And the money just keeps not rolling in

I don't know who the hell ever said rock stars get rich and famous. The fame's coming along, but I'm still waiting on the rich part.

On the up side, life is great. I play concerts all night and sleep half the day. Sometimes even alone. I don't have to report to a regular job any more; instead I'm on contract as a performer at the theater and I set my own concert schedule. Sweet, eh?

I'm getting insanely popular, and people say my parties are great. I threw a pool party the other day that lasted four hours, and everybody went home wrinkly and happy. I took some snapshots but then I dropped my camera in the pool, so I've got no pictures to show. They weren't any good, anyway.

I did three back to back concerts in a row day before yesterday and then stayed up all night talking to people in the balmy night air outside the theater. One of them was an older man named Malcolm Landgraab. I hear he's a bigshot around town. This can't hurt my career! I was so wiped that I slept the whole day and night. What a way to make a living, though. I'm telling you. This is cake.

I made two new friends, one of whom is the new maid. Except for that one prude, all the maids really seem to like me a lot. Think it's because I prance around the house in my nightie all day? I know it can't be a coincidence that the agency only sends men.

Hey, can I help it if I'm popular and cute? It's called charisma, and it serves me well.

How are men like Lay's Potato Chips?

You remember the old ad. "Lay's Potato Chips. Betcha can't eat just one."

So, yeah, I've been spending more and more time with Craig lately. I'm not ditching Stiles or Cycl0n3, but a girl's gotta have some company when her other men are busy, right? Life of a rising star.

I think it's just that we hit it off so well. I mean, really well. We were best friends from the day we met. It's as if we've always been friends. He's the only person I've met here besides myself who can't keep his hands off his guitar. Every spare minute he's pulling out the old Gibson and cranking out the tunes. I'm constantly running into him in the park or out front of the theater or someplace. If I'm not playing for the crowds, he is.

He's really good, too. Does some nice Beatles covers. He likes my music just as much as I like his. We're never bored together because we both fill any empty moments with music. You gotta love a guy like that.

But oh, honey, we have GOT to do something about that wardrobe.

We got into a smoking hot make out session last week, and barely made it to the bedroom. He's got a sexy voice, and his moans were driving me over the edge. Then just when he'd got me aching for him, he pulled back. Shit. Damn guy has a conscience. I mean, he DOES have a girlfriend. I don't know what's going on there, though. Obviously they're together in name only, because I've never seen her with him and he never seems to want to go home. Maybe he's just not getting any at home.

I should have been spitting mad at him, getting me that hot and then backing off. But I didn't feel like being too hard on him for some reason. He confessed he really does have strong feelings for me, he was just conflicted about how far to take it, and how fast. We spent the night in my bed, spooned against each other, and occasionally whispering loverlike things. He rose in the early morning in guilty haste, and kissed me gently before rushing off home so he could sneak in before she woke up and caught him. I snuggled under the blanket and went back to sleep with a smile. I made sure Cycl0n3 and Stiles were unencumbered before starting anything up with them, so this is new territory for me.

You can't get good help any more

I'm having the worst luck with maids all of a sudden. I had to fire Grady because he was being lazy and leaving things undone. I hated doing it, because he was the best maid they had. His replacement, I don't even remember his name, was okay for a while, I guess. To tell you the truth, I didn't pay much attention. Then one morning while Stiles and I were having breakfast, he came in and made himself a bowl of cereal and sat down and ate with us, then he sat down and started watching TV. I think the only work he did was to make the bed. He left with the shower dirty and the trash bin full, and he had the balls to charge me full price. I gave him the sack too.

Now this new guy, for two days in a row he comes in and immediately starts yelling at me for who knows what? I can't understand him. But I can sure understand the tone of his voice, and he just doesn't like me for some reason. Maybe he's a prude and doesn't like walking in on me in my nightie or underwear. Tough shit. If he doesn't like what he sees, he can stop coming in the mornings. He knows I sleep late. They all know. Well, I'm not going to let it bother me unless he stops doing his job. Tons of other people like me. In fact, I'm pretty damn popular around here. As conceited as that sounds, it's true. I'm even getting asked for my autograph around town.

I was too lazy to cook breakfast today, so I had some leftover key lime pie. My favorite. I thought it looked okay, but damn!

I didn't start feeling bad until I got to the gym, where I thought I might work out a little. I've been a real couch potato lately except for playing gigs at night. And sex. Sex burns a ton of calories.

I ran all the way over there because it wasn't too far, and then I got on the treadmill. Oh, boy. Mistake. That pie came up like a freaking freight train, and I had to run for the bathroom faster than I'd been running on the treadmill! Yuck. I hate throwing up more than anything.

