I'll be on the steps of the park on Chrystie by Whole Foods. Dying.

I like to start every post by saying I blog less than I used to.

So.
if anyone still reads this bullshit, my sincerest reparations are to come.
And by reparations I mean pictures of things like more babies and other snoozy business.



First of all I want to say Olive is very pretty especially in the glorious sun rays that stream into her new apartment.


We went to an excellent art show situation event whateverthefuck last week and Will was as spastic as I expected. As you can maybe tell from this terrifying photo.
The new me is very coy around men, and every man there was HandsomeGlory so I spent most of the night blushing. This is not a lie, I in fact blush now. I don't know whats going on with me.



I like when there is food and endless booze and a band and dancing and fire escapes and roof access and cute humans.
Hint: all of these things were present
Hint followup: if you sit right by the food, lots of boys will gravitate towards where you are, making it easier to let them get a good look at you.
I employed this tactic for at least an hour.


That art looks like Cisco Adlers balls.


The roof.


Free alcohol leads to dance explosion.

More things happened and then I went to Atl for my sisters baby shower.


Airport humans.


We ate here after the family picked me up.
Something about that is funny to me.


This is my dramatic southern baby shower gear. And face. Theatrics.
Realize how hard it is for me to post this photo.
Everything about it is eyeroll worthy.
But I'll tell you something, I look pretty.
So I'll be that.



My boo in the car.


My boo at the pool.


Right: my sister, 9 months pregnant, baby shower guest of honor
Left: my cousin, 6 months pregnant, her body looks just like mine after I eat cake.
What. The Fuck.









Pule Perty!











I'm pretty sure there is a picture exactly like this from 20 years ago. Aunt Linda holding me and someone else.
Now its Cashen and Kayla.
Also please look at Nancy swimming with a baby panda tube.


These two are a fucking trip.
I'm telling you, the urge to rip your clothes off as much as possible is surely genetic.
I got it from my mom, who got it from Howie and Jess.
Now we have a new flock of nuders.
Nude on.


Oh hey Dad you're funny to me.


I think this is what husbands look like in the south.
By the way, thats not an insult even remotely, what you're seeing here is a great guy.
Whether or not he cuts his sleeves off, hes still radder than most of the assholes I have to look at day in and day out.


Shayla is nearly a year old and this was the first time we met.
She obviously adores me.
She stuck her goldfish crackers in my mouth which for a baby, its like giving you handfuls of god damn rubies.

Had a good time.
It was a short trip
I love my family.
I went home again.


I feel like clouds are getting weirder.

New York.


Philharmonic in Central Park.
Its mostly about the snacks.


The ghost of Krissy sunbathing in Tompkins with Natasha.

Today.
Hung over and tired and gross.
Met Conrad to run uptown and try to get my Vespa going.
It was hot as sin out for real for real.
It melted my zest for life.


Two hours, a jumper cable, a can of gasoline and a coconut water later, C-rad can get the engine to turn over and the bike drives about ten car lengths before it dies.
I feel like I should repay the man for his efforts in life blood or magical potions.
He tried really hard.


This is why I love men so much.
They think shit like this is exciting.
They get their panties all twisted up tinkering with batteries and wires and engines and shit like that.
We shall return with a new battery next week and get this bumblebee looking mother fucker on the road.
PS I've been watching Kenny Powers all day.
My language is atrocious.

I'm exhausted now and I'm off to Atlantic City tomorrow for sexy lady weekend.
Before I go please look at this chinese kid with a heart shaved into his head.
Also his parents were a riot.


All my love, friends.
Exes and Ohs.

Feeling you from the inside.

Good brunch with Tash today, Moroccan Benedict and Blood Orange Martinis. Yums!

Blorg time.
I'm feeling really joyous and blessed, which doesn't really make for the best comedic commentary, thats the sad truth of human nature.
But bear with me.



I honestly don't know what to say today so I'm going to drink a beer and see were that goes.

OK Things.

Thursday Night.

The darling Professor is back in town from a long stint in London. He brought a lot of energy home with him to New York, so he has been a gem to have around.
LOLA party 10pm.
We walked along the river to the Broad St Ballroom and into the most crowded glorious place I've seen in awhile.
There wasn't a sourpuss in sight.
Good times with immediacy.


Tash was bewildered.


10 minutes after we got there, we got up to the front. Alger is walking around being mysterious and Questlove slinks right by him playing a triangle or something up to the stage. Super relaxed.
Then his marching band came out of nowhere and blew excitement directly up our collective asses.


Hearing Hollywood Swingin' performed in this fashion is probably the fastest way to get asses shook.

10 flights up we found early nineties club music and a wooden playground on the roof.
Also beer in Levin's pants.







On the eighth floor we found more beer and tequila, a barber shop, a body mod guy, Amber and her sister, some police officers and firemen, a giant bodyguard, better music.

I never made it to the pool because you weren't allowed to bring beers in there.
Pfft.
I think I missed a lot of things going on but I had an excellent time.
I'm pretty sure the tequila was cursed because after a couple shots everyone was on one.

Midnight it all shuts down.


Levin posted up for a minute then we hit the streets.




Some assholes I don't know wanted to jump in the picture.
I was told to get the abusrdly massive american flag in he photo and of course did not.
So Olives salute makes zero sense in this case.


Gotham City yall.

Friday night was conceptual photog mission with Alger.
Dress up and models and documentation of the greatest apartment I will even have inhabited in this city.


Stylists are always fun because they love to talk shit on everyone.
It's part of their gig really.


Beautiful girl, great trash hair.
PS, just because a woman is Japanese, it does not automatically make her retarded.
Speaking broken English and having a brain deficiency are two different things.
She was a total doll and probably laughing at all of us inside.
Stupid Yankees.


The 17 year old Russian model in the foreground had a lot to say about American culture and the fact that I burp pretty constantly when ingesting Budweieser tallboys.
Keep your Eastern Euro commentary to yerself please. Theeeeeinks!
PS youre cute, but I don't need the sass. Look gorgeous and shet the yap.


Marion looked like Carnivale plus Miami plus country singer plus sex.



I initially resisted taking part in the actual photos, then I remembered I am suprememly self absorbed and theatrical.
So I put on a metallic onesie and some hot bitch heels and worked it out.
Obviously.


For those of you unfamiliar with the Alger photo mastery, heres a piece he did for Ray Ban recently.
When he runs around the models with his lights drawing in the air thru the darkness he makes a hilarious rocket zoom type sound.
That makes it very hard to hold still and play serious.
He is one of my favorites generally speaking and he deserves every ounce of success he ever sees.
What a heart.

Everything is so fun lately it makes it impossible to express on a blog.
I feel so lucky to have such fantastic people around me all of the time, they are inspiring and full of such genuine goodness and talent and humor.
(Faggetry!)

Olive got some photos back recently from a trip we had to NJ together, they are so natural and free and a superb reminder of how wonderful things can be when we see them for what they are.
The shore on a cold day with no shoes.
Your mothers house in the suburbs.
A wrestling match with one of your oldest most loyal confidants.
All caught.
So we don't forget it or take it for granted.






















Oldest, dearest, I never forget you.

Kisses from the summer solstice.