I'd like to be honest with you, if I may.

I had a blog before, but I stopped liking it. It was boring, confining, less than authentic. Those of you who know me are aware of how much authenticity I require. Actually, authenticity is a pussy word. I require brutal honesty. Nothing but the realest.

So, I made this new blog where, I imagined, I'd be brutally honest. I would stick to writing about the things that I love, but I would do so without fear, or hesitation and with a level of candour previously unheard of in the blogging world. And then, I didn't. I promptly resorted back to my old ways, deleting millions of posts before I even finished writing them for fear of pissing someone off or creating an image for myself that might not be so complementary. Old habits die hard, I guess.

But it's not working for me. I need to say what I feel, and I need to say it with faith in my heart that no matter how ugly I am capable of being, what lies at my center is good, and worthwhile. I've got a point to make and I need to stop being scared to make it.

Take this week for example. I didn't write a thing. Not a single thing. I didn't have time to take a picture Actually, I did take some pictures, but then I promptly left my camera in Ashley's car. It's been one of those weeks. My day job feels like an abusive relationship. My relationship ran away to Canada. My friends all moved, or are busy, or tired and when they're not, I'm fucking tired, and in the midst of this I keep managing to prove to myself again and again that I have no self control. None whatsoever.

Look at me falling apart at the seams!

No, really. Look:


This is me, at home in my bed. I'm not wearing any makeup and my hair looks like shit because I went to the gym and got all sweaty and was too lazy to wash it. My eyes look like death because I've been drinking too much and everyone knows that sleeping when you're drunk is like not sleeping at all.

Still, I'm happy to be at home. I'm happy that I finally managed to find time for a workout. I'm happy that I seem to have hit some sort of rock bottom. Now, I will curl up here for a few days and sleep. And when I'm done, trust. I'll come back brighther than ever. I'm really much better at this brutal stuff than I've ever cared to admit.

Thanks, for real

I wanted to tell you a story for Thanksgving.

I wanted to tell you how, when I was 23, I made the best Thanksgving dinner Highland Ave has ever seen (God, I miss my house on Highland) I wanted to tell you how I stayed in the night before (for the first time ever!) and blanched brussels sprouts instead of crushing long islands at Kev's Pub with my girls. I wanted to tell you what a baby my ex-boyfriend was about his deathly hangover the next day and how I managed to pull it all together at the last minute despite an incident involving a bloody nose and an almost fire. I wanted to tell you how I curled up at the end of the night, watching Sideways for the first time and eating Delice d'Argental with my fingers, and felt like I had finally entered adulthood and like things could stay that way forever.

And of course they didn't. That was the moral of the story I wanted to tell you. Things change.

But I wanted to tell you about what stayed the same, too. I wanted to tell you how right before that 23rd Thanksgiving, I received the largest sum of money I'd ever seen and in my infinite 23 year old adult wisdom I decided to invest it.....in as much vintage as my closet could hold. I wanted to tell you how I purchased this unnasuming BCBG piece that I ended up wearing that Thanksgiving, and how it sticks out in my mind more than any other detail about that day, how I've worn it a million times since, ripped it and sewn it back together. And I wanted to tell you how my Thanksgiving this year felt like a real holiday because I wore that dress and all it's history, because I followed a tradition that I made by accident while trying to be an adult, and that's why clothing is important to me, and that's the only reason I'd ever even bother to take a picture of what what I was wearing on a certain day or list my outift details.

(I promise I will never be one of those fashion bloggers who bores you with endless outfit posts that all look the same and then feels clever because they managed to rip off someone other motherfuckers stupid, trendy look so accurately. I think that's shameful and disgusting. But seriously, though, have you ever seen a more perfect dress to wear on Thanksgiving? I promise you haven't because it does not exist.)

But I didn't write anything on Thanksgving. I barely even managed to take photos of the aforementioned dress. Instead, I made this hazelnut cake with brown butter (minus the chocolate) and it was quite possibly the best and most easiest cake I've ever produced, ever. I also made a stuffing that included way too much chicken stock and resembled more closely a bread pudding, but was adictively good nonetheless. I discussed with my uncle the promised benefits of listening to binaural beats and whether or not they could possibly be anything other than bullshit and I played with my new SLR and learned a tiny bit more about how a camera actually works.

Most importantly though, I felt thankful. Without warning or warrant, seemingly from nowhere, I felt thankful. I felt thankful because I felt at home. I felt thankful because this year, on Thanksgiving I felt like I was having a real holiday and not just honoring the ghost of some ritual I used to celebrate, in my old home, where I used to live.

