a year in my life, comedy, diary, Uncategorized

Half a Cigar

Sunday, 26 March 2017 —

Sunday morning.  2:30am.

I’m sitting here thinking.  Thinking keeps people up late at night.  There’s almost too many thoughts drifting throughout the Universe at night versus the day.  Think about it: day comes, you go to work, have a little brainstorm session and… nothing.  Not one shitty thought comes about except maybe, “What’s for lunch?” or where to have a quick drink after work.  “How many hours left at work?” you may even think.

So here I am, 2:32 am writing and sipping cucumber water.  I’m not really into fruits and vegetables in water.  I’m not trying to be healthy.  I generally have a lemon (literally half a lemon) kerplunked into my glass and Google-search alkalinity and why it’s so important in this acidic world of alcohol, coffee and chocolate I live in (let’s not forget the occasional piece of the most unkosher prosciutto).  When the lemons have gone for the week, maybe I’ll see lime laying around the refrigerator and off that goes into my glass.  Now, I’m out of kerplunkable fruit.  Onward to cucumbers, cucumbers are incredibly alkaline and good for you to sip on if you hate the taste of regular ol’ boring water.  God, water is boring.  It’s so boring it’s expensive boring.  We pay for the bottle, the name and right to drink what makes 3/4 of our world.  It’s so fucking stupid.  It’s like charging for air.  I know we pay big bucks for the filtration of good water and even have special pHs of water available now for unitary tract disorders and overall better organ function, but cucumbers cut into the water make for a quick alkalinity worker.  So, there you have it.  Now… back to 2:32 am…

2:37: Up.  Golden Girls on Hulu and Chris is asleep on the floor of the living room with cushions thrown under him.  My sixties-style mid century reading chair cushions are serving as an informal bed since I have decided going to bed is not in the cards for me.

I slept until 10:00 yesterday morning and met my friend for lunch at 1.  We ate copious amounts of sushi and I drank a couple of bottles of good sake, super cold and talked about kids and home-life (two things I know nothing about and cannot relate to).  After, I came home and decided that today’s day off field trip would include smoking a cigar. I’ve never smoked a cigar before.  I wanted to know what the fuss was about.  Chris came with me.

I walked into the cigar store today and the girl came to the front desk and I said, very nicely in my blazer and Kosher 90210 shirt, “hello there.  I am on an adult field-trip today and would like to see what the fuss is about.  I want to smoke a cigar.  Now, tell me, where do we start?”

She said, “Follow me.”

I followed.  Chris giggled.

We walked into a room that felt like sweaty Florida.  It reminded me of Ft. Lauderdale.  I wanted to book a plane ticket instantly and have some of that Cuban-tinged Crab Bisque I had last summer.  Oh my goodness that soup was delicious!  The room brought me back to the humidity that we so often lack in dry Colorado.  Everyone here looks like cornflakes if they don’t moisturize.  You don’t have to try to be moist in Florida, it just kinda happens.  The room felt like that.  It just kinda happened to be damp.  The air smelt like an old Dominican, maybe even Cuban man.  I made side conversation by telling her, “in 33 years, I’ve never had a proper cigar.”  She just giggled.  Chris was covering his face by now.  My dialog was like a really dressed up Lucy Ricardo.  I was ready for a Tobacco adventure.  I selected a beginner-grade cigar called Romeo y Julieta.  It is a Dominican variety.  I instantly wanted Rum, but Whisky is better.  She cut it, I paid and off we went to smoke behind the building like naughty schoolboys preparing for holiday break.

Chris helped me light it.  I puffed like a boss.  “Don’t inhale this,” he said.  I puffed like a champ instead.

We walked around the corner.  He lit a cigarette, I chewed on the end of the cigar a bit.

“Why do people chew on cigars?”, I asked.

“I don’t know, Bubs.” he said, “they think it brings out flavor.  I think its useless really.”

I stopped chewing on the end and puffed and walked some more.

“What do you want to do now?” Chris asked.

“Oh yeah.  That’s rather nice, isn’t it?” I said puffing away. Mesmerized by the glory of smoky tobacco.

“You enjoying that?”

“Oh yeah, babe.  This is fabulous.  Cheers mate.  A real past time I could get into.” I said.

He giggled some more.

“Let’s go for a little drive.” He said.  And off we went.

