When Life Gives You Lemons...

When Life gives you lemons:

1. Make Lemonade
2. Freeze them and fling them right back at life
3. Squirt Life right in the eye with one
4. Make orange juice and leave Life wondering how the hell you did it
5. Chop them in half, juice them, disassemble a Bic razor, and come at life with the juice and blades
6. Plant the seeds. Grow an orchard. Sell the produce. Become rich. Run shit.
7. Juice them, add tequila and a pinch of salt. Shots!
8. Tell Life to get a life, because lemons are a horrible gift.
9. Squeeze them into life's Cheerios. And watch that bitch pucker up.
10. Take them to the store and demand a refund

But whatever you do, do NOT take that shit and sit down. Seriously. Who wants lemons sitting around clogging up their space?

C'est la Vie.

Viva La Vida.

And Fuck the System.

Peace.

Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

Fakeness

Shaking my head.

       It amazes me how fast people are willing to tear down someone who has worked very hard to get where they are. It amazes me how, after all these years, and the civil rights movement, it still comes down to what color someone is. It amazes me how far people will go to tear down someone's feeling of security. How someone will use anyone they can to tear someone down. Not only do they target that person, they have to target everyone they know and love. Not caring about the chaos they leave in their wake. Not caring who, or what they destroy as long as there is ultimate pandemonium in the end.
       For something that is making a difference, someone that is making positive changes in this messed up world, why would someone want to stop the good work they are doing? Why would someone want to reverse the positivity that has been created? Why does everything have to come down to race?
       Fakeness.
       People say it's fake. Everything that has been created. The unity, the community that has resulted. All the good that has, and people want to tear it down simply because of color.
       They say leaders can't have secrets. That leaders can't have private lives with their families. That if there is one miscommunication, then nothing is true.
       Some things can't be understood I guess.
       But speaking of fakeness, think about the accusers.
       You think they don't have secrets?


C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

aka. Esther Dolezal
(In case you thought I was lying about my name)

Not With Me, You Don't

So I'm feeling hopeful, and also scared to death of life right now. I had an offer to work as a live-in caregiver for a wounded veteran, but After just staying in the same apartment with him for a few days, I can Not imagine living with him for a year. I mean, I am pretty sure laying next to your patient, and "letting him have some body heat" is not in the job description. Neither is selling marijuana, and prescription pills. Also, I don't recall sleeping in bed with him and his wife, to 'put pressure against his chest' being in the paperwork. Not to mention, he is one of the most controlling, rude, conceited people I have ever met. Now don't get me wrong. Everything he has done with the military and fighting for this country has made him earn my respect. I respect his sacrifice for freedom, but I will not let him use me for a cuddle buddy and or anything else. What disturbs me even more, is the way he treats his wife. Like she's a slave or something, and I am not about to sign up for that for a year. The way he just wants me to completely cut off my social life, relationships with friends, family, and significant others bothers me. I barely even know him, and he just wants me to leave everything to sit quietly by his side, and massage his back. Yeah, no. When I left this morning for good, he tried to tell me how money was more important than friends, or family, because personal relationships aren't going to pay the bills. Well, no they're not going to put cash in my pocket, but true friendship is much more important than money. Money can be gone in a heartbeat, but a friend will always be there. Yeah, it sounds like a good opportunity; take care of someone for a year, and have college tuition, and cash to spare. But I'm not going to sit around being someone's Stepford slave.  I may not be rich, and yeah, I have a shitty place to live right now, but I'm young. that's just the way life is. I may not have much, But I do have freedom to do whatever I want, and 'give body heat' to whoever I want. And I'm sorry if whoever I want is not a 51 year old man.
I don't mind taking care of basic needs like cleaning, and cooking, and whatnot, but there is nothing in my paperwork about mandatory personal contact, so I am going to have to look for other opportunities elsewhere.
I will not be used by anyone.
C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes

Trying To Move On

So an update on what's been going on with me...
I am now officially single. Things were going downhill, and so he ended it. Even though I was considering ending things anyway, I still miss him. Like hella bad. It's crazy. Everywhere I go, I see things that remind me of him. And I feel ridiculous for feeling this way. I guess, I just fell harder than I had expected. I'll get over it of course. I'll move on, and find someone new. 'I just wish saying goodbye wasn't so damn difficult. I wish I could stop thinking about all the good times we had together, and realize that it was never going to work out anyway. I'm just being a little immature right now, but I'll get over it.
C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed hot_tunes♪♫