This is my excuse. This is the reason I did not write you a meaningful story on Thanksgiving. I was too busy giving thanks. Being humbled by the kind of gratitude that comes swooping in like a storm and knocks you on your ass. Yes, things change, but on Thanksgiving for me this year, all the changes I have endured over the past couple of years added up to one of those perfect moments where all you can do is sit in awe and honor that perfection with the knowledge that it is fleeting and thing will change again. Soon.

So, I hope you can forgive me, for my lack of proper picture-taking and for my confession of supreme gratitude on a day that's not even sanctioned for that. And I hope you know that whether they are belated or not, my wishes that you and everyone you love should constantly be humbled and awed by intense gratitude are no less sincere.

Happy (late, late, late) Thanksgiving!

goodbye.

i can't even remember how many times I've written a post here swearing up and down that I would update this damn thing more often. and just as many times, I've broken that promise. i must confess, it's been a while since this felt like it was truly mine.

this has always been my "personal" blog. meaning that I wrote about personal subjects, but also, that I took it personally. i shared this blog with my friends, my family, my facebook. and you guys all read it! maybe you never commented, but you read it, you sent me texts, asked me when the fuck i'd get around to posting again, and because of that, I continued to write it. for you.

it's been a long time since my first entries in this thing have had anything to do with the person that I am now. i do not look back and cringe, as if wishing I had never been young or stupid or bratty, naive, in love. rather, i look back and feel disconnected.
i go through these phases where I think how much I want to write and I swear that I'm going to start updating this damn thing again, and maybe, just maybe, I can manage to push out three decent posts before the weight of all the baggage i've unloaded here over time becomes crushing and i lose my desire to write at all, because writing here has become a chore and that's never been what this was about.
but i do want to write. if you know me, you know that. i treasure my perspective more than i treasure just about anything else, and i go to great lengths to preserve and maintain it, to not allow it to be muddled or skewed. and I do this because I've always felt it would serve me well one day, and I've just decided that day is happening right now. it's been happening, all around me, for months and i've been ignoring it.
so, i'm not done writing. but I am done writing here. and i'm done writing for any reason other than to honor my perspective in all it's sloppy, vulgar, intense fragility, and if that's not something you think you can handle, than you're entitled to your opinion, but to be frank, I could care less about it. but if you do think you can handle that and maybe that it could even be fun or entertaining or worth five minutes of your time, then you can visit me here in the future.

i still love you, always.

this microphone is not a dildo so you are going to have to cum a little harder than that

oh, jasmine mans. I just so happened to wake up so full of feminist angst this morning that I seriously considered quitting my job just so that I wouldn't have to come in today and look at anyone's stupid face, and then I saw this. Now, all I wanna do is watch it on repeat...and maybe make out with you a little.

love always

birfday witches

Yes, yes, it's that time again! My birthday is right around the corner. Yes, yes, I know. I'm bad at birthdays. Always have been. I get all caught up in the expectation to have the best time ever, and I go cray cray trying to control shit and then I'm inevitably let down. Last year was the crown jewel in a long line of bad, bad birthdays because I had just moved to California and did not know anyone besides my Dad and his girlfriend and my Uncle. So, I pretty much went to bed at ten o'clock on my birthday and may or may not have cried myself to sleep.
But this year will be different, I just know it! I have the most fabulous friends in the world to keep me calm and grounded and I'm gonna do my absolute best to just chill out and let it happen.
Now, I am not at all expecting presents. In fact, I could care less about them. If no one buys them, I will still be happy as long as I have a good time surrounded by people that I love.
-But.....
people have been asking me what I want, so to make it easier, and just for the sake of fantasy, here's what I'd like if you're buying.

-Tickets to Treasure Island (Saturday only! I repeat, only Saturday!)
I wanna see LCD Soundsystem! So fucking bad it hurts. Seriously though, I don't go alone, so I'm not actually asking you to buy me a ticket. I can afford my own. But, if this sounds like something you might wanna do, please buy yourself a tickets, that way we can go together and hold hands and dance in the sun!

-Moneys
I know that is a seriously weak request. Especially considering that I am not broke. I do however, have to afford a plane ticket home on Christmas Eve. In case you didn't know, flying on Christmas Eve is insanely expensive. If I had a choice, I would not do it. But my work schedule demands that I be there right up until the last second, and I cannot, absolutely cannot spend Christmas away from my family. Sooooo, any monetary gifts that I receive for my birthday this year will be funding that trip. I promise.

