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Day 9 of Unemployment

Tue, 14 May 2013 14:37:28 -0400

I wish there was one of those “What My Friends Think I Do, What I Actually Do” meme for being unemployed - I mean, I am positive there is, but my area of expertise on the world wide webs really only spans the cyber stalking and bullying gamut.

Find out where your boyfriend (yours. not mine. definitely not mine. i always know where he is) was last night by perusing location and hash tags on every social media outlet? I got you. Use google to find a meme on the internet, where memes were created and live? No, not me. Not your girl.

So, let me write in words what I want to express to you.

UNEMPLOYMENT
What My Friends Think I Do: Sit at home, use the internet to look for jobs, attempt to be productive.
What My Boyfriend Thinks I Do: Sit at his home to use his internet to blog; harass him.
What My Parents Think I Do: To be honest, they probably think I still have a job. Regardless, they definitely think I am sitting on stacks of cash. (I mean, they imagine that in my home, I am physically propped up by stacks of cash. They are insane. They have no idea about anything.)
What My Local Bodega Owner Thinks I Do: Attend highschool.
What the People at Starbucks Think I Do: ~~Crowd-sourcing?~~Stare at people, ~~Witness Protection,~~ drink copious amounts of iced green tea.
What I Actually Do: Sit in various people’s homes/stores, cry, sob, cry. Stare at myself in the mirror, find white hairs. Try in vain to rip them out. Discover new reason to be sad. Cry, sob, repeat. Perfect memorization of Ja Rule and Nelly’s entire discography. Gchat.

Explanatory Notes and Visual Illustrations on Chart Above:

No Money:
lunch… and dinner. (Thats a $20 salad from Morandi, that has to last at least two meals.)

Wear Same Outfit Everyday:
If you’ve seen me in anything besides a variation of a sweat/stretch pant and a tee shirt in the past week and a half, you saw me friday night.

Rediscovered PhotoBooth:
lol. i’m just in starbucks on my computer, but i’m also updating my headshots. (no) photobooth!!! *I have been sitting in Starbucks for 35 minutes with headphones plugged into an iPod, taking photobooth pictures with, unbeknownst to me, my sound on full blast. smmfh.

LIGHTS OUT.

(LIGHTS OUT is something I’m trying to make happen. It means like “it’s over” or “i’m dead” or like “it’s so cool/funny/stupid/embarrassing” or literally anything. You can use it if you want*.)

*but you have to pay me $5 per usage. email me for paypal information. ~~AND FOR MY RESUME LOL I AM UNEMPLOYED AND DEPRESSED!!!!!!!!!!~~

miss trial

Mon, 13 May 2013 18:04:00 -0400

I had been patiently awaiting jury duty the way normal people patiently await things like things that aren’t jury duty for months.

I was supposed to show up at 9am, but I arrived closer to 9:30, because 9am is way too early for me and because I am wild disrespectful of rules and other people’s time. I entered a room full of very sad, mean looking people and had a seat on the floor because there were no more chairs and my natural inclination is to find comfort by any means necessary.

Within minutes, an unusually sprightly (given the time and circumstances) middle aged man introduced himself by shouting his full name two or three times and announcing that if there were any “journalists” present, they should “speak kindly” about him in their “printed publications”. I’m not sure what year he thought it was or if he knew we were at jury selection and not a press conference, but truly not a single person reacted to this and luckily I don’t remember his name, because trust I would be defaming him personally.

He soon procured access to a loudspeaker and addressed those of us who were squatting on the filthy floors, letting us know we would be able to find seats in an adjacent room.

Once we were all seated, he gave excruciatingly detailed instructions on what to do if you were not willing or able to serve jury duty that day, which i found strange because i hadn’t been willing or able to serve jury duty four times prior to this and I simply did not show up.
People left.

Then, he went straight into an explanation of how to fill out a questionnaire that I can only describe as “self explanatory”. Honestly, the only reason you should have had any questions or concerns about anything that was being asked of you on this form was if you did not read English or could not read English (…because you were blind or illiterate.)