On Edge

Have you ever had something so wonderful happen to you that your almost positive it won't last? Something so amazing that you spend every minute dreading the moment when it will disappear and break your heart. This is my predicament. I found him. And he's so sweet, and thoughtful, and so damn cute, and honestly, I'm on edge waiting for the moment when he tells me he can't be with me. That someone like me couldn't possibly think that he and I would last. I'm on edge waiting for the moment when I break his heart, or he breaks mine, because that's all I'm used to. Every minute I spend with him is amazing, but filled with dread for the inevitable. It's just that he's so sweet and loving. And if you know me, I am... well, not. Not that I don't love him, because I do, I just feel like my love isn't strong enough. I feel like I don't know how to love him, the way he deserves. Like if he knew me, my past, he wouldn't want to be anywhere near me. Deep down, I know that's not true; chances are, I'll be the one to break his heart. And I hate feeling like that. I want to love him for as long as he'll let me, but I don't know if I'm capable of that degree of love.
I'm emotionally unstable when it comes to relationships. I'm not insane, but I have a tendency to some fairly intense mood swings that no one should have to deal with. And thoughtfulness has never been one of my strong points. Seeing the little things to do to make someone smile does not come easily to me.  It's not that I don't think about him, I do all the time,but I don't know how to just be that person that unconsciously does things because I know it will make him smile. He's so good at that.  He says the sweetest things, and I have no idea what to reply back in return. I feel like I'm not giving him the love I want to give him because I don't know how.
I don't want us to end, and I will do everything in my power to make sure we don't, but I'm on edge wondering if it's enough.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes.

Womanizing Not Allowed

One thing I forgot about being on the streets, is how people view me. People meaning men in particular. It amazes me how on a 98 degree summer day, if I walk down the street wearing shorts, or a sundress, so many  men feel as if they have the right to hit on me. To smack my butt. To assume I am a prostitute, and try to pick me up I don't understand our culture. How is it, that if a woman gets raped, most people assume that it was her fault? "She was asking for it" they say, as if that makes everything ok.
I'm sorry, since when is it wrong to wear shorts? It's hot outside. Just because I happen to look nice, does not give you the right to objectify me. Just because I'm black does not mean I'm gonna drop it and twerk for you. I'm not going to get into your car because you're sticking a fifty out the window at me.  I refuse to become some sex object just because media tells you it's ok to treat me as one. You know, I feel sorry for people who choose to view others as an object. I pity you, because it shows that you were treated the same way, and it's all you know.
I'm sorry, but just because I'm young and in shape does not mean I owe you a strip tease. Just because I dress nice does not mean that I dressed for your eyes. Yes, sometimes I wear clothes that make me sexier than the average person. I wear heels. I wear leather. I wear lipstick. I have wild hair. That's who I am. And when I am dressed in an outfit that appears sexy, I am still careful to carry myself with poise and grace. I am not a woman. I am a lady. I treat others the way I want to be treated. I don't believe in judging someone just by the way he or she looks; and when I am dressed modestly, I believe I deserve the same respect I give to everyone. Sure, I'm on the street, but I don't believe in acting "ratchet" just because that's what people assume I am. I am not a "big booty ho" I am not a hooker. I do not work the streets, and I would thank you kindly to realize that.
Predatory behavior is not only vulgar and disgusting. But it is illegal. You might think that whistling at a thirteen year old girl is giving her a compliment, but by law, it is considered as sexual harassment. Pulling up next to a girl on a street curb and telling her to "hop in" is abusive behavior, and is punishable by a large fine, and time in prison. Some people may take this lightly, but I believe everyone deserves respect.
You know that saying "You have to give respect to get it"?
Screw that.
Just give it, and the getting will take care of itself.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫i

