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?