Anyway, he insisted on explaining the form via loudspeaker for approximately 35 minutes.
At the end, people had questions.

Then he introduced a film he was about to put on. I’d love to tell you anything about this twenty minute video but I was asleep within seconds. Incidentally, this wasn’t my fault at all, for when the video was announced, I was excited ~~… but then it started to play and whoa! so fucking boring.~~ and went to shut a door that was obstructing my view.

But then, the master of jurors came in and after making us all aware that he believed this inanimate object had somehow gained agency and shut itself, he propped it back open.

The video stopped. There was an hour of inexplicable shuffling, during which no instructions were given. In this hour, I caught a glimpse of a fellow potential juror’s questionnaire. Under the “hobbies” section he had written the following:
“reading history, writing history, swimming.”
SWIMMING. He was 78.

When it was finally time to be divided for jury selection, I was called first and therefore officially (potential) juror #1. I was directed to sit in the first seat in a room occupied by three male attorneys. Upon sitting down, I immediately burst into uncontrollable laughter. By no means am I exaggerating when I say that I can not recount reactions from these three men because I was physically unable to look at them because I was laughing so much.

Amazingly, I was not asked to leave.

I’m going to sum up what happens during the jury selection process:
Basically, the lawyers tell you a little about their stupid boring case and then they question you and try to find out if you have any biases that would deem you an unfair juror and all the people (hoping NOT to be picked as jurors) think quickly about how to sound biased in some way about some part of the case when being interrogated, so they won’t be chosen.

Let me sum up what happened in chair number 1:
I heard this stupid boring case (which was slightly un-boring because of some minor plot point involving a rapper i am obsessed with) and I sat in my chair and thought about how smart I am and how I could use my brain to answer the questions I was asked in such a way that I would be able to trick the lawyers into thinking I was a completely impartial person so that I would be picked for jury duty… because I really wanted to be picked for jury duty because I live for things like this.

I should mention that the questioning is based primarily off the questionnaire you fill out in the beginning, which i thought (because i am a moron and, probably (THOUGH HOW WOULD I EVER BE ABLE TO CONFIRM!?!) because i wasn’t listening to the ring leader’s interminable questionnaire instructions) would be filed away and never looked at. In my wildest dreams, I certainly never thought it’d be scoured over by men of the law IN FRONT OF ME and that, subsequently, i’d be questioned on information i provided… which is why my first thought was to write “enforcing the law, sitting on juries” under “hobbies.”

Luckily, considering my levity might be seen as disrespectful and render me an undesirable candidate for service, I changed my mind and wrote this instead:

So they asked me questions and I answered them.

What was great about this process is that the lawyers have to really get info out of you to determine whether or not you have hidden biases, so you get to talk. A LOT. And it’s so rare that I get to speak to someone about myself with such candor and have them be totally interested in it (or at least pretend to be) AND not have to listen to their boring story. So this was a real experience for me. (I’m a sociopath).

Unfortunately, they also asked everyone else questions and had conversations with them which, for the most part, I completely blocked out because, again: BORING!

But, after we all returned from lunch, one of the lawyer’s began gesturing at this woman who was wearing sunglasses, claiming covering one’s eyes in such a way makes one suspicious. Before he could say any more, she pushed her sunglasses down her nose and said, “i put these on because i just found out i have glaucoma.”

I don’t know if by “just” she meant “at lunch,” but she was not wearing those things during the first half of questioning. So, I chose to believe she was a suspicious character.
This woman was chosen to be on the jury.

The lawyer then asked a hispanic woman behind me what kinds of music she listened to. She responded, “spanish music and hip hop” and the lawyer asked who her favorite hip hop artists were and her first response was “mary j blige” and the lawyer was like “oh. i’d consider mary j blige to be more r&b.” Which was so LOL. Like, you’re a lawyer, lol. What are you doing listening to music? You don’t even have an iPod, probably, I’m guessing. Come on. Objection.