Where I Belong

Do you ever just want a change of scenery? Ever just want to get away from it all? To become someone completely different? To adopt a new identity, and leave it all behind?
I did.
They're calling it the quarter life crisis. The same symptoms of a midlife crisis, only instead of going out and hooking up with people half their age, or buying sports cars, teens are changing completely. Finding their true identities and stepping out into the world completely different. Adopting their true personas, and seeking adventure.
Me? I decided to hit the streets. It's where I'm most comfortable, and where I feel like I belong. I was never meant to sit around in suburbia waiting for something exciting to happen.
So I decided to give up the comforts of home. Adopt my old name, dye my hair, and return to my real identity. I'm the girl who wears leather corsets, and bikini bottoms on a daily basis just because she can. I'm the girl who carries a knife in her studded boots, because she is not one to be messed with. I'm the girl who wears leaves a ring of red lipstick on her coffee cup, and blows kisses at whoever she wants to just because she can.
It's exciting, and even though it's familiar, it's strange. I've been living that middle class life for so long, I almost forgot what it was like to fend for myself out here. But I love it. Leaving was the best thing I think I've done in a while. Life on the streets is perfect for me. I can hit up every underground street dance competition, and not have any responsibilities. Some call me crazy. They say the streets are too dangerous for a teenage girl by herself. I just laugh. For someone like me the suburbs are a death trap.
I have street smarts. I know where it isn't safe for me to go after dark. I don't intentionally put myself in dangerous situations. I am always armed, and I know how to fight like hell.
I know how to keep myself safe, but I don't avoid sketchy situations just because they might not guarantee my safety. I've had my life threatened before. I've been shot. I've been stabbed. I've been attacked. I can honestly say that there is nothing on the street that truly scares me anymore. I have my connections of course. I never truly ride solo. If you want to survive on the street you can't. I don't run with the homies, but I have connections with them.
I love it here. And I honestly don't know if I ever want to go back. I tried that suburban life, and it's not for me. I can play my music and do my dance right here on the street where I belong. It's the life.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

The Other Side of the City

It's amazing how quickly it can all fall apart. How easily someone can snap leaving disaster in their wake. How suddenly hopes and dreams can shatter. How fast someone can go from having it all, to having nothing. How unexpectedly someones reality can collapse around them.
I've been lucky to always have enough, but as I've looked closer at the people in the community,around me, it makes me even more grateful for the things I do have. I don't mean the people in middle class suburbia, but the lowest of the low class. The 'bums' the homeless, the people who usually don't get a second glance in the street. If you look closely, you can see traces of the lives they used to live. The gold bangle on the girl leaning up against the cheap hotel waiting for her next customer. The way she speaks with a slight east coast accent. The rare shade of dye in her hair. It suggests that she once enjoyed the luxuries of the upper class before being cast out, or running away. The dirty man sitting on the sidewalk with a guitar, busking for his next meal. At closer glance, he is holding a Gibson Les Paul, an $1,600 instrument. The only remnant of a carefree youth spent playing music before the band split up, and fame drifted away to nothing, leaving him stranded with only a guitar and a shattered dream.
Observing these people is heart wrenching, and moving. This is why I have chosen to live among them for a while. I packed a backpack and took to the streets for the summer. I am now writing this in an inner city homeless shelter. I needed a break from family, and I needed a new perspective. So I'm here. And I love it. These people are so open and so friendly know all the secrets of the city. Where to go hear the best music. To meet the coolest people. All the underground street dance clubs. Places to connect with people I would never have met had I continued to live in oblivion. And well I know that I can always go back and resume my life at any point in time, I have no desire to return any time soon. This is my life now, and I love it.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

Never Doing That Again

So I had a pretty miserable weekend.
One of my 'friends' invited me to go with him and his family to Summer Jam over the weekend. He and I had never been a thing (I'd made out with him a couple of times for some weed, but he is a horrible kisser). But unfortunately, he is really into me. I mean I never really gave him a reason not to be. Well anyway, since I really wanted to go to the concert, I decided to play the devoted girlfriend for the weekend. Let me just tell you, IT WAS MISERABLE!!! Not only was it hard to seem infatuated with him in front of his family, but the fact that I am completely disgusted with him as a person did not help at all.
I guess I shouldn't complain; I did get to see an awesome concert. But being there with him was just painful. For one thing, he has no sense of style. So when I come walking in looking awesome in my
leather corset, and studded leather boots (my standard uniform), and neon red hair, of course I'm turning heads. Getting compliments left and right, people asking me out on the spot, the usual. Well of course then he has to go acting all possessive because being with me made him feel cool or something. But he is so clingy. I mean constantly trying to hold my hand, and put his arms around me. Obviously trying to play up the whole "Check out my girlfriend" thing. I got so many pitying looks as we were walking, and when we went up to the pit, SO many people asked me why the hell I was with him. So many hot guys asked me to dance, and I couldn't dance with any of them. It was miserable. MISERABLE I tell ya! So many available cute guys who were interested in me, and I couldn't even give any of them my number. Anyway then that night, I hooked up with him so he would still think I was infatuated with him, but he is terrible in bed. I mean really awful. For starters, he's fat. And out of shape. And hairy. In other words, it was one of the worst nights I have ever had (with the exception of the night after that). Anyway, after that, he would not stop trying to cuddle me and pull me up against him. Uggghhh.
The next day wasn't any better. I rocked a neon bikini top and ripped jeans, and then of course he totally harshed my mellow with shorts made out of who knows what and hideous tennis shoes. Anyway, afterward, he asked me to spend the night at his house, and since it was like two in the morning, and I was half asleep, I said yes without thinking. Well it turns out that not only does he still live with his mom (that didn't really bother me since he is eighteen), but he shares a room with his little brother (WTF?). Not just a room, but a bunk bed with Superman sheets, in a room with Spiderman curtains, and a Disney Cars poster hanging on the wall. Needless to say, I could not get out of there fast enough. And I can say honestly that if you feel the need to keep your shirt on while getting it on, please stay the hell away from me.
But Monday, things got infinitely better. I went downtown to get some things done, and I got the usual amount of whistles and wolf calls. But one guy came up to me meaning to hook me up with his friend, but instead, we ended up talking, and walking, and sitting, and smoking, and drinking, and kissing, and one thing led to another, and we were getting it on on a fire escape. It was awesome. He is such a good kisser. We met up again today for lunch, and we talked and got to know eachother better. We didn't hold hands or kiss or anything, but I felt really close to him. He almost always picks up when I call, and he calls me back as soon as he can if he misses a call. We just hit it off.
It's funny how you can go from being miserable to having a great time in the space of just a couple days. We're going to see each other again, and I guess I'll see how things go :)
C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Peace.
Signed hot_tunes♪♫

