snooki night

i got into a bar fight at the hms!

lykkelig

every joint in la is playing lykke's new album, from gelato shops to coffee shops to clothes shops

what time is it

i'm clocking this defeated feeling at 11:46 am

ah memories

when i was younger stupider drunker

employment windfall

college job listings come through again:

The Surgical Recovery Technician (SRT) is responsible for all aspects of tissue recovery arrangement and performing recovery of eye tissue at hopitals, coroner facilities, and funeral homes. Additionally, this position will act as a vital member of the recovery team in a position of excising technician or back-table technician for the aseptic surgical recovery of all tissues and perform laboratory and office duties.

testimonial:

"NIGHTMARES FOREVER AND EVER" - yt

cajun contessa

cathy took me on a date to koreatown's boiling crab and bought me a pound of shrimp swimming in a bag of butter and lemon pepper. i had a soda and it was really romantic.

sonya

сония говорит, давай

сад сo скамейкой

i feel like i'm going crazy

geoff is coming

Sometimes I think my ability to concentrate is being nibbled away by the internet; other times I think it's being gulped down in huge, Jaws-shaped chunks.

festival of books

geoff dyer is coming to los angeles. i think i have butterflies in my stomach.

museum of innocence

Then at the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Culver City, California, I remembered again why some museums had the power to make me shudder

manic pixie dream girl

the MPDG as "that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures."

sunday night

we eat dinner, we watch mob wives, we watch audrina's new show Audrina and try to figure out which one of her eyes must be lazy

sunday morning

we wake up, we eat spoonfuls of yogurt, we watch online the bicycle races in Belgium

bake it in a cake

mini chocolate pudding pie in a red velvet cupcake

ballers

one year ago i was watching the lakers celtics basketball playoffs in the fairfax district with buca and e, two sassy girls from boston. they would yell at the television and get excited and i would eat my lulu's angelhair takeout and think about how artest looks like a pharaoh. buca's house and her neighbor's house would erupt in alternating cheers.

good evening

i'm clocking this saturday night drunk at 7:55 pm

mbw

i watched exit through the gift shop and it was so good. it made me want to live the renegade life

supreme miserable

i had a fight with me da. in correction to a previous scrawling of mine, he doesn't approve of anything i'm doing.

dottir

a middle school girl came into the office today and i asked her if she was icelandic and she was surprised and said yes and in turn the lady she was with asked me if i am icelandic

well of course.

youth knows no pain

my room is so bright and shiny right now. it's really really lusty and sweaty outside but inside i'm eating a kiwi with a spoon and drinking instant coffee.

strawberry lime

when mrs. tuckersman and i open our cider bar, there will be rekorderlig on tap for all to enjoy.

it's gibberish what is he saying

the red velvet gelato at pazzo is the best thing to happen to me in a long time

this is bad day

worky work

let's do away with office speak. nobody likes it. nobody believes in your false regards, or your lazy best, or worst, your curt and insincere Thanks.

windy day

i opened the windows to let the blinds rattle

skypee

skyped my pa who is in taiwan, who only gently chided me for neglecting to call him and reassured me that i'm doing all the right things in life and not just being stupid

yesterday

i had lunch с катей in the santa monica lionsgate building and we shared a bottle of this amazing lavender dry soda

i smell like yoga

is that why i feel like going on a rager

old but still trying

i went to my first yoga class, which was in the basement of a building in downtown LA. there was a very warm and charismatic and crazy instructor and an impossibly thin indian girl named either shiva or sheila, whom i could have snapped into two between my thumb and forefinger. she played something that looked like an accordion in a box that made a noise like a foghorn and along with it she sang beautiful vocalizations with it and played some sort of flute. the yoga instructor would correct people's poses, repositioning them correctly and thereby tripling or quadrupling the pain sensation, and then she would yell loudly in her raspy voice, "WELCOME TO THE POSE!" at the peak of class intensity you sweat like a hog, but it's not resulting from cardio exhaustion or any feeling of overexertion, but from a flaming, unfamiliar internal heat and that you're going to combust. the balancing acts all come cruelly near the end, when your muscles are already shaking so intensely that you don't stand a chance of balancing on one foot or two hands or four paws or under any other circumstances. the instructor came over to help me into the bridge pose, and she forcibly pulled my body into the pose and delightedly hugged my torso while i was still in the shape of a bridge for succeeding. this was very very strange but i liked it. at the end we lied on the ground in the dark listening to shiva or sheila on the box instrument and singing and the instructor came around to each of us and put some sort of strong fragrant substance in our faces and had us inhale and exhale it deeply and then she rubbed us with an herbal spiced cinnamon-type oil and reached under our backs and massaged our broken bodies. it was not unlike when you receive a light show and there are people waving colorful flashing trailing lights in your face and blowing vicks in your eyes and up your nose and putting things that vibrate on your shoulders and arms and you're too overwhelmed with multi-sensory stimulation to think thoughts. the yoga clarity of mind and dissolution of stress, however, only lasts as long as your walk to the car, by which time you're irritated again by the cold and the wind which has blown your peace away.

asa

i think we sat next to an icelandic pop star yesterday

plastique

i like fake things. fake boobs, fake nails, fake hair, fake food, rupaul's drag race. as a background girl mouthed to me last week during pantomime time, fake fake fake

this into that

it's that time of the day to stop being conscious. i don't make no noise no more

foot decoration

i tried on and extremely lusted after these today

she&him

what's that norwegian word for the first beer of summer again?

i'm sitting next to a grandmother and very little granddaughter. the former asked the latter, are you hungry, girlfriend?

palty 107

i tried to dye my hair to become a different person but i ended up looking negative different

to hacienda-esque heights

i have the JD fever bad