Amelia June

I felt like I was living someone else’s life for a bit there on Friday. At the beginning of the week, Friday had been targeted as an editing day, one in which I could have the kind of sustained, uninterrupted focus I need for cutting.

Of course, by mid-week, that was all shot to hell.

When I got word that I had to spend another crapload of money on History’s Most Costly Vacation (will I never stop paying for this trip?) I decided quickly selling off some junk was more sensible.

Incidentally, if anyone is in the market for a killer V1U package, or some 12” Sideshow figures from Episodes I-III, just drop me a line.

Then Ethan Cage asked me if he and Lexi Lamour could shoot content for her site here on Friday as they had lost the location they thought was free. Sure, what the hell. Ain’t gonna interfere with posting crap on Ebay.

I decide, since I’m now not editing Friday, I should stay up Thursday night and work. This might explain some of Friday’s slightly surreal quality. Or maybe it’s a flashback from the acid I’ve never dropped.

K and her Souvenir were out bright and early Friday morning. Lexi, Ethan, Courtney Cummz and webmaster Bill Fox show up around 11:30 to do their thing.

Around 1, Mischief showed up. She’s in San Francisco this weekend, so I invited her to stop by on her way out of town for lunch. We left the porn folk to their own devices and hit the Lost Soul’s Café. Fine, but unremarkable food. The same excellent company. She’s incredibly easy to be around, this girl. Smart, sexy, warm, and so very, very familiar.

Good for the ego, too. I figured she would be anxious to hit the road, holiday traffic being in full ass-suck by the time we got back from lunch. Not so. She was anxious to find a relatively private spot to get naked and make out instead.

Which we managed to do. Briefly. Until Amelia June — a friend of 20 years who I was expecting around noon and had written off as a no-show — came up to the second level looking for us around 3.

Conceding defeat, Mischief and I got dressed. I walked her to her car, necked in front of the cold storage guys, and sent her on her way.

Amy, who worked for me at The Castle adult store in Arizona back before it was a chain, hung out until 5:30 talking relationships and break-ups and catching up and falling apart. She likes the Goth Biscuit a lot, but can’t imagine dating someone 16 years younger. Amelia June skews older in her relationships, and is just breaking up (2010: The Year We Break Contact) with a woman 15 years her senior.

By the time I fed cats, caught up with Ben Hoffman, the Photographer in the Attic, and made dinner for myself, I was sitting down to post things at 9:30.

I was still awake at 3 a.m. when Amber Rayne texted, having a meltdown (see the previous post). Finally got to sleep around 5.

Today, I’ve had other distractions. Errands to run. French photographers. Temporarily abandoned Andy San Dimases.

In a few minutes, I’m headed out to door for dinner and a movie and I dunno what with the stunning Adrianna Nicole. I’ve gotten fuck-all done again today.

And I’m okay with it.

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