FREJA AND ARIZONA ARE FUCKING

America felt too overwhelming for the Denmarkian queen,...

hbgwhem — Sat, 12 Jan 2013 11:50:00 -0500

America felt too overwhelming for the Denmarkian queen, Freja.

Freja was used to… whatever happens in Denmark. Probably lots of pot smoking and sledding and Hamlet.

Freja felt America was too sprawling, like that Arcade Fire song. Freja wasn’t even sure if Arcade Fire was from America. Things were that confusing for her.

“Maybe I should just go back to Denmark and play Claudius in Hamlet,” Freja said to Arizona as they relaxed, intertwined on the sofa.

“No! We have our beautiful mansion here,” Arizona protested, “Plus I read Hamlet in high school and I’m pretty sure they mentioned that Claudius had bad cheekbones.”

“Aw,” Freja responded, finding it cute that Arizona went to high school. She is so full of surprises. Like that surprise about being a pregnant lesbian.

“I now exactly how to get you to love America,” Arizona said. She was named after a state so she felt a certain responsibility towards this country.

******

2 days later

******

Still laying in each others arms on the sofa, Arizona asked Freja, “Remember when you said you hated America?”

“Zona, you make me sound militant,” Freja said. She never claimed to “hate America”.

“Well, you are sort of militant when we play Zero Dark Thirty angry interrogator vs. sexy terrorist roleplay,” Arizona said with a sly smile.

Freja purred at this, but the moment is interrupted by the doorbell.

“That must be your America coach!” Arizona shrieked, excited, then ran to the door.

Ten minutes later, after walking across FrejArizona’s palatial mansion, Arizona arrived with Freja’s new coach on all things American.

“Freja, I’d like you to meet Lana Del Rey.”

Lana Del Rey extended her clawed hand to Freja.

Freja looked up at Lana and smiled.

In an airey, distant voice, Lana cooed, “Freja, I feel responsible to bathe you in Americana.

Freja hoped “Americana” was a brand of bubble bath. It sounded nice.

Before Freja knew it, she was swept into the back of a black convertible.

Lana’s clawed fingers gripped the wheel and they blasted down the highway.

“Here,” Lana said, passing back a can of Pepsi, “Drink this.”

Freja grabbed the open soft drink and took a sip, “It’s good,” she said.

”That’s what my vagina tastes like,” Lana yelled back to her.

Freja took a bigger sip. “Pepsi is great,” Freja announced.

”What do you want to know about America?” Lana asked.

”Tell me what America means to you,” Freja requested, holding the can of Lana’s vagina and watching the American landscape pass by in a blur.

Lana stared out towards the open road and monologued, “America is a poem of the free, written on the back of an eagle. I was a lost girl, hugging the map filled with peaks and valleys. The roads, these bright black snakes, were build by calloused men, who worked hard for their women. When they came home, they loved even harder than they worked. It was a time without rules, and I was a referee without a whistle. As I traveled, it was both the kindness and the sinister nature of man that provided me a home and cradled my overly hairsprayed Jackie-O hairdo. My pitch was not perfect- like an aging Yankee hanging onto once greatness, but the crowd didn’t care. They came to see me, not a strike. But strike we did, it was our right and we protected our right, we fought for our right, we stood up for our right, we sat down for our right and, always, we were American.”

There was a pause in the convertible as only the wind spoke.

“What the fuck was that?” Freja yelled up to Lana.

“I don’t know, lets go find some black guys to make out with,” Lana suggested.

“I’m a lesbian,” Freja pointed out.

“No, you’re anti-American,” Lana said definitively.

Freja realized, as she cruised down the sunny roads of this great country with a highly cosmetically retouched pop star in the front seat, that this is why America is great; your vagina could become a beverage, your opinions didn’t have to make sense and your girlfriend will be waiting at home for you, ready to do some sexy waterboarding roleplay with you.

***LEGAL NOTICE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS SHIT REALLY HAPPENED. LANA HAS PROBABLY SAID THAT STUFF BEFORE, BUT MAYBE SHE DIDN’T, WHO KNOWS. CERTAINLY NOT ME, NOR DO I CLAIM TO KNOW****

If you liked this piece and you’d like to read my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

Freja Beha For iPod Mini. “Ladies and...

hbgwhem — Sun, 07 Oct 2012 18:02:00 -0400

Freja Beha For iPod Mini.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” Freja called out loudly to the attendees of her Fall garden party. The models and rockstars stopped conversing and turned their attention to their hostess, “I present to you a revolutionary product that will change your life,” Freja bellowed out, her hands behind her back, a sly smile punctuating her sentence, “I bring you…” she teased for effect, “THE IPOD MINI!”

Everyone was silent as Freja held up a scratched upside-down iPod. Two foreign people took pictures of her doing this, just because no one has seen a fucking picture of Freja in, like, forever. Everyone else was confused. The party was packed. Saskia, Karl, Karmen Pedaru, Abbey and, regrettably, Charlottee Free were all in attendance.

Arizona clapped amorously at her Demarkian queen and, slowly, the party followed suit.

”Why is she doing this?” Saskia de Brauw asked Arizona.

Saskia had been invited to this party as a sign that there is “no hard feelings” for her taking over Chanel from Freja. Freja was happy to learn that a Saskia de Brauw was a person and not a luxury single cup coffee maker.

Arizona continued clapping, and leaned in towards Saskia’s weird man haircut. She whispered, “Freja has a lot of free time so she’s gotten really into eBay. She’s very proud of her purchases and last month we had a garden party for a Shamwow so this is actually much better.”

”How did the Shamwow party go over?” Saskia asked.

“Poorly,” Arizona said, flush with memories of Freja pouring red wine on Valentino’s white pants, then attempting to clean it up with a made for TV yellow rag.

“This does seem better,” Saskia whispered back.

“This iPod mini,” Freja announced, “Is the most cutting edge piece of technology that has been ever entrusted to a model.”

”What about when Shalom’s dress was painted by that robot at Mcqueen?” Karmen Pedaru asked.

“Shalom was assaulted by that robot, it wasn’t entrusted to her,” Freja said, “If you all showed up and I started pelting you with iPod Mini’s, then maybe it would be comparable, but I would never do that. I respect technology too much and I don’t want to be targeted by paint machines in the future. My wardrobe is black for a reason,” Freja explained.

”Did Apple ask you to do this?” Wixson asked, confused by what was happening.