The window was rolled down, I was sitting in the passenger seat puffing and looking at the world.  Why do people smoke marijuana when a cigar is better, I thought.  Why do people like stinky cigarettes with dry oregano-style tobacco laced with poison when a rolled tobacco leaf does the trick.  I googled “Tobacco” and read about its many addictive qualities.  It’s a stimulant.  The Spaniards, Portuguese and Italians brought it back to Spain to grow, yada yada.

“Look bubs!  Smoking a cigar is practically my heritage!”

He slapped his forehead.

I googled opening hours for a bar I like.  4pm.  Okie dokie.  I said, “they open at 4pm according to Google.”

“I guess that’s where we’re going…” said Chris.

Onward James! Drive on.

We had a couple drinks.  Literally, a couple.  I’m not much into binge-drinking these days and besides this new grown-up cigar-smoking 33-year-old wasn’t gonna be seen getting sloppy.  I just wanted to enjoy myself with Chris.

We talked about God, the Catholic Church, my fascination with Hinduism and Greek Orthodoxy and how I almost converted to one of the two as an 18 year old rather than being Jewish and talked about Togo-Benin lineage in my ancestry.com results and the practice of Voodoo and the Loa and what pagans don’t understand about African ceremony.  I googled Loa and found that they like cigars and alcohol.

Here I was smoking a cigar, puffing.

Some spiritual folks believe smoking a cigar offers assistance in transporting prayers to God or the Universe.  The smoke serves as a vehicle.  I don’t know about that.  I think you can get the job done with incense, but I guess it’s the same concept.  I smoked my cigar and thought about the Sabbath.  I took this Saturday off to celebrate the Sabbath in my own way.  I guess I did.

On the way home, we stopped at McDonald’s and I ate an ice cream cone.  Chris was laughing at my childlike fascination licking and chewing and slurping and carrying on with this frozen treat.  We pulled up at home and he asked me where the ice cream cone had gone.

It was gone.  I ate it. I grabbed the remainder of my cigar and we went upstairs.  I made a cup of coffee and fell asleep on the couch.

Not such a bad day off.  I did nothing except eat, drink, smoke, walk and talk.  This could be such a decadence seeing as many people are observing lent.  I’m not Catholic anymore (haven’t been since I was a teenager), but I’m aware that today was a bit gluttonous.

Tomorrow we’re back to vegetarianism, healthy water, healthy get-up times and gymming and working and stressing about the week… I still have half a cigar to push me through the week though.



a year in my life, comedy, diary, friends, gossip, jry, luxelove, who cares

4:30 am– you bitch!

Thursday, 16 March 2017 — 4:30am

The taxing responsibility of allowing myself days off is something folks find bewildering about me.  I constantly complain about not having enough personal time and drown my sorrows in a good whisky or some vodka, maybe even a decent glass of cabernet sauvignon, but come days off, I rarely drink.  I just don’t care to be torn up on my days off. After a long day of clients, hearing their stories, talking about their brats and their over-pretentious depression about their latest look (bob or lob?), I am brain-fucked, to say the least.

It has been 14 days since my last day off.  I was last off on March 1st.  The rest of the 14 days of this month have been laced in appointments, meetings, education, sales meetings, more education, conference calls, going back to gym, drinking countless cocktails, nearly losing my fucking mind around the sixth and culminated in today: up at 8:30, banking to be done at 9, ship FedEx back to my Education Director by 9:30 for possible delivery tomorrow (FedEx said no after three phone calls to change delivery so now she’ll get it on Friday. FML), nail appointment, meet dishwasher repairman, meet landlord, find out diagnosis for old dishwasher with old dishwater still not drained on bottom, find out that I need a new one around 2:3opm.

3:00pm yesterday, Chris came home, I was answering messages and browsing Orbitz for tickets back to Plano, TX.  while I caught up on The Housewives of Beverly Hills.  

“Care to join me for lunch at Angelo’s, bubs?”


It wasn’t convincing enough.

“I’m gonna go eat after I finish watching these bitches.” I said playfully.

He went to the toilet. (My reaction exactly)

3:06 we were on our way for pizza, drinks, eggplant parm, more drinks and talking about a lady wearing 1980s shorts and sipping another round of drinks.  After three cocktails, we met our friend out for another one.  Shortly after, we came home.  I set the timer for one hour.  I was determined to have a nightcap.

I don’t drink on a day off because it could easily turn into a holiday.

