Every time I try to make this blog a bigger part of my life I find myself either too busy or too apathetic to give a shit about connecting with the world. (Read: my loyal 5 followers.) So in the spirit of give-backed-ness I bring you my hung over, raspy thoughts on things as I see them.
With a few exceptions, fashion blogs bug the shit out of me. They are too cool and too filled with ram rod skinny bored looking adolescents. The only thing they inspire me to do is exactly the opposite of what they are doing. Fashion is all about irony these days. The kids don't want to be caught giving a shit, smiling, or befriending someone without a mustache. I am just ready for it to evolve into something a little more jovial and welcoming. How can you moisten panties when your acting like a pair?
Dead horse beating time. The monotonous dubstep scene in Portland is killing me. Blue fucking balls. It took Barisone turning up the old school heat in my bar on the hick ass coast to bring me a dancing climax. You can't spit without hitting a dj and yet they all sound the same. I know that some of you will disagree but I don't give a shitty rat fuck. I am loosing my wet at exactly 72 bpm and that is a about as gay as a bag of dicks. If I wanted to dry hump I would call up my 8th grade boyfriend. I know that there are sub-sub- genre's of dubstep that have been know to get me moving but it's about as rare as a straight congressman. Not that there is anything you can do about it. This is a plea to all of those music selectors out there. Take a minute and look at the dance floor when you are dropping that dubby track. Is there any hot chicks out there? Is there anybody dancing that isn't in a k hole? Prolly not. Just toss in a banger or two for ole MPP over here in Wetsville. Gracias.
I have some photos coming for you soon. Thanks for your patience. More news to come on stuff and things.....stay tuned!
Robe's Are the New Little Black Dress
Fetch Me My Pipe
