IBIZA. I have always viewed this tiny Baleric Island as the Ft Lauderdale of Europe. With hordes of sun burnt Brittish lads looking like candy canes draped in matching neon on Stag Do tank tops followed by hordes of marshmallow lipped mega ho's stumbling around in their Chinese foot binding shoes, shit faced and looking for their next semen injection. Not my cup of tea. When I travel I like to either go somewhere and get lost with people I love, OR I go core, I go cheap, dirty and local and alone. I don't do 40 dollar California rolls, (Sunset Ashram are you fucking serious? Some of the prices made me literally want to bitch slap the bartender...like are we both witnessing and actively participating in agreeing that the total sum cost of rum, mint, ice, sugar and some Italian surfer to crush it half harzardly, put a spring of mint in it then do a line of coke off the fake tits of a waitresses under the bartop....is 25 EUROS! Makes me want to kill someone)

I don't travel to speak english. I travel to learn, to grow or to celebrate life with loved ones...but somehow, regardless of my hatred of all things Ibiza....the capricious winds of fate used my Judiasm against me this summer when one of my best friends said some combination of "fancy" "villa" and "free," and I said fuck it why not see what all the fuss is about. The truth is I was also fleeing my sick bi polar semi abusive relationship with New York City....

It's like i'm in high-school in a tiny mid west town, and New York is my hot older boyfriend in college who has a Jeep wrangler and picks me up and drives me to all these horizon expending places (like the MALL!) Only problem is... he's physically abusive, hot and cold, steals my money and is jealous of others cities I visit. Even though I've vowed to leave him, he warms up a little bit and gives me flowers... and I get lured back with promises that he'll change, often dazzling me with his live music or improv comedy skills...i'm weak. I love him so.

Anyway, very simply the lack of nature is inhumane and shuts my consciousness down. I need air, i need trees, I need flowers bursting with color and mountains looming above me, their size and power allowing me to feel the presence of mother earth all around me. I need water over my head, drowning me in it's infinite wisdom rocking me back into baseline...all these components the base to my acid. I need my phone to shut the fuck up. I needed to leave the US and stop reading headlines about that orange fascist man baby whose diaper needs to be changed, I need billions of colors, cultures, tastes, foods, sounds, animals, currencies and languages. Living in NYC denies me access to the fundamental life force I need to feel whole.

So I booked a one way ticket with one of my best friends Quinton and got lost. I had a love hate relationship with Ibiza. I relearned the ultimate lesson which is you will find what you seek. Ibiza is full of nature and beauty so resplendent you actually can't look directly at it, she's like a medusa of sorts, and can turn your nose and heart to stone if you're not careful.

I stayed away however from the nightclub scene except for one night when I went to go see NYC favorites Bedouin at this big fuck off bordello like mega night called "Story". I was instantly hungry for actual human connection, watching the k'd out swaying masses so I went wandering and ended up I meeting this shockingly beautiful boy who was dressed so elegantly I literally took his hand sat him down and said, "Tell me everything." Dripping in hope, basking in his complete freedom with a brain that spoke 5 languages and shoulders who wore kimono's like pimp wears fur, gliding about the earth as if he had a cloud hovercraft. Ah young love. Is there anything better. I wish you luck young Philip. I hope you find her again...there's nothing better in this world than impossible love that works out.

This is IBIZA - Sander Kleinenburg
La Dispute - Yan Tiersen

Parents are tricky, you can't pick them, you cannot change them, all you can do is bask in the glory of the two bodies your soul chose to enter the world through. I don't know what amorphous sentient spaghetti monsters in the sky to thank for giving me these two vessels...but thank you thank you thank you.

Music: Heart of Gold: Neil Young

Kathy Jane, my mother and my guide through this earth is always the first person I call after I do something outrageous. She is my North Star, and always allows me to process my failures in a thoughtful way. There is no better person to help me navigate my hearts ups and downs and it is my honor to be able to share her laughter and words of wisdom with you. 

Music: Neil Diamond: Heart of gold
Adele: Send My Love
Check out Skirt Club for updates on their next parties!

