she really doesnt give a fuck.

she stays so true to her heart and works and works and works and couldnt care less about trends or fads or styles or online polls.

other designers pretend that they’re like that too, but theyre not.

in betseys shadow lurk a hundred liars.

but the best thing about her is she never comes off as proud. she wont tell you all the different ways shes kicking your ass. she wont rub her freedom in your nose. she wont show you her bottom line. when she smiles, you get it. when she laughs, it’s real.

and she smiles and she laughs all the time.

at her worst she’ll inspire cyndi lauper circa 1983, at her best she will inspire madonna circa 1984, so be careful.

nyc and yet like totally 80s valley girl. and funky, and neon, and bra straps, and lacey.

betsey puts the fun back into sexy and this sort of sexy isnt for everybody, trust me, i dated real valley girls in the 80s cuz im a million years old and not every girl looked good in two bras and frilly shorts.

i like betsey johnson because she coulda sold out so long ago, but she hasnt. she is bright yellow and bright pink and bright red and bright everything and if you see some of a girls underwears underneath her peekaboo skirt thank betsey cuz she told the girls it’s not only ok, but it’s fun, of course it’s fun.

of course it’s fun.

trucker hat, red lipstick, crazy necklaces, cartwheels, bracelettes, and funny fingernail polish. and heels. and short little socks. and blue fishnets.

betseys clothes let the woman be sexy, they dont make the woman be sexy.

im in love with her daughter, lulu.

betsey was first discovered by andy warhol. of course.

she made clothes for the velvet underground in the summer of 69 and shes still more punk rock than anyone in fashion.

and whats more punk rock is she has 41 boutiques world wide. for your ass.

and racks of clothes in every good department store.

and if you think thats a sellout, you dont know fashion.

twisted fans + lura + muscle68

theres more i have to say. here i am on my government mandated 15-minute break and my hand hurts from a fight i was just in, but i have to write, i want to write. i need to write.

writers can be obsessive about what they love, the same way others can. its all bad. everything should be in moderation. what i do has no moderation. super hot chick was over the other day. great ass. i walked over to my computer out of habit and she said, where ya goin? and tapped the empty sofa spot next to her and i had to think to myself, yeah where the hell are you going?

im going nowhere.

fast as i know how.

had the pleasant opportunity to talk to anna kournikova today. she was touched by the little thing i wrote about her. she asked me how much of it i meant.

i told her that i didnt mean any of it, that i just wrote it to fool people into thinking that i was romantical.

f anna.

she said, what? you dont think that i will always be your girlfriend?

and i said, no, that she was dead to me, that she is another mans woman now and he has a speck on his face where his bigger speck used to be and she asked me to try not to be jealous and i told her that i wasnt jealous, that i was angry. that she and i had a deal and she broke it. she told me that i would be able to spend a little time with her when she got back to the states, but instead she ran off with her manchild and left me alone to blog like a bum.

at this time i think we should all say a few words for the chicago cubs who need our prayers.

please cubs, please.

please hit.

please hit the ball.

hit the ball hard and with power.

think about all the good little boys and girls who grew up watching the cubs who will die never being able to see the cubs win the world series if you dont win it right now.

amen.

thats not what i needed to write, but it will do for now.

deirdre + misleader + snyder cider

about top secret stuff that she always told me wouldnt happen in a million years because it was too perfect and too right on the money. she has this theory that perfect things rarely happen, that most of the time, even if all parties concerned know that its perfect, people will get all freaked out and forget that its perfect, and they’ll change it so its not perfect any more, and then it probably wont happen at all, and then it dies. then something not at all perfect happens, and then everyone scrambles to fix it from being the opposite of perfect.

i like rosalita. she reminds me of princess kristin pony.

rosalita takes the most wonderful pictures of herself but hasnt let me show any on here unless shes in the background, or in a place where no one would think its her.

i think i would like to meet kristin. she seems cool. i cant believe that ive talked with her for almost a year in email and chat and never met her. youd think that something would have happened, like her school making it to a bowl game, or freak of nature, or something that would have allowed she and i to meet at a party or something here in LA or hollywood, but it never happened. somethings just never happen.

rosalita mostly tells me these things when we’re watching the cubs play like we did yesterday.