-A bike (pink, please!)
When I first moved here, I swore I would never ride a bike. It seemed like the trendy thing that everyone was doing, and therefore, I felt I should avoid it like the plague. But since then, I can't even tell you how many times I've wished I had a goddamn bike. Like when all my friends don't have to worry about parking/driving drunk but I do. Or the other day when my roommate and I were trying to decide whether to walk or drive to the farmer's market and the obvious solution was to just bike there, but since I don't have a fucking bike, we walked. In the rain. You should have seen my fucking hair after that.
And no, I don't actually know how to ride a bike, but many people have generously offered to spend their time teaching me, and I think it would be shame not to take advantage of their generosity.

-Bubbles
If you want me to love you forever I'll take bottles of Egly Ouriet, Pommery, Vilmart & Cie and Nicolas Feiullatte, please and thank you. Although, you could also just buy some cheap ass drugstore shit and I'd be equally pleased, as long it sparkles.

-Cupcakes
Do I really even have to explain this?

-Your beautiful faces
What I want most for my birthday is to see as many of my friends and family as possible. I understand that some of you live far and that makes it pretty much impossible, but those of you that can show up, please do. Having your friends three-thousand miles away on your birthday really puts this kind of shit into perspective. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would make me happier than to turn 26 surrounded by as many of you as possible.

Okay, now let's go celebrate!

love always

seasons change but people don't

The other night I was laying in bed, after a deadly combination of red wine and white russians, and I had a thought that sent me absolutely crazy! Like batshit, I tell you! The thought was this: I am currently missing fall on the East Coast!

This has never, ever happened to me before! It almost came pretty close to happening last year, as I was preparing to move cross country with little more than a week's notice, but I stretched out my time at home, opting to drive faster and longer days so I could squeeze more time out of my last autumn.

weheartit

Like many New Englanders, autumn is my favorite season, and it's not just because of all that beautiful fall foliage we're so famous for (although it is insane, I promise you). There's something about the air. The way it smells (crushed leaves and bonfires), the way it feels (crisp and cool, almost brittle). For a brief moment in time, having to wear a scarf and a hoodie feels downright romantic.

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Fall in New England is fair season. I know I'm corny for it, but I absolutely love fairs. The Durham Fair is my personal favorite, although the big E is impressive and unbelievable in it's tackiness, and runs a close second.Here's the worst part about my mini-obsession with the Durham Fair: I never even go on any rides. Nor do I play games, or look at handmade candles and dream catchers. I go there for one thing and one thing only; the food. Fair food is hands down, my favorite, favorite guilty pleasure. Must haves at the Durham Fair include strawberry shortcake, clam chowder in a bread bowl, and a ginormous bag of kettle corn, and if you go to the big E, for the love of god, eat a cream puff!

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Fall in New England is also apple season. I mean, I'm sure it's apple season here, too, but I don't think California has quite the wealth of apples as a place like CT, and even if they did, they most certainly do not have Lyman Orchards, where you can get an apple cider and a cider donut and then, maybe even go on a hayride (do they still do that?) with a bunch of bratty, dirty kids. The best thing though, about Lyman's is the way their apples taste, straight off the tree. Simultaneously juicy and crunchy and altogether perfect.

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It breaks my heart to think that children in California have never spent an afternoon raking leaves in their yard and then jumping into the piles, running around smelling like damp earth with twigs in their hair.
If I had my way, for my birthday, I'd take all the people I love who live here and put them on a plane to meet up with all the people I love back home, and then we'd go have a bonfire in the woods, just like when I was 17.
I guess I'm just feeling homesick. Waxing poetic about the east coast and forgetting that after fall comes winter, which is bitter cold and, after Christmas, completely unbearable. I've heard rumors that the West Coast has it's fair share of fall activities, too. Harvest festivals and haunted houses. The air here at this of year feels warmer, but not altogether different. There's still that sense of changing seasons, some things ending, others just beginning. Who knows, maybe ten years from now, I'll be looking back here longingly, thinking how much I loved spending fall in the bay area.

weheartit

But for now, I'm feeling bittersweet. Almost enjoying the way my heart aches for what feels like home. There's something special about being here and missing there. When I was younger and the feeling of loss was a relatively new sensation, I would always go to my father with my troubles, bemoaning how much it hurt. "So let it hurt," he would say, "That's how you know it meant something."

