Cut the deck in three

Tomorrow I head out on holiday for the land of gun toters and weed smokers, Colorado Springs.



Sayonara New York Shitty, I love you but I've got to go be thankful that I didn't crack my head open when I passed out this morning.
More on that later.
Thanksgiving really is the only holiday I can stomach to be honest.
Being thankful is really fantastic, I am a fan.
I am thankful for my beautiful intelligent loyal hardworking hilarious supportive ladyfriends.
I am thankful for my family of course.
I am thankful for my second chances.
I am thankful for my home, my gigantic (by nyc standard) cold dark cave. I feel so happy when I open the door and I see my cats waiting and a little Jesus nightlight glowing in the bathroom.
I am thankful for my health now more than ever because it seems the older you get, the more people you know get sick, or just up and die of some tragedy.
Enough of that.
Jesus Christ.

Anyway.
Back to fainting.
Its very gay, fainting.
Its sickening and its a weakness.
Its totally scary and weird and its the kind of thing I associate with drama queens, mental patients, and old Hollywood starlets.
PS I didn't swoon.
It wasn't pretty.
I fucking dropped like a grand piano off a 10 story building.
It was HORRIBLE.
But don't worry about me I am fine.
No blood.
No bruises.
Just a really frustrating tick in my mind. Whispering oh man. you hot hot mess. what is wrooooong with you

Its just a medical condition, some old school vasovagal fight or flight response.
But its making me feel like I must be a total basket case inside there.
Deep down in the personality waters.
This was not my first 'spell', I've had Tony Soprano syndrome for years now, its just that this time there was someone here to say "Oh my God are you ok?"
And I have to admit.
That was the worst part of the whole thing.
I've been outed.
So I'm going the distance and blogging the shit out of this shit.
I feel better already.

Went out to 'dinner' last night meaning I watched C.O. (Complicated One ... just trying to make my life easier) eat posh sushi and I drank about 5 beers.
I'm not afraid to eat.
I eat all the time.
I just happened to not be hungry at all.
I hate it when you're out and not eating and you have to wonder... do those people over there think I have an eating disorder???
I bet they did.
Fuck those people.
Anyway we sat by a little window with a pretty miniature tree outside.
It made me happy.



Another thing that made me happy:

C.O. and I had a creepy moment standing in the sort-of-rain both taking pictures of this supremely radical van. iPhone vs. Blackberry, mutual photo taking... iPhone wins.

I decided I should christen my new Thornburg dress last night.



Its lovely.
It merits ballet actually.


No I did not wear moccasins out in public with my beautiful new dress.

Anyway we got home and Dop was pissed.
Some firemen burst into our place like renegades claiming someone reported a fire.
Nope.
No fire.
What?
Yes.
The lady upstairs is so crazy that she reports fake fires just to create draaaamaaaa.
I am living in a nightmare sometimes.




Every single one of my friends is a photographer.
Why is that.


People drink beer and then think they are the first person to discover that photobooth is fun.


Oh hi, Shaman murderer Jesus scientist hunter dragon slayer people eater bigfoot hero magician cyclops.
I like your hat.

Don't worry I have those days.

Show of hands if you love Olivia Malone photography

I want to retake that picture only wearing this jacket.

My ebay wins are really killing it right now.

Not killing it?

Octopus man.

Also not killing it?
Waiting to pack until the last minute.
I fail.
Call me and remind me to bring my toofbrush

I think it was called the Shivers

Oh hi.

I like how the cold weather is giving me good hair.


Pam is back from her trip to LA/Mexico thank god.
It was getting unbearable, my couch missed her.
Last night she came over, then Mercy and Alex appeared as well, it was a nice little gathering.
We sat in the front room which is super weird because I'm so accustomed to hosting guests in the back.
Totally uninteresting topic!

Sors!
SARS.
Remember SARS yall?



Pam bought some nice little presents for us on the west non-best coast.
This book is a winner.
I think Mercy was slightly offended that it was chosen for her, but I'm a little jelly that I didn't get it.
Its really quotable.


I love the way they look.
Mercy is running away soon to Oregon and then Berlin or some wacky bullshit like that.
Sometime I wish that was my style, hitting the road like psht how about Germany?
But that's just not me.
I'm a gypsy in mind not in practice.


Whats the big deal?
So I fell on a fence and broke the fall using my eyeball.
Typical day.
When?
Oh just a few weeks ago.
Why did I fall?
I was tired and hot from drumming. I guess I just got too excited!
I'm telling you.
All musicians are cracked.
His eye is totally fine by the way.
After a little surgery to reattach his tear duct or some horrendous thing like that.
Alex has pet birds flying free in his apartment and he keeps their food in an open pizza box on the floor.
I rest my case.


