Real//Raw

So I've been entertaining this vegan/paleo diet lately, and as unbelievable as it sounds. I've been a good girl...well, sort of. This diet includes the stipulation that you are not allowed to drink alcohol.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Exactly.

That being said, I got drunk with Omar Afra at Fitzgeralds on a Wednesday night.

I've got a really bad hangover, but I owe Omar an apology because I bailed on him last night in drunk asshole fashion. So here it goes:

Dear Omar Afra,

I am the following things:

hungover

hungry

tired

dumb

lame

and without manners

I ditched you last night because I was too busy being drunk and trying to feed my cats. I owe you a bottle of tequila and if you'll have it, some tacos. I promise to never ditch you ever again ever. I am sorry I suck sometimes, but it doesn't happen that often. Let's hang soon.

<3 Elle

By the by, I went to see my lawyer this morning to prep for court- I was still drunk.

That's another post and I've got to pick up some tacos.

Dark Roast

It's one of those mornings where you wake up and take inventory. Clothing is on, purse is present, license is in wallet, money is scattered about in purse, but where are my shoes? Roll out of bed at a nice and easy 9:30 a.m. and begin the transformation from drunk transient to hungover hack writer. Feeling like a slow motion technicolor film, everything is almost just floating. Sometimes you just have to take off your heels and walk barefoot; it's rude to wake the neighbors.

Shoes are in the trunk.

It might be seen as taboo or unladylike to discuss one's exploits or acts of social depravity, but I'm a no holds barred kind of lady and could really give a shit, it keeps things interesting.

I ventured alone for the majority of last evening. I had dinner with my good friend Joseph, who was dressed in a tuxedo because he attended a black tie event prior to our rendezvous at Rudyard's brittish pub, but his casual girlfriend called and so ended our evening of debauchery. Feeling the itch for another shot of whiskey and some familiar faces I found myself at Grand Prize Bar. I ran into the people I know from the industry and that made for good conversation- I was also delighted to see my friend Cheddar who is visiting from Italy. Good times were had. I soon found myself meeting with my good friend Danielle at Boondocks, which by the way sucks; we sat, listened to Madonna, had drinks, and then decided to head over to Kung Fu.

 Because in reality that's exactly what I needed, another drink.

Now see, I've been feeling on this guy for a second now, and I've been trying to play it cool because I tend to get a little bit batshit crazy when it comes to men. Call it serendipity, call it coincidence, call it drunk and horny, what have you- en route to Kung Fu I am contacted by said person. He is fucking hot. Really ridiculously good looking.

 IhavetobailbecauseIwanttogetlaidandthisguyisgoingtodoit.

Maybe I'm a bad friend for selling my friend Danielle out for a guy, but at least I apologized.

In retrospect I'll say this, he is an asshole who prays on young women and post-break up vulnerability, he is also one hairy motherfucker, but sometimes at 2 a.m. those things don't matter and you find yourself at his apartment. So sue me.

it's the 4th of July, y'all!

        I have been trying to decipher where the dull thuds i'm hearing are coming from. 15 minutes; that's how long I have been looking. Cabinet, restroom, pantry, one, two, three, four, cats are all accounted for. 17 minutes; and then, like a rogue wave, it hits me, my mystery is solved, no longer will I contemplate this tale tell heart.

        Julie, please wake the fuck up, it's the fourth of July and there are fireworks exploding in close proximity to your apartment.

Hello friends, readers, passers-by,

It's been some time.

         Fast forward two days and I've kept this post open so that I can work on it intermittently, in between wasting time and trolling facebook posts. I suppose nothing of GREAT significance has happened, yet, but I am due for some sort of cosmic comeuppance. There is a story I'm working on however, that involves the DA's office, Julian Ramirez, and my most wonderful friend and business colleague, Anna Large-Bradley. In my minds eye I'd like it to be a hard-hitting, paper ruffling, call-the-new-york-times type expose, but the reality of that paired with my time restraints and constraints as one who has free reign over her own material (which in of itself is an oxymoron) I anticipate at least a little bit of a struggle. Moving on.

        If you haven't noticed already, I am non-linear, but such is the thought process, and I believe that it keeps things interesting. In the spirit of sporadic thinking I will now highlight the serendipitous event which have prompted this update: the fourth of July or as we in the states say, Independence Day.

Allow me to preface this paragraph with the fact that I am one who enjoys alcoholic beverages and carousing with friends in public spaces that being said, I neglected to partake in such adult activities in an attempt to show some restraint and personal responsibility, only because I had a 6 a.m. meeting- otherwise I'd probably would have woken up face down in someones front yard- as is expected of me when inebriation sets into play. I departed from a friend's apartment pool and made my way home at an acceptable 7:30 p.m. which on any given evening is almost unheard of in relation to myself. I arrived, contemplated showering, decided against it, opened up my laptop, trolled facebook, and attempted to watch a movie. I remember getting up and walking over to the kitchenette for something, maybe it was water? Who knows, and who cares, I wandered back over to my bed and there it was in a tiny chat box, a message from Omar Afra- otherwise known as one of the most influential people in the burgeoning Houston music/arts scene and editor in chief of Free Press Houston . I paused for a fraction of a second, seeing as how I had only met this man once; the message read "what time is Chris coming over?" I knew then that I'd received this message by accident, but it would be rude to not respond so I replied assuring him no one was coming over and that I was in for the evening. Thus began a kind of Q/A session and he asked me for a writing sample.


A FUCKING WRITING SAMPLE.

BIG FUCKING DEAL YOU GUYS.

I haven't submitted any writing samples to any serious publications in a few years, so I freaked out a bit.

You might be that lame that you are unfamiliar with FPH, but that is your fault for living in the dark- the latter possibility being that I am that much of a geek when it comes to writing that I'd blow things out of proportion. I prefer the former because, it makes you look bad and it makes me look cool. I've given it some real thought as to what I would submit, should it be technical, creative, scholastic? So many possibilities but in truth, I prefer to show people the kind of writer I am, the way I think, and let it act as a testament to my person. I'm going to submit this blog post, accompanied by some from another blog, and the end result will be this, he's either going to like it or he won't, at least I can say that I submitted content that I enjoyed writing and pray you enjoyed reading.

It's not all gold, and sometimes it's not all brief, but I wrote it for you to read and you're going to form an opinion, and I'm satisfied with just that...and before you know it, you've read this entire post.