DRUM ROLL PLEASE.....the answers to all of last weeks episode and more! I have three more interviews to dot the i's and cross the t's of what really goes down in a all female hetrosexual orgy. Next up, my dear mother and father discuss my experience there and weigh in on why I am the way I am.

Host note: I love skirt club. I love it's founders I love it's message I love their events and everyone should try this for themselves. Everyone else was having a fabulous time and it literally looked like one of the most beautiful porn movies you've ever watched....perfect lighting, gorgeous women, big white furry rugs, hot tubs, pink champagne...strap ons, wands the works. It's a wonderful place to learn more about yourself, so try it for yourself, I guarantee you you'll be more successful than me.

Music: I want to be evil: Eartha Kitt
Nasty Girl: Vanity 6

Follow Margo Stilley @margostilley
Skirt Club @skirtclub

There's Nary a Slip Twixt the Skirt and the Hip

When Genevieve La June the founder of Skirt Club UK, asked me to give a comedic speech at her New York event (a sex party for bicurious women) I was THRILLED. It was not an easy task they gave me, to deliver a speech on Women's liberation since the 1920's to 100 New York City bad ass bitches in 1,000 dollar matching Agent Provocateur lingerie sets, sipping champagne greedily awaiting me to finish my silly speech so they could feast on each others innards. Subsequently, I couldn't have been more nervous, but in the end everyone seemed to laugh and love me so I've conclude I killed it. Despite this I ultimately failed in my goal, which was to finally have sexual congress with a pair of XX chromosomes.

To be fair I had a pink albatross hanging around my clavicle because I have been toying around with the idea of bisexuality for some time. Primarily after a major break when I quietly thought to myself, that's it, i'm finished with foreskin...bring on the V. Don't get me wrong, as an ex party girl burning man junkie I have invariably had multiple experiences of varying degrees of disaster, with women. Most of them sadly wearing festival shit like fairy wings, glitter and nipple pasties...women who probably say things like "i'm only doing this because Mercury is in retrograde and I just finished my moon celebration...hold on i need to take out my yoni egg before we start" - shoot me)

Despite my XXX rated desires, most of these experiences ended up looking like a scene from Girls Gone Wild Panama Spring Break (2002) because when there's 2 sluts baked on drugs there's no one whose going to actually pull the trigger and eat two day old party vag that's probably been encased in some sort of shiny lame/lycra hotpants in places without toilet paper. It's just not going to happen. #blindleadingtheblind.

I've concluded that YOU NEED TESTOSTERONE or an actual Lesbian because straight women are all talk, flirt and ego and in the end it becomes just that. Talk. If you listen to me, you probably know I can talk my way in or out of anything. Throughout my sexual life I would create super sexy girl on girl moments.... only then to fall victim to the tiny Woody Allen spermatozoa worry wort that lives on my right shoulder that likes to remind me of Michael Douglasses throat pustules.

What's my point? In my mind I am this sexually fluid, open minded sex goddess ready and willing to participate in any and all adventures. In reality, I am a fucking coward shaking like a leaf in the wind when ever I have to leave my comfort zones and try something new. It's pathetic. I am working on it.

So I went to this party. The rest is history. 
A huge thank you to Skirt Club for allowing me into your world it was the ultimate litmus test.

Music : My Neck My Back - Khia
I Kissed A Girl - Katie Perry

website: skirtclub.co.uk/
Instagram: @skirtclub

Host note: the founders are IN the photo above



Donde Hay Amor, Hay Dolor

In my life I have never been so confused. Everyone is a mesmerizing hue of chocolate with glowing tiger eyes. People strut. They walk down the street like their private parts are made of the freshest ripest, juiciest ingredients. This is not just sexy young women, this is big beautiful round women in bright pink spandex their body resembling a horn of plenty spilling over with fruit. Short, stocky men peacock around like their dick was made of gold and dance so well you could literally end up pregnant. Older women have grace and poise and could drink fuck and dance you under a table. 

The cost of things seems to be entirely negotiable and varies so wildly that there literally is no point ever where you are not being fucked sideways by 7 different people and all their cousins. For me, this is really frustrating because I pride myself on the art of negotiation but since there are two currencies either way your gringo ass, is getting fucked, in the ass, with no coconut oil. 