she brings a bag of clothes with her when we watch the cubs. she piles in several outfits, one more revealing than the next. as the cubs begin to lose, she changes into skimpier attire. it’s supposed to make me not feel as bad as i would if they lose.

i cant say it doesnt work, cuz its suprisingly effective.

rosalita wants to be my girl, but shes the wrong sign. not every problem is resolved with crotchlessness.

many, but not every.

rosalita is a great kisser. when i kiss her i think that kissing is something that is a natural thing. you cant really teach it, it just is. first time we kissed it was perfect. and every time after only got better.

im starting to think that kissing is like fishing. either you get it the first time and youre great at it, or youre constantly going for it and failing. but its better to have a crappy day fishing than a great day digging a ditch.

i think the same goes for kissing, but ive lost myself in there somewhere.

my supervisor just asked me when i was going to clean up all the blood from our front door.

i told him

in-the-year-two-thousaaaaaannnnnnnnd.

the greatest thing ive seen all morning + the best news i’ll see today + mad pony answers their critics

so expect lots of pictures of the latest threads being worn in nyc. this week. here.

have i told you that i dont like my job any more?

i dont.

and the thing is i dont go around trashing my jobs, normally. even a long time ago when i was working at the internet company i didnt complain. when i worked at the fbi i didnt complain. when i worked at the shoe store i didnt complain. and when i was the key grip at the porno company i didnt complain.

not on my website, that is.

i complained to my friends and my mom and i grumbled to myself as i played tetris. whathaveyou.

but this morning i was attacked by a guy with a machette. how do you even spell that? but he fully wound up and tried to get me right across the belly.

this is the front door of the what should be Undercover XBI headquarters.

machette man!

now this is after a harrowing bus ride down wilshire with the red light running bus lady who is really cute as fuck, and who, i am not lying to you, really checked out her fingernails at a red light as she revved the 20 UCLA and waited to peel out.

young black girl maybe 23, 24.

attitude for days.

how many people have asked out their busdrivers?

i think i might have to.

if she doesnt kill me first.

so yes, my birthday is october 22. i would like a new job by then. i am getting older than im comfortable being in this job thats meant for young men who either have nothing to lose, or who can take a machette to the utility belt and not crack the guys neck and blow two quick shots through one ear and out the other.

now theres blood all over my third rail devil shirt. and i just used that downey wrinkle remover on it. and it was all not wrinkled.

karisa called me like four times yesterday, drunk as hell in boston. first she called me from fenway, then she called me again from fenway asking if i could see her, she was right behind home plate waving, then she called me from a bar across the street where she would leave and dance in a sprinkler system with her brothers and friends.

then she would call me again in the wee hours as she was about to lay herself to sleep.

drunk.

softer toned.

cute.

killer.

you wouldnt think that i would want a new job that would take me away from this so called life, but i do.

october 22

d-lo + megastir + neens

i told her that when she got married to that no talent boy bander that i wasnt going to write about her. people ask me if i miss her and i say yeah.

yeah.

people ask if i will ever talk to her again, and i think to myself, but i dont say it, i think to myself, well, thats my girlfriend. i dont care who she marries, shes mine. he’ll get struck by lightening one day and she’ll come running back to me and i’ll laugh through the whole funeral and people will give me dirty looks and i will open my dinner jacket and show them my tshirt that says “you shouldnt have made me come here.”

people ask if we talk on the phone or anything and i say no.

people ask if we ever send carrier pigeons to each other and i say sometimes.

but i lie, she sends me one almost every day.

people ask me why i dont like her husband and i say easy, just look at him, or better yet, or worse yet, listen to him.

they say whats wrong with listening to him.

i say, if i was given the ability to sing why would i waste it like he doesn? honestly, would you sing that sort of crap?

i say how come he doesnt wear tshirts that said anna on it.

i say how come he doesnt wear a turtleneck that says luckiest man alive.

they say, but you two seemed to be so in love, and i would say, so.

and they say, but you two were inseperable for a while, and i would say so.

life goes on. ask benlo. people breaking up and people getting together is the oldest dance move out there.

people say would you ever forgive her for marrying him.

i say maybe.

but i think no.

people say will you ever be back together with her again.

and i say, of course.

look at her.

shes my girlfriend.

brett lamb + sara k smith + get your oj