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had been contemplating a return to dating, in some new-to-me rhythm, but on second thought — no thank you. I don't want to do It again. I've actually spent way too much time on this throughout my life.

Current dating *culture* feels like a frenzied orgy of spreading mess on top of mess, then lighting it on fire while feigning surprise at the destruction for the sole sake of destroying. I shudder when I think about the hurt babes who have juiced up The DJ's new signature mustache. He's got no let's talk about it muscles but he'll drink your juices to make his depressing love songs. Little memento for your kids to scream silly things about when played on the radio. MOM! REMEMBER?! Yes, of course.

Dating seems a sham for the masculine ego to feed off of the disenfranchised feminine. I like numbers. I wonder about how many boob jobs were done for a deflated solar ego? So yeah, double it for how many boobs were sucked on, nursed from, by sad bois? Fill your own mohair sweater set and leave him out of it unless he cares.

I mean, I had my first boyfriend in like the third — no kindergarten! — I had a boyfriend in kindergarten. He put a note in my winter coat pocket and a small orange plastic lizard in my desk. Remember the pull-up desk tops? I had the same redheaded boyfriend in third grade and fifth grade. Three and five, those are the grades my redheaded sons are in now. I'm almost 40 years old. I'm good. I fuck myself so well, you know? I am good. I can facilitate consciousness in other realms of the human experience and receive fair energetic exchange for my jump-start services.

It has nothing to do with not loving men. Men can be fantastic. I even met two seemingly kind men at a restaurant last night. But I really trust that if Spirit intends a partner for my next phase of life, he'll be placed right on my path, which will also be this guy's path. We will know one another. We will be the people on the sidewalk making eye contact, phones tucked in our back pockets. Not gonna be like finding a needle in the algorithmic haystack. I don't believe that's how life / love works. I’m gonna stop doing things I don’t like doing and don’t have to do.

Reluctant Medium dated all the men aged 26 to 29 on the Los Angeles Internet and it had me nauseous by proxy, because I've been there too — my I'm getting divorced version of there. Her conclusion is shocking: casual sex is overrated.

Now her nausea has kicked in 2 so we'll work it out as she works me out. Obsidian egg up the puss and sacred circles of auric protection. She's never been more clear.

When I first started sharing this work, I had a momager with an incredible horniness. We overhauled her apartment of 20 years. Lord, I still remember how we hauled that bed frame out to the street. She went from crawling around on the floor in a sub collar to being honestly uninterested in dick.

I thought I broke her libido. I didn’t. She harnessed her power and quadrupled her salary. She launched a MEN-O-PAUSE COMPANY today. I had her give Reluctant Medium a good talking-to.

My renovation client was punched in the gut by a guy she is making a documentary about. Mind you, this woman is an angel who rescues dogs others give up on. Well, her cycle went MIA for 90 days post-punch ● then yesterday ● we both started to bleed after nipping an attempted electrical shakedown in the bud.

I asked her if she would please put her left middle finger inside herself to paint a bloody heart where the punch hit. Thank you body.

an elfin man on the F train this morning 

red beanie with golden embroidered letters:

MARYLAND

hat on . took it off . smoothed it on his knee . put it in his puffer

back out and on and exit

sparkle eyes show guides working overtime