Whenever anyone is looking at me I make ugly faces as a punishment to myself so I will never been seen as a pretty girl.
That's my theory.
Take it or leave it.
PS I don't care who you are, if you wear a ballerina dress anytime anywhere, you will feel magic happen.
Its practically the same thing as walking around with a dove in your pants.


My ass entered the Best in Show contest.
It was up against Jesus, some biracial babies, a couple of puppies, Helen Mirren's face, Beyonce's fierceness, and that cat that opens jars of peanuts.
My ass won.
We celebrated for hours.


Here's the LIFE magazine Katie got published in.
GREAT JOB!
You're a successful photojournalist and you will be remembered for all of time!
I think its pretty amazing, she has a two page spread of her photo of Barack, its HUGE!
Sometimes I look at her and I think, wow, I really haven't done shit!
Shes working for the Times, getting herself out there, really succeeding by doing the thing she loves.
Check her out sometime
I'm passionate about very little except gentle make out seshes in my room and telling funny jokes.
How do I make that a career?


Soon as I got good and sauced, I decided it was djembe drum time.
Not me djembe, Alex djembe.
I don't really know what it is thats so amazing about drums, they are just so right.
Peep the amazing boy on the wall, art by Hiyme Brummett
I was a patron of the arts yesterday and ran by his studio to make my investment.
I'm really happy with the boy, it shall inspire me in many ways when I'm sitting in my office pretending to be busy.
Last time I sat in there I sang the Hot Pockets theme song to myself for like 20 minutes.
Then I remixed it.


Look I made art too
I'm done talking about yesterday because yesterday isn't here anymore!

I'm tired and I feel especially lonely right now thinking about missing someone a little bit.
That's the thing about being a girl.
You get to dress like a ballerina or a sexy hobo or a teenage princess in hiding, but you also have to be totally soft inside.
And when you admit what it is you want, then you have to own up to how hard its going to be to find.
Then once you find it you have to work to hold onto it without coming across as needy, psychotic and lame.

Love is like having to pee but knowing there is no bathroom anywhere near.
At some point you will let go and it will feel awesome, but you will probably spend a lot of time running around trying to hold everything in on the verge of exploding.
And pee explosions are gross and people will point and laugh at you.
And you will be cold and wet and feel betrayed by your own dummy bladder.


Goodnight!

Touche

Banksy

Such a weekend warrior.
I've been working since Friday morning, pulled in a couple 15 hour days, good times.
I feel a mixture between totally relaxed and ready to rip my hair out.

I should be sleeping off my headache right now.

OK, question.
Why the fuck is everyone running away for New Years Eve?
I'm not feeling it.
Thank god Pam will be here.
We can celebrate her birthday in style.
Alone.
Like yo where is everybody.

I lie.
Far as I know, 4 of my friends will not be here for the start of 2009.
But its a fucking amazing 4.
So.
Yeah.


Also, I never get a romantic god damn kiss when the ball drops.
I don't think it has happened one time in my life.
He Who Shall Remain Nameless who I spent a few years with never kissed me to celebrate.
I remember this very clearly because one the the years, he wasn't even down to hang out with me.
I don't mind shouting myself out like that because everybody knows anyway. I was definitely getting the shit end of the stick in that scenario.
Funny thing is, nowadays when I think about him I laugh. Audibly.
I wonder what it was that kept me slinking around so long begging for acceptance.
Then I realize.
I LOVE.
Getting shit on.
It is absolutely the sickest most masochistic trait.
There is something about working really hard to no avail.
Because then... what if you actually WIN?
I suppose the way to 'win' at life would be to just not give a shit about people who aren't feeling you, but I'm not that evolved.
I love the chase fools!

I'm a little hampster on the wheel going going going going going like when do I get a treat?!
Yay treats!
No treat for you Krissy.
Get off the wheel, and go find some carrot nubs.
That is not a phallic reference.

Speaking of treats, there are about 14 of these wrappers next to my bed.





Sometimes when I smoke a cigarette I smell Chinese food in my mind.
I think its because all Chinese Americans are chain smokers.

This is the point where I tell myself go the fuck to sleep.