After the second hour of being stuck in this room with these people and their interests and opinions, I got bored and sensing that the novelty of being on a jury would not be enough to carry me through a trial, I decided I didn’t want to be on jury duty anymore. To be perfectly frank, I was just going to walk out.

But then this happened: “Did anyone wake up very excited to serve jury duty?”

And in a bout of mania, I blurted out, “ME. I DID. I REALLY WANT TO BE PICKED FOR JURY DUTY.”

And everyone laughed and looked stunned and I thought I’d done it and it was over for me.

About an hour and a half later, two people were picked for jury duty out of this group.
The suspicious sunglasses woman was the second.

I was the first.

The court jester was waiting for us back in the main room and after handing us sheets of paper with the address of the courthouse and very specific directions to get there from multiple locations in New York highlighted, reiterated what was written on this sheet of paper like he was talking to a group of ESL kindergarteners.

I was already half way out the door when he muttered that we weren’t allowed to google the trial or anything involved with it or something like that.

But I’d already done tons of research during the lunch break, so I ignored him.

The next day, the case had been settled so none of this even matters.

guess this asshole’s gonna be free for a minute.

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 23:34:58 -0500

guess this asshole’s gonna be free for a minute.

On Voting.

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 00:43:25 -0500

There’s truly no greater evidence of our country’s obsession with mediocrity than the fact that this person has been named the Sexiest Man Alive.

Like, who is voting on this?

We really gotta pull it together, America.

I saw this guy at a party I was at on Halloween (I’m very rich and famous and I was at a Halloween party with a lot of rich and famous people, lest you think I did anything besides be rich and famous, you infernal heinous anonymous commenter~~; come at me~~) and I couldn’t stop staring at him because I was convinced he was a person I knew. I kept staring and staring and finally I was like “Oh, it’s just regular old Channing Tatum; Standard, run of the mill good lookin’ guy Channing Tatum.”

And that’s who this is. That is who America thinks is the Sexiest Man Alive - a person I was at a party with.

That’s all I’m saying…

Also, I’m saying you should vote tomorrow, you two. You two people who read my blog… and you third person who comes here to write nasty mean comments (I SEE YOU) because it’s very trendy. Voting is trendy. It’s on trend this season.

feeding frenzy

Mon, 29 Oct 2012 13:56:18 -0400

feeding frenzy

"ooh girl, ya silhouette make me wanna light a cigarette..."

Fri, 26 Oct 2012 01:48:45 -0400

-like, “take up smoking” - in the middle of a SoulCycle class… and then put it out on the body of the instructor of soulcycle, because smoking is awful and what am i even doing starting to smoke when i should be exercising? and because I loathe the instructor of SoulCycle and SoulCycle, the class.

No, but seriously. Real talk: SoulCycle is garbage. It is the most dreadful thing I’ve ever participated in that I didn’t intentionally try to make dreadful for the sake of a story (see: most things that involve me and strangers).

I very rarely exercise and when I do it’s not in groups and it’s certainly not in the bottom of a laundry bag. Being in a SoulCycle class felt like being in the bottom of a laundry bag for a number of reasons:

1. it smells like dirty clothes in the room
2. it’s dark AF.
3. all i wanted to do was get out…which is what i’d want if i were TRAPPED in a laundry bag.

I went to SoulCycle a week and a half ago - on a Saturday at 8:30am - for the first (and last/ only) time in West Hollywood, because I live here now (ish) and I only do very Hollywood type things, like surround myself with ultra hip, skinny people and try to be as skinny as possible and let people know about my struggles to get and stay skinny. These are all very Hollywood things to do. I know that because I live here. ish.

SoulCycle is uniquely terrifying because all anyone knows about it is that it’s like a cult and when you get to SoulCycle, you are brought into a room with a bunch of strangers, speaking in whispers about SoulCycle and they shut the door and you are trapped. And once they shut the door and you are trapped, all of the cult members are strapping and trapping themselves onto/into their cult bikes and it sounds like a hundred industrial machines working overtime… in a factory that manufactures bullshit.

