i'm slowly venturing back into the virutal world.

i mean VIRTUAL world. see how rusty i am? rusty.

so i had a spiritual awakening/rebirth/was reborn from the desert a new, raw, honest, present, creature. i'm still a shit talking cynic, don't worry. it's just that i'm a totally different person emotionally, meaning that i can actually feel emotions now and no longer mistake the rollercoaster of anxiety, excitement and heartbreak for love.

all the buddhist concepts of being present and open-hearted and free from attachments that were concepts i was raised by but only understood conceptually are more than just concepts now. they are are reality. that sounds super annoying and pretentious i know. but it's the truth.


i was thinking about giving the run down on the last six months...but wow. what a fucking ride. i would have to quit my job to have time to write it all down. which i will do someday. but not now. let's just say my life is 100% entirely different than it has ever been before. there is a before burning man and an after. when the temple burned down with my grandmother's prayer beads inside, tied lovingly on a pink string, and the last of me was washed away and released...there was a before that and a now. i'll keep you posted on how the now is going.

(i'll probably have to explain this picture at some point as well.)

(and this one too.)

(this one is pretty self explanatory. that right there is some old fashioned ass shaking on the dance floor.)

i still exist.

more later.

just so you all know:

i made white fake fur leg warmers with tassels. that's right bitches. TASSELS. you all know my obsession with tassels and seriously there is nothing that is not made better by them, including these fake fur legwarmers.

i moved into my new place the other day, the crazy bitch moved out and took all her super mario brothers ish with her. i am in 100% love with my new place. my roommates are the nicest people on the planet and drove my crazy ass all over the bay area looking for last minute burning man stuff. i know! right? they don't even know me or know what burning man is, yet there we were at sports authority in daly city discussing the pros and cons of different tent stakes. yay for nice people and company cars.
like i said, i had to hook up the pink. and if one is going to hook up pink, it might as well be ruffly booty shorts. right?

last night i had a dream that i was part of a freestyle cypher backstage at that show that ?uestlove (does he still spell it like that?) is the drummer for...what is that fucking show called i can't remember. not jimmy kimmel. jimmy falon? i'm googling hold on. YES, late night with jimmy fallon. anyway it was awesome. yes, that is the entire story. were you hoping for more? there's no more. if you are feeling unsatisfied just scroll up and check out my tits again, they usually make me feel pretty good.

xoxo everyone, see you after the burn.

i am going to burning man and not a damn thang can stop me.

i had the most fucked up job interview of all time today. i won't say any names, but the company is one of Macy's best sellers. this was my third interview and it was basically yet another hour of being talked AT by corporate officers. there were no questions asked. okay, that's not true, there were rhetorical questions asked and then immediately answered by the asker (as is the nature of rhetorical questions.) At the end of my third interview they were totally verbally abusive, on some "i don't know why you think you could work here but we'll think about it and get back to you" shit, i'm not kidding, and there was one part where either sales manager or the CEO straight up lied to my face. they couldn't both be telling the truth. wtf. i don't have the energy to go into the details, but i don't think i'll be working there. thanks for the offer assholes, and thanks for wasting my time.

in other news, i'm going to fucking burning man next week fuuuckkkk yeahhhhh!!!!! i'm camping with PM and have to hook up a ton of pink shit to get ready. your girl does not wear pink.

one of the days all the girls are wearing ties and sunglasses and nothing else (see above.) i bought these ridiculous platform boots to wear as well.

keeps the alkaline playa dust off your feet so you don't get playa foot which is basically an alkaline burn. fight club style. i basically had to sell my soul to find these bitches. one would think that san francisco would be a mecca of platform boots if anywhere was. one would be wrong.

this is the closest thing to a shirt i plan on wearing for seven straight days. cool? good.

also i grew this booty for you guys. do you like it? i think i'll keep it around. i don't know where it came from buy it's welcome to stay. and grow. and thrive and be prolific.



