The Honey Incident

Let me preface this story with a disclaimer: this incident was the opposite of sexy.


When I first moved into my basement apartment on the beach, my sister, J, came over to stay for a few days and help. My sister, J, is my favorite person in the entire world (no offense entire world).


The cable people were out to hook up my TV and internet and J and I were getting ready to go to a party. Not just any party. A full moon party at my dad’s ex, S’s, place.

Look, it’s a real thing in the world

Her full moon parties had gained an almost legendary status in our social circle. S had a gorgeous house on a lake with a pool surrounded by bamboo, a yoga studio, and bandshell, a greenhouse, and an enormous garden. It was basically the modern and wealthy version of a hippie commune. And I loved it there.


I had already been to a few full moon parties. There was drinking and food and a bonfire and midnight kayaks in the lake led by the best looking man I have ever met in real life. There was also pot smoking and meditating and skinny dipping. I don’t know what any of that had to do with a full moon, other than it being a full moon, but who am I to refuse a hippie moon party?


Is there anything more fun that night time kayaking? No, there isn’t.

So J and I are in the kitchen at my new place, remember? And we are unpacking boxes to find the supplies to make a snack for the party. I wanted something quick and easy and thought my peanut butter and honey rice krispy treats were just the thing.

They are delicious!

I buy my honey from local apiarists, as you may recall from this story.   I had this large mason jar with just enough honey for my recipe. My sister and  I are talking and having a good time, as we generally do.


And I am feeling so good. I just got my own place. I was recovering well from my heart surgery, I was hanging with my favorite person on the planet, and I was getting ready to go to a beautiful house to enjoy a fun party with people I liked.


I reach my arm down into this mason jar, trying to get that last few precious drops of honey. My entire arm was now covered in that liquid gold.

Honey is so good!

I am not one to waste food, so I start licking my fingers. And then I lick my hand. And then I lick my wrist, my arm, all the way down to my elbow. My back was to my sister and, to mess with her, I start making yummy moaning noises.

And I am really getting into it. I am licking up my arm with what is basically porno tongue.  I am licking like a cat cleaning itself with inappropriate enthusiasm.



Like this: all up and down my arm.

That’s when I hear a noise. I looked over and saw that the cable guy is standing there. Staring at me. With some inscrutable combination of horror, disgust, and confusion on his face.


Even with her back to me, I could tell that J was trying so hard to not crack up laughing.


I stopped licking, smiled sweetly, and say, “Can I help you?”


But the guy kind of backed away from us with his hands up as if I were holding a gun instead of an empty jar of honey. “No, no. I’m just going to go…uh…back outside.”


He literally backed away from me, out the door, and outside.


And that’s when my sister and I completely lost it.


Because I know someone is going to ask; here is the recipe for those peanut butter and honey rice krispy treats:


1/2 c honey

1/2 c peanut butter

6c rice krispies (I tend to go to the health food store and buy brown rice ones)

1 tsp vanilla

1/4 tsp cinnamon

chocolate chips (optional, but why wouldn’t you?)
Melt the peanut butter and honey on low heat, remove from heat when fully liquid and combined. Add the other ingredients. Pour into greased pan (I usually grease mine with coconut oil). Let cool and eat.

July Search Terms

I know I am a few days late with this one. And my last post was a bit of a cop out too. I promise I am writing wondrous things and working on my weird crafty little projects. But here it is. This months search terms:


You fucking my sister: I am imagining this as being said by a young Robert De Niro. YOU fucking MY sister?!


The shit roach killer: Well, I don’t know if I am the shit, but let me tell you guys a quick and terrible story. It was 1am on my birthday morning. I had stayed up till midnight to be the first person to wish myself happy birthday. I woke up and felt something tickling my neck. I brushed it away, thinking it was a stray hair. I shed like a golden retriever. But it was still tickling. Moving even. I jumped up and brushed it away even harder. In the dim light I could make out a black shape crawling across my sheet. Now I was wide the fuck awake! I jumped to my lamp and grabbed my glasses. I knew it had been a giant roach on me. And I would not rest until it was found. I go looking for it and the fucker ran right at me. I freak out and grab a shoe to kill it and it magically disappears. So then, I am looking around, trying to find this thing. And I cant. So I am hunting around, frantically, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. The roach is on the ceiling now. I try to smack it down with the shoe and it flies right at my face. I try to smack it away and knock my glasses off my face. Then I hastily put them back on and it is gone again. So I am losing it now, thinking it is on me. I start mussing up my hair and it isn’t there. So I grab the front of my shirt and shake it. The roach was on my shirt! ON my shirt! Ugh. It was like a horror movie. So I crush it with the shoe (grinding it’s guts into my quilt). And all the while I am whispering “Fuck you. You fucking roach fucker.” And then I couldn’t sleep because I was so full of adrenaline and fear. And I had to take a shower and wash my sheets and my glasses. I stayed up till 6am. It wasn’t the best beginning to my birthday.


