also p.s.
Was that disjointed? I don't know. In case you didn't see the hot air balloon of my face and the word "Updates" flying over your hood, I am like, working now. From an office. I have a stunning view of a Dana Buchman billboard (please check me if i start rocking lavender trenchcoats) and can gaze upon the vibrant gleam of the empire state building any time I like. but this also means that at 6 pm, all faculties are gone and the 14 yr old inside me has wrestled out of her leash. And then I start objectifying T.I. in anticipation of what in actuality looks like a pretty terrific film, cinematically and plot-wise, but I have no control over my commentary because the sun is setting on times square, i have consumed literally four or five litres of Poland Spring, and am doing a search in the company system for the term "bacon" (not mine) while trying to sound lucid expounding upon the long career of Jermaine Dupri. Where am I? *WHO* am I? I get the feeling if I go see V for Vendetta, perhaps the answers will become clear.
Lavender trenchcoats are the province of PRINCE. You just need a big punk button and a lacey scarf and maybe a felt hat. No one should check you on that wild look. Proven to work.
womanfriend, you know my appolonia 6-aspiring stiej* would never forgo a princelike lavender mancoat, with a bobby zee button and a safety pin with a friendship pattern on it in the shape of a dippity do can. BUT. the dana buchman trenchcoat is more like, casual indifference. barely bleeping a richter. and fuck that shit.
*new variation on steez from pete macia, of rodrigospension.blogspot.com, intellectual boyfriend to the world
who the boss, shep? who the motherfuckin boss?
P.S. indeed.
couple things:
want to go to the playgirl release party tomorrow?
charles inn charge is on wb11 in the morning