And then I took my shirt off! What!?!?

My plan over the holidays was to make some kind of year in review with photos then I realized it would be a lot of work so its just gonna have to wait until one of those days where I'm sitting at my desk drinking a beer staring up the fireplace yelling at my cats whatever it is I do when I'm just out of ideas. I have been off of work for too long, nearly two weeks. I am losing my fiyah.
This New Years was by far the most low key I've ever seen, and on a truly grand scale.
Little parties in Brooklyn. Cover charges at bars no one wanted to pay. Stupid gatherings that looked alright on paper and turned out to be a total waste of cab fare getting over. Five of my dear friends were/are out of the country therefor no good to me so to speak.
Actually six friends out of the country now that I calculate correctly. No smooch at midnight. The Uj.
This is quickly spiraling into a sob story blog so I think I should just stop.

Wonder what these two did for NYE. Party hard? No doubt.


Jameson and makeup.
A girl must plan for adventure whether or not it ever actually surfaces.

Then I guess I dropped a snake in her pants.
That joke originated in the non sexual realm of my brain.


Me Sam and Jijo hit the streets.
Chinatown looks so glamorous.
And smells so glamorous.
I think glamour probably smells like lotion made of gold dust diamonds and tiger pee.


Peace 2008.
You've been lame!


This explains the party we were at when the ball dropped.
My balls dropped.
It stunk.


Went searching for Turkish Delight over on her block, but she was watching movies and drinking wine.
I think that, coupled with an empty bar at Lil F explains exactly how fucking twilight zone the last night of 08 was.
Geigh.
Very geigh.
Plus the bruschetta was totally not on point.
What?
It hurts to even say it but it is true.

This is the point where we gave up the search for the partytimes and got cake and pie and cookies and went dungeon apartment status.
Best idea ever?
Sure.

If you wanna know how cold it was between Dumbo and the LES, it was about this cold:

Eyyo Linus!

Back in Manahatta things were looking up a little, but not until we found these masks, thanks Liv and Hiyme for having creepy shit in your house.



If there are albino babies in hell, they look like this.
They also must have done something really bad because what kind of baby gets banished to hell?
This is a question I do not want to know the answer to.
Maybe its a rapin baby.
To quote a disgusting conversation I took part in the other day; maybe the scenario is that the baby killed a kitten and then used the kittens paw to molester someones crotch.
Imagine that!


The Twin Peaks DVD makes it that much creepier.


Surprise surprise look who takes it to another level.
Me and Sam did some nudie/stockings photos because what better way to start a year than with sexytime weirdo fetish fun?
Jijo watched Fear, the classic film detailing the love affair of a psychotic Wahlberg and a appleheaded Witherspoon mid 1990s.
Say hello to ya motha for me!


After that, me and Joaquin mainlined alcohol for a few hours and played chess against eachother in a giant bathtub filled with koi fish.
The whole thing was inspired by his hairdo.
Obv.

Barrettes for men. New shit.

Just kidding, the WaKeeeeen sitch only happened in my mind.
I like how I had to say just kidding like it was at all plausible.



But seriously look at this picture and tell me WahKeeeynuh wouldn't love to do shit like this together?
I wish I could see him in tights with his bloated flesh hanging over the waistband.
Ugh so amazing.
Glitter everywhere.

I should prob photo cred Sammy for all the radical shots she took/takes on a daily basis.
Her flickr is a good place to go see T&A in an artsy way.
That rhymes!
Hire me!

I imagine more shots from New Years will make it up there eventually.
But for now there's just one of my butt which as I have said before, is my best ASSet.
Basically I should just start walking around backwards.
Don't hate.
It would only be conceited if A. it wasn't true or B. I had pretty enough of a face to make people jealous which I don't.

In closing, I hope to spend the year of 2009 with the following people:

1. Mah Boo, fingers crossed
2. my gal pals
3. my cats
4. people who tell good stories
5. people who have good comic timing
6. obviously my fam, in small doses
7. your hot mom
8. HwaaahKeeenuh! (and his barrettes)
9. my own personal band of backup singers who follow me around singing the funny things I say after I say them (like a musical echo of sorts)
10. my own radical self

XO!
May you have all the nightmares you ever wished for...










