was speaking to the man overseeing Prop 57.
I stated my name and supplied my case number. "I was hit in the head with a brick. He was supposed to serve 19 years. How is this a nonviolent felony?" I asked curious, but not angry. "I had four staples to my head and a concussion for six months." I also explained how the DA befriended me and said over and over "how lucky I was to be alive" and how "serious the courts take any sort of head injury."
He pulled up my case and said that the DA had filed it incorrectly. "It was filed as CA Penal Code 243D battery with serious bodily injury. The GBI charge (great bodily injury) wasn't included which would move your case from a nonviolent felony to a violent felony. Technically, it should have been filed as a 245."
"This man cannot be let out," I said. "It's nothing personal, I just know what I saw over the months going to court. He's truly better off on his meds and in his current environment."
"This is the exact type of person the parole boards do not want to release." (I had also explained to him that even though he wasn't charged he had also robbed the liquor store and had a history of felonies.) He continued, "you need to write an email. Even we don't get access to these hearings but if you write a letter via email explaining your situation they will listen. You sound so articulate, and smart. I know you can do this. They need to hear it from you."
I thanked him for the nearly 20 minutes of his time as I hung up the phone. I knew what I had to do next, but it didn't mean I still wasn't pissed off.
I took a deep breath, as I opened up my email typing in the address from the form. I began writing from a combination of the heart and head. This is what I wrote ...
Please excuse the typos. This wasn't easy to write.
I'm not sure if half of my "legal sounding jargon" actually made sense, but part of me feels like it does.
I wish I could say I'm mad at the DA, but I'm not. As you can see, that woman deserves a fucking medal for how much compassion she showed to someone after meeting people day in and day out on one of (if not the worst) day of their life.
I wish I could say that I'm mad at the prisoner, but I'm not. Six years ago, all I could do was wish him well as he was being sentenced; I knew he was finally getting the help he deserved.
Am I glad this happened? Absofuckinglutely not. Again, I wouldn't wish any of this on my worst enemy (if I had one).
The only thing that I can take away from this life experience that has made no sense to me, (mostly because of the #braininjury) is that no matter how many times I get knocked on my ass (sometimes literally) I stand back up (or get pulled back up in this case).
24 hours after the attack, I still performed in our first ever stage show (and the eight after that) to a sold out audience.
I faced my attacker in court and testified with words as my weapon.
Even through all of the pain, I was then able to reciprocate compassion shown, knowing that it was like giving a first grader calculus - he genuinely didn't know what he was doing.
Six years ago, this man had power over me. Now? The tables are turned.
And at the end of the day, I'm going to do what's right. Even with the knowledge that he will never be able to admit that he was wrong.
1) I ate a dinner cooked by none other than Patti LaBelle. Independently an AMAZING sentence to write, but to be served soul food from a soul singer while in an EXACT MOMENT I was doing some soul searching ... that was awesome. (It's turkey leg and lima beans ... I'm not sure what else was it in, but it all ended up in my belly.)
FYI, I did not season this. I even felt guilty the next morning microwaving it, because microwaves have no soul & I won't disrespect Patti.
2) I got to FAN GIRL THE FUCK OUT in front of Daniel from GET OUT!!!!
I was at a Patron party and even though he was attempting to be incognito, I recognized him immediately. I very quietly approached saying I loved you SO MUCH in "that movie" using actual air quotes because I didn't want to say the movie in case other people heard and that would blow his cover. He then put his hands on my shoulders as he kissed me on the cheek.
I mirrored this exact expression.
Now onto the post ... </tangent>
I liken my acid trips to a Goldilocks style experience.
The first time (which was accidental)? Too much.
The second time? Too little.
The third time? Just right.
::whispers:: Driver, there will be three stops tonight.
<PresentingStopOne>The first time I took any sort of psychedelic was accidental while attending an S&M club in 2012. I had just started exploring the "scene" and I was told by my friend that if I wanted the "true" experience of being tied up, I should "roll" while I do it. (Roll meaning take ecstasy.)
In my 20s I made it a "thing" to try a drug on each of my birthdays. It felt one part "rite of passage" and another part structured; I'm goal oriented and like to work "towards" things. I would first, pick out the drug I wanted to try, research all of the side effects, acknowledge that this was the year I was going to do it, and then find a suitable party to uh, party on with.
