Maybe it's my love for Bill Murray(s)...

I have written a script. I plan to play the lead role in Groundhogs Day 2.

Look. There's that purse. That red floor. That girl and her croptops.




How boring.

I carry it everywhere

I've had it like three years and it's in most photos that I'm in.

It's contents on any given night:
*Seven lippies (chap/lipstick, lip balm/gloss/plumpers)
*A tattered red wig
*12 reciepts from various classy establishments (7-11, the DMV, Garage Pizza, the 99 Cent Store, Fix, CVS, etc)
*At least one chamera
*A to do list with items no one should have to write down to remember (Shower, Go to Work, Try Not To Die in Sleep)
*A bottle of Vueve (this is a good night)
*28 pens


Thanks.

Merry Cropmas

From the Gepson sisters.

Missed Connectionz...

...are my favorite things ever. Missed crops, not so much. Here's one.



Xxxmas eve.

Wordz

"I can't believe him. He's such a dick."
"Yeah. But I LOVE dick."

And just like every other year, 2009 turned into a frenzied set of weeks leading up to Christmas. The weeks were measured in Mondays mornings and Two Buck Chuck evenings. There was a final for my art class and my final Monday with Art and then it was Christmas. And just like most years since I was about 8, the day itself was puncuated with brief moments of warmth and long stretches of nothingness. Feeling like I should be feeling but feeling nothing so therefore feeling unsatisfied.

Not that it was all a loss. There'll be pictures of dysfunction to laugh ironically at later.

If I'm too good for him, then how come I'm not with him?

I love Kanye and Spike like Spike loves monsters and Kanye loves himself. And booty.

As long as his you-know-what isn't crooked

LA Wrecked. Sorry, Angelina. I didn't mean to laugh at you.

Rollin' with the homies...

Note the champagne. This wasn't taken at no Grove. And I know I'm not in a CT. Sue me.

You're a virgin who can't drive.

Sometimes it makes me sad to think what a fuck up I am. I challenged my own self to a Cropathon and I can't even be bothered to keep this shit updated? It's pathetic to be too lazy to blog.



This was Friday. It went weird.

I hope not sporadically

Merry merry.

Remember that time when we were at the bar and it was weird and afterhoursy and full of quasicelebs and there was that perfect Todd Oldham/Spike Jonze guy and he asked if it was okay if he put his hands in your panties for a second?

Two things:

1. I updated my flickr and it has some photos from my recentish trip to NY.
Check it out.

2. I just spent 11 precious moments of Homework Time looking at this nonsense. I'm in love.

Monday

Sunday

It snowed!

Saturday

I went out with Kalah and Evan. Evan complained. Kalah made me laugh. We went to a classy bar/grill and within 30 minutes, bitches were fighting and pulling each other's hair. I heart Yakima.

Friday

Crops Forgotten

Monday

Perhaps a little ballet inspired?


Tuesday

Ever have a nylon-imposed muffin top? I have.


Wednesday

Theme equals power.


Thursday

This is my airport outfit. Saville took this one and I thought it was poetic.


This is just the full view. When I disrobed for the security check, I was pretty much naked. I loved it.

Birthday party
Candlelit walk in 10 degree weather
Second Street Grill
Hoops
TNT
Bed in mom's guest room
Mountain pass
Dad's house
Grama's nursing home
Aunt Beth's
(Grilled cheese and potato soup)
Bed in Beth's guest room
Seatac
LAX
Union Station
Home

I am behind. I promise I have not not rocked a c-top. Which is to say I have. Every day. I will prove it when I can.

And you will be like "Damn, girl! Don't hurt em!"

Sun

This is brunch. Savi went as Mario. I went as the anxiety plagued single mother who dresses like a recently homeless sailor.