”Yes and no,” Freja responded. “After a night of heavy eBaying, I was visited in a dream by Will Gates.”

”I think you mean Bill Gates,” Karmen Pedaru said.

”Bill Gates is still alive, how could his ghost visit you?” Saskia asked.

”The spirit world is not governed by conventional laws of our terrestrial realm,” Abbey said distantly.

“Exactly. Extraterrestrials created that shit and brought it to us in exchange for human lives,” Charlotte Free said, sitting at the childrens table with that 15 year old that walked for Prada and Ming Xi who would just repeat the last word of everything anyone said, then furrow her eyebrows in a vague expression that showed neither opinion nor comprehension.

“I don’t mean to be a downer,” Mariacarla Boscono said, but everyone knew this would be a downer statement because no one has ever seen Mariacarla smile. “But I have the new iphone 5 with a gorilla glass retina display and a questionable maps program… that’s why I was late today,” Mariacarla stated matter of factly. She held up her phone and Freja marched over to inspect it.

As Freja passed by Ming, Ming held up her iphone 3g that was surrounded in a case with little rubber cat ears, “Kitty,” Ming said. Freja continued until Mariacarla’s shiny iphone and Freja’s scratched ipod mini were next to each other.

”That sucks and is stupid,” Freja said, looking at the iphone 5.

”Ohh, an Android fangirl,” Mariacarla retorted.

”No, she hates androids, didn’t you hear her talk about Mcqueen?” Wixson pointed out.

”It looks like the perfect size to do coke off of,” Abbey added as she admired the iphone 5.

”It looks like like the tool of someone with penis envy,” Freja said.

”Penis envy,” Ming repeated, confused.

”I’m sorry, but that iPod came out in like 2005,” Maricarla said to Freja.

”And so did you,” Arizona said to Mariacarla, defending Freja’s factory refurbished purchase.

”Everything that can do, my phone can do,” Mariacarla snipped, becoming competitive, as iphone 5 users tend to do.

”Yes, but your iphone 5 accepts calls,” Freja said, “Pointless.”

”How is that pointless? It’s a phone.”

”When is the last time any of you called someone on the phone?” Freja questioned.

The party was silent.

“My agent called me to wake me up for this super early 2pm shoot,” Charlotte Free said and Wixson scolded her, “God hurts when you do lies.”

“Wixson is right,” Freja confirmed.

“Wixson right?” Ming repeated and her confusion finally seemed appropriate.

“Yes. Lies are bad and ipod touches are the truth,” Freja declared. “They are skinny and they are beautiful,” Freja admired, holding the iPod Mini upsidedown again. “They are packed with greatness and they work for up to eight hours at a time without needing to recharge their batteries. They’re replaced by newer sleeker versions ever couple years. They don’t accept phone calls and they break easily when dropped,” Freja said, then, finally, it all became clear as Freja’s thesis was spoken, “iPod Mini’s are the fashion models of the technology world.”

”I am ipod,” Ming said and Freja nodded at her, “Yes you are, Ming. Yes you are.”

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED. THE IPOD MINI IS A GREAT DEVICE, BUT IT’S SERIOUSLY DATED AND I HONESTLY DON’T RECOMMEND YOU PURCHASE ONE. NEITHER DOES FREJA.***

If you liked this piece and you are a literary agent, please contact me to read my manuscripts.

FrejArizona and The Closet of the Asian Nudie Mags. NYFW...

hbgwhem — Mon, 27 Aug 2012 20:05:00 -0400

FrejArizona and The Closet of the Asian Nudie Mags.

NYFW was approaching fast. Freja had taken some time off, but she finally felt recharged. She was ready to return. Freja’s NYFW re-debut would be like soft kisses on all the mental bruises that had been caused by John leaving and those sleeves on the Balenciaga Sci-Fi sweaters.

Since Raf had recently stolen all of Freja’s pants for his boring Dior collection, Arizona decided that she would rearrange the closet. A large amount of Freja’s wardrobe used to be pants and now they’re gone forever.

Moving barefoot down the marble floored hallways of the opulent mansion Freja allowed Arizona to stay in, Arizona longed for her love, but she also felt content that Freja had rediscovered her passion for fashion. As she got older, Arizona realized that no one should have a cap placed on how much they can love.

The fading summer sun angled through the window and rested on the closet door. Arizona thrust the large door open, ready to make space for a new season. Almost immediately after she did this, the door was pushed shut, from the inside. Arizona was alarmed about the door shutting. Not really because it was so sudden, but because it probably mean Raf was in the closet stealing more simple patterned garments for his new Dior show.

“Don’t you ever knock?” an angry voice yelled from behind the shut door.

“Why would I knock on the closet door before I opened it?” Arizona asked back. She knew that it was not an evil spirit that had slammed the door on her, but instead of beautiful spirit, it was her Denmarkian queen. “Freja,” Arizona said cautiously, “I didn’t really ever anticipate having to ask you this, but whatcha doin’ in the closet?”

Silence.

Arizona worried that Abby Lee might be in there with Freja and she quickly grabbed the nob, then threw the door open. Freja looked back with horror at Arizona, then lifted her arms up and attempted to block Arizona’s vision of… issues of Love?

Freja’s protective gesture proved to be too much of a push and the magazines toppled over, spilling everywhere. Quickly dropping to the ground and splaying out her body, Freja tried to cover the pile of magazines. It was for naught. There were too many magazines and not enough Freja. She had been caught.

“Freja!” Arizona gasped, “You’ve been hiding in the closet reading Japanese nudie mags!”

“Have not. There is a hole in your theory. I can’t even read Japanese,” Freja shot back, “And neither can you Arizona, so, as I see it, we’re even.”

“Freja you’re laying on a pile of naked Japanese ladies, we’re hardly even. I have never laid on a single Japanese lady.”

“There is room for you on the magazines,” Freja offered.

“Why are you wearing fake boobs?” Arizona asked.

Freja looks at the silly top, “I’m cosplaying,” she explained.

“Cosplaying what?”

“Pretty much any girl with boobs,” Freja said.

“I can’t believe you’ve secretly been stockpiling Japanese nudie mags,” Arizona responded, shocked Freja would do this behind her back.

“For your information not all these are nudie mags,” Freja said, “There is definitely some yaoi in here as well.”

“What is Yaoi?” Arizona shrieked, “Have you been watching Univision Gameshows in here while reading Asian smut?” Arizona asked, hurt at Freja’s porn party been one invite short.