Cockblock perish, Venice FL: There’s a Cockblock Parish in Venice FL? Between that and the giant rats, I think I need to visit this place.

Hollow tooth from under: From under what? The stairs? The ground? It’s like the title of a Goosebumps novel.


Animal Zoo Vegina (sic) xray: Okay, I have to admit, this made me curious too. It is a thing.

Is it just me or does this look a lot like the ghost trap in Ghostbusters?


A sugar mummy fucked by his real brother: This is just, intriguing. Is it like a sugar mummy like a sugar skull from the Day of the Dead celebration? Or are you looking for porn about rich mummies?


I had sex with him, in an orange grove: Internet high five!


Apartment maggots Maine: Can you please email me this story, search term searcher? I love maggot stories!


Ken doll genitalia: I think Ken’s genital bump really confused a lot of little girls. And probably some boys too. What the hell Mattel?


An xray skeletons that spells happy birthday: You know me all too well.


I feel like I’m in a Twilight Zone blackside trash song: You know what, I don’t even know exactly what this mean, but me too. Me too.


Why men mastermate (sic) with Barbie dolls: Men; #1 Do you guys ‘mastermate’ with Barbie dolls? #2 Why?


“search my vagina”: I don’t know why this is in quotes, but I feel so tempted to use this at some point in the very near future.


Co-worker: Why would anyone put mustard on spaghetti? (A Co-worker did this recently and I was baffled.)

Me: Search my vagina.


The Old Apartment

Some time after my fourth heart surgery, I was finally allowed to start having a normal life again. I did what I should have done almost a year earlier and dumped my boyfriend, T, and moved out.

We had both been biding our time since I had initially gotten sick. Sometimes an illness can bring people together and bring out the best in someone. For, T, my illness was a huge hassle.

He hated everyone always wanting to talk about me. He hated having to visit me in the hospital (and didn’t do it very often). And he hated the way I wasn’t fun anymore. I could barely walk for months.

My sickness was probably the worst thing to ever happen to him. But I get it, we weren’t in love. Dating me was fine when I was fun, but when things got too real, he couldn’t handle it.

To be honest, our relationship was the worst I have ever been in. And I have been in some bad ones. Being sick kept me there as I literally was not capable of leaving. We were together for almost 4 years.

When I moved out, I was broke and physically very weak still. I had missed a lot of work and it took a financial toll. I needed some place cheap.

I was so broke that for that entire year, I would have to make a decision when buying my groceries. I could splurge on one thing a week. I usually had to decide if I wanted strawberries or lasagna. Strawberries won most weeks.


Yum! Food porn!


I was 27 and had never lived alone before. I always had a roommate or a boyfriend. And I had gotten rid of all my furniture when I moved in with T.

I found a furnished apartment across the street from the beach in a fairly bad neighborhood. It was a basement apartment in a house that had been converted into 3 apartments.

Basement apartments are almost unheard of in Florida, and this one was on a sloping property. The windows in the living room and bathroom were on the level with the ground. It was under 500 sq ft. Maybe even under 400 sq ft.

The ceilings were only 7ft, which is freakily low for someone over 6ft tall like me. Being on the beach meant everything was always wet. I had to mop the ceiling with bleach on a regular basis to keep the mold growth down.

The living room was the length of a couch and had a TV on the opposite wall, 5 ft away. The bathroom was smaller than a walk in closet. And I am pretty sure the building was built on an ancient ant burial ground. It was haunted with the ghosts of thousands of ants. I would find their corpses in piles, like tiny snowdrifts, all over the apartment. When I first moved in had thought their small crunching bodies were actually beach sand blown or tracked in.


