Hello, my name is Margaret

I stayed with Lucy for a couple days.  She did project manager stuff in her office while I got my pump on in her home gym.  It is nicer than 80% of gyms I’ve been in.  And I’ve been in a few.  You can only work out so much so I also cleared some brush on her land.  She owns land enough that you need to clear it.  Can you imagine?  One night I got up for a 2 AM beer and I saw that she was on her computer in her underwear.  Not sure what that was about. 

We jetted off to the Ritz-Carlton Rancho Mirage at a secluded location in the foothills of the Santa Rosa Mountains.  Remember when I thought that Needles was a resort town?  This fucking place.  I felt like I was going to get the bum’s rush at any moment.  Instead the staff treated me like a fancy rich lady.  At a place like that, I suppose no one is going to be there who’s not supposed to be there.  The wrong kind of people never make it far enough to need to be tackled by the staff.   

So yeah, I flew for the first time.  Didn’t love it.  Lots of sitting around.  I felt like the plane waitresses knew I didn’t belong there.  I don’t like it when not rich people carry the grudges of rich people for them.  Must be easier to pretend you’re at the top when you’re the one the people actually at the top are standing on directly.   

Lucy got me some papers.  I’m Margaret Edward now and I was born June 6^th 2000.  Don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday.  That means I’m a Gemini,  playful and curious social butterfly that can talk to anyone for hours about anything.  Swing and a miss.   

Lucy’s friend is also a woman of color.  When I went to that one meeting of the female empowerment pyramid scheme, most of the women there were white.  I wonder if the secret masters target women of color specifically for the human sacrifice stuff because they’re more vulnerable?  Is thinking that racist?  

The friend, I’ll call her Ashley, was pretty confused by my presence.  She was even more confused when I explained that getting the tattoos/magic sigils off her should be easy.  We went to her fucking 1700 square foot suite with soaking tub and rainforest shower to talk about it.  In the fucking meeting room that was part of the suite.  The hotel “room” has its own rooms.   

This is where the wheels came off.  I thought I was coming to help Lucy’s friend.  Turns out it was more of an intervention to convince said friend that she needed help.  Poor communication on both sides there.