*BTdubbs, Liv Hiyme and Maudular:
We ended up in your apartment again because it was the closest and (wrongly) presumed to be the warmest.
Think of it as a compliment.
If would have been way greater if you were here with us, but you are just too good for your home aren't you?
Out there riding horses on the beach and eating burritos and laughing while you sun your smiley ass faces.
I love you very much, but its all just too much to think about.
By the way, your bed should be used as a lethal weapon to get terrorists to fall to sleepies instead of bombing shit.
It can not be resisted.

Pon de cherry

The Burton/Depp version of Willy Wonka is on right now.
Watching it all I can think of is Michael Jackson and how he's becoming a Muslim and dying of some kind of secret lung disease.
Oooook.

So I need to talk about this asap.
Not Willy Wonka and Jackson, something else.


THIS.

So here's the thing.
I get it that Terry Richardson is talented and loved.
I also get it that models are pretty and make people think about sex and hedonism and excess.
I get that Douchey Fuckerson the Chauvanist Shitbag is in SOME circles seen as a talented film maker.
OK that's great, I can understand exactly who is going to look at this ad and feel invigorated.
They will immediately taste the sting of cocaine dripping down their throat.
They will get a koolguy boner and they will walk out onto the street, long strides in their 250 dollar industrial jeans and second hand motorcycle jacket. They will envision commanding all the pussy of the city.
Come to meeee pussy.
I, like Terry and Vincent and red headed models, I will rule my universe with my balls.
My one of a kind, super prominent figurative balls.

This is where you say, oh hi hater.
Yes I am a total hater.
But on the other hand...

I love vodka.
I drink it in excess.
It makes me laugh and it makes me feel like hot shit and it makes me funnier.
It makes me more interesting and more importantly it makes you more interesting.
So lets say I wasn't a hater.
Lets say I was an icon.
Lets say I was Terry or Vincent or ten times thinner.
I might actually love to do an ad for Belvedere.



So that is what my life is about.
Hating on people and having a hard time admitting that I would do the exact same thing if given the chance to sell out and revel in self-obsession and trend.

We shouldn't kid ourselves.
Par example...
why does facebook or myspace exist?
Oh because we all want everyone else looking at us validating our existence.
I can admit to this because I have a blog. A blog that is strictly about me for the love of christ.
Me all day.
Me all night.
Pictures of me stories about me people who hang out with me things I'm thinking about, ads that bother me on the subway.

I can hardly think about it anymore because Cokey my cat is kneading my stomach with her stupid paws.
And staring in my right eye.

So to get to the point.

Here's a list of things I want more or less of in the new year:

More black nerds. Less white rappers.
*When I say black nerds I mean real nerds who love anime and sci-fi, not short pants/Buddy Holly glasses koolguys in hiding.

More fat chefs, less skinny jean djs.
*When I say fat chefs I literally mean fat chefs.
Thats that new shit.

More gay senior citizens, less Dominican teenage boys in bedazzled gear.
*When I say gay I mean bordering on queen status.

More Ed Koch steez, less Ed Hardy steez.
* When I say Koch steez I mean exactly this.

*and this is the opposite of that.


Its all in the mindset.

More Jewish talk show hosts, less Tyty Baby Banks hosting anything at all.

More Gatorade and antidepressants, less cocaine.

More cats wearing booties, less small dogs wearing mock turtlenecks.


More for real dancehall beats, less of anything off of this album.

*Yes, I was really feeling it for awhile.
No, I do not want to hear you play this shit one more time on your guest dj night at Lit.
*Nor do I want you to ever play A Millie again.
It was fun while it lasted.
Move on.

More airport karaoke, less delays out of Newark.

More Chinatown, less Williamsburg.

More 'bear attacks city", less "dog bites toddlers face"
*violence is never funny or acceptable, but try to tell me that a giant black bear tearing down Wall Street would not be an amazing situation.

More Cosby Couples, less open relationships.


I'm asking for a lot.
Actually thats not the tip of the iceberg really.
I also want my friends in LA to move to New York.
Then I want LA to become it's own country.

I want a good pair of snow boots, and I want those snow overalls for grown-ups that they sell in Kmart and Kmart only.

I want really white teeth, and I want the entire Scorcese history of the blues dvd set.
Along with every season of Six Feet Under. Playing on a projector on my wall at all times.

Last but not least I want some more art.
From you.
I'll buy it.
I won't sell it if you suddenly get hyped because I don't play like that.