They were mostly concentrated in the bathroom for some reason.


This was also where I had to take my laundry to a laundromat once a week. I know I have mentioned it several times. It was next to a seedy beachside bar.

But the price was right. The door locked. And I was safe inside. I had my first apartment.

There were two other apartments in the same house as me. The one directly above me was empty for the whole year I lived there. Sometimes at night I would lie in bed and hear things moving around up there. I blamed it on my disturbingly vivid imagination.

In the other apartment there lived three Czechoslovakian people. Two were married to each other and the third was a female friend.  I said hello to the friend a few times. None of them spoke English. After a few months I stopped seeing the wife. The husband and the friend had been having an affair and the wife moved back home to the Czech Republic.

There was an abandoned hotel across the street. It was a towering building about 40 stories, right on the beach. There were broken windows and on breezy days I could see the curtains waving in some of the rooms. It was like a scene from a post apocalyptic movie. I heard hobos would break in and squat in the lower levels. I never wanted to find out.


Pretty similar to this creepy thing.


Directly in front of my apartment was an empty lot. It was fenced off and for sale. Another condo waiting to be built. The lot was white sand, broken glass, and sand spurs. I could see the ocean between the buildings.

There was a house next to mine, on the other side of a private road. The set up was similar to my house. Several people lived in that basement apartment. They would sit outside drinking and smoking all night, every night.

A few days after moving in, I smelled the unmistakable smell of meth coming from that apartment. I knew the smell well as some neighbors had a meth lab at a previous apartment with a previous boyfriend. When they got busted, the cops said it was the largest meth lab they had ever seen. I quickly decided to avoid those neighbors.

I actually loved living there. I loved the freedom of being alone. I recovered well and gained back a lot of the strength I had lost during the past year.

When Christmas rolled around I was dating a new guy, M. He had lived in Japan for several years and was always talking about the buckwheat pillows they used there. I decided to buy him one for Christmas.


I find them uncomfortable.


One day, just before the holiday, I saw that my pillow had been delivered and that a neighbor had signed for it. I brought the tag over to the new Czech couple, but they pretended to not know what I was talking about.

I was confused and upset. The pillow hadn’t been cheap. And now someone had stolen it. I had no other neighbors that could have signed for it and I had no other gift for M.

One of the meth neighbors came running over as I trudged down the hill back to my apartment. He was clearly doing meth. The skin condition is unmistakable.

“Hey! We signed for a box for you today! Come on over and get it.”

I was hesitant to go into their apartment. What if the police chose that exact moment to bust them? Would I be taken to jail? Would I get fired?

I reluctantly followed him across the street. I waited in the living room while he went back into his bedroom to get it. I have no idea why it was in his bedroom. There were about 6 people in this dimly lit living room. People were lying on couches, chairs, the floor. Every surface was covered with bodies. And they all smelled awful.

The guy gave me my box and asked if I wanted to stay and have a drink. I practically ran from that apartment.

A few days later, I was making cookies to take to work. I created my own peanut butter cookie recipe that is amazing. My cookies are so good, that one time I had brought them to work and someone stole them off someone else’s desk and it turned into this huge investigation. HR was brought in for a resolution.  It was insane.



HR resolution cookies.


I decided to make a few to bring to my meth neighbors. I thought it would be a nice thank you to them since they had kept my package safe.

I made a dozen to bring to them. I used my fanciest homemaker skills and wrapped them in a white linen napkin and tied it with a fancy bow. I brought them over to my neighbors.


I’m capable of being pretty fancy.

They thanked me and after that would give me enthusiastic hellos anytime they saw me. But they never returned my napkin.


UPDATED: I’m including the recipe for Jana. But I am going to assume you guys know how to make cookies, in general.


1 stick butter (softened)

1 1/4 c. peanut butter

1/2 c. white sugar

3/4 c. brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 egg

1 1/4 c. flour

3/4 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/4 tsp. salt

peanut butter chips


Refrigerate batter for an hour before rolling into balls and cooking for 10 min at 375.


If any of you make them, let me know how you like them!