I went into SoulCycle expecting to become obsessed with this cult fucking troupe of stationary bicyclists. What I came out of SoulCycle with was a deep hatred of SoulCycle and our ~~leader~~ instructor Rourke.

Unlike the way I assume most group workouts take place, this one took place in near complete darkness, which was difficult because - not to sound like your mother, but - how are you supposed to know if you’re doing the moves right?? (full disclosure: I was doing none of the moves right.)

I’m a fairly open minded person, but the other glaringly egregious thing I’d like to point out about SoulCycle is that inside this sweatbox, printed on one of the mirrored walls are words - something along the lines of:
ATHLETE
LEGEND
ROCKSTAR
SOULCYCLE

CHILL.

Like, I’ve only been there once, so I don’t know, but my best guess is that these words are not specific to each class’ participants… so, like… YEAH. Most people are none of those (except “SoulCycle.” I guess everyone is “SoulCycle”) so the fact that these delusive words of inspiration were tagged was immediately infuriating and decidedly uninspiring.

(Thinking about the way in which a higher up at SoulCycle would equivocate about the general meaning and application of these trendy words is making me physically ill.)

Here’s a tip, SoulCycle, maybe put up words that are generally applicable to people who are working out on bikes like… “cyclist” or “fitness minded person” or just “person”… or maybe, like, “Hey” or “pedal!” or literally any word in English that isn’t complete nonsense?? I don’t need to be reminded of my shortcomings while being yelled at by someone in tip top shape at the front of a pitch black room who is not even on the bike!!!

And, I certainly do not need my instructor’s incessent yelling to be about the discrepancies between our workout and the rest of our weekend. “JUST THINK…. EVERYBODY… THIS IS THE HARDEST. THING. YOU’LL DO ALL WEEKEND!!!”

Dude, you don’t know my weekend.

And you’re not a LEGEND because you can bang out 45 minutes of high intensity cycling on a stationery bicylce, like your great-grandmother did a hunnit years ago. SORRY! HAVE A SEAT… maybe on the bike… doing the moves you’re supposed to be demonstrating. Just a thought.

(Does anyone know a job where I can do and try things for free and then write about them, but I will only write nasty things becasue that’s more fun and I am a very negative person?

HIT ME!)

Hi!! Are you still there? Ok. I spent much of Monday night at a...

Thu, 25 Oct 2012 18:50:35 -0400

Hi!! Are you still there? Ok.

I spent much of Monday night at a dive bar in SoHo talking to a guy named Steve who repeatedly told me he was from “New York. New York City” until I cajoled him into revealing what I already knew - based on his accent, his dad jeans and his general stupid happiness - which was that he was actually from Long Island.

(Spent the rest of the night trying to get away from him. Just kidding. He was nice - in that way that anyone who was bullied as a child for something they haven’t grown out of (but rather, have learned to live with) is nice. My guess is he was bullied for having terrible hair and a subtly lazy eye.)

The first thing this person said when he sat down was that he had met the girl we were with a half hour earlier, at the bar, seven steps away. This made me angry because I’d thought he was part of the group I’d come to meet and knowing he wasn’t and that I’d have to speak to him out of courtesy because he’d been invited to sit with us (… I see what I’ve done; I know) by some girl I wasn’t even friends with, who was nowhere to be found, was not cool.

Then he told us that something he and the stranger friend girl had spoken about was that going to a bar on a Monday night is awkward because there’s a lot of weight attached to talking to people because they think you’re trying to take them home. I didn’t understand how that was different than any other night but this made me happy. So I ~~CASTRATED him~~ told him “oh thank god. so that’s out of the way… that I’m not going home with you.”

We started doing the routine bar chat: where are you from, what do you do, favorite drink, ~~how’d we get stuck talking~~?

And he told me he did something boring - I mean, he told me what he did and it bored me; he certainly didn’t tell me what he did was boring work. He was actually quite pleased with himself when he explained what he got paid to do on the daily - and I made something up and he was like “wow that’s really cool!!”