And I want happy holidays for all and at least a million dollars so I can buy my apartment and fix the pipes.
I mean that literally, there's no "fixin the pipes" joke to follow.

Much love much hate much everything its yin yang you know.

Last but not least, more polaroids.

(this boy is the whipped cream of humans)

PS my entire Year In Review post will be polaroid heaven.
See you there cronies!

I still love Jews

I do.

But I sort of forgot that I will have to blog Christmas spirit.
In photos.


I can think of nothing else that would have made my bus ride more amazing than these two dbags in their ratty costumes.
Drunk.
And passing out.
At 730 pm.

Dear God,
You.
Are a riot.
Love,
Kristopher Jones


This is called Berry Christmas.
I just made that up right now.
I like to drink alcohol!
Don't you?!?


I like Stephanie's tree.
Don't you?!?


Men do not care about mistletoe.
This is a fact of life.
They also don't care if you don't shave your legs, as long as you touch their balls a lot and make them feel important, they are absolutely down with whatever.
PS If I was a guy and Corinne was standing under the Mtoe I would definitely give her the tongue.
I'm just that kind of man.

Other kinds of man:


Hi Hater man.


Jim Jones man.


Perfect man.

Raf, you are the light that brightens me darkest hours.
You ridiculous piece of shit.


When I look at this I see this:

If Lucy would have just been laying next to Himes on the couch it all would have been perfect.
And if Sam was a tiny toddler.
And if Himes was green.
And a dick.


Chiara made us all pipe cleaner name ornaments.


Stephanie wore hers.


And spoke in airquotes.


B sang karaoke carols.
And she will definitely not enjoy this picture of her.


Feleesh tried to bring back pipe cleaner mustache Christmas but failed.


In conclusion,
I hate Christmas.
But my gift from Santy Claus that I want is a really long life with my friends who are more fun than yours.

Also I want a new frying pan.

Also I want to still have this body when I'm 40.


And a vainglorious holiday season to you.

XO.

新年好!

That chickenscratch says happy new year in Chinese!
YAAAAAAY!
Dragons that look like dogs (Falcor?) shitty parades and wet streamers in the gutter!
Who could ask for more?!

I would like to take a moment to say that I fucking love my neighborhood, despite all of the loogeying and nonsensical screaming. Chinese people are more hilarious than anyone else I know. They are so uncouth that they make me look like a virginal Victorian belle. I am never let down. There are 300 year old Chinese women wearing house slippers and polyester short sleeve tops in the dead of winter. There are stores on every corner selling 48 packs of sandpaper to wipe your ass with. They call it toilet tissue. It is hilarious and comforting to know that there is an alternate universe where you can get into street fights over heineken-fueled battles of mahjong. On a Monday night. In the street. Natch!

Matter of fact I am drinking one right now in honor. Cheers.

There are at least a hundred Dragonball Z! styled Asian teens in the "internet cafe" next door at all times. Seeing them chain smoke in front of their tricked out Hondas is something I come to look forward to. Bless you, anime.



Actually, that shit is Japanese, no?
It doesn't matter, it's all about the haircuts.
Gotta catchem allllll!!! Poke mon!
Jeah!


Another rad/gross phenomenon of the Chinese New Year is that it sends out some weird signal to the gods of the seagulls because they come SWARMING in like homing pidgies. I swear to bf G.D. this is what I saw when I got off the bus yes I take the bus lots of people take the bus get with it


This does absolutely no justice.
Gullmania.

Aside from that, there are many things to discuss but absolutely no time in the day.
I have really important things to do like watch season 1 of Lost.
Sorry asshole, I don't watch enough tv to be caught up, I have never seen the shit before a few days ago, and its intense. I'm so with the theory that its purgatory or something.
That was very watercooler 2005 right there.

I'm just gonna sidle over there to talk to those culturally retarded folks about "electric cars" and "the information superhighway"


Year of the reeeat!
Can't tap theeeat!



rat gangs!


pictures to come after Sunday's dirt parade!!

Siddown eatcha slice a' pizzer an' be quiet.

Aherm.
I think I am ready to tackle the blog that is New Years Eve.
Jesus H.