“I don’t even know Spanish,” Freja said, “So why would I watch a Spanish gameshow?”

“The same reason you’d read these magazines.”

“Oh. Boobies,” Freja said to herself.

“Yes, and I’m glad we don’t have the Spanish channel, or probably don’t have the Spanish channel, I haven’t really checked because I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s clear that you have more than enough boobies in here.”

“I could use two more,” Freja said to Arizona in a cute voice.

Freja always knew how to melt Arizona’s cold shoulder, like Freja was the Arizona heat and Arizona was that place in Demark where Freja was from. That place is probably really cold. Who knows. It’s in Denmark.

Arizona got down on her knees and crawled across the nudie mags. When she reached Freja, she looked into her soul mate’s eyes and asked, “What’s yaoi?”

Freja picked up one of the books that was laying near Arizona’s hair (thankfully Az’s hair was finally growing out). Freja looked at the black and white pictures in the book, one in particular, of a man with a creepy long fingered claw-hand on a boy’s shoulder and she started explaining, “Well, as said, I don’t speak Japanese, but it’s called yaoi, which I think translates into Sandusky in American. I am not familiar with that word either. I don’t think we have a word for it in whatever Denmark language I speak,” Freja advised, “but these books seem to be a really loosely based adaption of that Indiana Jones movie where he pals around with Shia LaBeouf.”

“So the books are about an Asian Indiana Jones?”

“No, yaoi seems to be about an offduty Asian Indiana Jones who is hardcore gay with Shia Labeouf,” Freja corrected her love as they lay on the periodicals. “And sometimes one of the gays randomly gets preg and no one knows how or why it happened,” Freja added.

“Understandable,” Arizona said, not questioning this part one bit.

Arizona put one of her hands on Freja’s cosplay boob and said, “I get it, it’s nice to get away and pretend sometimes.”

Freja thought about this for a moment and she responded, “I don’t want this to be pretend though. I want to live in a world where Shia LaBeouf has the option to be hardcore gay and Asian with a pregnant Indiana Jones.”

“I don’t know if we’ll ever live in that world,” Arizona said softly, then she warmly hugged Freja in an effort to ease the frostbite of this cold truth.

***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN****

If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

THE FREJARIZONA EPIC CONTINUES. This is the second part in a two...

hbgwhem — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 20:58:00 -0400

THE FREJARIZONA EPIC CONTINUES.

This is the second part in a two part saga called “Who the Fuck Stole All The Pants?”

Here is a link to the first half of the story. If you don’t want to read it, here is a summary of the first half of the story: Someone stole all the fucking pants.

PART 2 - July 1st 2012

“Okay, I hate pants as much as the next person, assuming the next person has no cellulite,” Abbey Lee explained, “but I’d really like my pants back.”

It was the best of times (because they could look at each other without pants).

It was the worst of times (because all of their pants were designer and you don’t drop two grand on a pair of pants just to have them walk away).

No one said anything, except for Wixson, who was twirling in her table cloth dress, while repeating, “Disney princess, Disney princes, Dizzy princess.”

Freja had been feeling very “evil step sister” lately, and not just because Arizona demanded she play that character during dirty Disney taboo Tuesday fun time. Freja had felt evil step sister-like even back when she had pants. Wixson seemed so sweet in her tablecloth skirt that Freja almost was able to ignore the giant orange juice stain next to Wixson’s butt.

Searching for innocence in a world full of pants thieves, Freja walked over to a table in the corner of the room and pulled the table cloth off like a bull fighter would wave his cape.

Karmen Pedaru immediately let out a shriek. It reminded everyone of The Balmain Incident.

”Oh no, were your antidepressants on the table cloth?” Abbey asked Karmen Pedaru, worried. Karmen Pedaru was speechless. She slowly lifted her finger and pointed toward Freja.

“Don’t try to finger me for this crime!” Freja yelled at Karmen Pedaru.

”Don’t try to finger my girlfriend!” Arizona yelled at Karmen Pedaru.

”No,” Abbey said, her eyes following Karmen Pedaru’s finger, “look, under the table.”

Freja whipped around and found a man in a blue sweater crouched under the table. His location exposed, the man slowly crawled out from his hiding spot.

”Oh my gosh!” Wixson exclaimed, “Why is my dentist here? I’M NOT FILLING MY GAP,” Wixson yells at the man in the blue sweater, then tries to hide behind Abbey, but quickly gives up when she realizes it’s an impossible task.

”That’s not your dentist,” Arizona explained flatly.

”He looks like my dentist mixed with a serial killer,” Karmen Pedaru said.

”I live in the Midwest so it’s safe to assume my dentist is also a serial killer,” Wixson says, unsettled by this man’s presence.

These were not Disney Girl Problems.

“This is Raf Simons,” Arizona announced.

“No offense, but Arizona once told Donatella Versace she, ‘loved her in Mean Girls’ so sorry if I’m a little skeptical of her ID of Raf,” Karmen Peradu says.

“May I remind you that Arizona booked Jil Sander,” Freja says, sticking up for her love. In unison, all of the girls in the room roll their eyes.

Accepting that this is Raf before them, Abbey Lee crosses her bony arms and asks, “Raf Simons, why did you take our fucking pants.”
“Well, as you may know, John Galliano said horrible things,” Raf says.

“Oh no! Did he say the J-Lo cover of Vogue US this year was nice?” Wixson asked, horrified.

“I’ll repeat all the things he sad, but in an accent so you know it’s not me saying these things, but you also will be disgusted with him and I can keep Dior.”

“No thanks,” Arizona says, “That happened like 7 seasons ago. You know, back when we had pants.”

“Yes, that brings this all full circle. I have stolen your pants because I am working on my Dior collection to premiere in mere days and I needed some classic Dior Haute Couture pants.”

“Can you stop?” Karmen Pedaru asks, frustrated to no end.

“Stealing pants? Yes. My collection is complete” Raf says, then waits for applause.

“No I meant can you stop doing Dior,” Karmen Pedaru clarified.

“The world is excited,” Raf announced, then quietly tacked on, “If your view of the world is midly overweight white girls, in front of Macbooks, writing posts about what they deem to be other white people being racist. I am very big in that world.”

The girls disregard Raf and move towards the table, where they collect their pants.

“You don’t understand my genius,” Raf said as the girls put on their pants, “I made Kinga cry at my last Jil show.”

