Love Junkee

Tonight I'm trying something different. I'm so tired, but I still want to share.

Enjoy this remix, have a toast in my honor. Champagne mixed with Alize, if I can be so bold as to suggest a cocktail. It goes perfectly with Cameo.

XO.

The Most Beautiful Boogieman

I want that picture behind him. Pretty much in that exact size. For my livingroom, opposite the sunset.





Last night this Japanese girl laughed in my face when I told her the cover. Five dollars. She said that was like, sixty cents in her money. I love international guests a lot. I've been tipped in pretty colored bills by Bolivians, square Aruban fifty cent coins and once with a 5 yen coin that I guess I should have held on to, huh?

Anyways. The little Japanese girl was adorable and talked my ear off for like 5 minutes straight before I even got to stamp her hand.




Dude. Cool. I never got to be a girl scout and now I'm kinda bummed about it. Right this moment I would be sewing my old patches on to a denim miniskirt supersuit that zipped all the way up the front and featured a stealth hood lined in satin.

But I guess it's never too late to earn merit badges. Right?





I took down last night's post because I think it was insensitive. And really, I want to keep this space pure. I'm done bleeding all over pages for strangers for free, at least. I should be saving the grittiest things for an awesome novel, I suppose.

I need more time, I guess.







Or maybe just enough distance to take the whole thing in. At once.






Another reason to love the Grand Lake Theater.





The sky was major today.

Also, I accidentally imported my whole ipod into my car stereo and then was like, fuckit and pushed play. It started playing every song in my library in alphabetical order. I drove for about 3 hours today, and I got from 2Wicky by Hooverphonic through half of Darling Nikki by Prince.





There is a party in my neighborhood right now and all of these tipsy youngsters are walking around and yelling a lot. Some of the girls' outfits are not to be missed, and everybody's looking really shiny down there.

I'm tempted to go revel with them, I used to do that all of the time when I lived off Haight. I figured any relatively rowdy party happening on my block was fair game.

But I did it very big last night and so tonight I feel.

Small.




So there won't be any going out for me, I'm barely awake enough to type this.

I miss you. Keep the faith.





A Gorilla in the Mist.

Gnight.

Fuck That I'm Getting a Lady Taser

It seems like another safe bet: count backwards from 12 and bunny is.

Frozen. Fluffing my tail and working up the courage to take the last three hops.

Robin is gifted with very clear sight and the courage to say exactly what she sees. There's truth in just about anything anyone ever says to you if you are looking for it, but Robin makes it very easy to find. She doesn't drape so many words around it that you can't recognize it staring at you.

But oh. Ouch. Truth carries a switchblade, you know?

*********

In other news: look at how fun it was to be accosted in the 50s!



Old ads are my favorite.

*********

Count backwards from 13 and bunny is still frozen, but at least dressed like a French pirate. Pirates have the most swagger ever, so today is bound to be awesome.

Happy Brand New Black President Week, y’all.

Golden

It is a sure thing: Count backwards from 10 and bunny is back to normal. Today I got like a million things to do at work and I'm back in familiar territory: sitting in me living room watching trashy television and making project plans while I decide whether or not I should go to Milk for reggae night.

These are some of the things I excel at: gawking, planning and being wishful.





Also awesome at: random adventures, if they are timed correctly. When Lydia called me on Saturday afternoon I was still in my PJs, watching cartoons and planning my outfits for the week. I sprung into action like a superhero, and was ready to go in a couple hours.

Do not call me when a building is burning. But if there is a last minute party, and I can be fashionably late, I'm your go-to girl.





Everything was golden colored, that day. Our aim was to see the sunset but there were errands on the way. And we tried to get our palms read but the lady, she was not there. False advertising. We thought the whole thing was a bust until we got out to the ocean and saw the giant camera and the sunset and that group of girl scouts who ran over just before the sun dipped out for the rest of the day yelling "we're missing the picture of a lifetime!"

And they were. And we got classy grownup cocktails at the Cliffhouse, afterwards. No, not the girl scouts, silly. Just me and Lyds.




Happy second week of 2009, y'all.

Maudlin

You don't mind that I killed that, do you? I like this place timeless, and flier art makes me shudder.

I went with reggae. And pardon me, but that shit was wiggityyyyyyyy. In the end I ended up somewhere other other, not even on my original list. And tonight I guess I was one of the ghost ships, which did not keep me from being amazed at how pretty everyone is out there.

My ship moved with a click click click everywhere, on account of these Joan Jett boots I was wearing all day. I was in a hurry for most of it too, which resulted in the most comical walk-run you've ever seen in your life. High heels make everything a Big Deal.

Work started today very sloooooooooooow, as it has been all week. But by the time I left I had a massive list of stuff to do for Monday, and that's a little more like it. I don't mind at all, I am most useful when I'm useful.

Butter was like I thought it would be: deluxe. Stef played Madonna for me and later on this kid played Mona Lisa by Slick Rick and I nearly swooned. There was no buttery sugar crepe, but there were tater tots. Gross sounding unless you consider I ate them with a cocktail made of Black Cherry Stoli and Squirt, and then it all comes together.

I'm disoriented from bein spun so much tonight, and things are not the way they used to be. Bunny is feeling maudlin, and she's gonna sleep it off. Gnight.

Arm's Length

do you feel as cute as you look today?

That's Liz, being awesome.

No. Not at all.

Well. You're faking it really well.

Nuff said, I guess. Proud bunny, I like to lick my wounds in private, smooth my fur, then go out to dazzle the world. I try not to skip a beat.





The tiniest couple of splits of sparkly find your girl all verbal and shit. Willing to share everything. This is not my most loving self, but it is the least inhibited and sometimes that passes for the same thing.