I took the first pill when we arrived at the club, and didn't feel anything. Knowing from previous adventures in "rolling" I needed two to feel the effect, I asked my friend for the second pill.
Not sure when it was finally going to kick in, I downed some water and OJ before I was called over to the domme for my session. His name is Phoenix, and while I shockingly also found him attractive I questioned his ability and or my willingness to be tied down.
Barely able to keep a straight face, I tried to listen as he went over the "rules." I do genuinely enjoy being in a sub role, I've just had limited experience in the space. I'm smart (debatable), and I'm an asshole; I can't be a sub if I think for whatever reason I might be smarter than you. (It's called "topping" in the scene.)
I have a wide range in terms of how I determine intelligence. There needs to be an equal balance of IQ and EQ - which is very rare, which is why I mostly choose to stay single.
<tangent> I actually had my date on Friday say that I have an "androgynous mind in terms of attraction" - and he's absolutely right. I don't see people for face value, which is why if you put all of the people I've dated in a room, none of it will make sense until they open their mouth. </tangent>
I made mental notes with each of his ties remembering back to my childhood all of the experiences I had as a kid tying and untying ropes to my boat at our lake house. My body felt a tingle as the rope was then tied around my chest. I could feel the compression which was (at the time) both terrifying and relaxing.
Due to barely listening to the rules, I missed the word that "began the scene" (although he did tell me to motion with my hand three times if I needed to get out- that I do remember).
Without thought my body was slammed down on the bench and as my chin hit the cold plate I began ROLLLLLLIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG harder than I had ever experienced.
Spread eagle and now hog tied, Phoenix hit my hide until it was raw, pacing each pat to the beat of the song Kiss by Prince. (Note to nerds: make sure you wear cute underwear if you want a life experience like this.)
As I looked out at the crowd, to my surprise, the lyrics appeared in a pinkish/ purple neon color as if written out on an imaginary teleprompter. As someone who commits to something, I wasn't willing to click my wrist three times to go home, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't fully freaked the fuck out.
I had experienced a lot of weird shit, but seeing something that my mind logically knows isn't there was definitely new. Not only had ecstasy had never caused me to feel this way, but I immediately assumed I must be on some sort of psychedelic. I only knew that because when friends had done them previously they made this exact comment ...
EVERYTHING WAS SO COLORFUL!!!
Barely able to speak, I was then released from the ropes still rolling ... HARD. I only knew for sure one other person that had taken the same pills that I had, so I walked over to him looking down at my phone (for what I'm not sure). As I moved my screen, a rainbow appeared and each of the avatars began "moving."
WOAH, I said to my friend, who didn't need to say much to confirm that he was seeing everything that I was seeing.
After everything was said and done, it took a full 24 hours for the drugs to get out of my system.
You can click here to read the original post, and the follow up post, where I talked about what actually happened a few years later. I had nothing to hide, but didn't know how easy it would have been for other people in the story to be tied to it (pun intended). I'm always very protective of my friends.
Looking back, I technically speaking should have been mad at my friend for not telling me that I was going to also be doing acid that night, but now all I can do is smile. It was definitely the hardest I've ever "rolled" and while it was not fun having the contents of my stomach expel like the Exorcist, I can definitely chalk this life experience up to, yep, I did that, and lived to tell this story. </stopone>
<PresentingStopTwo> Last October, I was hanging out with a friend of mine from the building. (I live in a Melrose Place style atmosphere where everyone is ridiculously attractive and we do genuinely all get along and hang out. Unlike MP though, there is no drama which also unfortunately means no Locklear.)
Either way, my friend Sam said that he was heading down to our neighbor's apartment to have happy hour before everyone went out for the night. He knows how much I love Halloween, so he suggested showing up in costume.
Don't threaten me with a good time, I thought going into my goodie bag emerging mask and all.
I attempted this year to go with an overall arcing theme for every party (I had about two weeks worth). At first, I was going to wear this one blazer and rock it in COMPLETELY different ways, but that ended up not working. Upon receiving an invite to a mandatory masquerade party, I flipped the traditional mask and bunnied it out.
This was the original costume ...
This is what I showed up in, which was surprising that they actually opened their door (because I said nothing other than knock) ...
The pre-party was poppin, and the girls looked FIEERRRCEEE as a super hot Thelma and Louise with their beaus dressed as both Brad Pitt's character and a cop.
