FREJA AND ARIZONA ARE FUCKING

    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 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.)

    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.

                            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 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*****

“Ladies, ladies, please stop mauling each others faces for a few minutes so I can take the photos!”

   Freja had noticed a lot of new faces at the recent shows. Arizona was very rational about it and said that the girls weren’t competition because, “no one can out-Frej, Freja.”

   Freja had no idea what this meant, but it made her feel better.

   Arizona had suggested that while she was walking in the show, Freja could distract herself by getting to know the new girls. A little shy, Freja got some props from food services; a glass of OJ and some grapes. She would share them with one of the new girls and make her feel at home. Arizona would like this plan, Freja thought to herself.

   Then Freja saw Wixson and the plan went out the window.

   “Hi Wixson,” Freja said, approaching Wixson with her food and drink in hand.

   “Hi Freja!” Wixson said, excited to meet one of the biggest names in the business, “I like how mean you looked on the runway,” Wixson said. Freja decided to take this statement as a compliment.

   “I have a question,” Freja said, coy, “Have you ever seen Speed?”

   Wixson stared off into space a moment and then said, “Once at a party Charlotte showed me a bag with-“

   “-no. The movie. Have you seen “Speed” the movie?” Freja clarified.

   “Oh. No. Momma said there was too much violence in it,” Wixson responded.

   “Okay, that’s weird, but whatever, the point is, in Speed, the bus had to keep up a certain speed or it would explode.”

   “Why?” Wixson asked.

   Freja paused. “Becau- well. They- um. Whatever, because that’s how things are.”

   “Oh,” Wixson said, regretting her monthly metro card.

   “And someone did that same thing at this show! Like in Speed,” Freja said, acting dramatic,” We’re all in trouble here!”

   “Oh no. We’re in trouble? Like the time I ate that Christmas poinsettia?” Wixson asked.

   “Worse! If someone doesn’t hold this OJ and these grapes and pretend to be a statue for the rest of the day, we’re all going to blow up.”

   Wixson’s eyes went wide.

   “I wish someone here was brave enough to do it,” Freja said.

   “Probably Arizona,” Wixson suggested.

   “No!” Freja yelped. She would never betray her desert queen.

   “Okay, I think I will do it,” Wixson said, taking the glass of OJ and the grapes.

                               +++

   Arizona bounced backstage and before next her dress change. She stopped and looked at Wixson, then looked at Freja. “Oh no. Why is Wixson pretending to be a grape tree?” Arizona asked.

   “Because Speed,” Wixson responded, deadly serious.

***Note: This is a work of fiction***

   “Arizona, did you just hear that? Lily told me to pour this scolding hot coffee on Coco Rocha,” Freja said, excited.

   “I did not! Arizona, believe me, I did not ask her to do that,” Lily pleaded. She wanted nothing to do with this situation. She just wanted a water from the lil’ cart when, out of nowhere, Freja ambushed her.

“You heard her say it, right, Arizona?” Freja prodded.

“Yup. Loud and clear. She practically yelled it. I bet Coco heard. You know she’s only capable of hearing conversations about herself, right?”

“What’s that Lily? You want me to pour TWO scolding hot coffees on Coco Rocha? You’re one crazy bitch, ” Freja said, walking back to the cart for a second cup of coffee.