We went to J.Michael’s and had a beer.  Two gay men drinking beer just looks odd.  It doesn’t fit the stereotype.  I know in 2017, we’re not supposed to be happy with stereotypes, but sometimes I am!  I like being bitchy, I like holding a martini glass, I like camping it up and acting as though we’re in a British comedy.  I try to embody an episode of Absolutely Fabulous and I sip spirits and spew venom about dumb bitches I detest on Instagram and talk shit about porny-pictures of hungry bottoms waiting for a their latest sexual romp on Tumblr.  I enjoy that!  Call it a stereotype!  I like it!  I like being a bitchy gay man.  So please understand, beer just isn’t the picture I’m used to taking of myself as I pub-crawl across the City of Pueblo with my bubs.

9:04: Beers drunk.  Josh and Chris head back home to eat copious amounts of candy and play Grand Theft Auto like two young closeted gay teens before turning in like old gays with old saggy balls at 10:30pm.

Now, it’s 4:30 am and I’m up.

Yesterday I accomplished so much, I even booked my flight for Plano and scored a killer deal on a killer room at NYLO, a boutique loft-style hotel… I did, however, forget to bathe.

My apologies to anyone I hugged yesterday.



a year in my life, comedy, diary, living well, rules for life

My sweet, dear Jennifer Saunders

Sunday, 12 March 2017 —

Have you ever read a book so good that you didn’t want to put it down?

Has the book ever been so good that you didn’t want to finish it because it would all be over?

That is the conundrum I am finding myself in.  I am approaching the end of reading Jennifer Saunders’ book, “Bonkers: My Life in Laughs”.  It’s all about her life as she approaches becoming a comedy legend at the BBC.  Her pairing with comedy partner Dawn French, her marriage to Ade (also another comedian).  They have a relatively normal life.  She loves fashion, but never gets free clothes, she buys all her own clothes and spends loads of money looking good “in her head” only to find that the mirror says different.  She is one of my favorite comedy writers.  Her show “Absolutely Fabulous” just kills me.  Her sketches with Dawn French are hilarious.  He humbleness is eye-opening.

There is NOT one pretentious bone in Jennifer’s body.  She doesn’t dwell on dumb shit like not having a series renewed or even getting breast cancer.  She knows she’s a procrastinator.  She knows she doesn’t like deadlines.  She has a healthy amount of celebrity gossip without being a witch to work with or being overly scandalous.  I find that she is really pretty grateful for her life and the direction it has taken.  She definitely has lived her life as a writer would.  She has acquired some wealth from it and has inspired countless other female comedians, British actors and actresses.  She uses the term “Actress” very loosely.  She knows she’s a writer.

Something I have been taking note of is how insanely normal she is.  She forgets that she’s famous.  She doesn’t live in a “famous” mentality.  She appreciates it, but doesn’t dwell in the ego of it.

19 Chapters and I’m on Chapter 18 already holding back moans and groans from reading the ending of the book.  I want more! Her work speaks for itself.  She was put up to a dare to write the “Absolutely Fabulous” movie that was released last year in theaters and the same for her book that came out a couple of years prior.  She is a horrible procrastinator, but a very brilliant worker when she wants to be.  She makes jokes about throwing unopened bank statements away and her husband panicking, opening them, and taking care of business.

She does not read the fine print of contracts.  She asks Maureen her agent/manager to take care of the reading and has very small requests like a bottle of wine for after comedy performances and passes to get into the BBC, but overall she’s not picky.

I have lived so much of my wonderful career as a salon educator, salon owner, sought-after talent as a writer, comedian, performer, host and freelance colorist in both areas of ego and humility.  I don’t think I’m the best everywhere I go, but I know I’m good at what I do.  I don’t like confrontation, but I will pipe up when I feel tested.  I do makes requests and I do ask and even demand for timeliness and ample time for planning.

I don’t transition well from work to home or work to an event or an event to home or presentation to car ride.  I need a lot of time to think.  I need a cocktail to think over.  I need someone to drive me everywhere because my anxiety gets the best of me on long-distance trips.  I wake up and meditate daily, I pray, I read The Zohar and the Torah and require a light breakfast after.  I book three clients back-to-back and shut my book down for an hour to transition.  I don’t transition well.  I need space.  I need alone time.  Jennifer reminds me of someone like me that needs a lot time to think.