YOU CAN DRINK ALL DAY!! There's only two drinks. Rum, and beer. They are both delicious, and make you better at speaking Spanish AND salsa. This is probably just in my mind but winner writes the history so i'm  basically a fluent  ball room dancer there.  

The problem is for someone like me,  its impossible to get Cubans to really talk about their sadness, their dreams, their wants and their needs because it feels like Fidel is still alive, and he is watching your every move, his eternal motto "Patria o Muerte (Motherland or Death) runs thick through peoples veins. But everyone is so full of rhythm and music that it's quite frankly quite difficult to stop moving long enough to have a real conversation about what growing up there was like. BUT I TRIED. And I tried. 

Here's what I DO know.....It is a delicious, sensual, colorful, vibrant, wonderland that has the kind of magic only a country that has been preserved in the past could have. Technology simply isn't there. We had to buy the internet like we were buying a crack rock in a street ally. A little man runs out to your car and sells you wifi! Everyone you meet looks right in your eyes. Everywhere you go spontaneous dance erupts like techtonic plates crashing into one another. 

Hordes of uniformed teenagers dominate the streets laughing and flirting and lost in a kind of cell phone free adolescence that I miss and loved so much about growing upEvery single person has access to free health care, free education (up to masters levels) women if they get pregnant get a mandatory full year paid leave, their husbands 6 months!!!  People are SUPREMELY educated. The problem is there aren't enough jobs, and the jobs pay 11 dollars and month. 

There is very little racism that I encountered and people for the most part see one another as equals.

While it is a community that is ready for change, i'm not sure their ready for the kind of disconnection connection brings. I haven't had a vacation like this in years. Totally random, using fate as my guide, random chance as my destiny, no GPS, just maps and stars and wishes to get places.  You have to be on time, because you can't call anyone!! Remember when people were on time not just texting you a sundry of preposterous excuses. I DO. You didn't show up late, because then your friends ditched you. #consequnces. 

Bubble gum pink, mint green and cherry red convertibles rumble by, the sounds of their exhaust clogging up your ears and confusing your lungs, it's the BEST. Glorious archetuture is disintigrating in front of your eyes and everywhere you look you can see the blinding beauty still left decaying and rotting around you.

Sinful dance moves everywhere (we're talking 7th grade style hump-fests once  my mother turned to me wide awed whispering, "how do they not have orgasm's in their pants when they dance?" There is a  complete grasp of the present that I don't think Americans could ever understand.  It's like stepping into a actual time machine, and it was for me, the complete detox i wanted. 

YOU NEED TO GO AND GO NOW. Cuba will always be Cuba. It's not going to change overnight, but trying to describe the spirit of it's people is like trying to bottle lightning. JUST GO.


I Cannot Change The World, But I Can Change the World of One Person

How do we chose what we feel empathy for? Can you think of yourself as a good, moral person when you consistently overlook your fellow humans who are in obvious need? Every day we make choices. We overlook war, famine, lack of water, access to education, rape, genocide, a justice system that has a vested interest in incarceration and trapping minorities in a cycle of poverty, merciless slaughter of animals, toxic pollution and waste being pumped into every available crevasse of our exhausted planet... We spend our money on countless selfish vanity projects, while we watch people suffer. Does that make you bad person? I'm just as guilty of this as anyone. I pick and chose where I focus my empathy. Children are foaming from the mouth and dying in their parents arms and I go to brunch. What do we do when everything feels to big for you to help. How can we live meaningful lives full of all life has to offer while taking care of those around us who weren't so lucky?

I have no answers. I feel powerless. But the only thing I can do is to start small. Volunteer at food shelters, sit down with people on the street and ask them what they need to have a tiny spark of happiness in their life. If that is cigarettes and a pint of rum so fucking what.

I'm trying to help elect representatives that will help make sure the money from our taxes is allocated to those who need it most. I'm trying to do work that gives people hope and makes them feel loved. I'm acting locally while trying to think globally. It's up to you. At the end of your life what will you have given back, how will you have impacted this world to make it a better place? Fuck the photos, fuck the filters, get your hands dirty, look into peoples eyes and see that they just want to be loved, full and be warm just like you. Capitalism thrives on separation. We don't stand a chance if we continued to be divided.