gravity is my homie. (dj above) love him. sexiest pink wearing straight man of all time. i can't even watch these videos because i get too fucking excited to sit still and my entire day is shot because i can't focus dreaming of dancing my ass off with amazing people and wearing no shirt and having brown tits and no tanlines and wearing giant platform boots and seeing amazing art and probably yes okay eating drugs and riding my bike around and getting fucking playa dust everywhere except hopefully in my contact lens case and i could go on and on. i am seriously beside my self with excitement. this fucking job interview can kiss my soon to be dusty and tan ass. so can my apartment situation. i found a room in a three story loft, with my own patio and bathroom (I KNOW) in the Dog Patch district which is super close to a guy i may or may not be dating...he may or may not be featured somewhere in this post...it may or may not be in the beginning of this paragraph...and the people that already live there are cool and their dog gets along with biggie. the only problem is that the crazy bitch that lives in the room refuses to leave so they may have to forcibly evict her. she is a 27 year old woman and the room looks like an 8 year old boy lives there. she has a super mario brothers comforter and sheet set, a DOOM poster on the wall, a batman figurine in the bathroom (that's a fucking slap in the face to this loft. batman figurines do not belong on heated slate floors, bitch. thank you and goodnight.) and a fucking closet full of comic books. fucking weirdo. and before you emo indie comic book nerds start getting hard, she's moving out because she just found out she's pregnant and she's going to move in with her man so they can play xbox together while she gestates. gestates? gross. anyway, if her bitch ass would get out i would be all good in the hood, but such is the nature of my life. nothing is easy. it's all coming together though, and i'm keeping my chin up. (we'll see if i say that on thursday when i officially have to be out of this place and have no where to go...bitch better get to packing up her stan smith shit because biggie and i are moving in whether she likes it or not.)



check the ass and hips on that girl in the pink shorts. yes please.

LIZ COME TO THE BURN DO NOT ARGUE. oh and by the way i went to piedmont on haight the other day and thought of you - have you been? i'm guessing no, because if you had you'd still be there kind of like how this bitch won't move out of my room.

that is all.

do solitary souls have soulmates?

you know how when people say "it's just god's plan"? it's super annoying. it doesn't explain anything, it's just a way to feel better about the absolute shit you've been dealt. oh, it's for a reason. it's the universe just giving me what i need. whatever. i'm fucking sick of it.

i have lived such a solitary life. a life of solitude surrounded by friends and family and men. alone in the crowd is the story of my life. up all night as a child, alone in the woods, waiting for the sun to come up.

i have never had a partner in crime. never had parents to show me the world, saw it all on my own. "She'll be okay, she's a strong one." that's me. the strong one that can handle myself in any situation, in any place, all alone.

i've never had a man i connected with on a serious level. they are always situational. this one is good for bringing home to meet my dad, but i wouldn't want my friends to meet him. this one is good with my friends in san francisco, but only some of them, because the other ones would say he wasn't good enough. this one is fucking perfect, amazing, would take him anywhere...but oh, right, he's taken. this one is perfect in montana, to go snowboarding with and surfing with...but he'd get eaten alive in nyc. this one is perfect in the grimy hip hop club in DC, take his ghetto ass to soul camp everyweekend, but don't expect him to make sense at dinner with your canadian family eating with a knife his right hand and an upside down fork. and finally, in my happy place, buzz dc at 4 am rolling face in a club full of 4000 family members, i am alone alone alone, a third wheel and a 4001st wheel.

here i am again, outside looking in.

www.plentyofpsychos.com

So i caved to the pressure of my friends and joined plentyoffish.com. so far it has been a complete shitshow. some of the guys are probably not insane, but are totally boring. some of them are sad and make me sad and i can't really think about it for too long.

And then there's the dudes that are so motherfucking creepy and weird that i had to let ya'll in on the magic.

Psycho #1
(after he tells me how gorgeous I am and pretends he’s 34 even though he clearly looks 50.)
"The proposal is this:
If you are still waiting for Mr. Right, then, in the mean time, would you not want to spend magical time with this Mr. Right Now - who will stimulate your mind, raise your spirits, and pleasure your body skillfully and caringly?

If you find this proposal unwelcome, then please disregard this message with my apologies. I will not bother you again.

But….if this proposal intrigues you even a little – well then read on!!

When I arrive in the Bay area, I would like to take you out for the first of what will surely be many dates..…and on the menu: lively conversation, fine wine, exotic food and …

If all goes well and we have a good connection, then I envision us getting closer as the evening progresses and who knows – perhaps even a beautiful, erotic and satisfying night making love with the promises of many more. I am a lively companion and an interesting conversationalist. I am also a good kisser, am very skilled at giving pleasure in all different ways – including giving massages and oral. I am skilled at finding that elusive g-spot and if you like satisfying, deep and long lasting penetration, sign me up! (I can attest that those Kegels definitely work)!"

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Save your dirtbag prostitution requests for craigslist casual encounters you narcissistic douchebag. I mean don't get me wrong, i like satisfying, deep and long lasting penetration as much as the next girl, but i definitely don't want it from some aging Bostonite in town on business who reminds me to do my kegels.