I was off helping in the kitchen with the food when the oven started smoking (they obviously had crumbs or food cooked on the bottom). Here, I said, let me go cook this in my oven that way we can let the smoke go down.
You're awesome, she said as I hiked it back to my place.
Walking back into their apartment, the hostess' beau (aka Brad Pitt) asked if I wanted to do acid with them. Surprised, I took a moment to reflect on what I had wanted to do.
See, in Q4 last year, I decided I was ready to get married and have babies. Not that I still couldn't drop acid being married and having kids (just not supervising them while on acid obviously), in general I wanted to make sure that my actions were aligning with my intention.
I then caught a glimpse of my rabbit ears in the mirror (forgetting I was even in the mask). "When in Rome," said the rabbit choosing to go down the hole.
If I do this, I said to myself, I'm in it to win it. No Irish goodbyes (as is my MO I never say goodbye I just leave).
He then tore off what looked like a little piece of paper as he asked me how much I wanted to take. Since my girlfriend and I are about the same weight, I said ...
Have you done this before, he asked?
Yes, I said but only once and it was accidental.
He paused for a moment in confusion as I explained that I took what I thought was E (and it was actually a candy flip).
I was then instructed to let it melt on my tongue, and the second it dissolved, I stopped drinking entirely. I had no idea how acid was going to effect me and like a good nerd, I wanted to isolate the variables.
I was then informed that we'd be heading to a house party, so we all piled in two ubers and headed some place not in the hills. (When I commit to something, I don't really ask a lot of questions.) While I knew the group, I was in general in a quieter mood and wanted to truly experience what this life experience would be like. Friends kept telling me that I'd love acid, and at this point I had also tried shrooms, so if it was anything like that - I'd be super okay with life.
We pulled up to this big craftmans style home, and a very active party. I separated myself from the group choosing to do a lap before committing to a location.
I made into the backyard and as I went up the windy steps, I saw this sign ...
As I took a turn to the right (there was no option to go left), I saw a group sitting and chatting. I knew I recognized two of the people at the party, but I couldn't put my finger on whether they were famous or we were acquaintances at some point. Not saying anything, I just sat down as I started to feel the effects of acid.
I don't know how to describe what it's like to be on acid as anything other than feeling a "oneness" with yourself and your environment.
I experienced a euphoric calm and while I naturally don't give a fuck, when I'm on acid, I apparently give every fuck possible ... about absolutely everything.
"Bunny," said one of the guys I thought I recognized, "what do you do?"
"And just like that, ladies and gentlemen (he said to the group laughing), the quietest person at this party also happens to be the most interesting."
I had no idea how long I was up there for (time feels different on acid), but sometime later, someone started bitching about Uber and LYFT. It wasn't what they said, it was how they said it. The complaint was rooted in sheer entitlement, and this bothered my acid minded self.
Without an ounce of aggression, I presented a different side of (whatever mundane argument I had now acidmindedly ... I mean absentmindedly involved myself in) by providing a history of both companies.
I then took a breath and realized the group had now doubled in size and I am speaking very passionately to an audience that I don't know, nor do they obviously care.
I immediately toned it down 10 notches, and laughed saying to the group, "so, I'm on acid and I'm going to get some more water. Does anyone need anything?"
Slow your acid roll, Friel, slow your acid roll, I said walking down the steps.
I had no idea who the host was or who anybody was, so the last thing I wanted to do was be disrespectful to my neighbor who obviously (or at least I hope) knew someone.
Once inside the house I found a dog and immediately went back to my happy place.
A few minutes, hours, or whatever later, I wound up back in the kitchen getting some more water. As I went to go and find my friends I was met by one of the guys that was witness to the great debate (he was one of the gentlemen that I thought I knew).
What's your show about? he asked.
It's Talk Nerdy to Me. Bruckheimer and CBS had it initially but I'm repackaging it (which has since completed read more about that here).
I KNEW I KNEW YOU!! he said. I recognized that voice!
Jen Friel, I said shaking his hand.
I'm Pat, he said
<tangent> It's Pat, I thought, hehehe.
</tangent>
I've heard about you, he continued!! This is so great!!
Let's take a picture, I said.
I knew you looked familiar, I said. You've got to be in the nerd community.