Goodnight Prayer:

Dear God
Thanks for bringing that pay-per back into my life.
I was having financial trouble but you always seem to keep me from going broke.
You and my mom.
So I guess good job on the whole inventing moms thing.
I'm really tired but thanks a lot also for inventing beds and flannel sheets and nudity.
If you could get something lined up for me in terms of a sensual yet non-sexual back rub I would be into that.
Please keep your eyes peeled for weird people ringing my buzzer at 6 am. Especially ones who don't speak English who are obviously trying to rob my building.
If you could make something hilarious yet non fatal happen to them before they arrive to wake me up and scare me that would be amazing. I didn't enjoy that at all the other night it make me cranky and you know how that goes.
Why did you make crankiness?
Please revoke.
In addition could you secretly mail me a dvd (you don't need to put a return address) of the greatest trip and fall happenings in history? TallyDead and I would really like to see it. People tripping is amazing, I know you know that or else you would not have given us such retarded feet.
Love always,
your friend,
K

flesh ripping

This is an article about the worst television commercial ever made. It includes a youtube of the commercial in the body.
Please watch it and then dig your eyes out with a shrimp fork.
Then stick a screwdriver in your ear.

I hate it.

It makes me want to kill myself.


I've seen it twice today because its Sunday and all I wanted to do was watch Family Guy.

Now I'm walking around the apartment bitching to my roommate and her friend from Guatemala about how I feel insane when I try to decipher what kind of advertising team allowed this to go into production.


Saaaaved Byyyyy Zeeeeerooooooo.



Fuck you Toyota.

Bee Town

ICYDKNYK (in case you didn't know now you know)

I love everything about this stupid asshole song, especially the dancing in the video.
With the addition of Andy Samburg and JTimbergay and some small round guy (non Horatio Sanz)
its even bettahhh than evahhhhh.

Secret #1: I love laughing.
Secret #2: You're dead.
Secret #3: Sasha Fierce all day/all night/forever/until she gets fat like Tyra. AKA TyTyBaby.

SuhGuh.

Bee skit @ (Nov 15 2008)
Uploaded by thebeyoncenetwork

makes sense to me

PS I won't front, I take a lot of fashion cues from Pippi.
She was really on one.

The Art of Fuckery

No offense Glenn, but you are the reason why women despise their reflection in the mirror.
Every time you cash a check, a 14 year old girl begs her mom for breast implants and a rhinoplasty.

No, you know what?
...its not Glenns fault completely.
We are the ones who ask for it.
We are the ones who look at model/actresses on magazine covers and say all aghast, "UGH. What a fucking shame. That bitch looks like she could use a nap and a stint in rehab. How old is she now??? Cause she looks about 80. And who told her she can be photographed at that angle? she looks like a god damn wildebeest"

Society of haters.
All of us.

No wonder Glenn is in high demand.

Don't worry, we gave the extra bottles to the bums on Bowery

Oh hiiiiiiii.


I got a desk today.
Jeylan helped me.
Thanks Jeylan.
For the desk and also for making me laugh for about 6 blocks straight on the walk.
Made me feel back to life.

I hate the episode of Seinfeld thats on, the one with the lady George dates who makes papier-mache hats.
I think I spelled that wrong.

I'm not going to complain about anything for this whole post.

I'm going to join the gym on Ludlow.
I'm not doing it to lose weight I'm doing it so I can stop crying.
I think working out stops people from crying, just my opinion.
I guess that means I have to get gym clothes?
I might actually have to purchase something from American Apparel.
And new sneakers!
I'm thinking:



air stab.

Or maybe these:



You have to be a reeeeaaaal asshole to leave this shit on the steps of the Salvation Army. Your patchouli ass hippie sandals and your once white turned gray socks are not a donation.
They are garbage.


I want to take the opportunity to say I love you.
Because if I'm gonna do this no complaining thing I think I should dive right in.


I love you.
I love when you suggest things to fix me.
Because they are usually correct.
And you never make that face I hate, the face of disdain.
You understand that friends don't need to cuddle.
But sometimes.
Its not that bad.


I love studying.
It means I don't have to think about boy(s)
It means I get to write really small in my favorite notebook.
That fact that I have put this on my blog means I have admitted to the public that I'm a faggot who reads tarot and bases plenty of decisions on astrological hoopla.
In case you were wondering, I'm good at it.
So secrets out.
And I love telling my secrets.


I love the way you did that.
Its so rude that it reminds me of myself.
Like a little god.
Thumbs up one human. Thumbs down another.
You complete me.


I love you, destruction.
Whoever set this motorcycle on fire last week should probably prepare to marry me this week.
You can hardly tell it was torched, but at least you can see it lying there sadly.


I love the way even when you are texting, it looks like you are knitting a magical pair of baby booties.
And smiling just because you're still alive.


I love your art that looks like an apple core but is not at all a picture of an apple core.


I love how when I ask you to stretch-lunge in your shiny leggins...
You immediately comply.