And I was like…NOPE! “No not really. Practicing divorce law is not really all it’s cracked up to be.” Smdh.

And then he did that horrendous, ingratiating thing men - who are men like this - do - when they want to be the men that they are - and he was like “no that’s really great. You should be proud…” and he just went on and on about my fantasy profession, like he was reading me a daily affirmation.

And I was like Shit, dude. I’m not even a divorce lawyer but all this stuff you’re saying is making me feel pretty positively towards divorce law and divorce lawyers and I sort of want to get into law.

But then I was also like, IM A FUCKING DIVORCE LAWYER. I’m a successful young ass woman doing something with my life, I don’t need no man to tell me what to be proud of.

And simultaneously, overwhelmingly, I was like, ugh my mother is a fucking divorce lawyer and she is awful and why did I just say that that’s what I am? I need to get out of here.

But really what I said was like “yeah thanks I guess it’s pretty cool that I’m a divorce lawyer. Thanks for believing in me, buddy. Objection, overruled, Legally Blonde.”

Then he told me that he lived very close to the bar we were at - on Mulberry street, a block up - and I don’t know what cocktail of diet pills, #Haribo (side note: it just occurred to me if I hash tagged Haribo right here I could really expand my reader base from five to somewhere between six and eight (year olds)… so that’s why I did that) and Pinot were in my system, but some vaguely racist, xenophobic light switch went off in me and I just started rambling to this dude about how absolutely insufferable the San Gennaro festival is. Like, MINUTES of talk.

I lost my audience pretty early on but once I got started I just couldn’t stop. “I’d die if I lived there. I mean, god. The only thing worse is the Puerto Rican day parade.”

Fireman (or whatever) Steve looked like I’d told him he’d be dead by the next San Gennaro (which, to be perfectly frank, would have been most upsetting to him because he’d have to miss the festivities) and opened his parted lips to say “I think it’s pretty great,” point out the window of the bar and shoot “my family and I have a stand there every year… since [like mad long ago. like, deadass, the first or second year of the festival. LIKE, THE PRIMORDIAL STAND.]” right into my frozen heart.

It was very sad and sweet and I was sorry for having spoken so poorly about this sacred tradition… But, like… I really hate that fucking festival.

And then things calmed down and I was bored and he was still Steve, the furniture salesman or pool repairman or crash dummy, and I was still expected to care or, at the very least, pretend to care but I really had to search for an email from 2010 (actually…) so I just started doing that.

And he… he made a humiliatingly feeble attempt to hurl himself into the conversation of the surrounding people and when that failed, he looked back at me and then down at my phone and asked what I was doing. (What I was doing was trying to find an email from 2010.)

Not since I was a professional babysitter have I been confronted with such impertinence. So naturally, I responded by explaining to him exactly what I was doing (what I was doing was trying to find an email from 2010) in nauseating detail.

“Do you have an iPhone? Oh…. What about a ME.COM account? Oh. No? Oh. Well. It’s like… All of the emails are, like, HERE… See? 34,131 more messages on server… But like you have to wait for them to load. And I’m searching a few different things because I’m not sure what its called or who I sent it to or really anything about it more than it’s a picture of a couch I need ASAP and it’s from 2010. I’ll find it. I’m going to find it. I know I will. It’s here. It’s just… Thing is… It’s from 2010. The email is. The couch is from earlier than that. It’s vintage. From an auction.”

The charade of him pretending to be interested in the intricacies of me dot com shocked me until, at 2:30am, when I went to leave the bar and was standing outside with my boyfriend, I saw this guy, from my periphery, hovering… and everything made sense. It had all been because he wanted to try to convince me to have sex with him, probably at his studio apartment on mulberry street, even after I’d insulted his culture, yearly pastime, intelligence and pushed him to the brink of insanity with my affected inanity.

Guys!!!!!!!!!

I have a boyfriend!!!!

Also fuck San Gennaro.

"Dick wished she had no background, that she was just a girl lost with no address save the night from..."