“Um, yeah,” Karmen Pedaru said, “That was because Kinga’s neighbor, who was like a public school social studies teacher, passed away two weeks before the show and then she saw you and she through you were his ghost. She was scared shitless, she told me.”

Raf then waved half heartedly at seemingly no one.

The girls had their pants on, and this is when Raf went from neighborhood dentist to serial killer. “You’re not leaving with those pants,” he growled.

Wixson almost started crying, but she didn’t want to ruin her fun makeup.

Just then, the building began to rumble and the door flew open.

A bright light sent everyones hands up to sheild their eyes.

“Hello!” a creepy, distinct voice said. Freja and Arizona lowered their hands. Could it be?

“Yes, it is me, John Galliano,” a man dressed like a pirate atop a unicorn said.

“Hop on,” John Galliano said and the girls helped each other on the mighty unicorn.

“I’ll never let you escape with what’s mine, like I escaped with what’s yours!” Raf Simons said to John Galliano, then he wheeled his Dior collection out and everyone went to sleep.

Days later, Raf debuted the stolen ordinary pants in his first Dior Haute Couture collection and it received universal acclaim in the circles of tumblr and boring pussies with no imagination.

***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN****

*except the Galliano on a unicorn part.

If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

Shall Frejarizona slowly evolve in Frobis? Stay tuned!

japhne — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 18:58:33 -0400

Shall Frejarizona slowly evolve in Frobis? Stay tuned!

Freja locked the door. Normally not one to cause a big...

hbgwhem — Tue, 05 Jun 2012 21:13:00 -0400

Freja locked the door.

Normally not one to cause a big scene, Freja felt challanged by what was happening around her.

She also felt cold.

She was not wearing pants.

No one was.

Someone had stolen the pants.

All of the pants.

Stolen.

A group of five girls- Arizona, Abbeybaby, Wixson, Karmen Pedaru and Freja all were not wearing pants.

This moment played out differently in Freja’s fantasy file.

It was definately warmer and there were more candles in the fantasy. There were at tops 5 candles in this room and it was cold as balls.

Karmen Pedaru looked at Arizona in the good eyebrows and said, “I think… that someone here is a pants thief.”

“I think that someone here is an Esotian bitch,” Arizona said, springing forward, pantless, but confident.

”In Estonia, we have a name for your haircut,” Karmen Pedaru responded.

”What’s her haircut named in foreign?” Wixson asked interested.

Karmen Pedaru smiled at Wixson and said, “Arizona’s hair is called,” then there was a pause, then Karmen Pedaru made noises like she was vomiting.

Wixson marveled, “Ohh exotic and primal!”

Freja stepped in to defend her love and she said, ”Wixson can’t not have pants. This is illegal.”

“Yes. Wixson you have to wear this tablecloth,” Abbey said, yanking the fabric off a table and a thousand diet coke cans went all over the floor.
Lindsey put the tablecloth on her head.

”As a dress,” Abbey clarified.

Wixy took the tablecloth off her head and wrapped it around her hips.

“Freja, you could design for fashions!” Wixson said, sashaying in her new dress.

“Did she just say design for fashions?” Abbey whispered to Karmen Pedaru.

“I’m from Estonia and even I know that’s grammatically incorrect,” Karmen Pedaru whispered back.

”Okay, back to business, someone has all our pants,” Arizona says.

”How do we know it’s not you?” Abbeybaby asks Zona. There is a moment of tension between the two that turned Freja on.

”Maybe we should take off our tops!” Freja suggested, taken by the moment.

The girls all look at Freja, and, uncomfortable, Freja tried to recover from the statement, “Take off our tops… as a sacrifice… to… the pants………monster?”

Wixson’s eyes go wide and she takes refuge under the table that her dress used to cover.

”Great, now you scared Wixson, are you happy?” Karmen Pedaru asked.

”Wixson, I’m sure there is a perfectly normal, non-supernatural reason for why we all have no pants,” Arizona said, crouching down to get eye level with Wixson.

”Please don’t crouch without pants,” Wixson requested in a small voice. Arizona complied.

PLEASE TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR THE STUNNING CONCLUSION OF “WHO THE FUCK STOLE OUR PANTS?” AKA LOST 2.

****PLEASE NOTE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN. EVERYONE STILL HAS THEIR PANTS***** (But if you’re a literary agent who wants to represent my novels and you aren’t someone who wants to sue me, please e-mail me.)

“Abbey! She doesn’t look like the Grinch! Okay,...

japhne — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 21:23:52 -0400

“Abbey! She doesn’t look like the Grinch! Okay, maybe a little…but the cartoon version, not the Jim Carrey one!”

Arizona bounded out of the closet (physically) and asked...

hbgwhem — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 20:17:00 -0400

Arizona bounded out of the closet (physically) and asked Freja, “Does my outfit look hipstery enough for Coachella?”

Freja did not turn around to check. She merely sat at her desk, looking at her computer screen. Arizona held her pose, and sported a duck lipped face she saw on some hipster blogs she had been looking at earlier in the day.

When Freja’s “Float” didn’t bend to see her ‘Zona, the silence and inaction was telling. “Frej?” Arizona asked with a slight tremble to her voice. All the memories of last year at Coachella rushed back to AZ and she began to worry. What if things had changed in the 364 days that had passed since then? What if things had gotten progressively worse, but no one admitted it, like Frejarizona’s love was Radiohead’s recent albums.

Arizona, in her crop top, jean shorts and rubber boots- her Coachella hipster look- galloped over to Freja.

“We’re not going,” Freja said, unable to look her lesbilove in the eyes.

“Freja, I was only looking at those hipster blogs for inspiration. I’m sorry the auto-play on 666-xoxo-princess’ blog woke you up.”

“No. It’s not that. I just went online to look at the lineups one last time and I saw someone was missing.”

Arizona knew that this moment would arrive, but she thought she could put it off until they were in the parking lot, trying to figure out how they were going to sneak Hanne’s beers past the gates.

“They call this a music festival, but they are missing music’s soul,” Freja said, finally looking Arizona in the eyes.

“Is it…” Arizona asked, then immediately sat on Freja’s lap because she knew that hugs will be needed soon.

“Yes, ‘Zona. It’s awful. Mandy Moore will not be at Coachella.”

Arizona hugged Freja and tried to hum the tune to “Candy” like Freja would to for her when Arizona would find out that she was passed up yet again for a fragrance campaign.