Tour My Apt part 2 (This time it’s personal)

Due to popular demand, two very kind people humoring me, I decided to go for part two in the series:







This is a seeder. It’s used to evenly spread seeds. I kind of love industrial equipment. I find it fascinating. And my mother grew up on a farm.




This is an Appalachian door harp. I found it at a thrift store not knowing what it was. It was just cool looking and pretty. Now I love it; it makes a lovely chime whenever I open or close the door.





Can I post art? Oh well, I hope so. This is Princess Peach and the Pea. The Princess and the Pea was my absolute favorite fairy tale. It was made by the insanely talented the P is for Penis. Check out his stuff. I met him at ComicCon. A lot of my art comes from there.





In case you didn’t know, I am almost legally blind. This makes me feel better about looking so nerdy with my thick frames. Another ComicCon original.




Ladies, space, octopi. Need I say more. Again, from ComicCon. P.S. I am an awful picture taker.





This photo doesn’t do Bette Davis justice. This is a massive oil painting. Maybe five feet by four feet. Some crazy person at a job was going to throw it away. Now she watches over me.





One of my most prized possessions. My sister, J, made these paper flowers for me during my first (15 day) hospital stay. It took her over 4 hours. When I see them, I am reminded of how much she really loves me. And how worried she was about me.









Mother of pearl button wreath I made. I adore it.




I make these ridiculous things. My apartment is covered with them, but this one is a favorite. I love the spanking cover. Best/worst thing about being a crafter.




This was a graduation present from my gay first boyfriend. He was a German exchange student. I love it.


I have lots more but I feel this post is getting a bit too long. Maybe I’ll do another one to add to this series.


As a special bonus though:




I went to this amazing beach for my birthday last year. I thought the rocks were just telling me they loved me, in a platonic way.




Until I saw Penis Rock. Calm down there, buddy. (My brother was uncharacteristically unappreciative of this). But I dare you to tell me that doesn’t look like a penis.


And, yet another post I have gotten out of doing any real writing on.






In which I take you on a tour of my apartment

So I have alluded to my apartment and decorations many times. I have been told it looks like a combination yoga retreat, gypsy caravan, mad scientist lab, and healing shaman hut. I am very pleased by that comparison. I hear, despite my freaky shit, my apartment is very calming to be in.


I thought since I just had my apartment re-done and am feeling particularly pleased with it, I would share some of my favorite things with you. It is obviously a work in progress. I still have X-Ray shadowbox nightlights to build. And I didn’t take pictures of the necklaces on every doorknob or the pictures of my sister. Or my craft tables (yes there are two, one just for jewelry making and one for everything else) as they are a bit of a mess. But I think I will be able to still paint an accurate picture of it.

180My transistor collection. I intend to get more and do some kind of art project.



Glass head, shell collection, and wooden clogs.


I bought this when I got my first place alone. It is driftwood, sea glass, crystals, all kinds of cool weird beach-y things.



I call this my seance table. It is a soy candle, crystal, salt lamp, singing bowl, Buddha head, incense.  It just happens to look unintentionally creepy but then I liked it so I kept it that way. (No seances were done at this table. At least, not by me).



I won this beauty at a gem show last year. It was the grand prize drawing. It is huge. Two feet long by almost a foot wide. It’s my coffee table center piece.


Native American bone, turquoise and leather chest piece I made and shadowboxed (which is now a verb).



Goat skull and poison ledger. This is on my TV stand.



Antique French chemistry set. Also on my TV stand. For when I start making antique French meth.



Antler necklace holder. I made it for overflow.


Original driftwood necklace holder. I ran out of room on it. These are both covered in necklaces I have made. making your own jewelry has a ton of perks.




Earring holder I made along with a shitload of earrings I mostly made.



Collage of random shit. Two barometers, thermometer, brass mail slot, mother of pearl drawer pulls, cast iron seahorse, and a freaky wheat and dried grass crown my sister made for me.


I don’t want to make this too long and boring. But that gives you an idea of my space. My bookshelf is not featured, though I love it and it is overflowing with books and comics.  I didn’t include any of my actual artwork (or the crystals that are lying pretty much everywhere) as that would take another blog post. Though, I will make one with those if anyone is really interested.

What do you think? What freaky things do you keep in your apartment? Anyone want to see more of my shit?