As for Syria, the amazing Milana Vayntrub has started a non profit called
www.can'tdonothing.org which can help show you the best way to help donate to Syria and the refugees that are displaced all over the world.

For New York here are some places you can donate your time, money and resources..

The frog does not drink up the pond in which he lives.

Confused about what's really happening at Standing Rock? Lets get the facts: Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) is a pipe that is supposed to carry 570,000 barrels of crude oil per day from the Dakotas to Illinois. On July 27, 2016, The Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, filed a lawsuit against the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for violating the National Historic Preservation Act when the agency issued final permits for a massive crude oil pipeline stretching from North Dakota to Illinois.

This complaint asserts that the Corps violated multiple environmental and historic preservation statutes, focusing on the decision to reroute the pipeline from Bismarck, North Dakota to the doorstep of the Standing Rock reservation without adequate environmental analysis.
The Dakota Access Pipeline project, also known as Bakken Oil Pipeline, would extend 1,168 miles across North Dakota, South Dakota, Iowa, and Illinois, crossing through communities, farms, tribal land, sensitive natural areas and wildlife habitat. The pipeline would carry crude oil from the Bakken oil fields in North Dakota to Illinois where it will link with another pipeline that will transport the oil to terminals and refineries along the Gulf of Mexico.

The Corps granted permits for the pipeline in July 2016 under Nationwide Permitting. This process circumvents any kind of close environmental review and public process. The Lake Oahe crossing requires an additional approval—known as an easement—because it crosses federally owned land on either side of the Missouri River. It was this easement that the government confirmed would not be granted.

On Feb. 8, the Trump administration granted the Lake Oahe easement, allowing the pipeline to be constructed under the Missouri River half a mile upstream of the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation.

During this process thousands of protestors came to Standing rock, to try to hold off the giant machines that were coming in to drill the land. 
Despite some of the most organized and visible protesting a Native American cause has ever had, the cries fell on deaf ears. The protestors were shot with rubber pellets threatened and physically assaulted. The camps have since been destroyed and the pipeline is slated to be finished as quickly as possible.

I met Frank, A Sioux medicine man at a Sweat Lodge he had created after the weekend of protesting. I had the privilege of sitting with him, letting deep hot steam cleanse me of some of the black thick toxic energy I have been carrying around with me since someone pulled the cord out of my head and I woke up matrix style and I realized that there was no autonomy, and we're all tiny puppets being controlled by a bunch of rape hungry deliverance good old boys.

Frank is incredible, kind, soft, thoughtful and an incredible storyteller. I am honored to be able to tell a tiny part of his story.

I implore you to get involved anyway you can. Stop supporting corporations who support environmental degradation (Wells Fargo, Caterpiller, Chevron Coca Cola, Ford, Monsanto, Nestle, Pfizer, Wal-Mart) Open your eyes. Watch out for fake news stories from bullshit alt right garbage collectors like (Washington Times, Activist Post, , Dc Gazette, Bloomberg.ma, usatoday.com.co, Denver Gaurdian) Become an active member of your community. Learn about who is trying to take independent or democratic seats in the upcoming 2018 congressional elections. Smile at people. It's simple, we can keep watching the titanic go down hole or millions of us can take a thimble and start bailing little bits of water out. We're fucked, don't get me wrong. But we can at least go down with dignity as a species who tried, not just a bunch of selfish cunts who think we're staring in our own Truman show wasting away like narcissus lost in our own reflection.





Why do people say "grow some balls"? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding - Betty White

It's Saturday January 21, 7 am. After spending 24 hours deeply entrenched in enemy territory, sounded by giant trump letters and scattered blobs of amorphous humans covered in red make America Great Again hats (only 19.95 for a limited time only, but wait theres more!) clawing my eyes out trying to talk sense into glassy eyed humans who had all drank Trumps orange cool aid....
I was about ready to Madame Butterfly my innards....HOWEVER
The next morning THANK GOD I am woken up by my over caffinated mother and 15 of her pink headed pals getting their chants together in my kitchen. We started early, we had signs, we had snacks, we had clear plastic back packs, hand sanitizer, fully stocked metro cards and a lot of attitude.