Wed, 29 Aug 2012 12:17:56 -0400

“Dick wished she had no background, that she was just a girl lost with no address save the night from which she had come.”

- Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald

typical sunday night shit

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 23:52:34 -0400

typical sunday night shit

Have you seen either of these bitches? (Taken with Instagram at...

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 18:20:26 -0400

Have you seen either of these bitches? (Taken with Instagram at The Dog House)

3 shades of crazy

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 15:45:00 -0400

Over the weekend, I bought drugs (not for me and with someone else’s $$$ of course. And by “drugs” I mean “dice”) for the first time in my life from a busboy at a restaurant in some shit town in New Jersey (at some point, unbeknownst to be, we’d crossed state lines; I never meant to leave New York) - which is another story - and the next day, the guy who sold the drugs to me sent me the following text message.

(I was with a guy who is not my boyfriend, a person I am sleeping with or a person I am even vaguely interested in sleeping with (also not a person interested in sleeping with me… to cover all bases.))

When I got that text, at first I was like “Ew gross, ugh, what?! Annoying. Leave me alone. Fuck. Now a drug dealer is going to be hitting my phone up.”

And then, as the day went on, I kept aggressively returning to our text convo (which was just that text), and getting progressively more angry and by the day’s end I was so furiously enraged I wanted to respond, letting him know I’m not a cheater and that he was being very presumptuous (and I would have liked to add a middle finger emojii.)

I mean, this dude thought the guy I was with was my boyfriend. He makes mention of this in his text, so it’s not like he saw us, wasn’t sure if we were boyfriend/girlfriend and then sent a casual text trying to hang out. He literally alludes to us being involved and straight up asks if I’m down.

Also, this is coming after a half hour conversation that consisted of him alternating between talking smack about some hobag ex girlfriend he’d broken up with less than 48 hours earlier for reasons of infidelity and trivial suburban bullshit I couldn’t really make sense of and lamenting their break and whining about how he’d probably get back together with her within days… and 12 hours later he’s tryna do her dirty on the sly. HOW YOU GON’ WIN WHEN YOU AIN’T RIGHT WITHIN, BOO?!

Wild disrespectful, my dude. I feel disrespected personally, on behalf of my non-boyfriend AND on behalf of your ex or current girlfriend.

Anyway, I got back to New York; I cooled down. I reread the text for the 97th time and I was like, “hmmm ‘let me see you,’ I like that.”

And now I’m really down. I want to let this dude see me.

What a weird and fascinating way to ask someone to hang out and in the very near future have sex with you. I’m fascinated by it. I am interested in allowing him to see me. I want to show my face and body parts to him.

So, that’s where I’m at: disgust, anger, acceptance.

WHO GON’ STOP ME, HUH???

terrysdiary: Lindsay Lohan at The Chateau Marmont #16 SHOULD...

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 14:11:00 -0400

terrysdiary:

Lindsay Lohan at The Chateau Marmont #16

SHOULD LINDSAY LOHAN BE JOKING ABOUT THIS??

Fun weekend plans, y’all?

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 16:48:00 -0400

Fun weekend plans, y’all?

It is. But this person is a stranger and not a stranger from the internet (which is safe,...

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 13:44:00 -0400

It is. But this person is a stranger and not a stranger from the internet (which is safe, obviously) so I gave him my fake name… which is Penelope.

desperate times/measures

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 12:12:00 -0400

Got no response to this. Still need to watch GIRLS doe.

(maybe he hates girls… the show and the people?)

I want to publicly express how grateful I am that I no longer...

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 17:30:14 -0400

I want to publicly express how grateful I am that I no longer live above this mess. I am, like, really, really grateful. This phenom vid was taken at 7 in the morning and the only thing I’ve heard at 7 in the morning at my new place is NOTHING… BECAUSE I AM SOUND (well, ish) FUCKING ASLEEP in my crib.

I live in a 150 sq ft apartment (which is, I am nearly certain, smaller than the room I lived in here) right now, so I guess there are some tradeoffs.

