Posts tagged Arizona Muse.

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.

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

“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 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?” 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***

  “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****

(via )

    Sitting in the hair chair, Freja happily listened to the message that Arizona had recorded and uploaded to her custom orange ipod Touch. Arizona’s message was mostly about, “warm naked bodies sliding across each other with careful, trembling strokes,” but there was a small section on Arizona’s opinion of the Lil Wayne CD Freja made her listen to. “Wait, so what does the ‘F’ stand for? Wayne seems indecisive about it,” Arizona’s message questioned, then abruptly stopped.

    Freja looked down at her ipod touch. The battery was dead.

    “No. No. No,” Freja repeated as her hair was being fixed.

    She needed to hear Arizona’s voice.

    She required Arizona’s voice.

    With no other options and no charger, Freja put the dead ipod touch up her her ear and stared blankly off into space, waiting for a voice that would never arrive.

   “Pretty sure you’ve always wanted to see me naked,”Freja said to Arizona.

    Arizona nodded enthusiastically.

    “Well…” Freja purred, “I’m feeling pretty adventurous today so go to frejarizona(dot)com (switch [dot] with .) then sign up and find my profile under the username ‘lolsummer69’.”

    “Where did LOLsummer69 come from?” Arizona asked.

    “It came from us 69ing all summer long, remember?”

    “Of course I remember,” Arizona said and then she went back to 69ing with Freja because she had temporarily been distracted from the task.

     “I hid my face in the pictures. but I want you to guess who I am and then hit me up on Facebook lol. Good luck,” Freja said.

      This felt like a very personal message, meant for only Arizona, so she cherished it like a diamond.

   “Shooting with Terry is so awkward, why does he have to take off all of his clothes again?” 

   “Shh, my desert queen,” whispered Freja, stroking Arizona’s chesnut hair. “It’s just part of his creative process, I guess. And preferbly with a male or female’s mouth touching his genitals. It’s okay, even Wixsen has shot with Terry.”

   “Yeah, but it seems really easy to trick Wixson,” Arizona responded.

   “Oh, totally. He probably told her it was a carrot she had to be gentle with,” Freja says giggling, but her smile soon falls.

   There’s an awkward silence then both lovers echo “Ew.”

  Arizona promised not to get jealous if Freja carpooled with Charlotte Free to Bryant Park. Freja was reluctant, but Arizona took even more nudes and loaded them onto Freja’s ipod touch. She also recorded a soothing message for Freja to listen to. This gave Freja the confidence to accept the ride.

                                           …

  After they finished smoking the second bowl in the back of Charlotte’s 1993 Chevy Starcraft van, Freja forgot about the message from Arizona and she listened to Lil Wayne for four straight hours, mumbling to herself, “Weezy F. Baby and the F is for Freja”.

                                          …

   Arriving at the show, Freja continued to listen to Lil Wayne and walk around the tent. When Fashion TV asked Freja what she thought of the collection, she said, “Could I touch your hair? I need Doritos. Freejy F. Beha and the ‘F’ is for ‘Fucking Arizona’.”

                                         …

   Three bags of Nacho Cheese Doritos later, Freja closes the show flawlessly because it’s Freja F Beha and the F is for “Finisher”