“I mean, what the fuck?” Freja burst out in anger, “They let Mac Miller in. I don’t even know what that is? How many times have you ever heard someone say, ‘Oh, that Mac Miller’s song is very not shit’? Zero times. That’s how many ‘Zona.

Arizona silently agreed that she had no idea what a Mac Miller was.

“This is all Bryan Adam’s fault, again,” Freja raged, “Fucking Canada.”

“I think you mean Ryan Adams?” Arizona corrected her.

“Who is Bryan Adams then? Probably Mac Miller’s brother.”

“I know, babe. Mandy made a great sacrifice by marrying Ryan Adams. Canada does seem horrible, and this is coming from a person who lived in New Mexico,” Arizona said as she stroked Freja’s hair.

“Will you be mad if we don’t go?” Freja asked Arizona.

“I could never be mad at you,” Arizona responded, now confident that in the past year their love only got better. Their love was the anti-Coachella.

Freja nuzzled her nose on Arizona’s terrible crop top and asked another question, “Will you do something else for me?”

“Of course my Denmarkian Queen. Anything.”

“Will you hold my hair back while I pout and listen to Mandy’s “Best Of” album on my ipod touch?”

“Forever.”

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION FILLED WITH VERY NOT REAL CONVERSATIONS***

Freja rode in a cab through the busy streets of New York. It...

hbgwhem — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 21:15:00 -0400

Freja rode in a cab through the busy streets of New York. It was Spring? Or was it Fall? In fashion it’s so hard to keep the seasons straight. That’s one of the reasons Freja stepped away for a bit. She yearned for a Brooklyn ease instead of constantly selling to the fast and impatient UES.

Freja was away from home, one of her homes, but she was creating something new, something meaningful with Arizona. Finally, a smile found itself on Freja’s face. As quickly as it arrived, it fled as Freja looked out the window and saw a soccer mom placing fliers on cars parked on the street.

Freja fumbled with her purse to find some money to pay for the cab, but the light was about to turn green and the cabby would be speeding away in moments. His English worse than Freja’s, he’d never understand what Freja had to do.

“Here,” Freja said, throwing her sunglasses in the cabby’s lap, “Those will cover my fare, they’re worth more than your life,” Freja told him, then fled the cab, able to run, unshackled by those high heels she had spend so much of her life crammed in.

The woman with the fliers was carefully lifting up windshield wipers and placing her signs which read MISSING in large red letters.

“Zona,” Freja said out of breath, “What are you doing?”

“It worked, you’re back! I’m amazing!” Arizona screeched and then wrapped her arms around her sex lion, Freja.

“I was at the dentist,” Freja said, confused, but happy to accept the embrace.

“Everyone’s been so worried,” Arizona said, letting go only to show Freja the flier. Zona’s Denmarkian dream took the glossy paper and Arizona said cheerfully, “I printed them on Vogue quality paper… the benefits of being Ms. Wintour’s bitch.”

“Zona, this is a missing sign, for me, with my Vogue UK cover as the picture.”

“I know, how many people can say that Testino shot their missing poster? We live a blessed life my Frejysicle. Sorry they are so small though. As I was passing the fliers out, I saw someone made a missing poster for Kate Moss and it was much bigger. They had it stuck on all those construction sites.”

“That’s for her Supreme T-shirt. It’s not a missing sign.”

“Oh good, I was confused how Kate could go missing anyway? It’s like if you lost a kitten, someone would scoop that little ball of cute up in a second and be like ‘HI YOU LIVE WITH ME NOW’. “

Slightly perturbed, but agreeable to Arizona’s point, Freja looked at the flier and said, “This is a really nice gesture, but you saw me this morning.”

“Oh, don’t think I forgot, I think I ate my weight in whipped cream. Then, after we got cleaned up, I went to (AGENCY NAME REMOVED) and everyone kept asking ‘Where is Freja?’ and ‘Why has Freja been absent from the Fashion Weeks lately?’ and ‘Did we get that girl who cut your hair banned from Manhattan yet?’ “

“I’m sorry you have to answer for me,” Freja said, depressed that she had burdened her queen with her own personal “stuff”.

“Oh, I didn’t know how to answer. I was just like, ‘Oh no, she’s missing? I just got this Brazilian for, like nothing?’ and that’s when I called Anna. It turns out you being missing was very serious.”

“But you have my cell phone number, why were you wandering the city trying to find me like I’m Waldo?”

“Who’s Waldo? Who’s he signed with? Is that one of Karl’s new boy-toys?” Arizona asked, interested.

“He’s that guy in the red and white striped shirt and the ski hat.”

“Ew. Is Waldo one of those Brooklyn ‘alternative’ models that can only shoot Urban and other poor people brands?”

“Fine, it wasn’t like Waldo, but it’s just weird you were playing where in the world is Carmen Sandiego with me.”

“Carmen Sandiego? Did I walk for them? If so we’ll have to send an apology letter.”

Freja sighed, how did a little Denmarkian know more about American culture than a girl named after a state?

“I’m so glad I found you,” Arizona said, grabbing the tips of Freja’s fingers.

“I’m glad I found you too,” Freja responded.

“‘Zona, have you been trying on my clothes again? My...

japhne — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 21:41:00 -0500

“‘Zona, have you been trying on my clothes again? My pants are all too big.” Freja asked as she slid on her favorite booger colored jacket. It reminded her of the first time she met Nico, in which he put his dried nasal mucus all over he Isabel Marant jeans.

“Yes! I found this new miracle food,” Arizona replied replies from bed, then reached over to the nightstand and opened a drawer, retrieving a box of Twinkies. “I hear that the only things that would be left after a nuclear blast would be roaches and Twinkies,” Arizona comments, marveling at the indestructible dessert cake.

Freja seemed angered by this so Arizona continued adding things to the list, hoping to making things right, ” Cockroaches… Twinkies and…Stam?”

While Freja was sure that Stam’s plastic would remain, this was not the answer she was looking for. “Our love,” Freja said quietly, pinching at the loose band on her shorts.

“Yes! Totally,” Arizona agreed, “Even without arms, I’ll still want to wrap you in my arms!”

This romantic post-apoctalypic vision made Freja smile and she sauntered over to the bed asking, “How many of those have you eaten, Momma Muse?”

“Um…just a couple,” Arizona said, a little ashamed, “I promise it was no more than the two boxes Wixson ate last time Cfree tricked her into getting high!” (In which Charlotte told the chubby cheeked Witchita native that it was a new way to light scented candles. Wixson was intrigued by fire because her father never let her play with it as a kid. After the Great Cornfires of 2007, matches had been outlawed in Kansas and everyone had to switch to smokeless tabacco).