THE MARCH WAS MADNESS. Pink headed women swarmed the streets, shut down the subways, and overwhelmed all means of transport. Millions of women, mad, proud, sad, and reinvigorated to fight against our waking nightmare MR TRUMP.

This march I believe, was about finding the strength to fight the oncoming war over our reproductive rights, to stand for immigrant women who are seeking refuge from persecution, rape and violence, to ensure our pay is finally equal to our male counterparts and to scream from the rooftops that it is and always will be our body AND our choice. To prove once and for all that it is RAPE CULTURE not LOCKER ROOM TALK. To look around and see the vast sheer quantity of like minded warm hearted pink headed humans that are there to help you through this next four years. To see millions of women around the world who have said enough. Who put heir feet in motion and showed the world that this administration DOES NOT REPRESENT AMERICA.

Don't forget however, that the the fight is just beginning. That we must join forces and create a vast army of kevlar coated pussies who will be plotting every day about how to restore the Devine Feminine because the time for Testosterone is OVER.

So what did I learn? That it is up to us to live freely, lead by example, smile at strangers, volunteer our time, give our money freely to those who need it, be powerful mothers, best friends and loving daughters. It is up to us to lead sinful nasty lives full of orgasms, laughter, chocolate, dirty martinis and high heels. It is up to keep up the fight to make sure this world is a place we want to live in. To protect the environment as much as possible so that the children of this world will have a place to nourish them. That we don't need to fight the forces, we need to USE THEM. Band together, use our dollars and voices to effect change. Trump is crumbling. He is scrambling, we are making headway to truly being able to restore a democratic congress in 2018. I believe in you.

Music: Make America Great Again: Pussy Riot

Don't Fight the Powers, Use Them - Buckminster Fuller

January 20th 2017...Day 1 of 1300.....the day Lord Voldermorts reign of terror began! What a day it was, the sky was smothered in gray clouds, the air was thick with whatever the opposite of hope is, giant military Hum Vees were parked all over with pods of nervous looking Army guys milling around. Helicopters hovered menacingly, circling the sky, their blades adding to the symphony of fear playing on repeat throughout downtown. Sirens were going off in every direction and it generally felt like we were waiting for god to set the whole city on fire ala Sodom and Gomorrah.

I was raised on George Clinton, Gogo and Ben's Chili Bowl. Politics has always been in my blood. I have been to every inauguration possible since my birth. From the moment I got off the train at Union Station, I knew I was entering enemy territory. Mr potato shaped humans, with interchangeable bland wonder bread features were milling around, all topped off with that one glowing red beacon, the "Make America Great Again," hat.

I must tell you what a weird fucking thing it is to walk through YOUR hometown and feel like you are the odd man out. I hadn't thought about how much instant hatred and animosity I would feel toward ANYONE who had the tiniest amount of Trump paraphaneila on. I instantly directed all my hate and frustration onto their face and started hoping that terrible things would happen to them, we're talking full on day dreams of them being ripped apart by starving wolves, wishing STD's would explode all over their genitals.. I mean I started going nuts. But I calmed myself down eventually... So I walked, and talked. I listened I laughed. I met many wonderful people who were educated, thoughtful and pleasant who were completely Pro Trump. Everyone was lovely, I had to seriously rethink my ideas about the people who voted for him.

The thing that scares me the most now is that now that I'm back in NYC I'm unable to tell who the snakes in the grass are. A even worse, most of them are pretty likable!! Worst. The hat was exceptionally useful, like a sneech with a star upon thars, I felt safer knowing who went into what bracket. Pink Pussy hat = friend, Red Trump hat = enemy. Life was so simple and organized that weekend. Good vs. Evil. Left or right. This is what fucked me up about the election in the first place is that I had been living in a echo chamber of my own creation, full of like minded humans whose brains had evolved past 1952 and who shared similar world views to me about seemingly basic human rights, abortion, education, separation of church and state, the environment, immigration, refugees etc....and while I thought the rest of the country had been advancing in a similar fashion, it turns out that the deep amounts of sadness, hate, frustration, fake news and lack of upward mobility has seemingly turned the judgement of people who normally I'm sure, are lovely kind warm hearted people into xenophobic wall loving trumpeters.

