Cigarettes are not my friends.

What a statement to leave off on huh? Well, I had to quit smoking cigarettes again. I quit. Quit Quit Quit. I just can't smoke those little fuckers anymore. They ARE NOT my friends, no matter how much a little voice inside me yells for one. Last time I quit, I used the patch. But somehow it just feels silly. I mean, delaying the inevitable. Withdrawls? That's nothing compared to how I feel now, like an absolute piece of shit, so perhaps it couldn't have come at a better time. Sickness. Oh yes. I am sick.

I have a feeling I just hopped into a story without including you on the details necessary for interpreting the story. Not even a story really. Just a paragraph. I am going to be dead honest with you. Not that I ever lie. Or like I'd start now, this second.

Yo, I am fuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccked up off some cough medicine with codeine right now, I never take that shit anymore, and I couldn't stop coughing, so Angel Pie brought me some medicine because she is a good pie and a good friend, brought me her very own yummmmyummm feel better syrup. And I'll tell you what, I feel fucking great. This is the best I've felt all day. Oh shit, I didn't even tell you what I did today!

Back to work on Deepthroat, under the great guidance and counsel of Mr. Paul Thomas, and I can't stop coughing. I quit smoking stupid fucking cigarettes two days ago because I just felt like shit and had a sinus infection, a defection of will power, defected infection, perception. What the fuck am I talking about? Sorry. Damn medicine. I think this may be a good blog if I can figure anything to write about.

WORK! That's right. Okay, Deepthroat, in Venice, and I can't stop coughing. In fact, every time we cut, I die, my eyes watering and Hirschy Bar (Marci's son) and Anton (who is the man) keeping me pumped full of honey laced hot green tea. And cough drops. Finally, we finish our dialogue, and PT generously offers up his home (which is right around the corner) for my rest and recuperation in preparation for the little dialogue I had later at a different but nearby location. That's all a buncha fucking blah blah blah's for

PT: You wanna go take a nap at my house? It will be nice and quiet.

Me: Really?

PT: Yes, you can get some sleep.

Me: You just don't want me coughing in all your shots!

PT: No, I just want you to be comfortable. (insert PT grin here)

So I took him up on his offer. I was stoked actually. Am Stoked. Capital S. I went and tried to nap. This is what happened when I lay on my back.

Me: Cough cough cough cough cough. Sniffle sniffle.

(Insert picture of me coughing here)

This is me on my side.

Cough cough cough cough.

Belly.

Cough cough cough.

So I went to the shower to steam. I figure sit in a hot steam and think soothing thoughts. Dream of a throat coated with honey, a pair of lungs with no cigaretteyness filth filth, and no stupid runny nose. How the fuck did I ever do cocaine. This is the most terrible thing on earth. Snot? Ugh....I mean, I don't really give a fuck but come on. Enough with the nose blowing P Lame. I think that will be my alias for when I am fucked up or do stupid shit. P Lame. But this was cool.

I'm sitting on the counter of one of my favorite directors bathroom, steaming because I feel like shit, with my feet in the sink. Well, right next to the sink.

I must have blown my nose at his house like 10 times. Way more than anybody else in my life. The climax had to be where the fake eyelashes slid from my eyes over waves of coughing and choking induced tears.

Finally slept for 50 minutes. Pure exhaustion, my stomach already sore. And then back with the coughing.

Then I called Shylar to come get me early, because I looked like poop, and it's gonna take more than a touch up to fix my broken ass. We want Melissa, our sexy make-up artist, to have all the time she can to fix me.

(Insert picture of sexy melissa here)

Which she did.

Ummmm......Went home, medicated, and played on the computer. 

Now I'm fucked up (but not coughing). The end.

There. There's my blog for the day. This is how I'm ending it. 

Oh no wait, I want to end it like this.

When I grow up, I want to be PT. The End.

(insert PT bending me over a vespa here)

Don't know what's wrong with my picture thingie but it is not working, so I will try again later.