We then talked about Stan Lee, a handful of his favorite comics, and before we parted we swapped Facebook friends requests to keep in touch.
I really appreciate the read, I said as he went in for THE BEST BEAR HUG EVER - feet off the ground and all.
I then regrouped with everyone as they indicated that they wanted to head to an after hours party at a warehouse in downtown. Generally speaking, I make it a rule to never go to a second location with a hippie, but a strict "no Irish goodbye" policy in place meant that I had to see this rabbit hole through.
We arrived at the club two ubers and one missing party member later. The club was literally a warehouse somewhere WAYYYY past anywhere anyone would deem "safe."
Thelma, Louise, Brad Pitt, cop, and one bunny later, we stood in a super creepy alley waiting for potentially an expansion to the group. Everyone else had done acid before, and because I didn't know who was on what and what to actually take myself, I only took the single (very small) tab. I reached into my deck, and was ready to pull the common sense card reminding the group of our physical state ...
... before I could, we were approached by a gentleman that was (sadly and obviously) homeless. He first asked for money and (as usual) none of us had any cash on us. Still on acid brain, I asked him how he was doing and if he needed any help.
CEO or janitor, I treat everyone the same. (Thanks mom and dad for engraining that into our brains as kids.)
He then started telling me that he's a veteran and trying to get back on his feet. I listened and with genuine empathy wanted to let him know that he has options with the VA. I obviously wasn't sure exactly what he was entitled to, but I was happy to google the number if he needed it.
Without responding, he quickly lifted his hands up while shouting ...
Without reacting, I about faced on the heels of my converse and went back to the group.
"Who are you?" asked Louise.
"He's fine, I'm fine. We just need to go inside - now."
A handshake and an ID check later we fell deeper into the hole.
Brad Pitt then offered to buy me a drink (A SENTENCE I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO SAY), and without thought I agreed knowing however much acid is left in my system, it wasn't enough to deal with this.
I'm not a fan of clubs ... Especially not after hour clubs ... Especially not after I was offered a threesome (outside the cuddle dome) ... Would I be considered a furry in that situation? I had no idea ...
While all of these adventures were fun in my 20s, in my 30s they're just repetitive patterns. I don't like repeating things.
Staying true to my own word, I peaced upstairs to the boundary setting platform where I could watch everything (I'm naturally a voyeur), but still have my own space and subsequent sanity.
Now calm, I started my own one person dance party which eventually attracted the rest of the group who made their way upstairs.
Home, I thought. Friel wants to go home. Friel is also a stubborn asshole who sticks to her word. DAMN YOU ADULTING!
What's next? I asked hoping we were all on the same page.
"Let's go to Mel's!" said Thelma.
We're not on the same page I thought. Not even same chapter, not even the same book.
One agonizing hour later, we arrived at the Mel's on Sunset. This was fortunately our last stop, and even through the pain, I couldn't help but laugh at my own reflection which reminded me of Donnie Darko.
If only I were on more acid, I probably could have reenacted this moment.
We arrived home before sometime before sunrise and I still hadn't arrived at a decision on my thoughts on acid. The candy flip was INTENSE, so much so that I still question ever owning plaid sheets again.
The rabbit hole was interesting, but I wasn't sold on whether or not I liked it. I obviously didn't take enough and also put myself in a situation that inherently knew I didn't like - so I couldn't blame the drug for that, that was all on me. </stoptwo>
<PresentingStopThree> Finally last month (before Super Bowl weekend), I got hit up by an old friend who asked if I wanted to join him in Joshua Tree for the weekend. (I had never been previously and never knew anything about it other than it was a place where my friends went and did drugs.)
The last minute invite had the ABSOLUTE BEST timing. I had just articulated that morning that I felt like I was living an IRL version of Groundhog's day. I had been working so much that every day seemed to flow into one very long repeated beat. I knew I needed a break, and after the seriousness of the "episode" I had last September, I wasn't willing to risk any possibility of putting myself in harms way again.
"It's a quirky little cabin," said my friend continuing, "it's nothing fancy."
Already having been sold, I confirmed that I could bring Buster Brown (el dog-o) and asked for the address.
The next morning, I packed my bag happier than a pig in shit to get out of LA. Anytime I need a recharge I just go into the wilderness. Island, woods, lake, give me something with fresh air, the stars and I will come back an ENTIRELY different person.