love always

holiday

I finally had an actual vacation! Like, as in, I got on a plane and went somewhere new and different for fun. Not for work, not for some tedious family obligation, and certainly not anywhere near CT (even though I don't live there anymore, something about it is like, the anti-vacation). I went to San Diego to visit Scarlet and Geoff in their cute new house and celebrate the 4th of July by drinking copious amounts of alcohol and eating way too much food.
The best thing about Scarlet and Geoff's new house is their shower, for sure. I noticed their amazing shower curtain first, with it's impeccable detailing and flawless craftsmanship. Would you believe they sourced it all the way from Target?! Astounding! After cooing over it for like an hour when I first arrived, I was awed to find, the next morning, that behind this masterpiece lies the most fabulous mint-green tile I have ever seen! Of course I promptly forced Scarlet to take slutty photos of me standing in front of it.Unfortunately, the colors didn't come out the way I had hoped, but I promise you, it was the mintiest mint I've ever seen!
Also, check out my outfit! I got the cover-up at H+M and I've been dying to wear it ever since. I was so pumped for this trip, because unlike the Bay, San Diego actually gets beach weather. I wanted to wear my cover-up and get a tan and drink pina coladas! Alas, it was totally grey the entire time I was there, and I only actually wore this outfit for the above photo. Goddamn June gloom!
We still totally had a blast, though. On the first night, we went to this dive bar where they had this old chick handing out these awesome patriotic accessories.

We found some randoms and bought them home with us.
When the sun came up in the morning, Scarlet and I were still awake watching creepy videos like this one.
We slept for approximately five minutes. Geoff made waffles in the morning and Scarlet and I lit things on fire to make bananas foster. Then Scarlet and Geoff had a party.
Lots of people came and we ate lots of food and drank lots of beer and vodka. We went to see the fireworks at the ocean.We sat on top of this cliff and watched the fireworks explode over the water. It was dark out and the waves were crashing over all these dark, jagged looking rocks. It was one of those moments where it's so pretty you wish you could share it with everyone, so you sit there clicking the shutter on your camera, attempting to record it somehow, but eventually you just give up because you know it'll never look as beautiful as it did in person.
After the fireworks, we walked back to the house. There was another fireworks display going off in the distance. We couldn't see the actual fireworks, but it lit up the sky and made it look like magic. We stayed up drinking, yet again, until the wee hours of the morning, and by the time I got on the plane on Monday morning I was in this bizarre, slightly blissful half hungover state that lasted a good twenty four hours. I guess that's how you know you've had a vacation, right?
love always

pride

So, I went to the gay pride parade in San Francisco and it was pretty fucking fantastic.
I've been to gay pride parades on the East Coast, and while I was never entirely unimpressed by the spectacle of it all, I always felt like a bystander. A mere observer. Someone who is not allowed to truly take part in all the glittering festivities because I, myself, do not identify as gay. I have often found myself wishing there was a holiday in which heterosexuals were allowed to parade through the streets wearing nothing but a sparkly g-string. (and trust me, I get it. In our culture everyday is a celebration of heterosexuality. I just wanna wear the damn g-string!)
Prior to this event, all my friends assured me that it would in fact, be entirely acceptable for me to walk around in a sparkly g-string. I was planning to go all crazy with my outfit, constructing some elaborate costume-thing. But then I went to this party on Friday night and ended up spending Saturday throwing up and eating chocolate sorbet and burnt caramel ice cream from ici in an attempt to cure my hangover and I woke up on Sunday with nothing planned, or even laundered for that matter. So, I threw on some jeans and a fancy halter, hopped on BART (which was swarming with folks in rainbow tutus) and set off to meet my friends at Oona's office, which is three stories up and has floor to ceiling windows. Straight VIP status, I tell you!
From the second I got off the train, I could tell this was a different scene than I was used to. I swear to god, it felt like everyone in the entire city had shown up to watch this thing. I don't know how to say this without being totally cheesy, but I found it tender, heartwarming, touching that an entire city would show up to honor gay pride. Not to hate on my hometown, but where I'm from, there are people who wouldn't go to a gay pride parade if you paid them. Pathetic, I know. To most folks from the Bay Area, I imagine that it's no surprise to see their community united this way. It's a well known fact that San Francisco is a notoriously accepting city, not only of gays, but of people from all different walks of life. Still, to me it was really special to know that a place exists where being gay (or a sex-worker, or a radical, pagan feminist, etc.) is not only allowed, it's simply not a big deal. I got hollered at by mad straight dudes who showed up for gay pride and no matter how annoying it may have been (I had one dude scream down the street at me “Girrrl, you got a fattyyy!!”) that's actually kind of cool when you think about it.
Plus, the parade was breathtaking:So, yeah, I was getting all emotional, not to mention tipsy and feeling so damn warm and fuzzy that I failed to notice I was missing THE BACKSTREET BOYS!!!!!! They played a set after the parade and I was too busy holding hands with my girlfriends and crying happy tears into my gin and tonic to realize what the fuck was going on. The shame! The horror!