Sat

This is the 'will I or won't I go out on a saturday night; guess I'll stay in and hang out with Chuck and watch movies until I get to the tipsy-text point' crop-top, or the WIOWIGOOASNGISIAHOCAWMUIGTTTTPCT for short. I have had this shirt since I was in 4th grade, I believe. I was the head dwarf. I think when I was nine I thought my life at 26 would be less about silly self-dares related to crop tops and more about real estate. I won't be too hard on myself, though. All nine year olds are stupid.

Fri

Let's see. Went to work, it was lame but I made the best of it. Went to Shortbags to see Jenny and Ardy and cohorts. Got good and woozy for zero dollars and zero cents. I like it when my friends are working.

Xmas list:
*Film
*Basic croptops (black, white, etc)
*A tattoo
*A telephone call from Zach G (Make A Wish?)
*A treehouse
*My mom and dad to get back together
*A bottle of Chook

(Some are fake. Can you guess which ones?)

Baby Voices, Baby Makers

I don't care for grown women who speak with forced little girl voices. To me, a baby voice indicates childhood abuse, presumably of the sexual nature. This is not a joke, but it is somehow kinda funny. A baby voice is as much a spotlight on one's blatant insecurity as a monster truck or a really ridiculous tit job, in my ever so humble opinion. There is, however, a loophole in my disdain for people who walk around all day with their issues showing. I find it acceptable to air your daddy issues, fear of abandonment, qualms about your sexuality, etc in a creative manner.

Here are two videos from ladies who have found there way around my No Baby Voices rule and wiggled their way straight into my heart.




Note the crop top.




Doesn't this song just make your ovaries dance? If you have them, that is? It makes me, possibly the least domestic person that has ever avoided laundry for months, want to buy some maribou kitten heels and learn how to darn socks. And make roast.


P.S. Thank you B and thank you Jordie. You know why.

Today, today

I have had this skirt for at least 7 years. For the first couple years of owning it, everywhere I'd go, people'd wanna know if I made it. Now when I wear it, no one asks. Have I started to look talentless?

Croptember, Birthday Edition

I met her at a shady afterhours. I put her number into my phone as Jen BFF Messer within a few minutes of having met her.
I was right.
This bitch is dynamite.


Happy Birthday to the sharpest little knife I know.

And so it begins...

99 Depressed Balloons

Two things:
1. The most boring thing in the world: when people complain about
their illnesses. Being sick and having birthdays are two things that
everyone experiences but no one but your mama really cares about.
Spare us all and let's talk about something interesting, like Gossip
Girl or the difference between men and women or just read me your
grocery list or something.

2. I am sick and I hate it. My chest hurts and I am coughing up
Nickelodeon slime and nobody is making me soup or rubbing my body down
with Vick's. On top of the physical discomfort, there's the imagery. I
am less than comforted by the knowledge that right now, the Mucinex
snot family is having a rager in my lungs and that they've invited the
whole gang. Those fucking digging fungus cat monsters are scratching
shit up, rubbing their feet on the couch. The weak-bladdered pipe
robots are pissing in the sink and using their own limbs for beer
bongs. I'm pretty sure that that goddamn allergy bee with the nasal
spray is probably there, doing key bumps in the bathroom, talking like
Antonio Banderas about the 80's when it snowed every night on Sunset
Blvd.

Fuck you, Big Pharma. My laziness grants me a certain amount of
blissful ignorance when it comes to all your evil, but I draw the line
at the amorphization of my illnesses. I'm already scared of dying. I
do not need a mascot.

That is all.

P.S. Here's some ideas for your next buzz-disease/disgusting-yet-endearing-companion-animal combo:

*Excema Ants- Why shouldn't your brain itch, too?
*Teddy the Bipolar Polar Bear- Basically the Coca Cola bear but like
crying and lauging and not being able to get out of bed.
*Arthritis Vultures- Dry bones and beady eyes, etc.
*Boner Snakes- I don't really know what that means but it would make a
good band name.

P.P.S. Hey there, recent Art Institute grad. Is this what you thought
you'd do with that degree in graphic design?