I happened to arrive ahead of my friend (we took separate cars so Buster had enough space to stretch out), so I stopped off at the local Walmart to get whatever we would need for the night. He wasn't sure what cooking supplies would be at the house, so I grabbed everything premade for some wonderful street tacos (with the intention of cooking them over a fire).
If you ever have the chance to people watch at the Walmart in Joshua Tree, I highly recommend it.
It's a combination of "The People of Walmart" and "Unsolved Mysteries reenactment actors." I'm not even sure what decade some of them were in, but I wanted more.
Items in hand, I arrived back at the house where I met up with my friend excited for whatever adventure was ahead.
See this, he said pointing at a statue. Jim Morrison brought this here from an artist in Venice Beach.
Really? I asked knowing that if he was saying this, it was the truth.
Yeah, he said, the owner of the home is an OG in the LA music scene. They were friends and brought it here one day. We call it "The Vortex."
Hoping Buster wouldn't walk over and pee on something called "The Vortex," I quickly took him for a walk before we began the "festivities."
We first popped a bottle of champagne as we caught up. Almost all of my friends now, I've known for 10 plus years, so even though our lifestyles mean that I might not see everyone as much as I'd like, when we do finally catch up - it's like no time has passed. (I've known this particular friend for 12 years, and have always held a deep respect for him.)
I told him about a new opportunity I accepted, and he smiled.
"I thought you were so crazy when you started Talk Nerdy. Everyone did, but you're doing it, and you always have."
"I called it 'bartering' but it was just influencer marketing before there was a name for it. I also just got lucky with this new opportunity that I have my hand in both tech and Hollywood. This is my absolute dream job."
We then cheersed as we continued to catch up. Here, he said sometime before sunset. Put this in your mouth and let it melt.
I felt like there was a "that's what she said in there," but instead, I just listened knowing that if I was going to go to NeverNeverLand with someone, this was the ONE person I know I could totally trust to know what he was doing.
The actual park happens to be in the homes backyard so after a quick hike, we had a pretty awesome view watching the sunset.
Normally, when I'm in a place like this, I get (again) that sense of "recharge," but whatever it was that I was feeling sitting on that rock, it felt "alien." Not in the literal sense of green men coming down, but I had never felt whatever it was that I was feeling. When I'm in historical places, I can sometimes feel what's best described as "layers of paint." I can very tangibly pick up on the fact that there were other lives that have lived here. This was that, but also like, a petri dish; I felt like I was in a lab of some kind.
I normally feel like a zookeeper, but here I felt like the animal.
Buster agreed on the whole "alien" feeling.
I didn't say anything at first, because I couldn't rule out if this meant the acid was starting to take effect.
Sometime after we got back to the house, we took the second tab. Much like in "stop two," time becomes foreign and it's replaced with this feeling of "universal oneness." There was no TV at the cabin, just records from the 60s and 70s. I grabbed these two records and placed them on the chair.
Looking at Santana's album, you'd think, oh! these people are obviously on some sort of psychedelic, but oh contraire mon non frère ... it was the black and white album that was TOTALLY popping off the page.
See those waves? They moved so slowly back and forth, and when I looked at Santana's album, I still saw nothing. Commercialism at its finest, I said laughing. The Santana album "looks like someone was on something" but clearly, the other album made so much more sense.
Since most of the albums they had were from artists that were on some kind of psychedelic, I suggested listening to some records. Go right ahead, he said as I picked out out one from the Beatles.
I want to listen to Lucy in the sky with Diamonds, while on LSD, I said.
So ... that's what we did.
He then asked about some of my thoughts of the property (which they are considering renovating).
This place is golden, I said, but to take it to another level, you need to make the outside come in. Add like solar panels, and make the main living area have a "picture car" feeling to it (similar to what you have on a train). You can even add in a skylight in the bathroom and even have the walls have like a furry like feeling to them. Anything that is mellow enough for someone who has had "too much" to not lose their stomach, but for those who are "on their way," both the skylight and furry wall paper will enhance their trip.
The home is a one bedroom, and I commented that you should leave that room to be like the "sanctuary." Incase someone again, has too much they can go and chill and not be so exposed to the elements in a literal sense.
<tangent> I grew up in a house built by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright. Our living room had a stone wall, with cave door, and over 98 windows. It was such a cool house but pain in the ass to heat in Connecticut. As a kid we would RUNNN from the bedroom wing to either the kitchen or the library/ family room. We lived with the outside in, which was great watching it snow (all bundled up).