I noticed Emma goes to that gym, too. She came in and started doing jumping jacks next to me - before I took off like a rocket for the john, that is. She must be a pretty good cook, because she's been kind of ballooning up lately. Probably an occupational hazard.

Zzzz

Stiles talks in his sleep!

God, I love this town

I was hanging out in the park today, soaking up some sun and playing some tunes, and Malcolm Landgraab tipped me 1,000 simoleans! I am NOT kidding.

Who needs food, sleep or sex? I've got my guitar.

After work I thought I'd stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things, but I got sidetracked. A guy named Parker Langerak came up and started talking to me. He seems nice. He says he's rich, but I wonder if he's just trying to impress me. I thought rich people dressed better than that. Maybe he just has poor fashion sense and an unfortunate predilection for sweater vests.

I was really sleepy and I needed a shower, but for some dumb reason I hauled out the guitar and started playing. It's like a compulsion, you know? Parker went home, but I kept playing for a while. Acoustic guitar chills me out and relaxes me.

I was just about to pack it in around 4:30 a.m., when a few people walked by and stopped to listen. Who am I to refuse an audience? The old lady didn't seem to appreciate music much; she said something rude and blew a raspberry as she walked by. The younger people liked it, though. They were tapping their toes and nodding their heads in time to the music. You've got to love it when you have the power to make people happy.

It was almost 6 a.m. when I stopped. I was about to drop dead right there on the pavement. They didn't want me to stop, but I had to. Why do I do stuff like this? Now I'm probably going to sleep all day. Thank God I have two days off in a row.

I shamelessly shill for tips

I figured today I'd go over and talk to Emma again. I still owe her those recipes I promised, and maybe she's not so bad; I didn't really give her much of a chance. She wasn't at home, and they said she was downtown, so off I went.

I found her in front of City Hall, leading some kind of huge protest rally. Tons of people waving signs and yelling. It was so noisy I couldn't even make out what they were yelling about. I tried to ask the woman standing nearest to me, but she wouldn't tell me. I guess that's what Emma was typing up on the computer in the middle of the night. Who knew? She doesn't look like much of an activist. She looks like a suburban housewife. She was dressed like somebody who works in a kitchen. What do you suppose she has to protest about?

Well, what was I gonna do? Waste a good crowd? I started playing some of the new songs I'd been learning, and people started tossing money into my guitar case. That's what I'm talking about. And OMG, I really wowed them. I could tell by their reactions and the looks on their faces. They loved me! I love this town. I'm so glad I moved here.

I made over $800 in tips. That's better than I make at the park and the beach combined. Can't count on a big crowd like that every day, though.

I meet some new people and almost get into a sticky situation

I got a message that some lady named Emma Hatch thinks I'm a pretty good cook and wants to swap recipes with me. She called herself a "fellow cook." I wonder if she has me confused with somebody else? I'm not a cook, not by profession, anyway. I mean, I'm not bad at all, but that's only because I live alone and there's nobody else to cook for me. I learned out of dire necessity.

I'm supposed to go over to her place and have a chat. Who the hell is Emma Hatch and how does she know I'm a good cook? I swear I don't remember meeting her. I do meet kind of a lot of people, though. Am I getting that absent-minded? Cycl0n3's supposed to be the absent-minded one; he told me that's one of his main character traits, the first time we went out.

I spent most of the day fooling around doing an impromptu gig in the park, and poking around in the bookstore buying new sheet music. After, I looked up Emma's address and went over there. Guess who was standing outside the door? Cycl0n3! Turns out he lives there. I had no idea; he always comes to my place. I guess because there are at least 4 other people living in that huge house. No privacy. Now I know how Emma knows about me.

God, he looked good. I hadn't seen him in ages. Sometimes he just doesn't pay very much attention to me. But he's so hot that I always take him back. He was as surprised as I was, but boy was he glad to see me. Very glad. Uh, visibly glad, if you know what I mean. You'd have thought it had been a year, judging by the way we were trying to crawl all over each other. Dear Lord, that man can kiss. One of his roommates was standing there, and she started rolling her eyes and making retching noises. She was also looking at me like she hated me. Bitch. Probably not getting any. Or is she jealous? Does she want him? Back off, lady. He's mine.

