I’m wearing my grandpa’s Indiana sweatshirt and my pearls. Jeans and no panties. I put my panties in my bag after we fucked, instead of putting them back on. They had come off over my ankle boots, so was I really going to put them back on after that?

When he made the quip about being in bed by 10:30 after a gallery show and a fuck, I thought he was joking. Woe is me. No. He dropped me right off. Those words, I don’t want you to feel like I am kicking you out, clearly lip service so better heard as he pulled up to my building. Kick me out of where? Your bed, or this delusion I had been in, one that he had voluntarily created. Some place where I thought it was ok to feel. To be honest. To… well, whatever.

We’re all liars, aren’t we? Just different things to lie about. Some of us lie to ourselves. We see more than is there. We trust when we should not. We believe so very truly, so very hard. We break our own hearts. And some of us have been lying to ourselves for so very long, the lie is just part of  who we are and so everything else in our lives is just a lie, too. Incapable of sharing the truth with ourselves, let alone an audience, we have no idea even how to begin with what is true. Eventually, you live the lie and cannot define one from the other. …Which one are we talking about?

So. I am here. Here I am. In my grandpa’s sweatshirt with the letters I N D I A N A emblazoned and wearing away. Growing older with each wash. Just wearing out. Tired, maybe of stating the same thing one. more. time. How many times can you repeat yourself, anyway? Eventually, it’s just pathetically clear: no one is listening. Drowned out by the monotony of their own lives. Told over and over, as a mantra or a meditation ritual. As if your lies will bring you piece of mind.

Pearls, and an Indiana sweatshirt, it’s perfect, really, for this yet new truth. It’s all so fucking boring. So fucking tedious. Every single lie, and you just know it’s coming. You can almost see it on the lips. You can write it for them. It’s all so goddamn fucking boring. So. Why?

That question just resonates. And makes me weep. I’m weeping while I’m fucking, just mourning the loss of anything real. True. Non-coerced in this short time we have. Just something- that is honest, intimate, shared.

We really just want to share it all, when it all comes down to it. Be able to share with someone that has stake in it. In you. That lays claim to you and yours. That truly gives a shit what happens. But, we’re too busy lying for that, aren’t we?

I’m a big fan of shopping local. One of my favorite places to visit is Hampden; that one street, 36th, the Avenue, has some very Baltimore, very beautiful finds. On my last stroll down the Avenue, I stopped in at Kiss N’ Makeup, a hun-chic salon and accessories shop. At Kiss N’ Makeup, you can get a mani-pedi while people watching the Avenue, get whatever you need waxed, and then enjoy a make-up application featuring NYX cosmetics.

After coming late to the game, and learning the major brands in the States are now once again product testing on animals, to acquiesce to standards in China, I now buy only cruelty-free. NYX is a cruelty-free brand. It is also a quality brand of make-up. Long wear, good variety in color. It’s great to find a local salon with cruelty-free product.

Not only that, but the owner of this salon is fantastically welcoming. Debbie’s style is all over this casually chic space. She spots tendy and classic fashion jewelry and accessories to include in her shop. Debbie is happy to chat with whomever comes into her salon. She’ll point you in the right direction for your cosmetic needs, and chat about her fantastic products or your last break-up. She’s the reason we shop in Hampden!

Grab a latte from Common Ground and spend some quality time treating yourself in Kiss N’ Makeup.

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