“I haven’t had a Twinkie in a while because of the bad memories,” Arizona said, sad, as she brushed the crinkley plastic wrapper off the bed.

Freja quickly climbed back into bed and held Arizona’s hand, crumbs filling the slight indention made with Freja’s braceleted arm. “What happened?” she asked delicately.

“Before I met you…” Arizona started explaining. “Before I met you, I was up for a Twinkie modeling job. All the other girls were disqualified because they started grabbing their tummies and sobbing when they saw the plate of Twinkies. In the end, it turned out to be a bust…they chose to go with a different model.”

“Which model?” Freja asked, knowing she won’t recognize the name of a Twinkie girl.

“Some stupid cartoon animal that didn’t even have three demensions. Why does he even need the job? He’s a cartoon. He doesn’t have a baby to feed. Or, like, I don’t know, he could just draw the baby some food if he does. But don’t worry, my Danish lesbian. I won’t get fat like Daphne. Last time I shot with Terry, he taught me a new exercise called Kegels!”

***NOTE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION****

You Don’t Fire Frejarizona, Frejarizona Fires You. ...

hbgwhem — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 18:06:00 -0500

You Don’t Fire Frejarizona, Frejarizona Fires You.

“Today’s the day, my FrejyPop,” Arizona purred into Freja’s ear as they laid in bed, wrapped in each other.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Freja asked, excited and scared in equal measure.

“It’s me, you and a camera. When is that ever a bad idea?” Arizona responded and then eyed the Nikon on the tripod at the end of the bed.

***

Hand in hand, Freja and Arizona walked into the Céline offices.

“Did you see that?” Freja asked as she held the door for Arizona.

“You mean the frumpy lady with the stroller who had the same haircut I do?”Arizona asked.

“No, that man in the car.”

Arizona looked back to see a black BMW with a man whose hands were fiddling with something out of sight.

“I think he’s a paparazzi,” Freja said.

“No. Don’t worry, I think he’s just masturbating at us,” Arizona said and it relieved Freja. It must be nerves, Freja thought to herself. She didn’t want to let down Arizona. This was going to be an important campaign. They walked inside and immediately heard, “Girls, your here!”

A Céline employee enthusiastically lead them back to a rack of the first looks Frejarizona would be wearing.

“Accordion dresses?” Freja said, holding in a dry heave.

“Yes! This is what you’ll be wearing!” the employee said and Arizona tried to smile at her, but she was looking past the lady to see if she could find an exit so they could escape this nightmare.

“Is this a joke?” Freja asked in disbelief.

“No it’s our new budget line Céline by Celine Dion.”

“This is illegal,” Arizona said, incredulous.

“Where is Céline?” Freja asked.

“Are you kidding?” the employee responded.

Arizona grabbed on Freja’s arm and whispered, “Babe, Céline is dead. She was killed by the leader of her fan club.”

“You’re thinking of Selena. The Hispanic singer,” Freja pointed out.

“Oh, then she got shot on her doorstep.”

“That was Versace,” Freja corrected Arizona.

“I wish it was Celine Dion,” Arizona growled.

“Just try the dresses on,” the Céline employee begged. Ever the professionals, Frejarizona complied.

Looking at each other in the accordion moo moos, both women decided, “I need a cigarette.”

Outside, Freja and Arizona puffed and paced.

“How are we going to get out of this? Being the face of Céline by Celine Dion is like being the face of bowel cancer,” Freja ranted.

“I’m going to think of something,” Arizona said to her love. This was the most serious, threatening moment of their entire relationship.

They stamped out their cigarettes and Freja spotted the man from the BMW snapping away pictures. “It’s too late,” Freja said. “It’s never too late,” Arizona responded, then lead her soul mate back inside.

“I have to go,” Arizona told the Céline employee. “You can’t,” the Céline lady declared.

“I have to. I need medical attention. This dress gave me Accordionacitous.”

“You just made that up,” the Céline woman responded.

“I did not. Are you discriminating against my Accordionacitous? I’m going to sue you worse than my agents are going to sue that fake tumblr about Freja and me.”

The Céline employee let Frejarizona go because a lawsuit of that scale would bring Céline by Céline Dion down like it was the Titanic.

“You saved my life,” Freja said warmly to Arizona.

“I’ll love you til the Accordionacitous takes me, my love,” Arizona responded.

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN***

“NEW YEARS IN BED (Doing It)” “Freja, guess...

hbgwhem — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 12:23:00 -0500

“NEW YEARS IN BED (Doing It)”

“Freja, guess what day it is!” Arizona yelled as she ran through the hallways of the decadent mansion she shared with Freja.

“Oh no,” Freja mumbled. She realized that today must be Anna Wintour’s birthday. Freja never knew what to get Anna and the present Freja gave last year (a Cosco size box of Swiffers so that Anna could dust of her unused vagina) did not go over well. Freja felt it was a practical gift with a personal touch, but maybe Anna’s skin is too sensitive for the extra strength bleach on the pads.

Arizona continued to run through the hallways of her dreamhouse and Freja would yell, “Arizona!” then listen as Arizona’s jank walk clopped down the marble floors. “Hotter” Freja yelled as the clippy clop got louder. “Hotter!” Freja yelled as Arizona walked closer. “Hotter!” Freja yelled again when she heard the loud, uneven steps.

“Hotter,” Freja whispered as Arizona appeared in the door frame. Freja was taken by Arizona’s long legs that peeked out the slit of her flowy skirt. After all these (months? years?) of dating, Freja still wanted to “do” Arizona a bunch.

Hotter.

After their romp on the bed, when the feathers from the pillows started to float down on then her, Arizona said, “Today is New Years Eve.”

“Do we have to buy Anna something for it?” Freja asked worried.

“No. Freja, you must know what New Years Eve is.”

” ‘Zona, I’ve from Denmark. Wait! Is New Years Eve the American version of Roskilde Invasion Eve?” Freja asked excited.

“Um. No. On American New Years, we drink champagne, then talk about how disappointing the night was. That’s New Years Eve. What is… Rosskill Invasion Time, or whatever.”

“Oh, it’s this holiday in Denmark when we celebrate the period of time when the vikings arrived and raped our women and pillaged our ships.”

“Freja! Why the fuck would you celebrate that?”