We think differently than most people, we might lay on the floor and look at the cracks in the floor boards or listen to records or eat copious amounts of French Brie and drink wine right out of the bottle, but thinking gets done.  I abhor formality in meetings and I hate formal talk.  I think we should all just be ourselves.  I do, however, detest dirty words in a business meeting and I don’t like salacious gossip (no matter who you ask).  I don’t like hearing reviews, I don’t like sitting with people in large groups unless I’m the star of the show and I expect the same respect when I ask to have a cocktail alone.

There’s alot of thoughts that have run through my head as I’ve been reading Jennifer’s book.  I can see why AbFab was a worldwide success!  I can understand the admiration she has from others as they gaze at her accomplishments and I can understand why she has chosen to be funny even when life wasn’t so funny.

The main thing I’ve learned from her is that life is funny.  Even death and illness is funny. She does not “believe in God” she hints at in the book.  I do.  I am a bit more Universalist though when we talk about The Creator.  I don’t think God is sitting on his iPad watching us on some heavenly Hulu marking our permanent records, counting our dirty words, our eye rolls at people and taking note of how many times we skipped church or lied to a client.  I just don’t think those items are so BIG AND IMPORTANT that God will be a meany and send you straight to hell.  I don’t think Jennifer is an atheist.  I think she believes the Creator has blessed her and she is simply living life as an entertainer.

I think one of the best lessons I’m learning from reading this book that I want to share with you is to NOT sweat the small stuff.  You’ll be alright.  Pull the stick out of your ass and laugh at life when it takes a shit on you.  You’ll be alright.  You’ll be absolutely fabulous at everything you do… just like my sweet, dear Jennifer Saunders.

a year in my life, diary, living well

A Chart Success

Wednesday, 1 March 2017 —

This morning I returned to the gym.  I have not been to the gym in probably two months.  For me, as soon as winter hits, I start to give up.  We all have holiday parties and bullshit we have to deal with and bullshit parties to attend.  I don’t tend to get up to work out (as it is very cold) and I don’t tend to get the tanning salon like I prefer to.  I wake up one day in mid February (predictably) and say that I feel sloshy and white.  By sloshy, I mean I can feel all my inners moving around.  When my body is toned,  I don’t feel sloshy.  Sloshy may just be my way of feeling “full” whether its bloating, eating too much, not tight enough, inflated, what have you.  I felt sloshy all last week and the beginning of this week which means, like clockwork, I’m back in the gym March 1st.

I really hate working out.  I tend to play iTunes and pretend the album I’m listening to was really produced, written and sang by me.  Each track, I’m a Billboard super star, 20x Grammy winner and a hit in Europe… especially in the gay clubs.  Gay clubbers hate me for being a gay man with this amazing career (those jealous bitches!).  I peddle faster and faster with each song (even if it’s a ballad) and imagine recording each song, seeing it dominate the charts, shoot the music video in my head and ultimately win more awards than Madonna.  In fact, she may want to work with me soon… then, the timer on the bike goes off (25:00) and my fictional success stops.

I’m out of the daydream.

I look at the mirror, not so pale, not so sloshy anymore.

A pop success!


Perhaps I’ll have a protein shake.  A vegan one, at that! I am on the up and up.

Walking out of the gym today fresh from my daydream, Madonna’s “Ray of Light” album on repeat and feeling 2 water lbs lighter, I got in the car and headed to the tanning salon.  I drove in pure silence today.  I thought about my day. I thought about the busy two weeks ahead in the salon and at Label.m.

Yes.  I’m a success. A bonafide chart success.  It’s not music I’m making and it’s not the Grammys, but I’m a success putting together classes, educating salon owners and spreading the work of the shampoo Messiah: Label.m.  Yes!  We are fabulous!

Working out has done me good.  I think I’ll keep it up.  I wonder what album I recorded that I’ll be listening to tomorrow…


a year in my life, diary, Family, friends, Uncategorized

I Need A Cocktail

Wednesday, 22 February 2017 —

I woke up this morning to knocking at the door.  Should I open it?  No.  I’m in my underwear.  Knocking again, now persistently.  Still not gonna open the door.  Still in underwear.  Chris and I are asleep in the living room.  We fell asleep after horrible fast food last night when we returned from Longmont, Colorado yesterday where I was teaching a product knowledge class for Label.m.  I thought we were going to Denver.  Turns out Longmont is NOT a suburb of Denver, it is much closer to Wyoming.  If we would have driven 90 more minutes, we would have been in Cheyenne.  Chris and I were making jokes about not wearing boots for the occasion.  It was very country. The salon we arrived at was arty, vintage and very modern.  The owner was fabulous!  She told me she had a wife and I instantly felt comfortable around a lesbian.  Gay people stick together, ya know?  They were all so insanely sweet and cool.  My two hour class was more like three hours.  The only items missing were cocktails.  Chris and I fell in love with Longmont on our way back to D-town.  Part of us cringed as we hit Denver City Limits again.  We longed for the country-environment of Longmont.  All we were missing was boots.

