Vivienne Westwood Inspired Party

The Vivienne Westwood show at the De Young Museum gave me a great party idea. It's a cocktail party (as they all should be) but you supply bins of scrap materials (ex. taffeta or chiffon or cotton remnants), plastic bags, paper, etc., and bins of tape and staplers and have your guests make their own dresses out of the stuff, while they drink booze and eat appetizers. Then everyone can have their picture taken as a souvenir to take home. One could even venture out in the creations.

In my heart I imagine a group of drunken scrap-partydress clad ladies terrorizing our lovely town.

Mastering the Clear Bag

My friends say to me "Babe, I love those clear bags but I can't carry one because everyone will see the embarrassing stuff I carry".

To which I reply "RIGHT ON!"

Currently I'm carrying my clear bag filled with empty pill capsules that I bought online. There is nothing as glamorous as trying to dig your lipstick out of a pile of pills. Nothing. Just think of it, when you're looking for your lipstick you can have bystanders hold fists full of your pills while you search. What better way to make friends?

When I get tired of the pills I'm going to fill it with tampons.

Then maybe empty prescripton bottles or orange ear plugs? Condoms? M&Ms? The possibilities are endless.

The Dress I'll Wear in Heaven

Behold.
sigh...
Dior, of course, Fall 2008 RTW

The Cross Dresser Test

I'm walking down the street the other day wearing my fave boots, turquoise cowboys, and I pass a guy standing at a trash can. He doesn't really look like a bum but he does look like John Waters, so I quicken my step.

As I pass he chirps "I'm married!" so I walk faster then he shouts "But I'm also a cross dresser and those are the best boots I've ever seen in my life!" I stopped in my tracks, turned around and blew him a kiss.

You know you look hot when the cross dressers appreciate your outfit. They usually had to dream about it for a long time before they could bust out and go with it. God love 'em.

Sleep - Freedom's Last Virgin Wilderness

Society wants to make me feel bad about sleeping all the time. Apparently I'm supposed to feel lazy (which for some reason has a negative connotation) because I go to bed at 10p.m., don't get up until 11:30a.m. and nap from 4 to 7p.m.

Why? you ask. Why do they care? I'll tell you why. It's because sleep is the last untouched wilderness of Freedom. They can tax tobacco, illegalize drugs, and throw you in jail for drinking booze but there is nothing they can do to regulate your sleep.

Oh but they try. Making everything so expensive that we have to work all the time, waking up early and going to bed late, is nothing more than an attempt to control our sleep. Still though, there is no direct route they can take to regulate it.

Why is sleep so threatening? Think of this: if you had to choose between supporting the current government and being able to sleep which would you choose? See?

Also, sleep keeps me from contributing to money transfers that are essential to funding our current society.

For example:

1. When I'm sleeping I'm not eating. So I'm dieting without the aid of diet programs, pills, or professionals.

2. I age slower because I'm conscious less often. Hence I'm not getting plastic surgery or buying anti-aging products.

3. It brings me closer to my dream of dying peacefully in my sleep (let me explain the logic here: if you want to die in a clown suit wear the clown suit a lot). If I die peacefully in my sleep they're going to miss out on all the money I'd have to spend on doctors, medicine and hospitalization.

You see, when I sleep I don't just do it for my own benefit, I do it for Freedom. Feel free to thank me between 12 and 3p.m., when I'm awake.

Not so Smart

I bought a pair of rad shoes off of ebay express. Shoes I had wanted forever but was too cheap to buy full price, plus I figure if I don't buy something and still want it in 6 months it must be a classic that will last. All the stuff I think will be out of style in a month, I buy immediately at full price because, as noted before, I'm smart.

More proof. So I got the shoes and opened them up and took one out to try it on. Needless to say it looked hot. Then I got into a cleaning frenzy, because I had done A LOT of online shopping lately and there were empty boxes all over the living room. So I started breaking all of them down to shove them into the recycling chute, we live on the 5th floor.

Breaking down boxes is boring, so I thought I'd beat the system by just ripping my address off of the boxes and throwing them whole down the shoot. I felt so smart and cool, and my place looked less like a garbage dump, a little.

A few hours later I'm getting ready to go out and I decide to wear my sweet new shoes. Um, but I can only find one. Then I realized I had tossed the other one out in the box down the recycling chute. I ran down to the basement but the bin had already been emptied.

Now I have one shoe and a lesson to remind me that in cheating the gods of recycling, we're really only cheating ourselves, or maybe that I'm just lame.

Blown Opportunities

I never blew anybody worthwhile. I realized this yesterday. My friend's novel is being submitted to a literary agent by a girl who's sure the agent will read it, because she's blown him. There’s no one I can say that about.

You know, as a young lady, you try to pick out the ones who are going to be somebody, like guys in bands, popular guys, the handsome ones, the ones who are good at sports. But I came up wrong across the board. Not one of them amounted to anything worthwhile to me. And we're in our 40s now so they've had plenty of time. Sure there are a few lawyers here and there, but no one who could do me any good. No agents, no one who could fund a startup or bankroll a fashion line, no one famous and certainly no one who could get my novel published, or even read.

And what really sucks is that all my life I've secretly been in love with the lanky, backpack toting, science nerds. I'd go to my classes early if Physics, or something sciencey, was the class before mine. I'd swoon over the nerds as they shuffled out of the classroom, their corduroy pants making that "zuh zuh" noise as they went by. Watching them gave me a feeling that I could only describe as "thrilling". I thought it was the attraction/repulsion thing but dammit, now I know it was the animal nose of my ambition telling me that's who I should blow.

The geeks I secretly adored, and yet would only be friends with, have become CEOs, Hollywood producers, computer geniuses, and plastic surgeons. Most of them are already financially independent. They're jetting around the world, making the deals that mean something. While the recipients of my blowing efforts are providing shitty service at Kinko's.

If there is one thing I could do for my life, one thing that would make all of my efforts fruitful, all the humiliation and unpleasantness worth something, I'd go back in time and I would blow those nerds.