I Just Crush A Lot

Have I shown you this? My Punisher belt buckle. Without a doubt it's one of the best things that I own. It's pretty much the only belt I ever wear, anymore. Black tie affairs, job interviews, pool parties, weddings. It's aces.

I've been up since 4 thinking maybe I'd get back to sleep, but I got into this argument with my guy last night and he gave me keys to the street - so it's not exactly sweet dreams time for me.

That said, I'm off work til Monday and I have freedom and youth on my side, so I'm gonna roll it til the wheels fall off.

Fuck em if they can't take a joke.

I'm attempting to make bold moves lately. I have until next Wednesday to decide on my new place, so in the meantime I'm just hustling to get shit done. Change is required, no matter what.

First off, I hired a lady to help me go through all of the shit in my old place. I had no idea how much I owned. Seriously. I gave away bags and bags of stuff and threw away even more. We're only halfway done.

Secondly, I got some badass boots and started walking again. Oakland has that going for it in spades. I've walked all over this town, so it's no thing to just get up and start trekking without any concrete idea about where I want to end up. Saturday I hit the hill by the new crib and once I crested it I was in the Rose Garden - I'd forgotten it was there.

This picture does not do it justice, but try to imagine walking up a steep ass hill and kinda wanting to die from exhaustion and then reaching a park like this. It felt like a "thank you" from my spirit boots.

 

Like that. But more magical cause of the actual sunlight and warmth and panoramic roses and whatnot.

I clocked 5 miles strolling through the park then hitting up Grand and Lakeshore, trying to figure out how much of the Oakland I left 10 years ago is still intact.

It's hanging in there, but it's not looking good for Chocolate City. Every fourth person on the street is wearing an ironic tee shirt. There goes the fuckin neighborhood.

 

Speaking of irony. That up there is not a Cheat, but it is a selfie. This is what I look like when I've gotten some rest and feel a little flirty. And just *maybe* a bit tipsy.

I'm not always sporting baseball caps and a haggard expression, is what I'm getting at here.

Vanity: 1, Journalistic Integrity: 0.

And speaking of rest, I hadn't gotten more than 3 hours of sleep a night for the past 2 weeks until last weekend. On the night after my walk? I slept like a goddamn baby for 10 hours.

I'm convinced that walking 3-5 miles a day will cure all that ails me. Maybe even my indecision.

I'm getting used to the tiny pink room.

Did I mention that my new bed is about 3 feet off the ground? Yeah. I gotta jump into it. That's pretty cool.

And what am I gonna do in here besides sleep and pick out some of my outfits?

Lay in bed and write letters to you, that's what. I don't need 300 square feet to do that. Just my extra tall bed, my new tree friend and maybe some Xanax.

These things can be easily accessed.

So all in all, I suppose I'm ready for a brand new life. Just takes some getting used to.

Golden

It is a sure thing: Count backwards from 10 and bunny is back to normal. Today I got like a million things to do at work and I'm back in familiar territory: sitting in me living room watching trashy television and making project plans while I decide whether or not I should go to Milk for reggae night.

These are some of the things I excel at: gawking, planning and being wishful.





Also awesome at: random adventures, if they are timed correctly. When Lydia called me on Saturday afternoon I was still in my PJs, watching cartoons and planning my outfits for the week. I sprung into action like a superhero, and was ready to go in a couple hours.

Do not call me when a building is burning. But if there is a last minute party, and I can be fashionably late, I'm your go-to girl.





Everything was golden colored, that day. Our aim was to see the sunset but there were errands on the way. And we tried to get our palms read but the lady, she was not there. False advertising. We thought the whole thing was a bust until we got out to the ocean and saw the giant camera and the sunset and that group of girl scouts who ran over just before the sun dipped out for the rest of the day yelling "we're missing the picture of a lifetime!"

And they were. And we got classy grownup cocktails at the Cliffhouse, afterwards. No, not the girl scouts, silly. Just me and Lyds.




Happy second week of 2009, y'all.

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On

Last night my dreams were an extension of real life. I went on a date after work and it ended pretty early, but he stayed with me for most of the night anyways, and that's not so bad. See also: how that is way easier than REALLY spending the night with someone and getting hella sprung on them.

Ha. I could dream my whole life actually, everything would be easier.

I dreamed work stuff too, and woke up ready for adventure.



Today was the company picnic. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge on tour buses. Me and Cera played Nintendo and then played Mad Libs when the batteries ran out.



It started out grey then got spectacularly blue and clear. And clearer still. We splashed in the water a little. I want to live in a house on the Bay in Tiburon. I want the horizon right there, always.







I want to live in that house on stilts next to the ocean, or one up on the hillside with wraparound windows.

I want a lot.

Which means I have a lot to do. So I guess I'll get cracking on that. Later.

Get Your Kicks

Bunny made it back. Just in time for a BBQ and rowdy drinks with my favorite kids from work. I headed there before even unpacking, just threw my stuff down and started walking to the park.

LA did a number on me, and I'm slowly coming back into focus.



No easy task, that. I always leave southern Cali more high maintenance than I was going there. Picturing some super bold thug hipster kid with cupcake sneakers and a Benz who just adores me.

Feeding me champagne and lots of Gucci and doing each other on swank feather beds 4 nights a week.



But that's not real life. Real life is hustling super hard and no dreamy gangster boys almost ever. Real life is happy hour and veiled flirtations that I need x-ray glasses to get the gist of.

Real life is the decidedly unromantic fact of my narcissism.