Psycho #2
the title of his email is: "first date we eat biggie smalls"
(my dog's name is biggie smalls. not a good start, asshole.)

"Appetizer, prepared Buffalo wing
style, were gonna make soul food
out of your soul mate, and mate
in the wake of it.

I have 2 furry siblings who
provide the laugh track, no need
for your rabid rodent to intrude
on the lolz.

I was gonna compliment your
nose, the turn of it sits well
with me, but your eyeballs are
having a funny (fuzzy) impact on
my systolic pressure."

Okay. Where do i even begin? i wrote him back to let him know that although he probably meant this whole thing as a lighthearted, creative attempt to get my attention, the best way to a woman's heart is definitely NOT through cooking her dog. He wrote back "does this mean we can't mate? well, good luck fair buffalo slayer." what can i even add to that? not to mention that i checked his profile and his "two furry siblings" are cats. fucking cats. no offense to the cat lovers out there, but a single man with two cats? NAGL. just sayin.



in other news, i just realized i have followers! hi guys!

sex with you is like having a monkey clinging to me humping away. just sayin.

so i had to talk to my ex last night. i always dread it because it's never a normal adult conversation, and the longer i spend away from him the more shocking his way of being is.

he owes me approximately q98347981347592834 dollars, and i only think it's fair that he at least pay back $4000 of it. once in a while, just for the fuck of it, i text him to ask him when he plans on paying me back. it's usually right after i've told someone the story of how we broke up and all the financial shit he pulled, and the person says holy SHIT that is fucked up, and then i realize that yes, it is totally fucked and i should text him just to see what he says.


so of course he writes back "what debt? what are you talking about?" like he has no idea. which is hilarious because it's basically been the topic of every argument we've had for the last year. so i explain the debt to him like he's five, which he is on the inside, and sort of on the outside too actually.

so then the text battle ensues, and then he calls me which is always a total shitshow. the call usually starts sort of civilly, and then he starts saying the most random things like "i shouldn't have to pay you back because i don't have time, i have a 2 hour commute everyday." that makes total sense, never mind. uhhh wtf??? so then i say, it's your choice to live with your parents in the Virginia countryside and work in DC. then he says "i don't have time, i have to talk to my army recruiter every day." oohhhh right, the army recruiter, you know, to re-enlist in the army that you went AWOL from. good call. So i say, "that's your choice as well, and really, how long does that take every day?" and then, the inevitable happens. he does this thing where he starts to list all the things that are going on in his life, and then he starts to yell the list, and by the end it's just him screaming a list of bullshit excuses in a fake boston accent into the phone. the list will also invariably include the fact that he thinks having a job you love doesn't constitute work (i worked fucking 15 hour days, 5 days a week the entire time we were together, but he doesn't think it was actual work because work is something you hate.)


so he's like "well also i have to lie to the army every day about having had melanoma so they will send me to iraq and also my dog died and also i have to sit with my dad while he cries about having lung cancer AND I HAVE TO WORK NOT THAT YOU'D KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE AND I HAVE TO HAVE DRINKS SOMETIMES AND I HAVE CLASSES AND FINALS AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS CAR THAT I FUCKING HATE AND I HAVE TO HAVE MEETINGS AT THE RESTAURANT AND I HAVE TO DO IT ALL WITHOUT BLOWING MY FUCKING HEAD OFF SO NO, I DON'T HAVE TIME TO PAY YOU BACK."

and his poisonous anger filled bullshit starts to seep into the phone and i can feel it toxifying my cells and i can literally feel stress chemicals begin to eat away at my insides and i realized why the fuck i kicked his pathetic ass to the curb in the first place, and instead of saying all the shit i want to say - the logical, normal shit that makes total sense - i just calmly tell him what a child he is and hang up the phone.

the bottom line is that all the money in the world isn't worth having to deal with an irresponsible childish pathetic alcoholic for the rest of my life, and i got off easy.

your girl called me milk cuz your boy did her body good.

i am seriously in love with this person. he was in my dream last night for fuck's sake. yes, i rescued him from a sinkhole in the LA freeway and then yes, we fell in love. he's from DC and has that DC swag (hate that word but it's relevant) and accent that totally fuck me up. i'm a sucker for some district of columbia. not to mention a mind like this? really? best MC on the planet absolutely no joke or exaggeration. kanye's repetitive inflection and empty lyrics can step and hova has never wrote a rhyme with this much substance in his life.

fuck iraq hip hop i die now for. mmmmm.

seriously check this shit out. hasn't come off repeat in days. i heard his girl broke his heart this year sometime and i'm all about healing that shit up. get at me, wax. xo.

