What I was doing:
This is what it looks like when me and Moll have happy hour.
This is what it looks like when your Valentines date is a glass of booze.
I was just yesterday ranting about how much I hate when people make certain faces for the camera.
My least favorite is the myspace self portrait pout.
My second least favorite is the pretend metal head pose.
You make my skin crawl.
Side note.
Large animals in captivity doing that?
Hilarious.
Jeyla gets a pass on the tongue out thing because shes obviously one of the most fantastic people on earth hands down.
Also she is sort of hiding beneath the ill druid hood which automatically means everything she does is partially invisible and therefor nbd.
Speaking of hood invisibility, it is one of my favorite things.
This is because I am insecure about my face.
I went to Dre Day at Santos and was in the quietest mood of my life so I kept my jacket on and hood up and lemme tell you.
What a diff.
I was THERE and NOT THERE all at once.
Its like magik.
Also magik.
This thing.
More magik?
Crip walking jews and lots of doofus looking white guys with R-tard strength.
Because. That was who attended Dre Day.
Good times.
Wish you were there.
Got a package from Greece.
Full of tzatziki, what else?
Whoops, home address on blast.
Jey wore Nike spandex to go eat sushi.
It was all about raw sea creatures, sake, and the booty.
And rape.
That how it works on No Rules Tuesday.
The official photo for my sentiments about No Rules Tuesday:
Tht kids parents are def full blown Swede.
Saw this in an old reference book in my psychiatrists office.
I wanna know more about brainz.
I want to know why there is no such thing as the right song to listen to if you are still awake at 530am.
Also, why was Sex In The 90s the best show ever made?
In addition, why does beer for dinner ever present itself as a 'great idea'?
All week I've been making a mess of my apartment and thinking about spicy food and wasting money and feeling like shit.
I'm not unhappy at all, just super irresponsible.
I was talking to my dear mum about leaving the Gypsy Den of Chinatown behind come fall.
It is amazingly daunting to think of being somewhere else.
The image I get in my mind is being on the 5th floor of some walk up in the east village, being blinded by the sun streaming in the window.
Plants surviving in the kitchenette.
No more leaky pipes.
No roommate.
An actual door to the bathroom.
Sounds like a fucking nightmare if you ask me.
But all things must come to an end.
The era of the basement dweller has been in full effect for years and maybe its not good for me anymore.
New Topic.
Hot Topic.
Hot New Topic.
What are you gonna pick?
Hot Pockets?
Mmmm Hot Pockets.
February is almost over, who has the hook up for me for a new bike?
Mine was stolen in October.
I plan to replace it with something small, purple, and dreamy.
Tsst.
In my mind it will be like this.
Only no engine.
And I won't wear that outfit.
And it will go a lot slower.
And I will not be giving rides to girls of mysterious ethnic makeup.
Purify yurself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.
Girl that aint Lake Minnetonka.
Aaaaaaaand SCENE.
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