I love that I can always. Always. Depend on Jason to pick his mustache when I see him.
And I can always depend on Chiara to wear something I need to see, like a an extraordinarily light denim jumpsuit.


I love the sound your petite feet make when we put little plastic cups on them.



I love how I always seem to have emotional breakdowns when I go to New Jersey.
Because the only person who will always forgive me is my mom.
Then I cross this bridge over the river, this same thing I saw so many times for so many years, and its still one of the most shockingly beautiful places in the world.


I love a lot of things.
Especially horses.
And kissing for the first time.
And punching people.

I'm sorry about that last one, it just happens to be true.

Wolves part 1 and 2

Its Friday and I was just thinking about how much I've been fighting time away.
I've been beating myself up something serious for not working, for not partying, for not doing much of anything.
I mean its nice to say, "yeah, you know I've been doing me...painting, cleaning, eating, drinking, reading, hanging out with my cats, sleeping, listening to music..."
I find when I say this kind of stuff, the person I'm telling says they wish that's what they were doing.
But I've been treating it like torture really.
I hate not working.
(having no money is really the balls)
And I hate sleeping til noon.
Its weird and it makes me stay up til 5am.
And when you're not partying whats the point of being awake at 5am?

But today I feel a lot better.


And I realized something huge.

If I could be anywhere, it would be on a beach with Dennis Wilson, circa Pacific Ocean Blue.













If I had that thing from Vanilla Sky where you could get frozen and dream whatever you want forever i might choose that. Dennis and me. On a beach. Minus that whole Charles Manson thing.
I mean, in reality, I would choose someone I know I actually love, but that is officially none of your bees.

I still love you

I'm talking to you, hip hop.

Why couldn't 1995 stay forever

Big L Jay Z Freestyle

I beg your pardon 3 year old...

but it most certainly IS funny.

we're on the same page obviously

This morning I got up a little melancholy
(REALLY?!?!)
and I knew the answer to my problems could probably be food.
Its raining and nasty and dark in the city and what does that mean?

CHILI.

So made some.
Its still cooking.
It smells like what dreams are made of.

Is it a coincidence or fate that our new prezzie's favorite food to cook is chili???

I say fate.

Barack and Michelle and those cute fucking kids of theirs can come over and share mine any time.
I really mean that.

And although my recipe borders on perfection, I'll bet theirs is delish too.



Obama Family Chili Recipe

1 large onion, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
Several cloves of garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 pound ground turkey or beef
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon ground oregano
1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/4 teaspoon ground basil
1 tablespoon chili powder
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
Several tomatoes, depending on size, chopped
1 can red kidney beans

Saute onions, green pepper and garlic in olive oil until soft.

Add ground meat and brown.

Combine spices together into a mixture, then add to ground meat.

Add red wine vinegar.

Add tomatoes and let simmer, until tomatoes cook down.

Add kidney beans and cook for a few more minutes.

Serve over white or brown rice. Garnish with grated cheddar cheese, onions and sour cream.

stupes

Oh shes a rare one that Krissy.

I'm basically on bit of a downward spiral into the oblivion right now.

Its bizarre and cynical and almost repugnant.

I hate pretty much everything including ..... ME!

Well I don't hate my girlfriends they are the true saving grace. (TallyDeadDead counts as one of my girlfriends despite that pesky penis he is packing)

Here are some boring stories for you to read about what I did this weekend.
My whole life is now one slightly lame weekend by the way.


Halloween, yet another holiday I do not like.

Before the mane effect.


And after.

Tresses are still in recovery.
Not happy about hairspray.
I am not a product person.
Hi, I wash my face with generic liquid soap.
Low maints.

Stephanie and Liv looked amazing, as Palin and a Robert Palmer girl, respectively.


I missed out on taking a picture of D, who was a Cool Breeze. She had wind chimes hanging from her sleeve, and a very non peaceful mini fan to create the actual wind effect. And she wore blue. And some glitter.
It was one of those situations where the theory of the costume and the end result were not in tune completely. I have been in that boat, pretty much everytime I look in the mirror. I'm like hm I want a "90s Liv Tyler turned biker chic look" but I think I'm just creating a "bisexual preteen who plans on attending art school in the future" look.
I Digress...
I will say; D can do no wrong in my book because she is one of the great women of this rotten hellhole city. So she could be a toilet for Halloween and i would have thought it charming.
Anyway I would talk about how we went to this party and it was crazy and fun and the free tequila kept me in reverie but I would be lying and I hate lying.
I was a total sourpuss.
But there was this huge horse thing, that was neat.