So here we are. We are one country. We are full gorgeous colored humans who came here with all their flavors, dance moves, work ethic, and individual style all adding to the big beautiful crucible that is this big weird fucked up country. We all have to get along somehow. I will say this however, trump folk, you've got four years, 1300 days.... In that time, me and a vast army of kevlar coated pussies are going to be plotting, planning, scheming and dreaming about how to neutralize your hate and banish the patriarchy, because the time for Testosterone is OVER. Millions of galvanized women from all over this great land are organizing and they won't listen to this "Locker Room Talk," anymore.



I keep waking up in the morning and for a brief second everything is fine, the sun has risen the day has begun, and then I REMEMBER.
I don't even have words. The only thing i can do is record peoples stories and fears and hopes and pray to gods i don't believe in that everything is going to be ok. I can't sleep. WHAT THE FUCK GUYS


I have a giant black hole growing inside my body and this election has helped it zero percent. No matter what happens, we are divided, the scum of the dark recesses from all over this great nation have crawled out of their bomb shelters holding their semi automatic riffles, embolden by the joker smile of an Orwellian megalomaniac who has allowed bigotry, xenophobia and racism to squirm out of the rug it's been hiding under and we are left holding our dicks in our hands looking like the biggest fucking joke country of all time. It's embarrassing. The time is now, there is no choice but to start to heal ourselves and then our immediate communities with unending amounts of pure love and hope that we can band together once again and try to fix this bleeding broken country. Good luck tonight. May the best woman win.

A Short Story....

I was alone day 5 at the burn, walking around looking for trouble and as always, trouble found me. In the form of a wonderfully tweaktastic pro burner who was actively trying to vacuum up playa dust into a vintage Hoover I'm pretty sure Mr. Belvadere owned. It looked simply kooky. It's always these kind of small moments of improv comedy, that bring me back to that insane asylum every year despite my better judgement.

His bag would get full every other minute, he would then empty it into a large garbage can and kept plugging away at the worlds most useless task.

Looking at him I literally thought perhaps he had been cursed by the Greek Gods, and had been sent to clean the unclean able forever. #Purgatory Anyhow he was a swell firecracker full of stories and laughter and I loved him. Don't forget kids, it's almost my favorite weekend of the year. Zoe's rules for Halloween:

1. Always take candy from strangers
2. Say Yes.
3. Sleep is for quitters.
4. Safety Last

Music: Phantogram: You Don't Get Me High Anymore

To Alcohol, The Cause and Solution to ALL Life's Problems

Host warning - One of these stories is gross. Really truely stomach curdling gross. However, burning man is GROSS. Don't believe the Instagram filters. It's not all Victoria Secret models in custom feather mohawks and thigh high moon boots. 80 percent of burners are normal artists, west coast hippies, who save all year for the opportunity, old party professionals, astrologers, sex freaks, engineers, lost souls, comedians, shamans, rabble rousers, homeless festival kids, who rely on the kindness and donations of the rest of the community and a whole gaggle of bro burners who heard that burning man is fun and show up with zero clue about how to comport themselves in this martian environment. Really crazy things happen there, every second. Strange things, scary things, wonderful things, sexy things, disgusting things. You can have moments where you get down on your knees and pray to the playa gods to take pity on you for you cannot take any more. Your body cracks, your mind shrivels, your skin splits, and yet you keep going back for more. It's literally like being in a abusive relationship...people can get really hurt. These stories are not for the faint of heart.

Here's three examples of some of the people you'll meet randomly in the burning man co system.

Excuse Me While I Light Your Cigarette.....

It's hard to explain what happens to your brain the first time you see the playa, or the flat deep expanse of land where the art cars roam and spit fire into the sky and the deep dark LED light installations dance beneath the stars. God forbid you thought it was a good idea to eat hallucinogens because it's possible your brain can just give up and walk away in confusion. It's bonkers, bananas, wild, beautiful awe inspiring and has the capability of reducing all your bones to Bisquick batter. Every year it just about blows my mind to little pieces. Anyway every year this is my FAVORITE art car. A big giant mean sci fi all metal octopus that screams fire from every angle. It's loud and big and mean and fucking MESMERIZING. Finally finally finally I was able to get the creator Duane Flatmo, a literal leaving genius to talk to me about how where when and why of his big bad baby. As burning man moves and breathes and changes, one thing will remain constant. There are inventors, scientists and artists holding down the fort and keeping the place honest with big bad tanks of propane and human ingenuity.

