Monday, December 31, 2012

Survival of the Pastel People

My friends, being the intelligent and creative little fuckers they are, usually manage to come up with some really groovy stuff.

My best friend, Tessa, had a really great idea a couple months ago.  We were slightly bummed that we had missed the Homecoming dance, although we weren't actually bummed because we knew that if we went, we would have been bombarded with people we didn't like, music we didn't like, and clothing we didn't like.  So she comes up to me like "Hey, why don't we have our own dance?" 

I sat there and nodded, not really taking into consideration how flat out serious she was about the whole thing.  Naturally coming from a girl like this you know it's gonna be interesting.

Her sweater is ironic because she's allergic to cats.

     She set up a whole damn committee for this thing, which was slightly okay because only half of the actual committee showed up?  We had some beef with one of our friends who thought we were being selfish bastards for wanting to see him (who I personally hadn't seen in a good 5 months), so he went up to Louisiana to be with his family. 
     Her idea was pastel everything.  Pastel foods, pastel decorations (That ended up more or less an explosion of gold and silver tinsel), and if she had her way, pastel people.  We managed at least 1 of those 3 things and ended up with a grazing table that looked like this.

I was afraid to eat the sandwiches because they were sprayed pink and I didn't want to get that shit on my teeth.

      I took lots of photographs (so did a good friend of mine, Jordan Likens ) and got some pretty nice shots out of it. 
I was lucky enough to be assigned the PhotoBooth, where I took shots of unsuspecting partygoers as they handed me lavish natural poses to capture with my camera.

We get excited over this shit, y'know?

The boys.  Who had decided the only way to make Trent look good was to make themselves ugly (er?) 

Alex was so sweet, but the bastard was so quiet you could barely tell if he was around!  But once you got him talking there was a lot to be said and all in all he was a totally cool cat. 

It wasn't actually that stressful from my end of it.  The worst thing I had to deal with was finding a dress.  The one I ended up with was a nice blue dress that, even after I sewed the straps higher, was about 60% boobs.  For once in my life I seriously took into consideration things I'd heard from Jenna Marbles.  And those things included how to make your boobs look awesome. 

Oh damn look at this shit

Happy dancing and face tattoos I didn't choose the thug life the thug life chose me

     All in all it was an actually pretty great party.  Men took their shirts off and ran around while my girlfriends watched like hungry wolves.
     Hungry, single wolves.
     I've got the rest of the pictures up on my Flikr if you're interested.

Speculation on the end of 2012

It's been another year. 
Another long, agonizing year that has ended with a great sigh of relief.  You sit there wondering how all this bullshit and coolshit has just come and gone within a 365 day range.  You've had heartbreaks and stomach aches, but you've also made friends and more blog posts than you can count on both of your hands.   Personally, the end of the year and beginning of the next is always the most exciting for me (Christmas and my Birthday, duh).  But I've had a pretty good later-half of this year.  I'm almost 17 and I have a fucking fantastic group of friends, good clothes, and a boyfriend who really knocks my socks off.

Seriously you guys, I've got it made. 
So leave all the nasty shit behind and take the good shit with you.  

Monday, December 24, 2012


 For normal families, today is the day when your Mother starts freaking out because she has to start cooking for a family you only see once a year.  It's when your Father spends all day sleeping in his easy chair and watching TV. It's when ABC plays reruns of those old stop-motion Christmas specials about Jack Frost and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  It's the day your tiny siblings are stocking up on peppermint, worrying about what kind of cookies that Santa really likes, and running around faster than Whitney Houston on her 8th line of coke.   Today is the day you stay inside on your computer, complaining about the holidays on tumblr and posting ironic Bowie lyrics on your Facebook because, quite frankly, nobody understands you. 

Today is motherfucking Christmas Eve. 

I don't really know what I expect out of Christmas this year, although up to this point has been pretty fucking brilliant.  Like the top of our tree, might I add.  

Christmas is a great time of the year to have excuses to have get-togethers with your friends.  Like mine, who act like meth addicted cokeheads and buy things like condoms (Plot Twist: It was me) and candy bras for White Elephant Christmas gifts.  Oh, youth.  I think if we had booze then a part of the house might have actually caught fire.

I think aside some markers I've already got everything I could ask for. 

Also like most other packs of teenagers, we have tiny white trees topped with homosexual singers and a peeky Norse gods.   

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Oh dear I've acquired a style.

Ryan Matthews, eat your heart out.

See that shirt?  I bought that shirt at a store in Houston the other day. 
It's a damn fine shirt. 
It's got a button loose but it's a damn fine shirt. 

Oh yeah also I have a few more pictures up on My Flikr if you wanna check them out.
This has been a photography update. 

Stuff that Sucks #40

Hand Holding Rejection


                                          Hand holding rejection is the worst. 

