Ice cream is a king's dinner. And words on the "stranger" game...

The reason for that strange splurge of photos was that I was trying to get the photos from my desktop to my laptop and I couldn't find a place to save them effectively as I do not have a flash drive. I had a Job interview today. It makes me feel a tad strange. It's not the kind of job I am used to. I've never worked with food before... I'm used to doctors offices and rich jewish teens getting their noses done for their birthdays. it's an ice cream parlor. I applied because two of my other friends work there and we thought it would be nice to work together because once the summer is over they're going away to school again. It smells nice in there. I have a strong feeling I'll enjoy myself. Ad much as I dislike people, I like to talk to them in a way that I am able to lie...
To make it more understandable I guess I can say that I like to use fake accents and lie about my name. I like to play the stranger game. It started out as a game between people I dated and myself... we would both pretend to not know one another and we would do it so well we got butterflies and all those unbalanced chemical reactions all over again. Well it turns out when you play the stranger game with actual strangers it's awfully interesting and fun... I only do this when I've had enough coffee... which is why I often play it at Starbucks. Sometimes I leave little notes on peoples tables when their heads are turned and leave, and watch them read it through the window. most of the time they look around confused, giggle and then continue with their night. They don't want to believe they were special enough for the note to be addressed directly to them so sometimes I make it apparent it'f for them. I cannot tell if this is just childish fun that I never got rid of or pure madness... But who's to say that normalcy is a god thing. The definition of normalcy is the direct opposite of what I ever want to see myself being.

Tonight I must have saved over one hundred photos of Frida to my computer in search of the perfect photo for my tattoo... This is the one that I loved the most.
Isn't she just the most beautiful woman you have ever seen? I have loved her since I was in second grade. That was the year I decided I wanted to be an artist. Because I was only in second grade and my hand eye coordination and motor skills were not yet fully developed I proclaimed myself an abstract artist. 

I knew that I could never be as wonderful as she was so i stuck to paintings of bacon and geometric shapes. often times i drew people with feet for hands. By eighth grade I had done a few projects on her and my freshman year of high school I saw two of her paintings in the MOMA.... I cried a lot looking at it. It really took my breath away in ways you couldn't even imagine. I sobbed and gasped for what air was left in the room... I really might have made a fool of myself but I didn't mind because it was for her. My Frida. I don't think I could ever love anyone as i love her. Is it sad that I have fallen so deeply; so madly in love with a woman who no longer lives? I adore her.... her hands, her feet, her eyes, her ears. I love every inch of her. "I love you more than my own skin".

I love her because her life and her art was driven on the deepest of human emotions. Love and pain. Neither can exist with out the other and I believe she knew that. I have not lived much and I have not lived long but I'd die for her at any moment. My heaven is to be with her, paint with her, just speak with her. I'd make us coffee and mole' and I'd become a glass blower, make her cups and plates. I'd do a lot for her, more than Id ever do for my own husband or wife. I think they will always be second to her.