FREJA AND ARIZONA ARE FUCKING

“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***

                            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*****

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.

“Wait, really?” Magdalena asked. “You guys touch eachother, like boys and girls do?”

“Yes, Magda,” Freja repeated for about the millionth time, “It’s called being a lesbian.”

“So, do you guys, like, share cooties to make the babies? Is there lesbian birth control?” Magda was still confused.

“No, no….there’s no semen,” Freja replied, slightly annoyed. Magda was lucky she had such great tits or this conversation would have been over a long time ago.
“No possible way to get pregnant. What did they teach you in Poland, how to runway walk?”

“So if I become a lesbian, I don’t get pregnant when my no-go zones are touched?” Anna meekly asked.

“Yeah. But, I mean, you don’t choose to become a lesbian. You’re born one.”

“So, um, does that mean you and Arizona put your…things together and like it?”

“We love it!”

“Gross!” Magda and Anna yell, and the three burst into fits of laughter.

   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***