The four trillion people there were mostly dressed as dead versions of things, which is cute and fun I guess.
Anyway I was a total faggot and ended up walking home around 1am. Down Canal Street. Alone. Worst idea ever. No offense to the great state I grew up in, but the streets were infected with horrendous bridge and tunnel boys yelling to me about being a sad lion and going "Rarrrrr!"
Every car that drove by me and honked was either blaring TI (white men love him) or 103.5 KTU. Oh, KTU. You still have La Bouche on heavy rotation.
Very. Unfortunate.

Also unfortunate.
Bad movies.
Pam and I rented The Invasion.
This was the only good part.

Bloody things and Nicole Kidman and a very weird child actor and alien spores and a lot of vomit.
And Daniel Craig. Naturally.
So yeah, movies in my apartment.
Soon as Pam left I started to paint walls and furniture in my office.
Then I took a partial wall down.
Around midnight.
Then I tried to clean out the fireplace.
I am not kidding about any of these things.
I am a total mess of a person currently.


To try to end my weirdo "I don't leave the house for more than 5 minutes" phase, I met D in that nightmare of a place they call Brooknah to go celebrate Day of the Dead.
We drank margaritas for a few hours and were kindly pestered by this old Panamanian man.

*note the wacky accordian player in the backround. Ill mariachi/jewish wedding/greek party/irish war song/latin dance off/johnny cash cover tunes. I swear to god they actually played all of those things.

Anyway, pepaw kept taking out money from his shirt pocket, and we kept accepting the drinks.
I tried to get deep on him so I could destroy my negative vibes. I asked if he had any advice on being happy. He told me he doesn't know. That he married a Puerto Rican girl once and he loved her but thats all over now. He said he makes a lot of money and he's "super single" and likes to dance.
All of this was said in nearly impossible to comprehend Spanglish.
Who taught him the phrase super single" I have no clue.
After awhile he got mad at me for not paying enough attention to him and he left.
Denise didn't get marauded by Old Panama nearly as much as I did, but she had a very homely buzz cut lesbian trying to kick game to her for awhile.


Shrug it out


The shrines in this bar were basically hot to death.

Then Soner and Gary came and we had to switch locations because thats what you do when you're drinking I guess.
You keep moving so you don't forget.
It's like when your freezing to death in the woods.
You had better not sit down to "take a little nap" because you will definitely die in your sleep.
Hypothermia and social drinking?
Yes I do see a connection.
Fuck off.


Where do you go in BK when you don't know what to do.
The dreaded Union Pool.
That is the only answer.
Denise had the bright idea of moving to Tequila Sunrises.
They tasted exactly like hard candy.

Soner looks like a walking advertisement for Williamsburg.
If that sounds mean, its not supposed to be.
I make that mistake, sounding like a horrible bitch when I'm just making an observation.

I am tired of this story about Brooknah.

Point is, I made it out there.
So yeah, maybe I'll be back again in like 6 months.
Sigh.

Today I saw B, who I've felt two emotions about since she left for her road trip so many moons ago...
1. I've missed her!
2. I've been annoyed that she has no idea what to do with her life and is slightly bummed about it some days. I have concluded that I find this annoying because I refuse to admit I am feeling the EXACT same way about my own sitch. When will the pieces come together, thats what I wanna know.

Anyway we chatted lots and went for a walk to 99 cent BJ
*hollerrrrrrr best dollar store in the area*


Heres a taste of the exquisite merchandise


hey baby I like how when i look at your boobs I think of a cartoon for 5 year olds


superb packaging aesthetic


these are puffy plastic sleeves.
you put on.
when you're cleaning.
as to not get your real sleeves dirty.
anyone who can tell me WHY that phrase is on the package wins me.
as a slave.
for life.


two of everything thats what I always say.


B is Corey Haim


I wrote and rewrote about 5 things about this picture.
I don't think any of them said what i want so I leave that to you.

We purchased nothing.

Walked to the pharmacy for allergy pills.
Saw Teen Spirit in the deoderant aisle.


I ended up inhaling a stick of men's Right Guard for about ten minutes.
I considered buying it and taking it home to put somewhere along with other things I'm ashamed of.
I was thinking maybe I would take it out and smell it once in awhile.
That's how much I love the stink of a man!
If that makes me sound like a complete lunatic, I will be that.

On final note.

I will be visiting this very creepy website daily, which has almost the same domain name as B's.
If you have a vagina, too much spare time, and a sad sad existence, please also visit here to dress up baby emo dolls/manga tweens in corsets and tiny top hats.
I am absolutely serious.

Heres me and Biancas

I can't wait til all of you assholes are sitting at work, gripped by the desire to create these ridiculous things.

You can thank me later.