Molly Dear

...if I have learned anything in my brief sojourn it is that change is constant; no amount of acquisitions, zealously guarded, can guarantee security from its irrepressible operation. Hence, the only sensible acquisition is an open character, one that is lithe and flexible, versatile and sunny, ready for anything, even happiness.

Of course. Being a robot probably makes that easier to manage. Ha.

Finally done with work. The city is all misty again.

Yawn. I'm ready for next week.

Pretty Vacant

One man grabbed me and kissed my forehead after I stamped his hand. It soothed me, rather than making me want to deck him. I glowed. Maybe he was my spirit guide.



The only thing about being collectible is every wishful transaction. There's a lot of energy exchanged, I have to drink a bunch to let that much vibe slide off of me.

I drank champagne cocktails end to end last night and taxied home and ate food I don't remember eating and played DS and wrote you a love note and passed out. And this morning. Oh my head.

There were about a hundred little adventures. Quantity over quality. I wore these Dorothy slippers. Ruby Red Mary Janes. I pranced rather than walked, like a pony. And when the world wore on me I just clicked my heels and came home.

Today I'm either going into the office or working at home on some stuff for tomorrow. About the only thing I can make sense of anymore is numbers, so that's fine with me. Ha.

Happy Sunday.



Some people thought she slaughtered this song when her cover came out. I think it's cool that she even performed it. Fuck em.

I Do What I Do

You do what you can do about it

I couldn't possibly count the second-guesses in my life. In or out of retrograde I assume everything around me is about me me me, and that's a habit people see as selfish. It makes them angry. They would be less frustrated if they knew that also meant every bad thing feels like something I could have prevented. It's not some carefree existence. I take every fucking thing I encounter personally.

But no. I can also paint it like. Narcissism. While I'm busy checking out my lip gloss and flipping through sneaker porn all of these trees are dying, kids are huffing glue. I'm hurting someone's feelings and can't tell, because they don't have feelings in my script for the life they are living, as it pertains to me. Hello. They are a supporting character.

Meanwhile. According to their script. I'm. A bitch.

Ha.

Dance Wiv Me

This weekend has been whirlwind. Today I'm definitely getting a BLT with goat cheese on it at that French place in Cole Valley, and maybe a mimosa too. City of Men is playing at exactly 4:20. I think that's a sign from God so I'm gonna do that as well.

HOllaaaaa.

Last night was a total blast. It started out slow but when it picked up it was like, instant. Hot and steamy like a club should be, and I didn't stop dancing all night.

So tired though. And I still need to get one last set of adventures out of my weekend. Laters.

Both in the Club High Singing Off Key

And I wiiiiish I neeeeva met her at all

But Fuck that maudlin shit. But also, you'll have to forgive it. I've been really strict with myself lately about how I spend my time, last night I took a break from that and had a thimble full of white wine after work with my comrade. The rest is history.

Luckily in my older age I've learned that when I'm feeling particularly restless like that. Like any snuggle would do. That means it's time to go home and shake my tiny fist up to the heavens some more. This too shall pass. It's nothing major.

What IS major is that my head is flooded with pop music today. I love this:




I'm working tonight. And tomorrow night too. Some slick and stylish boy hired me for both of his parties.

And today? There was an envelope filled with cash on my keyboard, cause I gave Thais her jacket a couple days ago.

Plus it's hot as blazes.

I love this Friday.

Turned My Back And Then You Slipped Me a Mickey

In my head he is like. Ten feet tall.

Coming to realize tonight that I've got this one dude in my head that I want. And no matter who else or what else I encounter. Dreamy boys or career opportunities or boys who offer adventure. If it's not him, it does not register.

I feel numb. I feel like half a woman.

Love and fixation are different things though. I'm trying to understand the difference between the two and shake these blinders off.

Turns out the whole world is waiting on my arrival, as well.

I Love The Green, You'd Swear I Was

Irish.




The only thing sexier than being productive, I think, is having faith in yourself. It shines through in everything you do, and turns a "fuck 'em" attitude into a "me for president" vibe, which is delicious and not harmful at all.

It is intimidating, but not harmful.

So jump, already. The world is waiting on your arrival.

Fortune

I woke up today and really only had one thing on my mind. That's a rare state of grace, I dove into it and I've done nothing but smoke and sew today. Tha's jacket has accents the exact color blue of my favorite ice cream.





Couple that with my perch at the window, and all the boys on motorcycles riding by today.





Also, just because I'm busy sewing doesn't mean I'm not also busy thinking about things. That's really the best thing about sewing, it's very meditative work.





That's all I've done this weekend. I've been sleeping in and babying me, enjoying the last minute decision I made not to go to LA on Friday. Tomorrow I'm back on my grind, and it will be a few more days before I can come up for air again.

And when I do, this jacket will be finished.

Wish me luck.

Twenty Thousand Dollars Worth of Sneakers

There's someone playing U2 hella loud in my building. It's coming in through every wall and surface. I try really hard not to be a neighborhater though, so as long as it's not blasting 2 hours from now, we'll be fine. I 'll keep my extra loud Trick Daddy down to a minimum too.

But oh. U2 GRATES.

*********

I have to always remind myself: there are people pining away over some of the things I'd gladly not even deal with. And vice versa. I can't help but think that getting what I want is half making it happen and half deciding it's what I'm actually meant to have.

A person has to come at anything from at least 2 directions, is what I'm getting at.

