Blatantly fake... everything about me is so blatantly fake.

At Ralphs buying bananas, a woman appeared to be trailing me...

Did I grab the bananas she wanted?

What was so special about these bananas?
Should I surrender them?

Oh, damn!

My social anxiety was getting to me now!

Finally, she interrupted my thoughts, "Excuse me, I'm sorry... do you model?"

Ha!

Of course, I immediately stated what I thought was blatantly apparent:
"Shit, no! I just wear insane heels. And, way too much make-up. I'm outrageously fake."

She looked entirely confused and slightly offended.

Still, she offered me her card and when I denied it she asked for my number. Generally, I am suspect of humans who want to take my number for anything but sexual conquest. Nonetheless, I gave it to her.

Well, shit, if I'm not going to be Batman's sidekick, I may as well find another gig, right?

The possibilities are endless.

dk

My own personal Highway to Hell

This lengthy text to my friend pretty much sums up what's become of my life:

"Well. Went to have coffee before my shift. Ended up imposing my company on two dudes. Turned out they were total drug addicts. We talked about drug and alcohol addiction for a good hour. One told me how he was homeless because of it then found the lord. Married his pregnant girlfriend. I abruptly intruded and said, 'don't mind me, continue, I just have to get dressed for work.' Pulled my hair down from a pony tail. Commenced to pull the headband [sized skirt], bedazzled top and thigh highs out of my purse and changed on the patio of some coffee house - in front of two stranger recovering addicts and oncoming traffic, of course. Then asked for their fb info, so? Fuck. I am bored with life."

What I failed to mention in the text was the 50+ year-old, quasi-homeless, lanky man with a beard well down to his chest, wearing clothing that seemed to be manufactured primarily by hemp, who was mysteriously lurking in the background - cigarette smoke serving as the primary evidence of his existence.

That man asked us ('us' being me and the two druggies of course), "Do you know a good place to just go out and dance around here?" While I sat perplexed: did this man truly want to dance, would those severely worn sandals pass any dance club dress code, and is this man absolutely mad... while I sat puzzled, the druggies fielded the question. They began spewing various dance clubs and before I knew what happened the quasi-homeless man was off in to the moonlight, happy as can be, off to dance the night away. "Thanks, I do love a good beat." Wow. This is my reality. Awesome. I'm still very, very, very bored. Bored with life, in general.

And then I concluded my night, texting my friend once again:

"I ended my night in a 'headband' [sized skirt] with some middle aged singer at a dive bar putting his arm around me and mic in my face while I shouted 'Highway to Hell' - again, I wish I were kidding."

Only, I'm never kidding... my reality, she's a joke.

It's a good thing I love to laugh!

Xo!

dk

Hollywood flashes me the Bat Signal!

Hollywood and Vine in 'Danielle' easily translates to Hollywood and Wine.

I've lived in Los Angeles County for my entire life. Never had I the need nor had I the urge to venture in to the heart of its neurosis. But today... today, I found myself wandering amongst the absurdity that collectively pulsates the heart which controls the blood flow to neighboring cities that are feverishly feeding off the obscene neurosis. Yes! It is that dramatic, damn it! Today, I walked amongst the circus acts; amongst the figurative multi-colored pitched tents theatrically sprinkled alongside Hollywood Blvd.

Today, I encountered a man playing "drums." I hadn't the heart to tell him the beats were derived from emptied paint buckets, I just hadn't the heart.

Today, I encountered a man carrying a long silver tube with which he would probe windows high above. I hadn't the desire to speculate the intention nor the orgin of his tube.

I encountered a man in a Flash costume.

I encountered a man in a cowboy costume.

I encountered a man in a Darth Vader costume.

And, I encountered a man dressed as a vampire - although, this man, I'm not entirely certain was a man in any costume.

I spent only a total of 12 minutes (maximum) on Hollywood Blvd., still... to deal with the human chaos that was actively occurring not 30 miles from my home... I needed a glass of wine - or, twelve. I refused to allow the madness to sustain itself as my reality. So, I held my glass up high and directed it at no one in particular; a toast! Cheers to my escaping that miserable reality. Hollywood and Vine: never again will your concrete stars grace the base of my heels.