                Like, the worst of the worst.  It murders your self esteem with a hatchet and leaves you with grievous wounds that you keep picking at despite protests to leave them alone.  From personal experience, it really makes you question whether going for anything at all is worth it.
                   To me, holding hands is such a groovy thing, especially if the feelings you have for someone reach above and beyond the stars above you.  Holding hands is like linking the like (or love) you have for each other.  It could be cute, or fun, or sensual.  It can be so many different things.  What you can't say with your mouth you can say with your hands and fingers. 
                  I don't know how many of you have experienced this form of rejection, but it plants a seed in your mind of how pathetic and unattractive the person you'd like to touch finds you.
                  It just totally sucks when someone doesn't reciprocate that.  Like when you really care about them.
          Especially when you really care about them.  

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Butts, Buts and a Questionable Sequence of "Although".

Me and my loving boyfriend.
          Lately has been a mess of theatrical teenage bullshit.  I just finished my School's production of "Cinderella" (In which I was the sexy stepsister.), and now I reside in that relaxing limbo in which I wait for the next round of auditions to start.  It was a pretty great show and I was allowed to make some really questionable life choices, like chasing after men because of my deranged, gold-digging Step Mother and my narcissistic older Sister.  But mostly Butts. 

Tina understands my predicaments.

           This weekend was eventful to say the least.  I went to a house show with some of my friends (A house show, for all you lame people out there is like a small gig for local musicians usually held at someone's house.  In this case, it was at my friend Jordan's house which is equivalent to twelve small neighborhoods.  I've had one at my house, although that was back when my friends actually had the desire to rehearse for hours until we gave birth to something that sounded like music.) 
          My friend Jordan's band is just fucking brilliant.  He's really into a lot of undergroundish type stuff, which, if looked at from a vantage point is probably going to be the equivalent of what early Punk rock was in the 1970s.   Sadly I didn't get to stay late enough to see them, (Whales), because I had to take some friends home and then head back to my own house.  My friend Molly was kind enough to pay for my gas money in quarters. 
         ON A MORE FASHIONABLE NOTE.  My good friend Tessa gave me some shorts a while back, of which I have been too lazy to fix.  But today I fixed them and the whole world was right again.  Birds were singing, my lawn was mowed, and most of all I felt pretty damn good about life, the universe and everything. 

Wow look at that I'm almost sexy.

                Those shorts are so damn cute.  I'm tempted to dye them blue, though, in order to satisfy my need for Homestuck. I'd like to thank Hendrix and my Mother for the grace of finding those shirts buried beneath age old clothing from the *gasp* 90s. (The top one is floral print, and they both include shoulder pads and ample opportunity to hint at cleavage.)  I need some white lace tights, though, and I should be set for this Texas winter.


Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The Ox


So yesterday, as we all knew, was      OCTOBER 9TH 

Also known as the BIRTHDAY
of our beloved John Entwistle. 
(Also John Lennon, but I'll leave it up to Tumblr to give tribute to the man.)


Don't hate me coz I'm beautiful
   OH JOHN.  We've had quite the history. 
My best friend loves the Who, and at the tender age of 13 I was due to have a favorite (as most Thirteen-year-olds tend to have).  And I picked you, John.  Because of dem sexy hands, dat sexy hair cut, and most importantly DAT BASS. 

          They called him Thunder Fingers; or The Ox with good reason.  Have you ever stopped to listen to the solo in "My Generation", or notice the sheer power of the bass in "Won't Get Fooled Again"?  It's the dexterity and control he's got in his hands and fingers.  It's like a fucking storm of pure energy that pushes the rest of the song forward, and i've always loved Entwistle for that reason. When I started playing bass I looked up to a lot of different players (like Geddy Lee, Les Claypool, Roger Waters, ect...) and I realized how fucking difficult it is to play using your fingers.  Using a pick is one thing, and a lot of really good bassists can pull that off, (looking at you, Noel Redding), but there's just something raw about using your fingers to play so expertly that's appealing.

                Here's a video that I personally love, which is the isolated bass track of John playing "Won't Get Fooled Again" at one of their shows in England.  I would have linked just the audio, but being able to watch somebody play makes all the difference.  For musicians, it's a chance to observe and learn.  For everyone else, it's still a hell of a lot of fun.  I always love seeing what different kinds of instruments they play, (for you gear nerds here's a list of gear that John used from 1960-66, 1967-68,  1971-74 and 1974-1985.  It's got some great pictures as well as descriptions.) 

          1.  Boris the Spider
 2.  Substitute
        3. My Generation
                    4. Won't get fooled again 
                                                                       6. Talk Dirty (solo, off of his "Too Late the Hero" album)
                                               7. Young Man Blues (Excellent performance from Keith Moon, also)
                     9.Summertime Blues

Some of my favorites. 
 I'm sure there are tons more, and if you have any to contribute I don't mind a damn bit.