EDIT: upon rereading i realize that this sounds like some crazed fan dick riding, which it's not. i have no clue what this dude is like in person and don't pretend i could heal him up when i have no idea what happened or who he is. i'm just saying that fuck, from a distance it's hard not to fall in love with this kind of talent, heart, soul and energy. so that's what's up.

ahh the subleties of naked picture taking.

it's hilarious how i can absolutely tear apart a pic of myself. for example, the one above is good but my booty looks a little small and i think the nostrils are featured too heavily.

this one is good of the boobs but the way you can see my bony heel is kind of creepy in the background and i'm not that into the weird gaping mouth thing i've got going. and also i don't like the way my fingers look.

this one is actually okay, but but my left boob looks weirdly long.

man arm. no bueno. obsess much??? am i the only one who does this shit or is this hyper obsessive detail noticing behaviour totally insane?

also how is it possible that denis leary is so fucking hot in rescue me? how does a man with worse hair than donald trump, heinous bono sunglasses and gap tooth make me want to get thrown around a room like WHAT?

omg i am SO fucking sorry

that last post was too emo for words. kind of like how tumblr is too hipster to function. i swear every other post on my tumblr dashboard is some skinny white bitch in studded cut off jeans over tights with chipped nail polish and a striped shirt smoking with messy hair and moody lighting omg enough already.

today it's raining fucking cats and dogs and i want to jump out the window. yesterday was gorgeous and i went for a run with the homegirl robin on the embarcadero. two fine ass italian bitches running on a hot summer day in the city? nagl. every fucking streetperson and lunching business man from the bay bridge to chrissy fields tried to holler. i think it was mostly because robin's booty was bouncing all over the place and it's impossible not to notice a ghetto booty on a runner. so unfair.

no seriously, it's a fucking torrential downpour right now is my house going to blow away? it's at least two hundred years old and my room is basically on stilts over the back yard. will you guys call 911 for me?

i'm feeling much better than i was at this time last week. i just had to work through the insanity and now i'm back on my game.

in other news, in the last few days i've seen more things i can't talk about due to their total illegality than i have in my entire life, which is really saying something considering my past as a drug dealer. welcome back to SF, la dick.

how you do me this way? got me crying rivers like timbaland and timberlake.

i got bad news on the phone yesterday. a good lesson in the form of bad news, actually. the lesson is this: you can't trust motherfucking anyone. i immediately left work to go have a drink in the sun and try to wrap my mind around the news. it didn't work. one drink turned into a million drinks and i came home numb drunk pissed amazed numb numb numb. laid in bed under the open window and watched the leaves sway in the breeze, watched the dusk turn to night, felt the rain on my face through the open window, stunned shocked sad numb numb numb even though i knew all along. unbelievable.

where do i find prints of the art in belly? because i want it all over my walls and the inside of my head.

so apparently the nightly ritual of the Gs downstairs is to rap, smoke weed, bump into shit, and cough until five am. then they disappear for a few hours and i stress out about trying to fall asleep and how much work i have to do in the morning and how fucking annoying they were and finally fall asleep only to be awoken by a single bird singing the same incessant three notes. i secretly make a deal with god that if he gives me a sniper rifle i'll quit swearing forever. he doesn't answer. i pray to Mary for a slingshot, at least, but she doesn't exist either so i just stress out and toss and turn. then at 8 am the gangsters reconvene and sing fucking karaoke. no joke. they sing the same motherfucking techno song with female vocals over and over and motherfucking over. there are like 10 of them, all different ages, and they each have their own part to the song - one dude busts out the chorus, one older dude loves the hook, and there's a certain 16 bars that one dude was jumping all over. i couldn't make this shit up if i tried.

the only good thing about this living situation is that the floor and walls and windows of my room are completely uninsulated, so all the weed they smoke drifts up and i'm blazed 24/7. if there's one way to handle slipping into a potentially brutal depression it's to catch a contact buzz of the Norteños downstairs, right?

i hate rommates

if you had six containers of rotting food in your refrigerator and finally had the energy to clean them out, do you:

a. throw them away in the container and say fuck you environment, i'm not dealing with this

b. empty the food into the trashcan and leave it there to slowly gas everyone in the house

c. emtpy the food into the trashcan and take the trash bag immediately outside to the bin

d. what is this "taking the trash out" you speak of?