To begin, I am unapologetically bossy. So the evening began by me telling Sam and Scott to "hurry up and come over" so I could rush them to Studio B to buy tickets at the door before it was too late. I, of course, had mine already. Control.
Didn't matter. The genuinely mentally disabled "just off the boat" car service driver we had took nearly an hour to get us in "the vicinity" of Banker St. We had to get out and take a cab the rest of the way. Do you see? DO YOU SEE? This is why there is no meshing of the clans of Brooknah and Manhattan. Because of the great vehicular divide.

So we get there.
The doorman stole my water bottle but let Sam keep hers. Good thing because for once, she was the one hiding the vodka. Then some girl stamped my hand and I told her I had to go do some shit, what was the deal with leaving and coming back?
She informed me it was no problem as long as I didn't do too much X and sweat the stamp off.
Ok 1997 doorlady, I'm on tappa theeeat. Thanks.

So we were basically in and out, had to go see the Turkish Delight JJ at Southside Speakeasy and handle some biz. New Years Eve is the official night of "Be right back, gotta go pick something up." Duh.

JJ's tatas were on full display and we drank and drank a bit and the music was super crap. Sorry guys, no Coldplay allowed ever in public. But there were excellent people there so no big.

JJ and Marty Chops.

PS the sign above her head says SHOWERS OF HAPPINESS. Genius.
What happened before we went back to Studio B? Nothing I don't think, but I hadnt seen my girl in ages so it was a treat.

Back at Studio B (this is starting to read like a screenplay)
we found Sterp (the most beautiful girl in a black mini dress wiiiiiiiiiiiink) and got some wristbands which was helpful. VIP is overrated. There are a lot of dbags lolling around thinking being in VIP justifies all of their lameness. No. It doesn't.
Aherm: Fat guy in wife beater. Big Pun was sweatin.

Another lovely surprise, there is the handsome Russian vampire Mikael. Awes. So we sit and drink and drink and Kudu plays some serious gay club shit until midnight I guess when we had the countdown. I couldn't hear a thing for some reason. Clubs hurt.
Ah, at that time, Krista had arrived yay Krista the sweetest girl in this shitty city. I like to talk to her for long periods of time ignoring my surroundings.

Here's Sam and Scott before they started arguing about nothing. Oh Sam. Kiss and make up assholes you know you lurve eachother.
Drum roll. Slick Rick the RULER at midnight or somewheres thereafter. AWES. There was some old school new school shit happening, I was the annoying white girl yelling all of the lyrics. I also elbowed people to get camera phone shots. This is where you stop reading the blog, draw my face on a grapefruit, and pummel it. I am pretty sure I was the biggest asshole around at that point.


"Hi I don't really dance I just wear sequins and keep my shimmering afro sexahhh. No big."

Yada Yada, Slick Rick, bathroom photos OY,

girl talk, cigarette smoking, HEY LETS GO BACK TO SEE JJ!
OK, good idea.
At this point we have spent our life savings on cabs, whats the damage of some more money wasted?
So we walk in the barren wasteland that is Brooknah and run into a giant checkered bastard and his tranny sidekick. Awes.
He looks like Leigh Bowery only far less of a doughy mess. His name is Jordan. And he's creepy.




We get back to Southside Rarr Rarr Rarr, Miss Orlinsky shows up after shooting for Reuters in Times Square, how she escaped that is beyond me.

It's like 3 am and JJ is faced. I remember asking her for a drink and she said no because she couldn't "find it"
Find the drink?
Slow down sister you have to make it, you're the bartender.
Awes.

So more excess. Same story every year until you have kids and you have to pretend to like staying home watching fucking Shrek on DVD.
We shut the bar down I dunno what time I guess 5 something. We go back to JJ's for a night cap/ Ha.
Included in the next few hours is
1. me arguing with a tall puerto rican boy who I named 19 (as in his age from the looks of it)
2. Sam and some dude smooching like little birds
3. Katie passing out early snugged in JJ's bed with not a care in the world
4. JJ giggling about all the beers she took home
5. more JJ giggling as she played that SAME FUCKING SONG she used to play in our apt when she was fucked up....that rap bullshit "something something hammock man, what the fuck is a sammich man?" Ugh. Kill me.
6. I don't remember.

I had fun.
No makeout sesh.
No serious dance fever.
But it was a riot.

Until the following day when I crawled out of Brooknah hoping to be the victim of some stray bullet.





Pammy bitched the whole way back to the LES.


Love,
the girl who ended 2007 with 13 hours of destruction. Hol.Ler.