Hey Little Sister

I've been on vacation for two weeks. I came back from Mexico, had one day at home, spent it with Biz, and then my mom came that night and we headed up the coast to attend a family wedding. My best and oldest friend, and actually more like a sister than anything else, we've known each other since we were wee small things, got married in the Santa Cruz Redwoods.
Being that we are like sisters, I have given this poor human more grief than any person deserves, so I put on my big girl face and trudged up there, to help in any way I could. Being selfless doesn't come easy to me. Not to mention that I don't believe in marriage for historical and political reasons- sorry girlfriends, yes, even really good girlfriends, I will probably be the shittiest helper when it comes to your weddings and not the excited soul that you deserve- BUT if any two people on earth can make this big sham called marriage work, there are no two finer people than Nandi-, ahem, ANANDA and Jessie- probably the two nicest most wonderful souls who ever set foot into the world of matrimony, my love for them is boundless and I am so blessed and honored that they let me join, and that they trusted me to behave and not spread my self absorbed bad news butter all over the place. Two finer people really don't exist.
Nandi, this one song, for me, has always been about you:


















And then came the wedding weekend and every fiber of my being had to fight turning into this:

A giant celebration unequivocally not about me in any way shape or form. I am Nandi's Rachel, have been since the beginning of time and I am so lucky she hasn't thrown me out on my ass. To a normal person not acting this way would seem obvious and natural, and totally, why would you even want to? But let me tell, you, i am touched in a stoopid way. It was a challenge. Nandi, I love you.































ps, Charlotte, you're still the only one for me.

If You're in LA

Go to this for me. I'm out of town and will miss it :(

click 4 more info

Bad to the bone

Basically just an excuse to post this video. Telepathe is the shit.


Busy's moving to LA. I can't fucking wait. Brooklyn's so 2003. I kid, I love Brooklyn, but I don't love broken busted street umbrella skeletons, smushed up puked in pizza boxes and sun bleached chicken bones on the subway. How does that even happen?

Mexico!

I hope your 4th was as wonderful as mine.










this donkey bit me on the boob. i guess u cant blame him, his life is pretty awful.

abandoned beach resort




the sand was gold.

It's in the water

Read Me! Click Me!
Wow, maybe I should keep it to myself! What do u guys think?
Also, the interesting thing about this piece is that it only addresses the physical components of body dysmorphia and the not the psychological ramifications, i.e I'm curious to know what Freedman would think of someone writing about drug addiction or depression. Is it not okay for women to write about these things? I'm torn. I think the article makes a lot of good points, but I also think that not talking about something that is happening is the same as pretending it isn't there, which ultimately leads to more self hate. Believe me, the meanest thing you can do to a human being is to ignore them.
I do agree though that turning your pain into a vanity project is the wrong way to go about solidifying journalistic credibility.
I disagree though that female confessional journalism is setting women back about 50 years. Penthouse, Playboy, GQ and Maxim continuously publish lame brain hogwash articles with titles like, "The Dirty Sanchez" and no one is crying for the state of male journalists. They're still winning Pulitzers and runnin the New Yorker. I think female journalist, REAL female journalists, will survive the 'fray.'

Karen never talked about it. Maybe she should have.