I went to the pub with my homeboy from work, kind of last minute decision cause we are both going through it right now. He's a ladies' man, he just stands there and cute girls come up to him with phone numbers and names and all kinds of unsolicited information. He's my ideal male companion at the moment because he's not pressed about me at all and there is no tension.

He has way bigger fish to fry. I do too.

So we talk. And have a couple drinks. The woes of the collectible, male and female, are usually similar. We are not so much distracted by the idea of rejection, but wondering when our luck will run out. Underneath all of the selection and fake frustration, there is an urgency.

We feel we have a shelf date.

This kid is like 6'4" and scruffy and well-bred. His shelf life is longer than mine. This is reflected in our conversation.

When it's all over I still feel like a birthday baby, I come home filled with optimism. As bummed and weird as I feel, the fact is that I've been opened, made receptive again.

Anything is possible right now.






There's a movie out now called "The Unborn". It's about a girl who was supposed to have a twin, but he died in the womb instead.

I learned this about myself at 16 or so, it only proved what I'd been thinking all along: I'm way too much person to be trapped in a single body.

Could you imagine two of me?

Could you imagine I'm living for both of us, right this moment?

Ya, pretty trippy.





Y'all know how I feel about tough guys with a heart of gold. Well, this is the first news story I read today (a very deliberate choice, mind you). You can imagine the mood it put me in. I'm still in it.

Tonight is Hopeful, and tomorrow is Friday! I'm gonna dress like Madonna did in '85 and go to the company happy hour, then maybe a reggae show after. Wish me luck.

*********

PS: Don't think I don't see what's been happening lately, I just cannot discuss it here. My tiny words aren't big enough. I'm the tabloids on your checkout route, a last minute purchase. Go elsewhere for substance, but come here for distraction. That's what I do. XO.

There's Not a Problem My Squad Can't Fix

I dare you to make sense of this:

Last night I dreamed I was at a Busta Rhymes concert, in the very front row. He was totally giving me the eyeball, you know how that happens when you're in the front row at a rap show? Like, total vibing that feels completely on front street?

Dream me was all a-flutter. He kept winking and stuff, and giving me smiles.

Then Spliff Star announces that it's time for Busta to pick some girls to go up on stage with him. I get terrified, cause I know he's gonna pick me and I don't do that. I'm trying to duck out, but there's too many people around me.

Sure enough, he hops right off of the stage and comes up to me. I am ready to be mortified, expecting him to pull me up on the stage and start furiously grinding my ass or something. But he offers me his arm, boyfriend style. Swoon.

I take it and he walks me through the venue. I think we're going to pick out some more girls. Instead, he leads me up some stairs to a VIP area, sits down and then commands me to sit on his lap. Which I do. And we watch the rest of the concert from the balcony. It is deluxe.

End Scene.

*********

I am the consummate professional today. Checking things off of my list and wearing a power tie, even. Things are picking up, but not as quickly as I'd like. I'm still a little distracted, too.

*********



Colette of the solemn expression, the ghost writer. She says:

Rightly or wrongly, I need to respect, to be a little afraid of the man I love. I was a stranger to fear for as long as I was a stranger to love and I should have liked both to have come together.

And I fall back in my bed, swooning over how elegant she makes her obsessions sound. It is sweet instead of perverse, the way she puts it. I am charmed forever.

*********

I finished my black mini skirt last night, it's fuckin ADORABLE. Next up is a hot pink gauzy sweater, and maybe a jacket or something. I'll keep you posted. XO.

Hey, Bulldog

I know I am in a state because I spent so much time selecting pictures to go with this. My mind. It has seen calmer evenings. I only get so showy when I'm restless.

I found out about a new project today that could be reeeeeally awesome. Other than that my first day back to work in 2 weeks was just. Work. No rushes, fires, major logistics to figure out. Only 1 meeting. Long lunch. Yawn.

I will be running again soon enough, and regret wishing it on myself but good Lord do I ever need to stay busy. It makes everything better. It makes every day an adventure. I crave adventure.



Last night I watched Wild at Heart and seeing Laura Dern lounging around in fantastic outfits in that convertible made me wishful. Real life is nothing like that. You cannot wear a teddy with leggings into the supermarket to pick up dinner fixins, or whatever. People think you're looney.

So I'm living a life virtually free of teddies and road trips, and I should probably fix that. Can a person get paid to road trip and dress like an off-work callgirl? Is there a legal, respected profession that would allow me to list "kitten boots" and "shotgun" as strengths on my resume?

I urge you. Hire me for whatever that is. I'd be awesome at it.



I think red trees are a brilliant fucking idea. Purple ones, too.

Well played, God.

Rain, Rain Don't Go Away

stick around a minute, wash this filthy shit away



Yesterday was moist in SF, but today was hella clear blue skies and breezy. Tomorrow is my last day of vacation and it is supposed to be sunny as well. I can't waste it.

Industrious bunny.

At my day job I only write with pencils. I keep like five with me all of the time cause I can't stand anything but a perfectly sharp point. I love the sound and feeling of writing with a good pencil, I like Mirado Black Warriors.

Today I spent a lot of my afternoon wandering up and down Clement street looking for a pencil box. On the way I found:

1. Cha Siu Bao (2. I had them for brekky)
2. Semi-transparent hot pink stretch cotton
3. Green Apple book store
4. Snoopy stationary

And now work. Yikes.

I'm running late I'll get back to this later.

*********



I always say that people in a club are like ghost ships. Presences without any real substance, you know? All of the sails and ropes are not really there, all of the waves they make are illusory.

Or I am feeling jaded again, immune to these bright young things.

Or. I'm just really tired and a little tipsy and waxing poetic like I love to at 2 in the morning.

Not that it matters. But I'll stop here so I don't unravel any major mysteries in my weakened state. Ha.

Gnight.