German is a dirty language.

Wanted:





"I want to say that I'll never leave you. And when you are sad, I'll give you a little alcohol to warm up your heart. xo."

If I wore this and you happened to be around, and it would totally be true.

Guilty Pleasures.

Minus the guilt.

Boys with tattoos and asymmetrical hair singing euro party dance hits.



Milk, milk, lemonade. I mean, just lemonade. Sure, it has tons of sugar and definitely not GI-friendly, but Christ, I'm all about it right now. Last night was a very sweet and lovely walk to Mario's on Taylor for a bit of a late-night frozen lemonade snack (the blue raspberry was a bit sweet--I like my lemonade really tart). This afternoon, brunch at Vella involved a tall glass of cherry lemonade. I'm sort of inspired to concoct my own recipe for a pink/strawberry-flavored one, probably with Splenda instead of sugar. And I love filling a glass with crushed ice and topping it off with light lemonade from a mix. Then I sit on my front porch on humid evenings and watch the Mexican toddlers on my block play in the street. Cuidado!


Wearing handkerchiefs and silk scarves tied around my neck like a gangster cowboy, or ala Urban Outfitters. Yeah, I jumped on the douche-y bandwagon and am driving that thing to town. Love it.


Grandma Coral lip color. These are a part of Smashbox's Desert Chic collection. The very top color is a hot tube of super sheer coral goodness, even though it looks red in the picture. I've always been afraid of wearing coral, but I tried it on the other day at work and got tons of compliments. It's a bit shimmery, but not frosted, and therefore not entirely grandma-esque.

I want to be naked all the fuckin time. Heat waves are only sexy in theory. The apartment doesn't have air conditioning, and I'm too poor at this point to want to spend the money on the actual unit (heh...unit.) and then the subsequent energy bills. I've been wearing lots of pretty, airy dresses because nothing is more agonizing than wearing jeans in this weather. Today's relative coolness has been a welcomed change. I wanted to organize a skinny dipping outing last summer, which never happened. It definitely will this summer, though.


Spending the hours awake at night in hot, sweaty agony has had only one positive outcome: I pass the time playing Rune Factory. Little Elliot is up to level 72! Also, four of the nine village girls have ten hearts for him, the sluts.

That's all!

P.S.
These are decadent and gorgeous!

I've started a super secret side project (!!!). I'm making it a point to work on it every day, and I'll post a link (like anyone reads this anymore) as soon as I think it's ready to officially launch. I've also met a graphic designer to help with the logo, real life tags, and site design. And since he's banging my roommate, he's giving me a discount. Fabulous!

I've been in silly moods lately. I got into a huge yelling fight with a bus driver who wouldn't let me transfer, but then on a different bus, this guy talking on his cell phone told his friend a story that was cracking me up. So it all balances out.

Time for

love!


Sylvia Ji is incredible- I feel like this woman paints my soul. I'd love for something of hers to be a future sleeve of mine.



I'm reading The Orchid Thief, and it's taking forever to get through. There really isn't plot, and there's no driving force propelling the book forward. It's like reading a book version of a documentary on orchids. I want to get one of my own, but they're notoriously hard to take care of. They remind me of M, who I bet is also hard to take care of.



Lately, I've been missing fall. There's something sleepy and cozy about it, like curling up with cool blankets. I miss the smell of leaves. I miss cider and Halloween. And taffy apples. I want to be a Thriller zombie this year, or Calavera Catrina and paint my face like one of Sylvia Ji's paintings.



I've wanted to wear Burberry scents for ages, but they always end up smelling really spicy on me. Beat, though, still has that spicy, woodiness to it, but settles down nice and sweet. It makes me wanna rock out to The Fratellis on a warm but drizzly London day in a wonderful scarf , dago tee and my galoshes.



Feeding my wanderlust. Let's run away to Spain... no one will have to know.



When I showed my mom the tattoo on my arm after getting it done, she just sort of shook her head and said something about how I'll look in my wedding dress. But brides with tattoos are hot. While some bitches want to get down to a certain weight for their wedding day, I'll make it a point to get my half-sleeve done before then.



Weeping saints.

Also: Shows and making fun of other bands, writing pages and pages, breaking in wedges, makeup gratis, freeing yourself of negative influences, pink lemonade, pups at outdoor festivals, sliced mangoes and avocados, bad movie marathons.

Why is everyone pregnant? Fuck.

Well, you know. Not everyone. But tis the season, I guess, for a plethora of women tottering around with big bellies, stretch marks and swollen ankles.

They make me nervous. I feel like they should be sitting down, like I should call them a cab, like they should be hospitalized because any moment they're just going to burst and get placenta all over the place. It makes me think about being pregnant, having a little parasitic little entity in your abdomen, like an alien, moving independently- little bumps and nudges from inside your body... ugh. Frankly, the whole thing terrifies me.

The other day I was helping a very pregnant woman pick out mascara. She was holding a tube by Bourjois and one by Stila, and swearing that one of these stupid mascaras helped her eyelashes grow. She said she had run out of it a while ago, and since then her eyelashes had once again become thin.

"Look," I said. "Anything that says it will grow your eyelashes or eyebrows, won't. It's impossible. They're lying." I explained to her that waterproof mascara is chemically-altered and may cause eyelashes to fall out and not grow back, so the best thing to keep this from happening is to use something natural and tar-free. Then she said something that completely caught me off-guard.

"Maybe it's because I'm pregnant." And she looked like she was going to cry.

"Oh," I said. "I don't know anything about that."

I feel even worse for the women, heavy with child, already pushing a stroller with an infant buckled in and holding the hand of a screaming two-year-old. Why would they do that to themselves?

My current obsession.
Off Beat Bride

Now, I don't plan on getting married anytime soon. I don't even know if the whole marriage thing is right for me. When I imagine my future, I don't see kids, a picket fence, or a minivan, thank Christ. When I read this blog, though, I want a wedding. Not to be married- landing a man has nothing to do with it. But a huge party, all eyes on yours truly? Me in a gorgeous dress showcasing my soon-to-be half-sleeve? A big ass cake that I get to dream up? Yes, yes, yes.