This afternoon is a light load at the salon.  I’m looking forward to it.  After that, Chris and I have a men’s group we participate in once a month that meets at the wine bar.  I haven’t had booze in a couple of days.  I am surprised I lasted that long really.  I love a cocktail, as most folks know.  I had champagne on Sunday, but here it will be Wednesday evening… I think it’s time for a little drinky-poo.  Drinking while we talk about deep shit, emotions, self-help shit really takes the edge off the boring philosophical shit.  I love our life coach, but I’m really quite superficial about this shit.  I am the same way with my Kabbalah teacher and Rabbi.  There’s no way I can keep a straight face.  The booze tends to deactivate my eyerolling muscle. It should be an easy day really.  Right now, I’m contemplating a little lunch before I head in.

Last week, I hosted a really cute, intimate wine sipping event.  The sales rep was so sweet.   I think everyone got moderately sloshed and bought something.  I love any event where you eat, drink, drink some more and spend money with folks by invite.  Fact is: I hate random people without even knowing them.  Part of my job as a salon owner is to network and I have a really hard time doing so without a cocktail or a mission statement.  Small talk bothers me.  To me a “hello. How are you?” already drags on like a really shitty nineties boyband song.  Please let it be over, I cry on the inside.  A boozy little party with affluent folks makes the best excuse to entertain.  I only invite people I like to my events.  This event was capped due to space so I had to be VERY selective and I required RSVP.  It makes me look a bit pretentious and dick-y, but really, if anyone thinks I’m being a dick, they don’t truly understand me.  Buy me a drink, don’t kiss my ass and please don’t ask me how I’m doing…. Anyway…  The wine lady will be around to collect the order for full-on order placement today and when she leaves, I’ll proceed to the wine bar for deep shit conversations with Blair and the boys.

Yes, today is a cocktail day. The more the better.  Of course, I should take care of my clients first.

a year in my life, diary, living well, sunday

Just Throw Some Shit In A Bag…

Sunday, 8 January 2017 —

Thursday began the first of a 10-day stretch of work days.  Today, I’m in the salon on a Sunday and then in Denver tomorrow, back home Tuesday for a full-day and back to Denver Wednesday and back to work for two more days and off Saturday.  I am predicting that I sleep in til whenever.  I have no time limits on my days off unless I have a nail appointment or some odd shit planned. Once next Sunday hits, I have a week and half of working before I head to Dallas for Fashion Fix training with our International Artistic Director Efi Davies.  I’m incredibly excited to be included in this group of folks.

Between owning Rockstars + Lambs and working for Label.m, I am constantly moving and busy.  The day that there is NOTHING on my agenda feels good.  I think this coming Saturday is one of those days.  I do, however, want to see my mom.  I haven’t seen her since Christmas.  That’s a long stretch for me!  I don’t like being that distant from her . It’s not a fun feeling on the inside at all.

Coincidentally, my parents are traveling a lot these days and even more coincidental its the fact that they tend be be in transit at the same time as me.  They’re on their way to Salt Lake City today and Chris and I head to Denver this afternoon after I finish my color session. Always hustling— that must run in my blood.

Packing up an overnight bag is almost uneventful these days.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  I kind of just throw some shit I need in a bag and double check to make sure I have foundation, my flat iron and an Apple charger.  Off we go! Everything else can wait.  Got credit cards, got cash, got water, off we go! It’s really that easy.

As I get a little older, I always wonder how my parents did that.  How were they always prepared to leave and go on trips for work?  They just threw shit in a bag.  They went.  If you have all of your business affairs in order, you should be kosher to be gone for a couple of days.  I feel sorry for folks that don’t have a clear idea of where their lives are going.  They can’t keep minimum balances in their bank accounts, they don’t know what their schedules look like, they just kind of fly by the seat of their pants.  It’s truly horrifying to me. How can some live so insecurely?  That’s not adventure in my eyes, that’s irresponsible. I know as I tell people I can “just throw some shit in a bag and go” that it can come off as cocky, but it’s true.  It’s pressure free.