Those white men are dangerous.

i went back east last week for my mom's wedding. i'm decidedly anti-wedding and would normally try to talk one out of it, but it all happened so fast and i didn't even have a chance to tell my mom what i thought. i stayed up with my Nona the night before the wedding, and she told me how worried she was as she pinned her curls with her ivory hands and carefully placed her sleeping hairnet on. (if you have an italian grandmother you know exactly what i'm talking about.) Nona is 100% psychic. she has a thing called her Ticker Tape that runs in front of her eyes when something important is about to happen - she reads the Ticker Tape and takes action even if it seems to make no sense at the time. so she tells me that there is something off about this wedding and she doesn't support it. she's waiting for the other shoe to drop, she says. i completely agree, but what can we do? she says we should stand up right after they say the "or forever hold your peace" part. i say my mom will be crushed. we decide that ultimately, you can't tell anyone anything ever, and we keep our mouths shut. i think it's going to end badly.


but honestly maybe it will work. the man is JUST like my mother. they annoy me in the exact same way and they live their lives the same - everything is an adventure. a fucking adventure that is painful for the rest of the world to experience. being stuck in the car with them is excruciating.

"Wow, another jaguar! (car)"
"wow honey, you have seen a lot of those lately"
"i know, you don't see those much"
"what is that, five you've seen now?"
"no, 7 or 8 because i saw a few yesterday too"
"oh yeah, wow, you did see a few yesterday"

OMG WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THESE ARE NOT FUCKING UFOs OR JIMMY HOFFAS YOU ARE SEEING, THEY ARE FUCKING JAGS AND THEY ARE EVERYWHERE! MY BF'S MOM DRIVES ONE. HOW IS THIS INTERESTING AND WORTH TALKING ABOUT I'M GOING TO CLAW MY FACE OFF.

i love her SO much, don't get me wrong. but we could not be more different if we were different species or from different planets, seriously.


in other news, this is brutus. he was stolen from my roommate last week. there was a crazy ass leechy schemey bitch living in the room i live in now, and she had some shady ass fuckers visiting her from LA and brooklyn. it's a long story as to how he was stolen, but put some good energy out that we get him back.


and finally, here's some wise advice from SF craigstlist:

Re: White men are evil in relationships (excelsior / outer mission)

YES, they're good for inventing things but they're horrible partners in relationships. Be careful!!!! Those white men are dangerous.

i couldn't agree more.

EDIT for annie:

this is the best pic of the dress i could find, mad blurry, sorry.


i want to make it tight at the bottom like this. thoughts?

and these are the shoes oh jesus i love these fucking things. thank you celine for making a platform that doesn't look like a stripper shoe or a 70s abomination.

you's a fool

you gave us cereal...in an ashtray

someday i will learn that if you put the kettle on the stove and walk away for an hour it will burn and possibly catch on fire. but today is not that day.

i want to capture snookie and give her restylane in her top lip. everything else is fake, why not the top lip? i guarantee she would look 100% better with a lil half CC of hyaluranic up in there.

(i also want to soak those fucking french tips right off. FUCK a french manicure.)

so the radio silence is over for now. i have good days and bad days. this, kids, is what we call an Emotional Rollercoaster. please strap yourself in because this bitch goes super fast and super high and super low. flying out of the EmoRo (like how i made that up off the top of my head? FUCK yeaaah) is the only thing worse that actually being on it. at least when you stay on the damn thing you eventually get to the end. when you fly off, you're totally fucked.

i'm going on total radio silence for a while.

past, present, future.

only one really exists, and yet lately i spend so much time thinking about the two that don't. recently i've been living everywhere in my head but right now. thinking about how things were, how they will never be(?), how they could be, how i want them to be. it's all bullshit. stories. tangents that are nothing but electricity in my brain. the only thing that is real are actions, and i need to spend less time thinking and more time doing.

live right now, that's all there is.

this is exactly how i feel about fucking marriage. liz taylor knows what's up.

and also, the only thing surprising about the Garcelle Beauvais-Nilon thing is that she is MARRIED TO THIS FUCKING GUY. really? REALLY? this guy? this dude must have fucking game for daaaaaaaays.

the past does not exist.

today i am getting a pedicure, going tanning, wearing a tracksuit and a wifebeater with no bra, getting a new blackberry and getting tore up.

fuuuuuuuuuuck it.

i am a fortunate homosexual man

fucking OF COURSE you are. the people who were surprised that ricky martin is gay are the same idiots who were shocked by the kate moss coke scandal. (i mean they are same same ones that even thought that was a scandal. come on ya'll, she's dating the grossest drug addict of the century and she's a fucking model. it would be news if she wasn't a cokehead.)

