Everything

I'll start this off with me, of course. Because that's the whole point of this thing.

Exhibitionism, and maybe proving to you that yes I am alright.

Yes I can pull it together.





I pull it together.

I couldn't even tell you about the last week. I won't try, even though I'm tempted to. How nice things would be if I could give you a blow by blow, chronolgically ordered shit. Then maybe you could write me a letter explaining cause and effect.





No such luck. I'm maintaining my mystery by flooding you with pictures and no giving you any idea when they were taken. I will try to supply the very sparsest context, though.

I will give you my choppy and unreliable accounts of what went down. I will share with you the things that spring to mind this sunny Saturday morning, when I'm still pretty much right in the middle of an adventure.





I want this car. I want it candy painted pink or red and completely restored. I want this car given to me with a big red bow on the hood of it.

A full tank of gas. And then me and my baby just go cruising with the windows down. Smoking cigarettes and listening to "Sinnerman" by Nina Simone.





I look at this mural all night when I work at Milk. I adore.

Milk to me is that mural, black lights, the cutty section upstairs and stamping hands. Milk is safe, and pretty delicious. Tonight's party, for instance, was really good.





The Quik and Kurupt show nearly made me lose my mind. I worked for most of it, but I had FANTASTIC hookup once I got off. I had meet and greets and covert cigarette breaks.

I fell in love with DJ Quik.





that video is basically the JANK but it gets at least some points across. I think DJ Quik is the bees knees.

a) tuxedo
b) suaveness beyond compare
c) dance moves, etc.





Poor girl. Or rather. Poor boy who took that girl to the concert and thought they were on an actual date. She was getting pretty buckwild trying to get attention from boys on the stage, and later on she showed up at the extra special VIP section. And I know for a fact that she didn't work for the promoter.

Take from that what you will.

And from my bird's eye nest in the charmed glass box I saw her date texting her. I saw her ignoring those texts. I thought the whole thing was fucking dramatic as hell and terribly sad-making. Like: Oh, the humanity.





I was so very fitted though, I forgot to really care for very long. This dragon jumpsuit fits me like a glove and makes me feel like a super heroine. It's bulletproof. It's also homemade, which means every compliment counts double.

Double double.

I'm trying to decide what to do about the latest invitation I received. I think I'm going to build a Dynasty.

Then all I'll have to worry about is bulletproof outfits, charm, intelligence and otherworldly sex appeal.

That's a small enough list to handle. I'd really like that.

Good day.

Also: stuck on this song. I think this means I'm officially "old".