Homes in Joshua Tree I feel like should have that same effect. Bring the outside in to maximize the space and enhance the experience. We all know what people go to Joshua Tree for ... (or so I thought I knew). </tangent>
This being a much smaller property meant from a heating or cooling perspective, your costs would be lower, and while I'm not an expert on it, I do know that for solar paneled homes (at least at some point) you can/could get a tax credit.
We then went into the kitchen and I noticed the cupboards (which were real wood) actually felt "alive." There was a movement to them that I didn't see looking at the (some kind of) plastic kitchen counter.
"I've always hated florescent lights," I said.
"Now you're really going to hate florescent lights," he said laughing.
"They've always felt 'soulsucking' to me, but now against something that so visibly feels alive makes sense with certain design decisions I've made over the years."
"Oh yeah," he said as we started to make dinner.
We (I think quickly) ate our street tacos as we grabbed some blankets and went back outside to examine the sky. While I didn't exactly see diamonds, a few conversations later, I noticed that there was a light in the distance that looked like the light you see reflected through the eye of an animal.
(We had also previously heard coyotes howling.)
I'm going to put Buster inside, I said out of fear that if it was an animal, we'd not only have to get the eff out of dodge quickly, but I'd have to control a 70 lb dog that was trained to be in dog fighting. He's a bolter, and I wasn't about to end up putting him in any kind of danger.
My friend then went to turn the light on outside the house, thinking that animals might have ended up coming closer to the property due to the family not being home for the last couple of weeks.
As if dared by the porch light, the light in the distance appeared to only get closer. I kicked off the comforter pretty certain at this point that I was going to have to get Buster inside ASAP.
"It's okay," he said. "I don't think that's an animal."
"Animal or person, there is something there and I'm not putting my dog in any sort of danger." (I might be a butt head with certain life experiences, but el dogarino puts his blind trust in me. I don't take that for granted.)
Before I could put Buster inside the light appeared to rise up almost as if it were a drone (it had been so close previously we could actually see it lightly reflected on the rocks - which is why I assumed it was an animal of some kind, strictly based on the height).
"Park rangers come around here to check on people," he said.
"Park rangers aren't that tall," I said again noticing the light go even higher.
Having a company that owns fleets of drones, I knew what I knew about drones, and had definitely never seen light form in that way. The only other option was to accept what logically I already knew.
Here I was a few years earlier, on acid for the first time knowing what I was seeing was illogical.
Now, on this acid trip, I'm seeing something that I KNOW I am actually seeing with my own eyes, that I've been told over and over "does not actually exist."
Oh no, they exist.
The light show continued throughout the night, and I wasn't exactly scared but I wasn't super pumped either.
"Of course the night you're here they really show off. I've never seen this much activity."
Whatever it was, I knew I wasn't in immediate harm. Considering we were two solid miles off the grid on a dirt road, even if I wanted to leave I was shockingly safer where I was ... (even if it might have meant exposure to a little green man).
I also trusted my friend, so again, if I was going to be in this situation - we might as well make the best of it.
"Is this a thing in Joshua Tree?" I asked totally naive.
"Did you not know that?"
"Absofuckinglutely not. It wouldn't have changed me wanting to come here, but I just need a minute."
We then went back inside and continued rocking out to the records.
Which btw are actually pretty annoying to keep changing. As someone who listens to songs endlessly on repeat it was a pain in the butt going up and resetting the record player.
I kept looking out over to the Jim Morrison statue and asking, "what crack was he actually smoking when he bought this? On acid, I don't really get his flow."
"I don't think anyone knew what he was smoking."
Sometime before the sun came up, we watched a super good documentary on Netflix (on his computer) called Unacknowledged. Highly recommended.
The next morning, we cleaned everything up as I timed leaving the desert to hit right when Super Bowl was starting (knowing the roads would be dead).
What did you think, he asked?
The acid is great. I totally get why people professionally microdose. I feel super creative and "grounded" for lack of a better term. The rest? I could have done without, but, at least I learned something new.
On the bright side, when I exhaust the expression, "I've dated everyone on this planet" at least I know I'll still have options. </stopthree>
Wednesday, July 18, 2018 at 3:36PM
