XXIII

it's four AM and the streets are still a ruckus and my head is a little on the messy side, but still more level than it has been in a while. I celebrated the beginning of my 23rd trip around the sun yesterday night, and the champagne and good company felt like jumper cables set to re-instill depleted faith in humanity. (and as I type this, I am purposefully and staunchly refusing to pay attention to the bum fight that is occurring underneath my window. "you stole my CRACK!" is not exactly piquant to my birthday revelation.)

walking perhaps one of the more shameful walks of such that I've entertained, my mind was awash with cheerful meanderings. yes, twenty three, you sly minx, you didn't come quite soon enough but oh-- you're here! and oh, how I'm world weary but hopeful, how I am ready and free, how I've learned to forgive some trespasses and forget the rest. twenty three, you haven't forsaken me! I walked down haight street at 8:30 in the morning in 4 inch high tramp shoes, a gold lame dress and my hair sticking 7 ways from sunday, grinning like a five dollar hooker who just got a grand for a happy ending. but, oh, how I was happily audacious. upon my return to the treehouse, I found the grandpas in the kitchen discussing software bugs while sipping on dragonfruit vitamin water, val asleep with the door open (again) in her underpants with all of her limbs sticking out from under her bedspread, and jon sitting up in his bed looking five years aged and undeniably worse for the wear.  he told me he hadn't slept in three days. I haven't slept at home in three days. he sighed in a markedly sad, exhausted exasperation and said that there wasn't much left to say that wouldn't be redundant. this is perhaps the most perceptive and logical realization we've agreed on thus far... but I still want for us to fight fair.

oh, twenty three, to be on the other side looking back and realizing that sometimes, the grass is brown on both sides and one must simply grab a backhoe and start landscaping. oh, twenty three, you surely are my 6 foot sunflower that I'll dazzle the county fair with. oh, twenty three, I slumbered on air mattress with a good looking musician, and I certainly couldn't have done it without you. and my laptop came in the mail, today. we've got 363 days left, just you and I, we'll show everyone just what we're made of...

piss, vinegar, molecules.

"what you lookin' at, round-eye?"

don't you wish yo manager was a freak like mine?

I call this one, "cheesus christ"

all you need is bottle service.

this is rob's best Not Having Fun At Your Stupid Party Face

lemur lindsay
hot. hungover. happy. baby's first macbook photo.