This Dude's Gonna Make My Head Explode, A$AP

It's the quickest part in the whole video and possibly the best men's wear I've ever seen in my life. Yes, I said it. I'm thinking Rick Owens. No other guesses. I also know it's on screen way too quick for someone who looks soooo about it bout it. This dude knows how to dress, better than any musician than I've ever seen. And I like his song as much as I once loved Smif n Wessun when I had a nose ring and a very very bad attitude. (Now I'm all grown up, kind of.) Hello A$AP. Welcome :)

Open Yourself to Love and You Will Always Be Loved

What I loved most about The Grey, besides those golden wolf eyes lining up the night sky like ominous Christmas light before they came at you, was the women in the movie. There are none, right? A bunch of crude oil workers survive a plan crash in a sub zero Alaskan desert and they bitch and fight and die and face their fates but fight like hell. But the thing that brought Ottoway, the main character, the most strength was remembering his wife, his love. The most feminine thing he could possibly think of, was the one thing that truly saved him. Not the knives taped to his knuckles and his experience hunting beasts, or the other men at his side awaiting his command. It was the memory of his wife, in bed with him, her face against his face, her hands on his face, telling him everything would be fine. In the end, it's the tender moments, not the rough ones, that allow us to survive, that bring us the light we need.  

Sultry Sucker

No one's gotten higher than me off a medium light and sweet. When I lived in Los Angeles I think I dreamt about D&D every day. All of the things I would do, if only...you know how it goes. We always want what we can't have. It's true. All of the Coffee Beans in the world proved that.

And now I'm home and they're getting all sexy with this pink and black straw in my passenger seat cupholder area. Like I wasn't ordering coolattas anyway. It's so seductive, seducing those who are already in love with you. Getting all skimpy. I feel like there's a metaphor out there somewhere for this. But I'll just keep sucking them down while I don't figure it out.

anti-perfection is the best medicine.

Alexander Wang Fall/Winter 2008

I love this look. It reminds me of growing up. It reminds me of all the times as a teenager, reaching for that clear nail polish, scouring the drawers before a tear got torer. Imagining it running all the way down my leg until I wouldn’t be able to leave the house. I was so into being admired every day, that I didn’t stop to think about other ways I might be admired. Or even better, take the time to realize that wanting to be admired is admitting that you don’t admire yourself.

I would shove my black nylon legs inside tall suede boots, cover my face with bangs that never ended and squeeze to class in a skirt that barely allowed me to walk, let alone pick something up that fell. That’s what nerds were for. I would ignore people who weren’t cool enough to talk to and make fun of people like I was watching a bad movie. There were reasons. There always are when it comes to that one girl who will tear you to pieces with her black heart while her friends laugh.

But that’s not the point, nor does it matter. And everyone feels bad for her deep down anyway. The point is these tights are what happens after she wakes up. That’s why I love them. Instead of wearing your heart on your sleeve, wear your torn heart on your sleeve. Wear your sadness on your legs. Don’t care. Tights rip. They rip more than they don’t rip. Why keep buying a new 2 dollar pair at CVS every three days? Why pretend like your father hasn’t spoken to you in three months? Wear the ripped tights. Wear them the more they rip and the more they rip wear them. Don’t act like nothing’s wrong. Don't ignore your little sister when she knocks on your door. Or better yet, admit nothing is wrong. Tights rip, so what. It doesn’t mean you’re any less amazing. But when we hide our tears, that’s when things really get ugly. 

Decisions Are So Decision-y

I haven't written a thing on this blog in so long. Almost a year. Who do I think I am thinking anyone cares? Or thinking that just the very act of writing something down makes it more official. But here's the deal, besides avoidance, bad behavior and general neglect, I decided to go back to school for a teaching credential, so that I can teach. Apparently having a masters degree and certification to teach high school English is the equivalent of having your grandmother be proud of you. No one cares and no one calls. 

So here's the other deal; months in and only a couple of months left, I just want to do something else. I've written essays. I sat in crowded fluorescently lit rooms of wobbly desks with girls in flip flops and fake tans and feigned interest until 10 pm. 10 pm! Well, not really. They mostly let us out early and I played Words with Friends while teachers were talking, but my point still stands. I went through the motions. I took out the student loans, I showed up with my books in a bookbag, I asked questions and pretended to listen to the answers, I wore my glasses.

I quit a good job for this. And now, two or three or I’m not sure how many months left and all I want to do is not what they’re talking about, not what I'm supposed to be taking notes about. I want to draw pictures and sell them on Etsy. I want to write songs and make videos with my boyfriend. I want to do the backstroke in a pond of water lillies. I want to blow bubbles in a field of dandelions. I want to make clothes. I want to make clothes. I want to makes clothes.