Anyway, whatever… ~~NVRLOOKBACK~~ NVR4GETURROOTS

"it's all so comfortable [...] this sleeping together"

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 10:59:52 -0400

I’ve been living in my new apartment for 13 days and Monday night was the first (and only) night I’ve slept here alone.

I slept like this

which is - as you can see - a bullshit way to sleep. It was barely sleep, it was like a party I wasn’t invited to or made aware of was going on in my body… silently fucking me.

The only difference between Monday night and the other twelve nights I’ve slept here was the obvious one - no physical body - so I can only deduce that I have a severe case of separation anxiety disorder and am incapable of performing even the most basic and natural of functions alone. (YEY!)

Luckily, that is not the point of this. The point is: THIS APP!

A person that I used to very infrequently share a bed with told me about this app and if he gave me nothing else (he gave me nothing else), I will be forever grateful and practically indebted to him for dropping this knowledge on me.

I don’t really care to explain it (or really, know how) but basically it tracks how you sleep and wakes you up (within a half hour period) when you aren’t in your deep REM sleep. This is supposed to make waking up less annoying and more pleasant etc etc blah blah.

And, like, say what you will about the deep REM sleep/ calculations/ tracking/ whatever - I’d probably think it was all bullshit (too?) if I had any access to logical thought - but in addition to that, it also has an absolutely delightful library of tunes that make waking up a fucking dream.

I promise you, it is like an angel is nudging you (in the gentlest possible way) awake with a feather on a hammock made of clouds in the sky.

I don’t know you, but you definitely need this app. And if this isn’t enough impetus for purchase, consider that it also has the wildly inane and self indulgent option for you to EMAIL your SLEEP STATS to someone!!! Consider that.

It’s a dollar ninety nine - don’t tip your barista, buy a smaller coffee, rob someone - it’s worth it, I promise you. And if it’s not, I’ll come sleep in your bed with you to keep you company* (because no one actually likes sleeping alone, right??!).

*only if you have AC. and a king size bed. and aren’t mean.

Smokehouse

Wed, 20 Jun 2012 18:46:38 -0400

I’m pretty obsessed with this image for a variety of reasons:

One being that this lil bitch (on the left; Mary Kate Olsen) is dating a 42 year old French dude (middle; Olivier Sarkozy). I could do without the French because ~~I’m xenophobic~~ (jk jk, I love everyone) I find the accent inherently smarmy (and do not get me wrong, I LOVE smarmy; I just like the smarminess to come from personality and not intonations in speech). But, basically, she’s living the dream. She just shot to the top of a list I just started making of people whose lives I’m trying to emulate (the other people on the list are girls in rap music videosand anyone who has ever been in an american apparel ad). Guys peak at 42. Girl knows whatsup.

The second being the obvious, amazing fact that she is strolling down the street talking on her blackberry and smoking a cigarette in front of her dude’s daughter like she’s walking by her damn self. (I mean, ARE they walking together?? Is this even her boyfriend? Could someone possibly confirm this?) Like, what next MK? Are you going to show this girl the best bathrooms to do coke and vomit in? The child is obviously very impressionable- she’s already wearing her hair in the same weird, middle part, pin straight way and dressing like she’s a stage hand.
It is just a very amazing thing to witness (through a computer screen, days after the fact). If you don’t find it amazing, we are different people and you are a person who doesn’t know what is amazing and what isn’t. Those are just the facts.

Also, she looks like Danny DeVito and she doesn’t give one fuck.

“She was expensive in her diversions, vehement in her passions,...

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 18:58:00 -0400

“She was expensive in her diversions, vehement in her passions, insatiate of pleasure, however dangerous to her reputation, and eager of applause, by whomsoever it might be given.”

"I think things ought to belong to the people that like them” – and then sweeping into it all the..."

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 15:05:00 -0400

““I think things ought to belong to the people that like them” – and then sweeping into it all the yellow articles she could find, a pencil, a lipstick, a little note book, “because they all go together.””

- Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald.
(apropos)