my cat just climbed up onto a bookshelf then puked off of it.

Title of blog?
Just happened.

I still have no photographic account of Atlantic City but at some point I will, including the retarded accident that led to cripple status.
In the meanwhile (excellent Jodeci song) lets talk about sex. (excellent S+P song)
Gross lets actually talk about the god damn hurricane from hell (or from hot south american winds??) that showed up yesterday afternoon.

The idea was to enjoy crisp cool beers at a lovely discount cost thanks to Bogdan The Prince of Copenhagen and Obscure Art. And Hats.



GoodWorld moved to Allen and Delancey and changed their name to something weird like Flying White Oysters.
This guy was having a really swell time reading the papers in a tweed suit and sneakers.



I doubt I need to clarify but he was not American. Really?!?
Truthies.

Then this happened.





All the windows and doors open and swinging, the wind blowing packs of cigarettes off of tables....
It was cinematic and invigorating.
Summer storms are a weather phenomenon that I always seem to forget about. Then they happen and they are so amazing and electric.

Stephanie came and told us a really long story.


I was tired thanks to my faggot broken arm, and they were making faces like this.

Short attention spans, not your fault Porto.



Thats better.



It was a really good first afternoon back...
Izabella is all about playing matchmaker for me. Hi, blind dates? My favorite activity behind eating a sandwich in the tub.
After Good White Oyster Fuck we went home and Liv cooked pasta and Stephanie cleaned my room.

I'm feeling lucky.

Also lucky?
Today is the 25th Anniversary of PURPLE RAIN!
Heres a little math magik.
I'm 25.
The movie musical is 25.
My sister is giving birth to my new niece today meaning...
THIS BABY WILL HAVE THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER AND I WILL THROW HER A PURPLE RAIN PARTY ON HER 25TH BDAY WHICH WILL BE THE FILMS 50TH ANNIVERSARY.

I feel like my brain might explode if I think about it.


Excitement can be too much for some people.
I really feel you Sue.

You wouldn't pass the initiation.

S'been a week.
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.

The Kid

He can Kick, Streeeetch, and Kick!
Hes Fifty!

My greatest inspiration was born 50 years ago today and he has brought huge amounts of joy to my life.
He has also aroused me sexually on many occasions.

The one and only Prince Rogers Nelson.
Sir you have my heart.
















Still fly



"People say I'm wearing heels because I'm short. I wear heels because the women like 'em."

class in sesh

I thought of Prince on the train this morning. Nothing new, I think of him at least once a day then give MYSELF the speech you have all heard. In my head. About how he is the greatest musician of our time.
I have done college dissertations on his album catalogue.
I have flown to L.A. to see the opening show of his tour.
I have sat front row at MSG pissing myself reveling in the glory that is.
I have stopping liking people solely based on the fact that they "don't get it."
I BELONG. TO HIS FAN CLUB.


Shut up.


I have spend drunken hours playing his shit to people who really really do not want to hear it.
I stop the tracks and lean in close to Person A or Person B, breathing my stank vodka fumes at them and say things like,
"LOOK.
DO YOU FUCKING HEAR THE STRINGS?
DO YOU HEAR THEM?
ONE MAN! ONE MAN. ONE MAN AND A PASSION.
A PASSION YOU COULD ONLY DREAM OF YOU ASSHOLE.

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE DUDE.

YOU OBVIOUSLY DONT GET IT.

FUCKING JERK."

Sometimes I sing too which is totally worse than the speeches. It's just appalling.
My mum played Prince in the house when I was wee. He is literally the man in my life. The smallest sexiest dwarf of a man.
With relaxed hair.
And bitch boots.


Unfortunately, the man has blocked all usage of his material on the internet. Hes a sly fuckin fox!

So in the place of him, I give you a decent runner up.
When I first heard a live recording of just him and a piano, performing this song I was basically like DAMN yeah how COME. HOW. COME.
The perils.
The modern perils.
I feel 16 again.

PS. If you read this post and then skip the video, you're a bigger jerk than I thought.

Go to school on this one.