Never again,
dk

On the plus side:
A man all of 5' dressed in a Batman costume followed me down the street. Nearly a half torso superior to him (I'm 6'2" in heels), I finally stooped to his level. By that I mean, I put actually put myself on the opposite end of his attempted 2-way communication. Apparently, the man dressed in kid's sized super hero attire, he's looking for a sidekick. It's not like I've any offers more promising. Can't wait!

So, don't fucking pinch me.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!!

I wish I had a shirt that read, "Kiss me, I'm British!"

Oh, and a bible embossed with a shamrock!

Is this just random dk gibberish? Oh, babel! Nothing I say is nonsensical. And, besides that, you're the idiot pouring dye in your beer simply because we Americans decided to invent yet another holiday - yet another occasion for becoming sloppy and obliterated. Typical. Per usual. Relax, I'm not trying to rain on your St. Patty's Day Parade. But keep in mind...

The real St. Patrick wasn't even Irish!

He was born in Britain;

And, to an aristocratic Christian family.

He became a priest.

And spent his life in Ireland.

Attempting to convert the Irish to Christianity.

According to St. Patrick's Day folklore,

He used the three leaves of a shamrock to explain the Christian holy trinity:

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Whatever. Enjoy your beer and nonsense. But, please, drink responsibly and drive safely. Oh, and, amongst the Irish, green was long considered an unlucky color. So, don't fucking pinch me. Xo! dk

Danielle Defined: a useless, meaningless but fun exercise

'Danielle' as defined by UrbanDictionary.com...

A.) Traditional; Feminine form of Daniel, meaning 'Judged only by GOD.' B.) Intense, firey female Possessing ability to affect person, place, and immediate surrounding environment. Frequently manifesting such conflicting extremes that the outcome is typically one of lucidity or confusion. The conflict(s) can occur consecutively, concurrent or separate. Other characteristics of Danielle are; abundance of curly locks of hair (red?), kalidescope eyes, descernible voice capable of pitch, tone and volume that cracks Ice, shatters glass, and renders those in ear-shot stunned for moments, Buckcherry released a song about Danielle titled "CRAZY BITCH" in 2006, Danielle is synonymous with Tardy i;e, NEVER EVER, ever on time generally DST (Danielle Standard Time) run's within a 3 hour conversion =/- ( due at 2 pm will not arrive prior to 2:30 PM but usually by 5PM or somewhere in between) 'DANIELLE' your most fearless, strong and loyal friend for life, or your most feared, relentless mortal enemy.

Well... This proved to be a useless, meaningless but fun exercise. Then again, tell me what in this life cannot be defined as "a useless, meaningless but fun exercise?"

Xo!
dk

Books to read.

Unrelated to my today, you should read these books when you have the time (or interest).

The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
The Book of Secrets (Deepak Chopra)
The Four Agreements (Don Miguel Ruiz)
The Prophet (Khalil Gibran)

I'm not claiming I've read any of these nor am I claiming I haven't.

Providing you any form of certainty about the existence and practices of my me would contradict everything I stand for. Everything I stand for being: ambiguity, uncertainty - and, unnecessary secrecy.

Xo!
dk

Yes, I'm always this emo

Today I went to Newport Beach. Had coffee with a girlfriend. Delivered her back to her corporate confinement. Then drove myself to the beach to sit on the sand and read about the virtues of self-actualization.

Sometimes it just takes clouded sky to clear the mind.
(yes, I'm always this emo)

Xo!
dk

No, I'm not a stoner.

No, I'm not a stoner

(although, it's a common misconception for which I take great pride).

WTF? Lego guns defile American Dream? Um. Ok.

Today, I randomly came across one of America's favorite toys destroying one of America's favorite dreams. Um, what's next?! Will Barbie soon combat traditional American household structure - and, do so all while flat-footed? This video is just Un-American!

Then again... we do love guns in this country. Xo! dk

Less class. More grass.

