is trying to prevent me from getting tattooed again. Between work and various nonsense, I can’t seem to get a chance to redeem my FREE tattoos. This is bullshit. I just want my banner and my Nirvana face, dammit.
This needs to be on my ankle like, yesterday:
-Broke up with a man I still love. Boo.
-We still live together.
-Got a new serving job. I like it. Yay.
-Have worked every days for two weeks, including 4 doubles, back to back.
-When I had three hours to spare, I worked in the studio, so that was awesome.
-Blisters the size of silver dollars on both heels from breaking in the work shoes.
-Landed an interview with a curator.
-Got my purse cleaned out while working. Now I’m down 50 bucks, an iPod and my money cards.
-Have been running on five hours of sleep (best case) for 12 days.
When I finally have a day off, I’m going to sleep like I am dead.
View Larger After celebrating with my fellow irish lady Meg a little too hard, I crashed and burned HARD. Then, I woke up to this:
-sleeping in a bra, ballet shoes and nothing else, on the couch. Dumb and Dumber was paused.
-two glasses of water and pot I never got around to smoking.
-an empty glass of wine
-a rag to wipe my make-up off and a pot (in case I needed it).
-contents of my purse on the floor.
-Chris sleeping on the other couch.
Thanks babe.
View Larger I know this is for me, but I honestly can’t remember from who. It was probably a patron at work, which means this is most likely from a creeper. Fantastic.
It’s odd because I was just reminiscing last night about my past missed connections, all of which are slightly terrifying. At least this one seems kind of sweet and is not describing looking down my shirt all night while I was dancing.
but since I am currently overhearing him having sex through the floor, I guess I’m glad he’s never seen my face. Not sure anyone else is with him though since he’s a recluse, which means he’s having a blast all by himself.
I also think he’s a serial killer, but that’s a post for another day.
Brand new, sexy, Gaga-worthy heels. And they’re now ruined.
Totally worth it.
View Larger I log into my old college email account for the first time since I’ve graduated and this is what I get.
Feels good, but I have no idea who this person is.
Considering what I’ve dealt with, I’m not too happy about this.
A White Stripes cover band. Nobody seems to be digging it (South Philly folk are not known for keeping up with lo-fi weirdo rock.) and with a little luck, they’ll clear the place out and have to shut down early.
I didn’t know that drums could get worse than Meg White.
this Italian festival has been happening right next door to my apartment. So from the hours of noon to 11 at night, I get to hear bands and dj’s that are either of a wedding band-terrible caliber or “original” bands with members that can’t seem to play the same song together. Most of the performers look like they take their style tips from the drummer of Bon Jovi.
The predictability of the music (that is throbbing in every room of my house as I’m typing this) is mind-numbing. I’ve heard Billie Jean 4 times, Don’t Stop Beliving 3 times, and Funkytown 5 TIMES. Would it kill them to play just one song from this decade? They kick the day off with two hours of Frank Sinatra, which, for me, is like having your tits ripped off repeatedly. I can’t escape it. Ironically, I pissed off my neighbor by playing Black Sabbath really loud, which is the only music I figured out could drown out this bullshit.
The worst part…..I can smell the porti-potties lined up outside my apartment. Nothing like the odor of urinal cakes and sausage-shits to make you not want to eat for three days on end.
Seriously, THREE DAYS of the same exact music, food and poorly-reconstructed boardwalk games. And it’s still packed. And I am this close to drinking myself into a coma until it’s over.
at work yesterday, a very enthusiastic (and often high) bar back was very excited about the fact that: “in back to the future, like, right before the libyans attack doc, he sets the date on the car to this day. is that nuts? it’s that day.”
and on that day, i waited tables and had a serious discussion with myself about what the fuck i am supposed to do next.
only in philadelphia.
still recovering from what i like to call “nose rape.” a tube goes up your nose, down your throat to your stomach, stuff gets pumped in and then sucked back out. you have to try your damnedest not to puke, bloody noses ensues and it’s pretty awful. definitely one of the more shitty things to happen to me, but this bottle of percocet and day off of work should do the trick.
anyway, while i’m bed-ridden and bored, i could really use some new good music or movies. recommendations?
a group of obnoxious shit heads left me a .50 cent tip on $131. then one of them must have dropped $40 under the table.
MINE NOW, FUCKERS. MWUHAHAHA.
anyways. the walls are so shitty for the show that two of my pieces fell off and broke. HOW LOVELY. EXACTLY WHAT I NEED RIGHT AT FINALS/GRADUATION.
guhhhhhh back to fixing my work and hibernating.
the photo editor from national geographic told me that she loved my work because it’s personal and life is “so much more interesting” than anything else i’ve been asked to photograph.
a woman who just returned from being surrounded by drug lords in rio thinks i’m really interesting…….say whaaaaaaaat?
also, she told me more in 15 minutes about my work than i have in four years from various teachers and peers. it was kind of surreal. she had never met me before and had never seen my work, but after looking through a greatest hits folder on my computer told me i’m doing something no one else is and not to let them stuff me in a box because i’m different
then she hugged me and held my hands, looked me dead in the face and said she was really glad she met me. the feeling is mutual, susan.
SUCK IT, WORLD.