         The Who was a powerful band, especially through their live performances.  There's a certain feeling to be had when you see footage like that (from what you can find these days), and you can hardly fathom what it must've felt like to see them live.  Perhaps one day, when I'm teaching Rock n Roll history, the invention of the Time Machine will have been brought into existence, and I'll take my students on a field trip to see the Who at the Isle of Wight (and maybe even stick around to see Hendrix).  
         So it is with this that the Electric Church of Rock n Roll gives it's thanks to Saint Entwistle.  He's changed bass playing throughout time, and left a standard and many lessons to be learned by future bassists and musicians alike. 


(The day before yesterday was Johnny Ramone's birthday, but I was too busy dying with this HORRIBLE COLD I have acquired to have written a decent post for the man.  I love you though, Johnny.  You gave a kickass name to all bar-chord guitarists with bowl cuts)

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Graphin' your stanky Youth

So this weekend was a good one, because I got to get shit done as well as hang out with my good friend, Tessa and take some photos.  Most of them came out rather nicely, and I'm glad I had a set put together this time (in the spare room) consisting of my Grateful Dead tapestry and some old strips of fabric I had lying around. 

Also some old girls, you know. 

I love all of Tessa's outfits.  (Well, most of them at least.  There used to be a poncho she'd wear and it made her slightly resemble a 60-something year old baglady.  I couldn't tell if the Pancho swallowed her whole and simply allowed me to imagine the rest of her body somewhere beneath it's thick fabric folds.  Sometimes I feared she was genuinely being eaten by a product of Old-Lady wear.  The thought of Talbots creating clothing designed to consume it's customers frightens me, although is not shocking because I've seen the inside of my Grandmother's closet.  I can only imagine the new methods of psychiatric evaluation they would have to develop in order to help the victims of these events.  Tessa's was more or less finding a new coat to wear instead of that hideous old one.) 

At the end of the day we were exhausted, but the rest of the shoot is up on my Flikr if you guys wanted to see. 

I've started really trying out my different apertures, and I think I'm starting to get the hang of it.  (I need better use of a tripod, though, and using a self timer will be the death of me, yet.)   I'm going to graduate to the use of 35mm film sometime soon, because recently I found out my Dad's Pentax K1000 is fucked up, although I haven't tried his Automatic Canon yet.  I think I might just buy a cheap Holga and see if my Dad's flashes will work for it. 

UGH PHOTOGRAPHY.  So rewarding when the images come out, but it's like pulling teeth getting things the way you want. 

But, like I always think, I'm getting better.  So that, at least, is keeping me from going mad. 

Saturday, October 6, 2012


Oh my gosh! I think I just accidentally deleted all of the comments I got on my posts. 
I'm so sorry you guys, I thought I was just clearing them out of my message box. 

I guess it's not such a good idea to have the "Remove Content" button right next to "Delete". 
Clear that shit up, Blogspot! 


Oh my! There are simply too many things in this fringed bag!

Her name is Eleanore.

1.  This girl needs her nail varnish

Got this shit at Urban Outfitters for $.99

I am genuinely surprised at the sheer quantities of nail polish I had in my purse.  I'm not sure if it's because I just put shit in there and forget about it, or if it's a genuine addiction to adhesive nail glitter.  Also, those two little twin bottles are SO CUTE and were on sale at the most expensive store in the world. They were marked down from a whopping 6$ to $ .99.  I feel that, sometimes, Urban Outfitters can be your sale oasis in a desert of expensive. 


Okay so that is a straight up LIE.  I do wear makeup, but minimally so if the mood strikes me.  Usually it's like... mascara or something.  But when I do wear it, I'll usually use 1 color, then the next day wonder where that color went (in my bag), shrug, and repeat.  Eventually it all accumulates into this giant pile of powdered, color affliction.  A constant that I do seem to have is my eyebrow shadow, a constant quest to ensure my expressions stay flawless. 

3.  Jesus Christ, if chapstick needed a Queen for their Empire of Moisture I would be a number-one candidate.  

Recently, and other than these pictured, I've found at least 3 different colors

How much chapstick do you need to get through the day?  The answer may differ, but apparently one is never enough.  I found (2) Blistex, (1) Spearmint Chapstick and these two motherfuckers.  
They came from Urban Outfitters along with my Nail Polish for .99cents each.  

 I may not know a whole lot, but one thing I do know is how fucking soft my lips are going to be for the rest of my life.  I'll probably be on TLC's "Hoarders" for this, some day.  Either that or in the Guinness Book of World Records for "World's Softest Lips". Someday, E of M, someday soon.  

 4. For those BRAVE enough to fight me. 



An especially cheap Swiss-army knife I got from Switzerland awaits you. 