you all know my feelings on kanye west, but i have to say, nothing has made more sense lately than this song.



he may be a whiny narcissistic diva, but he hit that motherfuckin nail on the head with this joint. "i can't keep myself and still keep you too." say word.


and it wouldn't be right to end this without a photobooth pic because apparently that's how i roll.

also, did you guys know i had this?

i think i need some tylenol you got me restless

i got a chemical peel the other day, and the aesthetician (sp???) said she had to wait for a super important phone call and would i mind if she kept her phone on vibrate? i said no problem but doubted that anything she had to hear was that important. how long is a chemical peel? an hour? can't wait an hour, huh? fine. she said it was concerning some test results, which made me kind of interested from a completely voyeuristic (i can spell voyeuristic but not aesthetician? wtf?) standpoint, which in turn made it easier to not be annoyed that she was leaving her phone on. so she's scrubbing lactic acid into my neck and breathing softly on my face when her phone goes off and she grabs it and keeps scrubbing away. i can hear someone talking to her but no details - details! i need details! suddenly she's super excited and says "Oh my GOD THANK you!" and they keep talking all happily and it turns out she doesn't have cancer. she beat breast cancer once and it's not back AND she doesn't have the Braca gene so her daughter can worry a little less about getting cancer. wow. interesting to be involved in someone getting the best news of her life.

in other news, biggie smalls has a serious stomach virus and i'm up and down the stairs every five minutes so he doesn't shit all over the reclaimed barnwood office floor.

also i am in the worst shape of my life and have NO FUCKING ASS. i need to get my fitness game tightened up.

that is all.

uhhhh

WOAH

women lie men lie

this mystical city is actually san francisco and in all my years of flying into and out of it, i've never noticed the giant mountains rising from the mist back there. they must be new.

so far all i've managed to do today is take photobooth pictures and avoid doing any actual work. i had a full on panic attack yesterday and if i want to chill out and do not a damn thing all day i will. have you had an actual panic attack? no fucking bueno.


i immediately called to get refill on the x script, and then had to go to battle with my (woman) dr. Women either love me or hate me, and women doctors hate me every single time. it's insane. quit trying to be my fucking mother, write me the script for the one thing that makes my life bearable, take your kickback from Pfizer, and call it a day homegirl. yes, i know that people abuse this substance. i am not one of them. you want to meet an addict come through and meet my unemployed roommate who sits in his room all day eating tramadol and playing xbox.

biggie obviously adores taking photobooth pics with me. can't you feel the LOVE?

omg enough already. i promise i'll be back tomorrow with some actual fucking things that are interesting to read. xo.

do ya'll like how my blog is now just a bunch of photobooth pics of me at work? i know! me TOO! it's just that my actual life is too insane to write about. i'm back to censoring myself even on this totally anonymous blog that was started because i was sick of censoring myself. way to work out the logic, la dick.


so i ended up in the hospital this weekend, that was super fun. driving yourself to the hospital might be the loneliest thing ever. actually, no, driving yourself to an abortion clinic is probably worse holy shit now i'm sad thinking about that. fuck. anyway, i have a crazy pinched nerve in my back and it went nutso crazypants on me, and i had an allergic reaction to the medication i take for it that i've been taking for almost ten years. go figure. they gave me percocet and flexeril. awesome. having drugs is better than no drugs.



i just brought the absolute HEAT in an email to some douche bag clients that don't understand that if you change the scope of a project, you change the cost of the project. they are the same clients i wrote this about. they honestly had the nerve to say that they aren't a big corporation so they shouldn't have to pay for changes. don't hire a major design firm if you can't pay for it. would you tell your landlord that you can't pay your rent because you don't make enough money? no, you would not. you wouldn't rent the apartment in the first place. don't enter into agreements that you can't pay for. end of story.


yes, yes i do drink crystal light and skyy vodka at work. is it that obvious? oh, it was the giant red fratboy cup that gave it away? huh. don't worry, my boss knows. (i'm my boss.) (this post sucks.)


hahahahahahahahah fuck i had to post this photo even though it might be the most embarrassing pic of me EVER TAKEN. i was wondering if you wanted me to seduce you...it would look like this. are you IN? i thought so.

also, do you all read highwaisted? because you should. she is basically me, but canadian. and you guys like me, right????? great, then it's settled.

(this is where the most boring post of all time ends. riiiiiight HERE