So begins another series of burning man episodes. We will tie up loose ends from last years burn as my mother continues her quest down the rabbit hole to find love. We finally spend some time with my big sis Rosalind and watch as she takes off her teacher and parent disguise and leaves it all on the dance floor, We meet new friends and catch up with old foes and continue to answer the question, why in gods green earth would seemingly intelligent people save up money all year, spend months planning every detail.. just so they can spend 7 days in a barren desert wasteland devoid of all the comforts of home?

I have been waiting for this moment for years. I finally sat down with the wonderful people from the Fur community and got to learn all about their wonderful intricate and complex world that is like a Russian doll when you start to peel back the fur.

Dant's Inferno is a camp for Furries (which was one of 5 Fur camps) built by two super MacGyvers from Vancouver that featured a giant chandelier in the center of the room lit up by 10 fantasy dildos representing every kind of dragon, unicorn, and tentacle dick a furry heart could desire. (Dragon dicks have SCALES!)

I really loved these guys. What was the most shocking was that I always assumed that Furries would be extra fugly. I WAS WRONG. These guys were all adorable, lovely cute gay guys that just so happen to like to dress up like big fluffy outfits and jerk off to Dragon butthole...shockingly (NOT) they are mostly from the Bay Area and work in tech and at super successful startups. Life is so great #progress. At least they are inclusive, kind, and compassionate and have a community that's about "radical inclusion" all year round and not just once a week.

I only have one main problem with burning man over the years. The fact that more and more camps think it's ok to act like 13 year old mean girls and create an aura of exclusivity and a holier than thou attitude which is the antithesis of the core spirit of Burning Man. I get it. You're hotter, richer, cooler and spent way more of your custom gear than some of the hippie dippie furry armpitted spirit hooded burners, but you don't need to put all these barriers around yourselves to keep them out.

As this will most definitely be my last year for a while, I want to thank the burning man god's for protecting my family and I for another year and allowing us to really fall in love with the people we are, not the people we were.

Not In MY Back Yard.

I met the marvelous Milana Vayntrub at dawn outside a secret pirate ship party Bushwick in 2009. This day changed my life because this was the day I met her boyfriend at the time Brandon Eaves who looked exactly like a brunette Johnny Bravo, This man would then become my best friend and roommate and inspire me to move to NYC shortly afterwards. So it's safe to say I've always had a big warm spot in my heart for this lil' lady. Since that day I have watched her blossom into a wunderkind trifecta of talents including but not limited to, actress, director, stand up comedian, entrepreneur, and philanthropist. You've probably seen her cherub face a million times but not known it as she's on literally every At$T commercial as a sweet helpful phone salesman or on cult favorite Silicon Vally. As a Russian immigrant herself, when she saw the devastating effects of the Refugee crisis while on vacation in Greece, instead of turning off the television and going to sleep like the rest of us, she flew to Lesbos to help.

Can we talk about the expression "Netflix and Chill!?" Why is this something to aspire to??! Get off your tuchus you collective American lazy lima beans. Power down your computers. Jerk off two times less a week. Post less photos. Do something with your time, money and and privilege. No excuses. Her website gives you simple ways that you can help.