After about a million years, we reluctantly let go of each other and went inside. I went upstairs to poke around because there wasn't anybody downstairs. And because I'm nosey about other people's houses. Oh my fucking God. Stiles lives here too? Holy shit! Jeez, he's such a loner, what's he doing living with a bunch of roommates?
There he was, though, in one of the bedrooms, looking all cute and cuddly with those puppy dog eyes, and looking at me like he was lost in the desert and I was a big old pitcher of ice cold water.


I just about shit. Both my lovers live in the same house? I could be in deep shit. Or not. Hmmm. Would they fight over me, or would they be okay with it? Or would they even like it? I have no idea. Cycl0n3's pretty laid back, but I don't know. And Stiles, well, he always struck me as pretty conservative for somebody in the music biz, and he seems kind of old fashioned. I'd hate for him to get his feelings hurt. I may need to be careful here.

I should have know better than to sleep with a guy I work with, but what can I say? He's so sweet and so in love with me, had been ever since I started working at the Wilsonoff Community Theater. And Cycl0n3 was off in la la land somewhere and I was lonely and ... oh well. Shit happens.


Well, after the shock sort of wore off, and after I peeled my lips off of Stiles's (ew, gross imagery there, but hey I'm not the writer), I finally found Emma typing furiously on the computer. She greeted me nicely enough, but as soon as I tried to start up a conversation about cooking, she shut me down, saying something about how late it was. I looked at a clock and it was 3:30 a.m. Oops.

Cycl0n3 came up behind me just then and gave me one of those yummy from-behind hugs, and I asked him if I could sleep over. I thought it would give me more time to talk to Emma, maybe when she was in a better mood. I would have behaved myself. Maybe. But Miss Snob Emma jumped in and kicked my ass out. Not very politely, either. Actually kicked me right out of the house. Said it was too late at night to be paying visits. Huh? I mean, she was awake and so was everybody else, so what the hell? Rude much? I thought maybe one of my dreamboats would override her and invite me to stay, but she was too fast for them. I was out on the porch in about two seconds. I have a feeling she's the mama bear around there.

Went home and dropped into bed. It was pretty late, after all.

I get bored and decide to start a blog

I’m at work, but taking a break. I was playing a new song and broke the G string (ha ha, very funny, get your minds out of the gutter, I mean the one on the GUITAR) so I’m chilling while the band farts around and goofs off. It’s that kind of night, anyway. Nobody’s exactly working around here.

Cycl0n3 says blogging is good for the soul or the psyche or something. He’s probably gonna be a famous writer some day, so I guess he’d know. So anyway, here I am starting my own little blog. I guess it’s not a blog if I’m writing it in a spiral notebook I picked up at the bookstore, huh? But there’s no computer here, and I don’t have one at home either. I spend most of my free time jamming or learning new songs, so I haven’t got around to buying one. And I’m not trading in my cell phone for a blackberry. I hate typing on those little chiclet keys, especially with my fingers. Your fingers get all callused and hard if you play the guitar every waking moment, you know.

I figure I can type all this up later on one of the library’s computers. Or in the school’s computer lab. They’re cool over there and they like me; they’re always asking me to come and perform at their assemblies or give a lecture on music or something. The kids think I’m hot. LOL. Hey, they’re not wrong.

Besides, how can I possibly remember everything long enough to get to a computer if I don’t write it down first? Hell, I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast. Not true, actually. I had apple pancakes. Again. I need to go to the store and buy some different fruit.

While I was getting the pancake stuff out of the fridge, the maid came in and saw me standing there in my furry white bra (I know! Can you believe a fur bra? I just had to have it. It’s comfy to sleep in, especially if there’s somebody there to appreciate it, if you know what I mean) and my little bitty black and white lace panties. He started clapping and woo-hooing all over the place. I wiggled my fanny for him a little bit. I’d had a good night’s sleep (alone for a change) and I was in a good mood. What the hell.

God, I ramble. Maybe that’s why I’m such a party animal. I love to talk.

So yeah, CyclOn3 thinks blogging or journaling or whatever this is, is cool, so I’m doing it. It is kind of a good de-stresser after a long day, and Zelda always says I could always use more press even though my popularity has skyrocketed recently and my songs are getting good air time on the pop stations. Maybe I’ll get more fans out of this. Cool. I could even get on Twitter, but CLEARLY I could never limit myself to 140 characters.

Speaking of Cycl0n3, he’s dreamy as hell. He wears sunglasses when he doesn’t have to, and a leather jacket, and he always looks like he needs a shave. I think he wants to be James Dean. That style can be lame or sexy as hell, depending. He can definitely carry it off. And my God, he’s freaking insatiable in the sack. Can’t get enough.

I’m gonna stop now. We’re working on a new song and want to get some more done before we head home.