“All the vikings had really good bone structure,” Freja responded warmly and Arizona thought maybe, for 2012, it was time to celebrate a different holiday- one not about spending money or getting cramped in shitty Times Square with awful Secrest.

It was time for FrejArizona to bring in 2012 celebrating the things that really matter- good cheekbones.

**NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

Arizona was getting very into her yoga and even though the...

hbgwhem — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 15:40:00 -0500

    Arizona was getting very into her yoga and even though the lessons were Freja’s idea, some days, when Arizona slid on those skin tight pants, then Freja slid her out of them and then like ten minutes later Arizona slid back into them again, sometimes Freja seemed… well… jealous.
    At first Freja would “supervise” all of the yoga lessons, but there are only so many times you can stare at someone’s ass in the downward facing dog before you start to wonder, “Is there more to life than just oversexualizing low impact workouts?
    During dessert that night (strawberry shortcake) (they were all out of whip cream because of the night before) Arizona started to ask Freja if there are any hobbies she had ever considered.
    “I have my music” Freja said and Arizona quickly asked, “What else?” because she didn’t want to hear Freja sing Mandy Moore again.
     “Well, there is this one thing…” Freja said, uncharacteristically shy. Arizona was intrigued.
     “Wait here,” Freja said and then scampered away from the table as Arizona watched her go and made a noise that was like, “MMMMMyeahhh”
     Ten minutes later, Freja returned with a microphone and a notebook.
     “Are you going to read your poems?” Arizona asked.
     “No, this mic is hooked up to the stereo and the neighbors asked us to stop saying, ‘savory juices’ loudly,” Freja reminded Arizona.
      “Whatcha gonna do, baby?” Arizona asked.

“STANDUP COMEDY,” Freja said into he mic.

“Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy,” Arizona said in her head.
“Okay so, my first joke is,” Freja started out and Arizona was already like, Maybe it will start raining and this electrical equipment will kill us all. Is that a rain cloud in the sky? Maybe? Please.

“-is,” Freja continued, “Everyone always comes up to me and is like ‘What do your tattoos mean?’ and I’m like, “I don’t know, what does your muffin top mean?’ ” Freja said and then laughs. Arizona tried to laugh, but she still had a little baby weight, even after the yoga. This was a sensitive topic.

“Okay, the second joke,” Freja said with misplace confidence, “is, like, okay I miss Lee more than anyone, but how does that smelly bitch Lady Gaga make Mcqueen look like McDonalds?” Freja laughed at this joke, Arizona tried to giggle.

       The jokes continued, sadly, aimlessly- like a Tyra Banks photographed editorial.
   About five minutes in, Freja laid down and did an unfunny bit about people who don’t wear all black clothing.
     Arizona, grateful that there wasn’t a bit about “mom haircuts”, walked over to Freja and picked her up.

After carrying her sad clown inside, Arizona said, “I have a joke for your act,” and Freja looked at her hopefully, “Tell it to me.”

“Okay,” Arizona said, “The joke is… Saskia de Brauw for Chanel.”

***NOTE THIS IS FICTIONAL***

“Dude, what the fuck is a Saskia de Brauw?”...

hbgwhem — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 19:02:00 -0400

“Dude, what the fuck is a Saskia de Brauw?” Freja asked staring at her ipod touch.

“A super good coffee maker,” Arizona said as she messaged Freja’s back.

“Karl replaced me with a coffee maker?”

“Wait, I was saying coffee maker- the machine, not coffee maker- the hipster.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, ‘Zona the point is, Karl replaced me.”

“Oh no,” Arizona gasped, “You have a really bad knot on your shoulder,” she said continuing her massage.

“Don’t you get how important this is? I was dumped,” Freja growled, wanting to throw her ipod touch, but she hadn’t downloaded all the naked ‘zona pics off it yet so she handled it with care. “This is like if Jil Sander replaced you,” Freja said, to get Arizona to understand.

“Didn’t they already?” Arizona asked.

“Ugh. I’m googling this coffee maker, Saskia DeBrauw,” Freja said, prancing her delicate fingers across the ipod touch.

The picture slowly came up.

“It’s a fucking dude!” Freja exclaimed.

“Who would trade a cutting edge lesbian for a dude?” Arizona asked, “Other than, like, Anne Heche, but look how that turned out for her.”

“Wait. No. They might have just mislabeled an picture of young Jamie Lee Curtis.”

“Like Terror Train era Jamie Lee Curtis?”

“Seriously, Terror Train is what you associate young Jamie Lee Curtis with? Terror Train?” Freja asked. Outraged.

“Frej, you need to calm down, I’m gonna go make you a cup of-” shit. Arizona stopped. She couldn’t say coffee, Freja was just replaced by a coffee maker that looked like Terror Train Era Jamie Lee Curtis, “-a warm cup of… apple… sauce?” Arizona said, struggling to finish her sentence.

“Aw, you always know how to make me feel better,” Freja said, pulling Arizona’s hand over, then kissing it.

They dined on cups of warm apple sauce and Freja thought, I might not have Chanel, but at least I have my desert queen.

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION***

TODAY IS FREJA’S...

hbgwhem — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 19:01:00 -0400

TODAY IS FREJA’S BIRTHDAY.

EVERYONE WISH FREJA A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

I hope she has an amazing day and she’s able to put the

“Balmain Incident” out of her head on this fine, fine day.

~-~FLASHBACK TO: The Balmain Incident~-~

It all started off as a normal Balmain show: sequins, some other shiney shit, and enough studs to cover jackets for at least two gangs of gay bikers.

Freja, as per usual, was casually flirting with the girls, when a scream silenced the room.

“Oh no did someone deflate Crystal Renn with one of those safety pins?” Freja asked, worried that Crystal Renn goo would get on the garments.

“Maybe someone put on footage of Kayne’s collection from PFW!” Kasia said, afraid.

“Save yourselves…get out while you can!” sobbed Karmen Pedaru, entering the room looking severely shaken.

“Karmen, what’s wrong? Did someone remind you that you had cornrows in your last Vogue Paris Ed? Don’t worry, we don’t blame you for that,” Freja said reassuringly.

“No…Freja, it isn’t that…it’s..it’s her… with…”

Freja looked confused. “Nicki Minaj? Oh man I hope they fuck around with Anna again and put them together.”

Karmen points across the room, her face awash in pure dread.

“Freja, darling!” echoed through the backstage area as a tall girl appeared, holding something.