Life and Spaghetti

Life is like a plate of spaghetti.  You spend all this time trying to figure out the twists and turns, all the tangles and knots of the noodles, and every once in a while you find a meatball. And it’s delicious, good times- times when the perfect opportunity presents itself just for you. When the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the noodles are coated with the perfect mixture of butter, garlic, oregano, and basil. When you bite down on the meatball and it’s even more flavorful than you expected. But then it’s gone and you have to tackle the noodles and hard times once again. During those difficult noodle struggles it’s easy to just give up; drop your fork, stick your face in and just slurp. But then, whether or not you find a meatball, you end up in a stickier, messier situation then you were in the first place.

It’s hard to stay positive through those times.  To remind yourself that there is a meatball, a good time, an opportunity, around the next bend. This is the predicament I often find myself in; trying to keep my head up even though I know that it’s going to take me several turns to locate my meatball. Knowing that no matter whether or not I put down my fork, the chances that I’m going to find an opportunity are slim. Sometimes, I forget what it even felt like to taste a good moment.  Sometimes, I feel like the only thing left to do is to set down my fork and throw the entire plate of spaghetti in the trash. Give up completely, abandon the entire meal, and never pick up a fork again. Those are the times when even the delicious flavor of the noodles and spices cannot distract me from the fact that my life has become a hopeless tangle of knots and dead ends.

 But then I tell myself that, yes, even though these times are difficult, and it seems like there’s nothing else I can do, I’ve made it through situations just as tough and tangled as this one, and there’s no reason why I can’t do the same again. That even though my meatball may be countless noodles away, there is no reason why I can’t enjoy a forkful of perfectly coiled up flavorful spaghetti. I can make something good out of these tough times. They are a good opportunity for me to learn how to handle the kinks that are sure to come in the future. Those knots help me to realize that life is not all meatballs and good times (Honestly if it was, it would be really boring).

Through the noodles of life, sometimes it feels like I’m the only one struggling; like I’m the only one who hasn’t found a meatball. But no matter how much I feel that to be true, I know it’s not. That is a very selfish outlook on life, yet unfortunately it’s one I choose to view time and time again. Even looking outside my bedroom door, I see people who have spent years and years searching for their meatball; sometimes even managing to touch it with the tip of their fork before it rolls back into the twists and turns once again leaving nothing but a sense of hopelessness and frustration. These are the people who, if they were like me, would throw down their fork, and never pick it up again. But instead, again and again, they set aside the search for their meatball, in order to help others find theirs. Selflessly, they bear the knots in silence, in order to loosen the tangles in the plates of others. They help me realize that even though it might be tough at times, I love life. Life is beautiful. Life is ugly. Life is happiness. Life is pain. Why should that mean it’s not worth living?  Even though it can be difficult to eat, who doesn’t enjoy a plate of spaghetti?

 

Life is like a plate of spaghetti. It can be good. It can be bad. There are those instances when you want to dance around singing in a horrible fake Italian accent because you just tasted the perfect combination of sauce, spices, and noodles. Times where you feel things couldn’t get any better, and you’re truly happy. Then there are those times when a snarl you never expected throws itself in your path, and you want to give up and throw the entire dish down the disposal. But that’s the great thing about life. It’s a mystery. It is full of the unexpected.  It’s neither all good, nor all bad. It just is.