Blog Post Title Three
I use my disgust of you to select my garbage bags. Harnessing what I should’ve said to you into the schema of my trash receptacle soothes me. I wish you’d done a better job because they’re pretty, but they still leak. This isn’t the place for your proper paddling. But, trust, you’ll be addressed every time I get dressed. I left so you would stop trying to collect yourself in front of me. Hoe would be the cheap shot to take here. And I’m far from cheap, but alas we’ve learned you don’t deserve me.
This ancestorial choke on your throat won’t be alleviated no time soon. My heirs will decide when they’ll allow you time to gag for air. You know my pedigree well, Atlanta by way of Fort Lauderdale. I’m giving you what your daddy didn’t. Clear direction. Stay on the ground sweetie. If you try to stand up, I’ll remind you of how close the floor really is. Follow directions next time, darling. The Djordje Estate will courier your edges to your grave site when we’re done.
Restraint is something I wear like finery. A tuxedo. A dinner gown. It confuses people though. I do it as a perfunctory courtesy because Grandaddy insisted that I lead with that. He said something to the tune of “You can’t walk a jaguar through Saint Laurent and not incite.” So, I dress accordingly so as to peruse the finery in peace.
It irks me that they mistake my tux as an invitation to be haphazard. It’s infuriating to watch children play in electrical sockets when I've left you plenty of snacks to keep you entertained, and yet you want to play dangerously. Juveniles. What can we do, but coexist? I'm still investigating. Deets soon.
By now you know what’s simmering in my pots so you don’t even need to see it to know: it eats.
The casualty in which you all allow people to treat and talk to you has left these folks out here with an inability to discern danger when it’s right in front of their face, It blows my mind every time. Then, I have to posture because Grandaddy didn’t only preach from the pulpit, he lived it. As much as I want to, he won’t ever let me out in these streets. The heritage has invested too much to waste on “factory” items. So, I only glance at my patent leather Saint Laurent brass knuckles, they are mainly for décor and an ancestral relic of what I know we’re capable of.
I really drag, when I’m in drag though. Alexandra Djordje.
She does what my coifed masculinity could never. She recognizes the dust in the corner of your window sills and allows you the grace of thinking you’ve cleaned. It’s not stank, those are truffles, hunny. My grace is waning and I’m starting to feel like I wasted this outfit on you. Don’t you love her? She’s the sister I never had, but the one my sisters got.
I’ve never seen myself as feminine, but my ability to hold the energy so delicately could make you think that I’m more of a lady than you. Don't be threatened by this. It’s just cosplay darling. Yeah, you’ll feel like I am the gold standard you seek to decipher what your next signature lip shade should be, but you’re still a woman. I’m only here to play, put your purse down, so I can recommend an edge control that doesn’t flake.
You can see how confusion ensues all over my life can’t you? Lord knows I’ve been tired a long time. Send provisions Jesus. They’re hungry. I ate, but I’ll still treat them to lunch.
Tiffin at the St. Regis Bar.
1p. Dress accordingly.
Be ready to talk damnit.
I’m not dimming for you.