I have contemplated taking a small break from the blog.  I think some folks would argue that I don’t spend as much attention on it as I used to (and that would be true), but I feel like I need to take some time to live and evaluate what’s going on in my creative life.  I want to spend some time working on my book. I need to get my manuscript done.  I really want to submit it this year by June.  I think folks will love what I’m cooking up, but between salon, teaching, appearing and living my daily life, I have to take a break a from something, the blog is a suitable area to break from while I work silently on this project.  I’m thinking a good month will be good.  Perhaps.

As I throw some shit in a bag and get ready to jet-set this month, I am thinking February 1st seems like a great date to come back to the blog.  Time to focus on a couple other gigs for the rest of the month.  First “LuxeLove” hiatus approaching…

See you February 1st.  Will have lots to share with you then.


Follow me on Instagram @cooleyisthenewgarbo and Twitter @cooleyisgarbo and, of course, on Facebook.


a year in my life, diary, Family, luxelove, Uncategorized

Tuesday Evening: Thoughts and Death at Christmas

Tuesday, 27 December 2016

Well, this year is almost over.  I can’t believe it, yet I can.  In fact, I’ve already written this year off.  It’s a week of mellowing out and getting ready to face a brand new year of hopes and dreams and goals and successes.

Ya know, in 2016 I don’t think I would have done anything different. I think I would have been more honest to some folks earlier on.  I really do, but thats it.  In 2016, I learned not to let folks get too comfortable and toward the end of the year (after my birthday), I learned to pipe up and let people know that I was getting tired of their bullshit. I’m so tired of fake people and fake friends and fake family members and giving them excuses in my mind for being how they are; you’re either a really good person to me or a shithead.  That’s all there is… for me at least.

Professionally, I’ve blossomed.  I’m excited for my journey with Label.m, Rockstars + Lambs is growing and I’m learning a lot of lessons on a financial level.  I have got to get my  IRS issues under control.  I owe them some money.  I don’t keep this a secret.  I think a lot of successful people do.  Joan Rivers did when she died, but I’m not dead.  I need to pay up.  I need to stumble across a gold brick or something.  I can budget well, but I don’t know if I can possibly make as many budget cuts necessary as I need to.  Here’s what I can tell you: I will make it happen.  I always do.

Personally, I feel like Chris and I have evolved.  I feel like my parents and I have evolved.  I know that my sister and I have evolved.  She’s living with her boyfriend and his son now and its a very tough change for me.  I can’t accept her as a 29-year-old woman.  It’s tough.  She’s in full-on stepmom territory.  My Guela is getting older and I constantly count the days.  I don’t want to think about the limited time I may/may not have with her.

Then George Michael died…. omg.  

Christmas Day, Chris and I were driving to see his aunt and all of a sudden I read on Apple News that Georgie passed.  I just can’t.  I just can’t.  (Let me repeat)—- I just can’t.  I loved him.  I thought of all the horrible things that people would say about him and what he died from. People are mean to gay people when they die: they always say they died of AIDS or drug usage.  It’s so stupid.  Don’t get me wrong, the stereotypes exist: someone that fucked everyone may die of a sexually transmitted disease (gross), a drug user may have shared a needle or caused damage to their organs (not cool), but a lot of us gay people lived mostly celibate lives.  George certainly DID NOT live a celibate life… and he admitted it.

As I lay in bed last night, I thought about how I miss my mom, I’m gonna miss my grandma, I’m miss me and Adrian being little kids (even though she’s a shit sometimes), I miss George, I miss a simple life, I miss a privileged life of no worries….

Christmas day was smooth, Christmas Eve was smooth, George died smoothly according to his partner. All I want to do is move smoothly into 2017. Fuck everyone and everything else.  Let’s make some money, let’s travel, let’s eat and drink because I have learned that no matter what stage of life you are in, you’re gonna die, you’re gonna be talked about, the holidays are still gonna come and you might die then.  Don’t ever worry about what people think.  George didn’t!  My grandma doesn’t care, my mom doesn’t either and I most certainly from this point on DON’T.