You can maybe see now, why I claim to be so busy. I wake up every morning with a plan.

*********

My sister is coming over tonight, I'm ecstatic about that since I haven't seen her in forever. Tomorrow can't come slowly enough, I have so much to talk to her about.

Good night.

Set It Off

Talking to my fam a lot tonight, and coming to understand how destined I am to be me. Who I am right now, with all of my promises and limitations.

I adore my dad, who is incidentally like the dudes I've dated for most of my life even though I haven't known him except for the last year or so. But I know he did date my mom, who incidentally adored him beyond reason, had his child even. And while braiding my hair before school every morning, she probably passed on to me the ideals I hold sacred for men.

Honor and Gangsterism and Pride. And Impenetrability. If that's even a word.

Also though. I hate my dad's girlfriends. Because they are crazy, usually. Exactly like me and my moms. Too similar to even fathom, these women. Like I need more of their kind in my life.

I was born surrounded by them, thanks. No need to adopt more.

But then again it makes sense that my dad who was sprung on my crazy moms who birthed crazy me would now love women who remind me of myself. Who remind me of my moms.

My point being: how could I have ever been anyone else? All the seeds for me were so thoroughly sprinkled about.

Born to these two, as awesome and delirious as they may have been. May still be. I couldn't have been anyone but who I am. I can see them both so clearly in the final product.

These things work for and against me. All of the time.


*********

My moms says: "The only way to deal with bad press is to outlive it."

And what a savage motto to go by. This basic assumption that there will even BE press, in the first place.

But for some women there always is. And that's not necessarily a curse.

*********

Culture break. Ha.



Another way to deal with bad press is to make a catchy, kind-hearted and fierce little diss song with your very best homegirls. Word.

I gotta big day tomorrow. So goodnight.

A Cowboy's Work Is Never Done

It's a sad fact: the days of the tough guy with a heart of gold are over. I guess it's simply not fashionable, anymore.

The Vagabond

Be happy. It's one way of being wise. - Colette

I can be a little destructive. Like a kid when the Legos are about to be taken away. It manifests mostly in my personal life, and is the cause of most of my sleepless nights.

Having said something like that, in good conscience, can I just keep moving forward like it's business as usual?

Then again: do I have a choice?

Faced with times like these. Reckoning times. I either crawl into a shell and meditate or I keep pushing. Frankly, I cannot afford to shell myself up. That's a luxury. So I can only hope I'm getting more graceful, even as I'm making my mistakes. Even as I am having a blast.

I'm in retrograde.




Is there anything more dispiriting than a going out of business sale? Maybe when it's your favorite bookstore, and you walked there from your house all jazzed to shop for new books in this huge and labyrinthine place, you know. And you show up, and there's just one beautiful emo kid working there anymore. There's not even a proper checkout area. There is just this sad folding table and a scale, where they are weighing the books you pick out and charging you 99 cents a pound. There is only one room left of books, in your favorite bookstore.

Yes, that's a little more dispiriting. I found myself standing there in a store that'd shrunken by like two thirds, this shell of a store. And shopped like I always did. I went to the general area I was looking for and then looked at every book on the shelf, one by one. I was looking for Colette, and indeed found a scrapbook filled with pictures and stories of her life. A find. 99 cents. I got a book called "Bitches Ride Alone" simply for the title of it. 99 cents. I got "Molly Dear" which is written from the point of view of a female android who suddenly finds herself able to think about who she is. 2 bucks, because it's thick.

And so on. I was sad I'd walked, but glad as well. I could only get so much. I bought 5 books and carried them home under my arm self-consciously, and by the time I got to my apartment both my wrists ached.




Today I went riding with John and we had lunch at Beach Chalet and realized like halfway through it that the restaurant kinda sucks. The food isn't good, it's not very clean and the service is just so-so. All of this time we've been going there, entranced by the twenty dollar sandwiches into thinking it was a classy experience. It takes the 2 of us there at once to figure out that no, it's not all of that at all.

But the view is lovely. And they serve triple-layer cocktails, too.





Now I'm reading again, avoiding sports on television and preparing for work tomorrow. I swear there is not one area of my life right now where I am not being called to task. Not to be all like, oh my life is so hard. But to illustrate, somewhat at least, my state of mind lately. I feel like all of a sudden I have a lot of decisions to make.

And that makes me really nervous, but really excited too. I think this is where we separate the women from the girls.

Almost everything changes over time. Situations and people and alliances and standards and resources. But there is always a constant viewpoint. Right behind that seems to be the only sure thing, the only thing you can lay any sort of claim to.

If you have faith in that you can make your boldest choices fearlessly.

And if you're really good at it you can be happy, as well.

At least that's how I feel about it today. I'll keep you posted.

Subversion

I'm torn between wanting to marry this guy (girl?) and thinking he needs professional help.

Oh My

I just remembered these. I was going through pictures from LA. They were the model's, I dropped to my knees in front of her feet when I saw them. She was in the stylist's chair having her hair done. She's probably used to that happening, people falling at her feet.

Drool. Each individual little sparkle. Some dude did that by hand and like, tripled the value of those sneakers.

Oh to be so resourceful, like a star in the sky.

And I want a hundred pairs of these, in a hundred different colors, too.

Night.

Simply Beautiful

It's Monday and I'm nostalgic, but optimistic too. Life isn't all about looking back I guess.




I think this is one of the prettiest songs ever.