Today, I tried to overdose on Passion Flower pills, B-Stress vitamins and selfish, extravagant inhales of oxygen in efforts of suppressing the overwhelming anxiety associated with obligation*.

But, my overdose, it didn't work. Instead, I skipped class. Bought a large cup of hot tea. Went to a park. Sat on a patch of grass - far secluded from society (thank goodness) - and, read about love.

Loved it.

dk

*I loathe obligations: obligations, responsibilities, commitments - generally adulthood as defined by modern society, I can do without. OBVIOUSLY!!!!

Statistically speaking, men come out short.

Courtesy of my statistics course, I've mentally banked the following bit of information:

The average height of an American male is: 5'9"
American males 6'1"+ allocate for only 4% of the population.

Lesson learned: I'm working with 4% here.

Unfortunately, through my own repetitive personal experience, I've discovered a troubling phenomena evident amongst the 4% - there seems to be an obvious inverse ratio between intellect and height.

Damn it! I must further investigate this burdening circumstance.
I wonder if I can propose such self-serving research as the topic of my graduate thesis.

Hmm... to be continued.

Xo!
dk

Tampons challenge tuition

There's a lot money can buy...

For ≈ $40.00 I can have a month on eHarmony.com.

For ≈ $3,055.00... I can have ≈ 76 months.

For ≈ $4.00 I can have a mug of Yulmu Tea.

For ≈ $3,055.00... I can have ≈ 764 mugs.

For ≈ $2.oo I can have a glass of Iced Barley Tea.

For ≈ $3,055.00... I can have ≈ 1,528 glasses.

For ≈ $30.00 I can have a compact of MAC Studio Fix powder.

For ≈ $3,055.00... I can have ≈ 102 compacts.

For ≈ $7.00 I can have a box of Playtex Gentle Glide tampons.

For ≈ $3,055.00... I can have ≈ 436 boxes.

Instead, I chose to expend $3,055.00 towards a single semester's tuition. I'm now wondering wether I wouldn't have preferred 436 boxes of tampons. How entirely disenchanting. Depressing even.

- - Will student loans cover Zoloft? - -

(Lexapro, Xanax, Prozac, Paxil?)

Otherwise, how much of it can $3,055.00 buy?

Queer eye for the straight... hair.

Yesterday, a flamboyantly gay man raved over my 'fabulous' [straight] hair.

Politely, I replied. "Thank you, I agree."

If I were modest, I'd be dishonest.

Espresso shouldn't be this complicated.

"I'll have an Americano, please."

"Size?"
The woman in the green smock murmurs in a tone appropriate only for theatrical interrogation, perhaps on the set of Law and Order. I excuse her tone. This is Los Angeles after all, surely she's an aspiring actress. Fine.

"How many shots are in the regular size?"
"The Tall has two shots."
While I appreciate her full-sentenced response this time around, she hasn't answered my question.

"Is that the regular one: the middle size?"
"The Grande has three shots."
Is she taunting me, I wonder. And, I am forced to repeat my original question.

"Is that the regular one: the middle size?"
"The Venti has four shots."
It appears my repetitive quest for a response that will appropriately accommodate my initial inquiry has frustrated the Barista quite dramatically.

"Right. Just get me four shots. Thanks."

Only, at this point, I'm no longer speaking in terms of espresso.

Instead, I'm wondering - no, plotting - how I might transform my Americano in to something a little less American and a little more Irish.

Or, is that too obvious in broad daylight?

Then again...

...this is Downtown Los Angeles. I'm confident the bike cops would permit the additional ingredient if simply I tucked my "Venti" in to a brown paper bag.

Yes, I subscribe to OKCupid.com

Friends,

Why doesn't anyone take me seriously?
(don't answer that).

YES!
Yes, I do indeed play the online dating game.

http://www.okcupid.com/profile/21dani

Told you so.

Xo!
dk

Swinging is fuuunnnn... Wiiiiiiii

First watch this:

And, because I lack the stamina to post my own commentary... then watch this:

Trading Cards

" Boys are like trading cards; you should just collect them all. " -dk

(This is what happens when you're vain, you begin quoting yourself. So?)