I'm disappointed because the writing is falling off.  I really loved that thing when I got it from Europe.  If I ever go back, I'll get another one that's actually worth 10 Euro.  Also I'll have to find another Canadian, because the one I got was absolutely fabulous for as long as he lasted.  I'll have to make sure he doesn't find a girlfriend afterwards, though.  It was so fucking disappointing when that happened last time. 


A Woman's purse is like a black hole.  It will surprise you with anything and everything (including a small army of garden gnomes).  Look at those lovely erasers and Hendrix pin that Haka gave me, emphasized by the broken ACDC keychain I bought from Wal Mart a few weeks ago. The bracelet came straight from my wrist, aged and worn by my young and taut skin. 

I decided to leave out all the gum wrappers in fear that you might sample my teeth patterns and make a clone of me. 

Funny story behind this patch, actually. 
      I went to a store in Houston called Cactus Music, and saw the posters for the new Darkness album.  I begged the lady that worked there for a poster, but was shot down because, since the poster was new, she couldn't give me one.  I guess she felt sorry for me, because after my spiel of sobbing like a pubescent Beatles-fan and threatening to throw up on their vintage music magazines, she suddenly gave me this bad-ass-mother-fucking-kiss-ass patch.  So along with the 30+$ I spent on a Queen shirt and some CDs, I got this lovely patch to show for my hard work.  Now I just have to sew it onto the back of a vest and I will surely be the most excellent girl in the whole school.   

6. It's the PENPOCALYPSE. 

Pictured here is some Pentel .3mm lead for my architect pencil that I don't actually use for architecture. 
Also that is a refill for my ink-brush that actually works quite well.  I'm sure that if used correctly, you could do some pretty sick Chinese calligraphy with that pen. 

Ho-ly shit.  I had so many pens.  This is pretty much a small fraction of the sheer velocity of pens I had in my purse.  I'm pretty sure at some point you wanted to wonder whether it was the purse holding the pens, or the pens forming together an unbreakable steel bond to hold the purse together by it's sheer mass. 

I guess it may be because I'm an artist or a Junior hoarder.  (Also sometimes I'm afraid to use the pens I love most because I don't want them to run out of ink.)  Pretty lame, huh? 

Ahhhhhhhh! Purse times.  I've been meaning to do this for  awhile now.  I'll be sure to keep you folks updated with the wonders of what's inside a bag, because everyone is different.  Like for instance how I didn't have my MP3 player with me.  Maybe it's because I'm paranoid it would get stolen, ever since my phone got stolen last year I was quite angry to the point of never bringing my electronics out in public again.  You guys should let me know if you do this!  I wanna know what's in everyone else's purse!

Sunday, September 9, 2012

A Bittersweet Teenagership

Remember those days?

        This weekend I partied hard, more or less as I took photos for my theater at our "Fish Party". 
       The concept is fantastic, which includes the idea that freshmen should come to a party where more or less most of the theater company will be attending as well, and that everyone gets to know everyone and visa-versa.  Well mainly sophomore's showed up, but whatever it wasn't like I knew half of those tiny people.

look at this crazy bitch with her leggings in the water
Parties have never really been my scene, unless they include a bunch of people I know.  But it was all right, and I actually went swimming for like 3 seconds but spent most of 3 hours trying to keep my camera from getting wet.  Also the best picture I feel like I took had nothing to do with anything.
I feel like I should write a story for this
       Also that and the fact I feel lonely.  I had to take home a friend of mine, and I noticed how handsome he's become.  I used to really dig him back in middle school, before my original group of friends fell apart faster than a 90s boy band.  It had been the first time I really owned up to liking a dude because of his personality and the way we responded to each other and what I got rewarded with was a list of Reasons I don't like you back.  All 30+ of them.  I felt like I was in an episode of a shitty show they'd play on MTV, except he still doesn't like me back, and so I'll just admire from afar while he describes his interest in all things boobs, tush and tush accessories.    (It's something I've noticed: that you can tell when a guy doesn't like you when he talks about how attractive other girls are to you!  I like to think they do that because they are heartless, cruel boys who love to jade themselves on the breasts of girls who are, in fact, not you.
       The recent heartbreaker is a bittersweet one.  Sometimes I like him because he's strong minded and sure of himself, but sometimes I hate him because he makes me cry and says all the wrong things.  As the good old Mick Jagger once said, "I can't get no Satisfaction." 
       Well Mick, ain't that the truth? 
                                                I mean lets be honest here all you want is this:

                                           when all you get are offers from guys like this 
"hey baby lets congregate and possibly have sexual intercourse"
That, and among other things is why I'm pretty fucking pissed.  The Universe has skewed logic sometimes.  Either that or it's just got a pretty fucking huge case of Schadenfreude.