Drink Me

I currently feel like I'm standing in Greenwich, London.
On the border of an axis. A divider. A connection. A compilation of time by straddling.

I'm trying to figure out how you align mourning and a birthday.
3 yrs in and still no success. I can never seem to find an appropriate balance.
Let me explain.

Two hours before the big HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! OMG XOXO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BFFL TAKE A SHOT FOR ME<3333
you find yourself mumbling R.I.P.
Bland.

Tasteless.
Alone with your social group. Are you kidding me? Sympathy towards everything else is a joke.

People, this is birth and death here. I mean clearly this situation's gonna be complicated.
It's my own self worth (whatever that may be at this point, because validation 2 months out of college is rare) versus half of my molecular solar system; a.k.a. the memory of a parent.

What I should do after not being able to spend my 21st in the States (in London they don't give a shit as long as you can hack), is go get smashed the entire weekend. "Should" a tricky word.
Will I?
I mean maybe Friday, Saturday, but that involves scheduling and questions...
SOCIETY. TIME MANAGEMENT. BOOKINGS. MONEY.
Wait wait wait. Waiting! To hit pause on Sunday to mourn, and then hop right back on the fucked-up ban wagon.

Elation. Happy days follow a tragic day. Fate, the damn bitch, provided me with two hours to recoup, chill, smoke a fag, maybe hyperventilate one or twice, and then "Heyyyyyyyy girl, guess what?! Go party now cause you're one year older!"
Though, farther away from memory, and Hollywood blockbusters, such as Ghost, become laughable, well because you realize (with age) this shit truly doesn't exist.

This year, sports are taking over, and that's just fine. At least it's olympic season. Fuck, I'll even wear a beret.
Someone has to carry the torch into normality--even if it's a quick turn around.

so you're backtracking?/.

where am I?
lift up my ball gown please, check for ruffles and satin and lace and layers. They're all gone.
Stripped of dignity and loss of space, intermingling with the fiery passion to keep on hurting.
Go draw a map or something.
Make yourself lost.

Follow the instructions.

Simon (the Internet says):
home (n.)
1. A place where one lives; a residence.
2. The physical structure within which one lives, such as a house or apartment.
3. A dwelling place together with the family or social unit that occupies it; a household.
4.-a. An environment offering security and happiness.
-b. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.
5. The place, such as a country or town, where one was born or has lived for a long period.
6. The native habitat, as of a plant or animal.

Now read this:

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.
(Garden State, 2004)

So spit at my dress.
Dust off the award medals and cheap trophies.
Silent attacks of frames, curtains poisonous paint, boxes, bottles, cards, games, books, first Cd's, and pre-pubescent Polaroids.

Anywhere but here.

"Hater, I have your diamond rings...

...and cold is cold when you're ending with diamond eyes"

Severely sleep deprived.
She keeps singing, so I'll keep writing.

"Cross Bones Style" Moon Pix, Cat Power

Three-A Lounge Review

Way Back When…
Speakeasy in the Village.

If prohibition was at a time where Kumquat and Kirshwasser were served, we’re sure people would’ve been lookin’ a whole lot better at those hidden utopias. Welcome to PDT-Please Don’t Tell, and we have to, but we really don’t want to.

Once you get past the confusion and enter an obscure telephone booth through Crif Dogs (please wait to judge before you get inside), a door suddenly slides open. Poof! You’ll find an underground lounge truly much less pretentious than it appears to be. Their dank demeanor is immediately foregone by an extensive drink list, each with a kind description and minor history. Sailor lore and Swiss mysteries are weaved into how a cocktail came to be by collaborations of New York City’s finest bartenders

The menu’s alliterations and rhyme scheme coyly intrigues you, and well you might keep on swiping that card…just for a taste. Try the Bizet, categorized under “Music To Our Ears”, PDT shows their love for connecting old-school music to new-age drinks. PDT mixes temptation with reality as you realize you truly are hidden from the streets (and that may not be a bad thing). They occasional telephone ring may be heard, but don’t fret, you’ve already made it inside the booth.

It’s the 21st century, and conceptual prohibition has never been more fun.

Two-A Fashion Review

Who Said Being A Bookworm Wasn’t Sexy?
Loro Piana

We know you love to read the satirical pages amidst coffee and deadlines, but as you carry that hidden magazine in your upper arm, lets stop and digest your wardrobe. Instead of flying all the way to Firenze, Loro Piana is available to you, pairing a learned man with a melon sweater. The new Mezzocollo Sweater is perfect for fall cruising. Room for hands, comfort, and initiating the double take, you’ll indulge in this mock turtleneck, collar popped or not.

Loro Piana’s reign has proven to sustain the modern patterns for an everlasting classic, suave look. Try on the Spello Woven Shirt while you tuck in the blackberry to its chest patch pocket. We assure you, people will be interested in reading your private book collection.

Enough about your late night endeavors. If you feel like dropping the suit for a night, check out the designer’s Storm System line, a trademark of Loro Piana, making your time in the weather, better. Their Storm System dark brown coat is impermeable until the moment your confidence doesn’t need it. Library or tavern bound, you’ll feel unstoppable with creases in just the right places.

For practicality, style, and class, lets leave it to the Italians. All you have to do is buy it like the morning paper.