twitter: mintmilana


Happy Birthday To ME

Cocaine and Ketamine. At first its a warm blanket that covers your insecurities and warms your empty soul with the confidence you've craved you're entire life but somehow never found.... Then slowly, it eats away at your flesh like white hot maggots destroying everything you've ever known and held dear to your heart. NYC is drenched with drugs. Truly there is no where to run and hide, even at the fanciest parties you can hear the faint sniff of a endless array of models and artists drowning their brains in fresh powder. The things i've seen people use to shovel misc. white powder into their nostrils you cannot imagine. People can be so inventive! Necklace charms, rings, straws, little metal (this is pro) shovels/spoons, keys of every shape, ripped up folded pieces of paper, backs of hands, thumb nails, pen caps...the list goes on and on....If only we as a collective group of 1 percent of rich educated humans could dedicate the same amount of time we spent buying and huffing drugs to quell our restless souls we could literally solve all the worlds problems. I'm about to have another birthday, and I realized with absolute horror that this will mark 10 years of me slaying dance floors around the world... it's a wonder i still have two nostrils. Shit i think this is it, one last hurrah to say goodbye to my youth with my degenerate friends. It was a good long road while it lasted. Time to make babies and move to Connecticut. HA. FUCK MY LIFE

I know a man who gave up smoking, drinking, sex, and rich food. He was healthy right up to the day he killed himself.

I recently found myself at a upstate "play" party and boy did I learn lot. I still don't get orgies, or "cuddle puddles " (which is a sugarcoated word that describes a place that should be super comfy, and full of teddy ruxbins but instead but reeks of old dick soup and sadness.

I literally cannot get away from this fucking fad (HA!I pun) I bet it was fun in the 70s when people had real drugs being carried in briefcases by bad ass Pan AM stewardess and good music and no cellphones but these days where the cocaine smells like nail polish remover (i only smelled i did not inhale) and everyone has a secret stash of valtrex in their bathroom cabinet what's the fucking point.

A couple of my main issues:
1. I Hate sharing
2. think that watching other people have sex is absolutely gnarly. No one has a pink porn hairless asshole. The dicks are weird and misshapen, like carrots grown in Chernobyl, and I can't imagine the the V's of swinger chicks could resemble anything other than a Katz's Pastrami sandwich (RIP) the guttural primal noises coming out of peoples mouths literally makes my vagina wither. 
3.I also must be the center center of attention at all times and would probably set a bitch on fire that was getting more attention than me form my chosen love partner. HOW DO PEOPLE WATCH THEIR BOYFRIENDS FUCK ANOTHER GIRL. how.? HOW. I would CUT A BITCH. so fast. End up in jail all alone singing johnny cash to myself.

I'm getting tired of people telling me that I am not "open" that I couldn't possibly understand who wonderful it is to hold your boyfriends hand and look him in the eyes while you're ramming some strangers foreskin down your tonsils. They're almost like a cult, and they are amazingly good at tricking you into thinking you're missing something from your life, and that you shouldn't be so "rigid" and defined by social norms. I'm sorry but just because i don't want to be a pig on a spit roast for 10 people to feast on of that doesn't mean I am not sexually enlightened. 
I mean fine, maybe i'm a jewy worry wort who is terrified of STDs and hates the idea of bros who are not buying me dinner and rubbing my toes after a long night of dancing being able to see my ovaries. YOU HAVE TO EARN THAT. Am i prude. Maybe...i've been told i'm all talk. I Met this beautiful Russian girl there and i was thinking fuck it. Why not. I can do this. I could have sex with this gorgeous girl in a fuck pile of other humans....right? WRONG. I swear to you the moment i sort of let her know I was interested she immediately whisked me off to this quiet tree lined yoga place and sat in front of taking my hands in hers and started swaying, like someone who was speaking in tongues at one of those cray town bible thumpy places telling me to "relax" in a super thick russian accent which literally made me the MOST NERVOUS. She came behind me and wrapped her tiny limbs around me around me like a koala bear monkey but it felt honestly so odd to have a small person hold me from behind...suffice it to say, I didn't get any pussy.

So anyway on the way home from this weekend I interviewed a friend of mine who would like to remain anonymous who is well versed with these "play" community.She cracks me up. She's so young and hot and innocent sort or while living inside the body of a full grown fucking woman. I never had big boobs so I can't imagine it's easy to be a little girl in a grown ups body.

I think it's fucked up that swingers have coopted the word "Play" and now anytime I hear something that used to remind me of playgrounds, and recess and hopscotch and riding bikes to get ice cream I now associate with 45 year old white furried bellied investment bankers and CEO's and their 22 year old Russian blow up doll girlfriends with their puffy pouty lips and slightly Asiatic eyes and a penchant for glaring around the room without making eye contact with other females.