Real life is very rarely clear, even at it's clearest. But I'm glad to be back home with some sense of me intact, even if it's a little fuzzy.

Good day, I'm back in the Bay.

PS: Woke up this morning with "Route 66" stuck in my head. Clearly the DJ in my dreams is awesome. Ha.

Real Down To Mars Girls

I slept insanely well in Santa Monica. A combination of the super luxe beds at the Viceroy - massive and downy and heavenly - and crazy long days where I didn't stop thinking for like 16 hours straight. I'd get into bed and fall asleep instantly, dream only a little and wake up loath to get out of my little bunny nest.

In LA not so much. Maybe it's the energy or I'm a spoiled princess with a pea underneath my fifteen mattresses. But my dreams are feverish. I go in and out of sleep and can't tell what I dreamed and what really happened. For instance, at least twice I've dreamed of things happening in the room I'm in right now. Then my friend texted me and I dreamed it was him for a full 10 minutes before I actually looked at my phone.

My days are different in LA too. My dad runs errands all day long. That's all he does is go and see people, I have to force him to stop and take me to lunch and not answer his telephone. But this time I am too spent on Southern Cali to go along for the ride. So I'm spending an inordinate amount of time in this very hotel room watching cable and playing Nintendo and trying not to get into any trouble with these rowdy ass LA boys I see everywhere I turn.

When dad is done with after-lunch errands, he picks me up again before the next set. We went out for Mexican food last night and watched the last half of the LA/SA game. Funnest of all was teaching him to play Brain Age on my DS. His brain measures out at like a million years old mostly cause he can't quite grasp the idea of a touch screen. Hee.

Today we're picking up a DS for him on our way to brunch. Old as he is, I will guide him gently by his player's elbow into the twenty-first century, where we will emerge victorious and digitally empowered. I can deliver him hugs and kisses and spreadsheets without catching a plane to give them all to him every single time. We'll rule the world, then.

Happy Labor Day Weekend. I hear I'm missing Carnival, which would make me cry if my old man wasn't such a hoot.

Love,
Love

P.S.: for some reason I woke up singing "Roses" by Outkast this morning. First thing. Stuck in my head for the last hour or so, it will be my soundtrack of the day. LA begs this soundtrack. LA makes these girls. LA loves these hos. Believe me, I seen it.

It's A Wrap

The shoot went beautifully. And why is it that high post photographers are always tall, slim, adorable guys with scruffy beards? I do not know, but I am not complaining either. Ha!

Bonus: on her way out the door the stylist gave me props on MY style, which is one of those moments that is priceless for a fashion hooker like me. Love love love that.

Last night we ate at this tiny little shee shee restaurant and I saw Christina Ricci, who looks like a doll and is quite pocket sized.

My next move is to make weeks like this my whole entire life. I'll keep you posted on that.

Now I'm off to Inglewood to hang out with my dad, waiting on him to pick me up. I don't think I'll see Christina Ricci there, but I'm certain I'll have a blast just the same.

Air kisses! That's what LA is all about. So mwah, mwah. I adore you.

Some Things

Filet Mignon in bed watching pay per view movies is totally a business trip thing, and I am loving it.

Before this, I was drinking fifteen dollar cocktails with pear slices that had centers that looked like stars. Every five minutes some stunner would walk by our table, a girl in a leopard print dress or a man with swagger. I watched every one of them, tryin to soak up style game for Northern Cali, where the bar isn't nearly set so high.

Today was awesome and forever long. Almost twelve hours at the studio, I worked for most of it and spent the rest playing Harvest Moon Cute on my DS. I also lost like 4 foosball games cause there was a table at the studio.

Years ago I dated a boy with a foosball table and loads of cash. We played quite a few games and he kicked my ass constantly, even after he started playing one-handed to give me a chance at winning.

But note: today was the first time I played a dude who gave me saucy defense strategies so that I'd even have a chance at winning a game. It's the ginger I told you about a few days ago. He's dope and really friendly. And a good sport. He played the last game one-handed. He still beat me.

I've got 2 more days to perfect my skills, I'll keep you posted.

Tonight I want a cuddle and a blunt so bad. But it looks like it'll be a while before I get either of those. So it's just me and PPV tonight.

And Harvest Moon, of course.

Tomorrow I have to be at the studio at 8:30. Our model is impossibly beautiful and sweet, too. It's almost unfair, but at the same time it makes perfect sense. What's a model supposed to be if not perfect, ya?

Good night and X O.

Nothing To Say

Except that in 6 hours in Santa Monica I've worn 5 different outfits.

Outfit 1: airplane outfit (unassuming, non-terrorist looking, client-ready)
Outfit 2: lunch by the pool (slightly assuming, beach bunny, still client-ready though)
Outfit 3: tactical meeting at a bar on the beach (adorable. nuff said)
Outfit 4: getting burgers down the street, as there are only so many hundred dollar meals a person can stomach, no matter who's paying for them (sneaky and still adorable)
Outfit 5: drinks by the pool (stealth mode, but still flossy)


I kinda sorta love Southern Cali. But aside from the outfit options, not really so much.

No one walks here.

People barely look you in the eye.

Everyone has a career they are working toward that has nothing to do with their current vocation.

You can't get a cocktail for under fifteen dollars.

I think this city only works if you're a baller, or married to one. Maybe in a few years. But for now, I'm glad I'm just visiting. I don't have enough outfits to stay longer than a week, anyways.

We have pre-production for the shoot tomorrow. I'm hella excited. Good night.