Monthly Archives: February 2012

Protected: Oh, how she raged and screamed and cried and ripped, gutting the room and tearing it all to shreds

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Why hello there


I know I call you many names, and most of them are mean, but I love you. And you can’t understand me anyway, sneaky little trashcan thief.

Play with me, Human. Or the lobster dies.


fuck it, i’m painting my nails

Some days, trying to be creative is the most hair-pulling, ulcer-inducing thing in the world. I can put myself in a very foul mood, on occasion. But then I am reminded (by an outpouring of affection and a long list of inspiring hyperlinks) that I’m not doing myself any favors, and although it’s challenging work, it shouldn’t be hateful.

And that’s when I decided to take a break and paint my nails.

I’ve also found that my nail polish collection has grown exponentially in the past three months. I’m not sure what happened. This isn’t even the entire collection. Just the prettier ones. And Teresa in the background. Rawr.

And while I was waiting for them to dry, I went on website-tangent after website-tangent of quirky, beautiful work. There is so much talent out there. I could never be better than every single one, but I can do me like no one’s business.

On an almost entirely unrelated note, I don’t like valentine’s day. You can’t eat roses. So we had steak instead.

And it’s not that I didn’t have an amazing day – a visit to Tartine and Bi-Rite on a blustery Sunday morning is exactly my cup of tea, as is a home cooked meal consisting of a huge slab meat and a nice glass of wine. But in general I scoff at V-day, since my man is amazing and un-cheesily romantic the other 364 days of the year, why punish him with all things pink and frilly?

[edit] I’m going to have to amend my previous statement. When I picked him up at the airport this afternoon, he had a bouquet waiting for me. He told me he was worried they would get squished when they went through the security conveyer belt. <3

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Fashion Blogging

I wish I could consider myself fashion forward, but I think a more accurate term would be ‘fashion late-bloomer’. Alas, as with so many other aspects of life that came later (contacts, straight teeth, boobs, boyfriends – mayhaps the latter two are directly correlated) I am hardly ever ‘on trend’ (see beautiful YSL arty ring that is at-least-two-years-old-my-god-you-haven’t-heard-of-them-yet?)

That’s okay though. I sift through the blogs of lovelier and more fashionable ladies than I, and I use their trials and errors to moderate my own closet – that is, when I’m not enviously coveting their sense of color and texture – there’s a reason I aspire to be a copywriter and not an art director.

I’ve also noticed that – as with everything – presentation is important. Therefore presentation of their fashion presentation is also important, and they all own dslrs and photographer boyfriends. I do¬†own a dslr (although since Mowgli pooped on my only camera bag when he was a wee pup, I can’t in good hygienic conscience carry it around anymore) even though it doesn’t see much sun/artificial light. And I do have a boyfriend (yay), although he is decidedly not a photographer, and very much a DJ.

And a DJ who may be more fashionable than I am. To illustrate: I recently purchased a pair of bright, (electric) cobalt blue jeans, which I gleefully took out of the shopping bag and laid before him, ready to chuckle good naturedly at his reluctance to my daring color choice, so sure was I of my fashion savvy. To which he replied: you sure you don’t want something brighter and.. not-blue?

So, I propose instead, in a typical turn of events, I shall wear what I wear and photograph him doing his DJ thing. With Mowgli in hipster glasses and a scarf, also behind the turntables.