After I finally recovered from that massive heartbreak (2 seconds later), we decided to walk down to the castro, where, sure as shit, everyone was still out and about celebratin'. Oh, except for this chick:We started talking to her because Oona wanted to adopt her cat, but unlike most of the people you encounter posted up on city sidewalks, this woman was actually making sense. She told us this story, how she came from a small town in Ohio and couldn't wait to get out, how she was young and wild and having the time of her life in good old SF, and then, how she found she had HIV and her life fell apart. The saddest thing about her story was the earnestness with which she described attempting to get government assistance and then realizing that all the money that is supposed to be helping people like her is actually being embezzled by fat cat politicians who are using it as a means to their own end. I can't guarantee that she isn't full of shit or batshit crazy, but it was a good reminder that if you're donating to charity and you don't fully research or understand the causes you're donating to, you may as well be throwing your money in the trash for all the good it's doing.This chick is like, 60 years old and has been living with AIDS for years now. Can you imagine how beautiful she must've been when she was younger? And the whole bit about being from a small town and moving to San Francisco and loving it? That could've been me! Seriously people, if you're shelling out money to some random charity just so you can feel like you're doing something good, please stop. Find a legit program that's actually out there helping real people.

After all that heavy shit (plus a failed attempt at using a public bathroom) we were in desperate need of a drink. We found this place that basically looked like a swanky hall of mirrors and settled in with some dark and stormys

I took random photos in the bathroom.

Then we took off to another bar, where we engaged in more debauchery.This is where things start to get a bit blurry. Drunk drama, an insufferably long wait for the BART, I may have even eaten mcdonald's (ugh). Still, it was all so fucking worth it. I might not be gay, but when it comes to being part of a community that knows how to unite and truly go wild in celebration of our differences, I'm totally fucking proud.

love always

Best Day Ever!

No, not because Eclipse is finally out today.
Today is my best friend Amy's birthday! 27 years ago today, a miracle occurred and one of the baddest bitches this world will ever see was born. Here, the top five reasons why that makes me so ecstatic:

5. Her sick dance moves!
No disrespect to the king of pop or anything, but now that he's all dead and gone, Amy is officially the only person on the planet who truly knows how to work it out to "Billie Jean". Seriously, if you live in Mtown and you've never experienced this phenomenon in action, go to Amy's house and beat down her door until she agrees to show you her old dance videos. No life is complete without seeing this.

4. She had a baby on my couch!
After an experience like that, how could you not be close?! The way that Erin came into this world is so intense and so magical. I feel privileged to have been a part of it.

3. She is an excellent mother, among other things.

Amy's devotion to her daughter is truly moving. Her comittment to raising her child in a loving and supportive manner is nothing short of exemplary. But Amy's not one to flaunt that. So many of my facebook friends who have children are constantly posting about how much they love their kids, which is sweet and all but it's also kind of a given. Of course you love your kids! Everyone loves their kids! Amy loves her daughter with a fierceness like no other, but that hasn't stopped from doing a number of other amazing things, like finishing her graduate degree and being an all around down ass chick.

2. She's funny as hell!Even in my darkest moments, Amy is one of the few people who can always get me to crack a smile. Her sense of humor is dark, occasionally innapropriate and always hysterical. From telling boys "I already had you!" to joking about beating off with weston corn oil, this bitch always has me dying! Plus, she has one of those awesome laughs that makes everyone else want to laugh too, even though she says it's really a cackle.

1. She's the bestest friend in the whole wide world!
Amy is loyal, almost to a fault. No matter how many times we've lost touch throughout the years, no matter how many bad situations I've dragged her into, she has always come through for me when I needed her. Amy is that chick who will sit and have a deep conversation while you're trying to work out your shit and then drag your ass out dancing and force feed you shots when it's time to move on and get over it. I seriously cannot even count the number of dilemnas I've successfully made it through just because she was there to support me. Despite the face that I live three thousand miles away, she still picks up her phone whenever I'm feeling low, and most of the time, just hearing her voice on the other end makes me feel better automatically.

I love you Amy LaMarre! My life would not be complete without you! I hope you have the best birthday ever because no one deserves it as much as you!

love always

time and space

Finally.....
A moment to breathe.
I wish I could spend all day writing in this thing, telling you about every single one of my fabulous adventures. Alas, I am too busy having them. And also, you know, working and sleeping and doing normal stuff (what a bother!)
I do have to say though, as of late, I believe I have become more adventurous...and more fabulous! Last weekend was a wild dance party on treasure island.

Look at that breathtaking view!!! Look at those palm tress!

Look at that sunshine!Look at my adorable friends! I live in California now! Can you fucking believe it?!

Admittedly, I love it here. Since I moved, I have been happier, healthier, more centered and at the same time, crazier than I ever would have believed possible. Do I think it's because I live in California now? No. Do I think it's because I actually had the balls to pick up my shit and move out here? Do I think it's because I faced down one of my worst fears and actually left the place where I felt safest and most secure? Yes, yes, a million times, yes! The best advice I can give you in this entire life is to find what scares you most and then do it until you're not scared anymore.
With that being said, there is a very special place in my heart that is still entirely owned by lovely little Middletown, Connecticut. I visited a few weeks ago. It was my first time back in six months! I have never before spent that amount of time away from Middletown.There was a part of me that felt, without me there, that it might have just disappeared or vanished into thin air.
But no, of course it was still there. In all it's humid, thunderstorm summertime glory, smelling exactly the same as it did when I was sixteen. And even more amazing, all the people that I love had somehow survived and were just as sweet and warm and cozy as I remembered them.
My Mom, who somehow seems to only get more beautiful as she gets older.
Amy's doll Erin, who somehow became a mini woman since I left home.
Tiffany, who somehow manages to not burst into flames from her perpetual hotness.
Mojo, who somehow got even cuter AND sassier since I saw her last.
And Amy, who somehow always leaves me shocked and awed that any one person could be such a good friend.

So many beautiful, inspiring women! There was a part of me that didn't want to leave these girls, and at the same time, I was starting to miss the bay. What's a girl to do when her heart lives in two places at once? I closed my eyes really tight and made a wish that the town where my heart lives would somehow join forces with the city I am in love with and make a baby, but then I realized, if they did, it would look just like me.
love always

half of me is the gasoline, but the other half's the surf

When Vampire Weekend first came out, I thought they sounded like a bunch of pussywhipped bitches. I'm not even sure which song of theirs I listened to that gave me that impression, but for some reason, it stuck with me. That is of course, until I moved to California and I kept hearing this cute little song on the radio about drinking horchata. When I found out it was by Vampire Weekend I kind of felt like a huge d-bag for liking it so much, but I got over that pretty quickly, especially when they came out with a video starring not only my boyfriend Joe Jonas, but also my husband, Rza.

A few weeks ago they played a show here in Oakland at the Fox . Even though I've totally come to terms with just how much I like them, I was not expecting them to sound as mindblowingly good as they did. I read an interview with them once where they said their album Contra is about California, and holy fuck, they got it so, so right. The set they played sounded like everything beautiful about living here.




When they left the stage, they had the audience straight-up begging for an encore. Like, I felt like if they didn't come out and play another song, I might lose my shit temper-tantrum style.




Afterwards, we were super hyped, with no desire to go home at all, so we hit up the afterparty, for major debauchery, including a sick DJ set from the band (no lie, they played Don't You Want Me by Human Leauge - my favorite 80s jam ever!), and thus commenced the absolute drunkest Monday evening I think I've ever had.






By the end of the night, after dancing our asses off like rockstars, we were in total groupie mode, shamelessly begging the boys in the band to let us accompany them back to their hotel (I am all about the hot gay one), but alas, they drove off in their Honda Element, leaving us stone cold!




A few days later, I received word that some pictures of my friends and I had popped up on a local website.





Of course I am looking all bedraggled and busted like I'm about to fall flat on my face (fucking paparazzi!), but really, we're just having waaay too much fun!

sigh. such is the price to pay for a life of excitement and glamour.

love always
p.s. Thanks to the lovely and talented Ash for taking so many beautiful pictures!