It was Arizona.

Arizona had booked Balmain.

“This is bullshit, why can’t I have just one thing for myself,” Freja growled.

“You do,” Arizona said, “Me!”

Freja smiled, she softened and they kissed and touched each others butts and it was like it never happened. If Arizona can forgive Freja for the time the evil Bruce Jenner puppet made her dial Abbey, Freja can forgive Arizona for booking Balmain.

Well, she could until she saw what Karmen was freaking out about.

This wasn’t about Arizona.

This was about the cake that Arizona began to wheel out towards Freja, while she sang, “Happy Birthday To You!”

The models looked on horrified.

“Arizona, what the fuck is this?” Freja asked, stunned, but still looking for a fork because the cake looked good.

“Happy birthday, Frejycakes!” Arizona squealed.

“Aw. Fer serious, this is cute and all, but my birthday isn’t til October 18th,” Freja said.

“Fucking wikipedia fucking sucks,” Arizona muttered, then tasted a bit of white icing.

**NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

“Do you think I have baby-weight?” Arizona asked...

hbgwhem — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 22:33:00 -0400

“Do you think I have baby-weight?” Arizona asked looking in the mirror.

“No. Babies weigh like 10 pounds. You’re way fatter than that,” Freja responded as she laid in bed and smoked a cigarette.

“Real nice,” Arizona responded.

“What. Sure. It’s a generalization. I don’t know what ALL babies weigh, but I bet a majority of babies weigh around that,” Freja admitted as she blew a cloud of smoke towards Arizona’s baby weight.

***

Freja decided on yoga, for Arizona.

“I’ll pay,” Freja said.

Arizona didn’t want to take her charity and refused.

“I meant I’ll pay you to do yoga,” Freja said, then slapped Arizona on the ass and then sat down on a wicker chair in the “observation area” of Arizona’s workout.

****NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION*****

“My desert queen, is that you?” Freja wonders...

japhne-deactivated20111128 — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 21:38:00 -0400

“My desert queen, is that you?” Freja wonders aloud as she turns away from all of the lesbian porn tabs opened on her computer.

“Yes,” Arizona responds mutedly.

“Where have you been, ‘Zona? It’s past 11…why is your nose all read? Are you sick?”

“No!” Arizona snaps back.

“You haven’t been hanging out with Abbey, have you? You know the sort of things she does…”

“No, of course not, Frej, I would never do drugs, ever! Not even to lose my baby weight.”

“Then what’s wrong?” “Well…they don’t want me in the campaigns for Jil again..and it’s been hard for me. That was the one thing I had, the one slightly monumental success that I’ve had. And you and I both know I shouldn’t have even gotten it….I’ve been at Denny’s all night, crying into my Winner Winner Cheesy Dinner and talking to the homeless man that sleeps in their bathrooms at night. HE’S BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH, FREJA. Did you know that some people don’t have their photos taken when they go out in public?”

“You don’t get your photos taken when you go out in public, at least when I’m not around.”

“THAT ISN’T THE POINT, FREJA,” Arizona yelled manically.”I need to fix this world…I need to make this world better for the people! I need to end racism against Americans in Paris! I need to save all of the aliens!”

“‘Zona, you’re starting to scare me….you’re starting to sound like Charlotte Free. Did you take too much cold medicine?”

It did indeed turn out that Arizona had taken too much cold medicine.

****NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION****

ME WITH MY MUSE!!!! I can’t describe the specific scene of...

hbgwhem — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 18:47:00 -0400

ME WITH MY MUSE!!!!

I can’t describe the specific scene of me finding this Freja ad, but I would like to extend my apologies to the Sprint kiosk guy for ruining his sale of some shitty Samsung phone. I would also like to give the Sprint guy photo credit for this picture as I forced him to take numerous shots of me in front of Freja, after I scared his customer away.

“Anja, stop. I told, you, I have a girlfriend. And you...

japhne-deactivated20111128 — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 16:09:00 -0400

“Anja, stop. I told, you, I have a girlfriend. And you have a fiancé. I can’t go through this stuff again, like when Abbey Lee’s boyfriend walked in on me and her. There’s too many tears involved….and tambourine. So much tambourine.”

“Oh, it’s just a little fun! What, am I not good enough for you? I wear plaid occasionally! I’ve had dangerously short hair! I kissed Sasha Knezevic on top of a taxi! Is that not lesbian enough for you?”

“Anja…Sasha is a man. Just because their name is Sasha doesn’t mean they’re a woman. Even Pivovarova.”

“Pivovarova is a girl?” Anja looked shocked. “But I thought she was like Andrej Pejic, who I’m still pretty unsure what hi—er, her?—their? Whatever, just a little peck? Please?”

“No. I’ve got to go. Arizona needs my help, she can’t get the cap off of her Tums again. It’s got a child lock.” ***NOTE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION***

“I really don’t want to go to this party,”...

hbgwhem — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 22:46:00 -0400

“I really don’t want to go to this party,” Lily said to Freja.

“Arizona got out of it. She faked like she had that shit that the zombies in 28 Days Later had,” Freja responded.

“Coco believed that excuse?”

Freja noded her perfect cheekbones and said, “She had never seen 28 Days Later so she just took ‘Zona’s word for it… then launched into some story about how she hasn’t had skim milk in 28 days.”

“What did you get Coco?” Lily asked, still presentless.

“I don’t know, what do you get old people for their birthday?”

“I bought my dad tickets to The Knicks once,” Lily said.

“I’ve never heard of them, are their songs good?” Freja asked.

“No, they sound like Abbey Lee’s “”band”“. Except they’re all really tall and throw a ball around.”

“You mean like how me and Zona ‘throw a ball around’? That sounds racy for something to give to your dad.”

The two girls walked In silence for a while, the image of Freja and Arizona “tossing a ball around” rolling like a film through their minds. “Frej, I really don’t want to go to this party,” Lily said, again, “I mean, I thought girls stopped having birthday parties after they turned 30. Are there just going to be old people in sweater vests playing checkers?”

“Coco will never stop having birthday parties. Years from now, when Coco is forty, we’ll still be making this awful walk,” Freja said, knowing that this was the brutal truth. “And we’ll have to listen to her talk about how many orphans in Africa she fed tigers to, or whatever it is they do. And all there will be is baby food because all of her teeth will have fallen out by then.”

“Oh god,” Lily replied, pondering if she should end her life.

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION***