i'm in love with a boy named geronimo.

remind me why it is fair to be a really big babe and have a fucking ace name like wenceslas?? also note to wenceslas get over here right now!

seriously what the hell.

the climax of my day was screaming profanities at ticketmaster whilst trying to purchase fleetwood mac tickets.. my life in january is always thrilling. valley of the dolls was not as bad as i said it would be. it got tolerable once they started taking drugs*. man, i can't wait to finally be prancing around in mile-high kork-ease wedges in the new york summer heat. for anyone who has never experienced a new york summer - let me inform you that it reaches tempuratures which are seemingly impossible. yeah alright anyways so..
i am now reading a werewolf problem in central russia by victor pelevin. it is the kind of book which is so absurd you find yourself reading paragraphs over and over again because you are not sure you really read what you just read. and then, when you finish, you realize even though none of it really makes sense, it all makes perfect sense and completely pertains to some theme of life which you never really paid much attention to before. i reccomend it if you like reading about people with vision problems which cause them to view everyone as covered in shit.



ps spit or swallow? hahahhahhah i just ruined this post.



*metaphor for life??

i am reading valley of the dolls. it is not that good. i read part of it when i was 12. i didn't like it then. i don't like it now. (however, the movie is quite amusing in an overly-dramatic, not-that-important kind of way).

a compilation of crap.

germinal roaux, the fashion spot, theselby

honestly the most attractive man aka love of my life aka i am obviously born in the wrong decade.

I'm afraid of everything - birds, storms, lifts, needles - and now, this great fear of death...

queeny van der zande

you make me weak in the knees.

in my sickly state of semi-delirium, i have been having the strangest dreams.
being osbourne cox's lolita on a deck my father built when i was two.
my father chasing me (in a murderous rage) down a mexican ghetto lined with wheelchair parts and shoes.
a black lady in a bodega enlightening me on how chinese twin brothers kill their relatives.
it is really all quite very intense.

i got tagged by so-and-so-whoever (i'm terribly sorry i've forgotten, if it was you just let me know) a long while ago to name six unimportant things i love. however, i would like to correct this as if i love them they are obviously important to me, even if they don't seem like much to others. therefore, i would classify them as important.

1. watching mst3k late at night.
2. playing with hot wax.
3. laying down with my feet up towards the ceiling.
4. that feeling you get only in the summer.
5. sucking on pins.
6. the smell of dish soap/laundry detergent.

the problem was, as soon as i set down to write out these six things, everything i'd had in mind had run from my head.

naked on your chain.

i'm ordering disco bloodbath. i absolutely must read it. i've always wanted to and now i'm moving my lazy fingers and clicking "order". i am going to wallow in the hole of club kid-dom that i dig myself. quite exciting, really.
also i don't think i'll ever be able to be in love with anyone besides david bowie.
and i would actually be brian slade if someone offered me the chance.