scene.

Shut up, I'm wrong, I know...but we can't talk about it

All the wars we won, but we're still walking home

Don't give me your reasons for all my bad intentions

New York...LA...hey man, you know it's all the same

Last call, everyone go home

And take all the LA rain in

Because it won't fall too much more this year

The summer's gone, but I'm still right here.

...and of course, it had to be Hotel Roosevelt. I think everything happening in that hotel that night was so typical LA the lobby was a microcosm of the entire city. 

It started with a text message. Scratch that, it started the week before at a high end company party. We met a 'producer' who was also a swing dance instructor and professional surfer...and coincidentally was 120% full of himself. He kept name dropping and swearing he was a big deal. I kept thinking I'd believe it when I saw it. 

Then came the text message, 'Roosevelt on Thursday. Danny Masterson's Party. You guys want in?' I was beyond skeptical, but I figured the worst case scenario would be a night in Hollywood, a photoshoot on the walk of fame and a fast food run on the way home. 

We get to Hollywood Blvd, to the hotel that's been there since the 1920s. To get into the hotel lobby we had to smooth talk glorified bell boys...to get into Teddy's Lounge we had to be on the list, to be on the list we had to know 'Max', to say we knew 'Max' we had to get past a bouncer who's been rated by Rolling Stone as one of the top ten toughest doormen in LA...even though she was a woman smaller than I am. 

Inside everyone 'knew' everyone...even though they didn't really. Our friend 'Max' was in the 'VIP Section' with a bottle service bill that costs more than my rent, apparently was barely 19 and had no problem using his real ID. He was also there with a man who was definitely old enough to be his dad...which is something I'll never quite understand. In her glory days the bartender dated Adam Levine and appeared half naked in Maroon 5 music videos...and is still living on 14:59 of her 15 minutes by letting everyone she serves know of that fact. We kept meeting people in the 'music business who just need a better studio' or 'trying to make it in the industry, looking for their big break' which to me means pseudo socialites with no real job which means they're allowed to party on Thursday nights.

Thursday is Jazz Night at the Roosevelt. The 'producer' kept promising us it was going to be a good time, great bands and amazing entertainment...but the entire time I felt like I was stuck in a Humphrey Bogart movie---only with less classy girls and boys who won't walk you home unless there's something in it for them. 

The 'producer' who got us in apparently didn't come with any friends, wasn't planning on meeting anyone there, was actually planning on hanging out with us all night and was clearly into my roommate. I avoided third wheel syndrome by ducking into the lobby, a room so dimly lit I think it actually made my eyes worse, furnished with sleigh beds and filled with middle aged people simultaneously taking shots and doing drugs. No really. Joe Sixpack was doing lines off a drinks menu 10 feet in front of me. In a hotel lobby.

If this isn't real LA life than I have no idea what is. It's a subculture of a completely different nature, separate from California and even more distanced from the rest of the country. The bouncers, the socialites, name dropping people you've never even met, dedicating a good portion of each night out to get to know the bouncers to guarantee your ticket back in, the sketchy promoters, the 'industry people' only ever happen in this city. It glitters alright, but I'm definitely iffy on the golden part.

In any case, the night ended up with us wandering around Hollywood, a photoshoot on the walk of fame and a fast food run on the way home. I guess there are worse ways to end a night.

just say no.

I've never been more convinced that the entire Twilight series is a subliminal Mormon mission. Think about it. She gained an audience (scratch that, a following) and created a phenomena; making children, adults, vampires and other mythological creatures across the world believe in the good old fashioned Mormon values of abstinence and absurd ideals about marriage.

...she's definitely kicking the pants off those door-to-door bike riders.

juxtaposed.

Truth: I've lived my life as a contradiction. I've loved being the unexpected, but it's getting time to face reality and stop running away from my reflections.

I said the exact words (well, texted) that I'm in the midst of an existential crisis. I hate that phrase, I hate that idea---I hate myself for thinking it let alone type, say or believe it...but it suddenly hit. In the past three years I've been motivated by or for nothing. I've buried myself in work, projects, excursions...anything to keep me from realizing that I'm running around in circles. Somehow I lost myself in the process and I have no idea how I got here or how to get back.

Maybe I need a change of scene. A break from monotony, from the routine. Something to make me feel like I have purpose...not even answers, just clarity. I need things to make sense again. And I'm not worried about being okay, because I know I will, I'm just afraid of who I'll be at that point and whether or not the overwhelming numbness will ever start to wear off.

...another unaddressed letter to the universe. Let's hope this one merits a response. 

issued.

Time: 4:18 AM.

Time I woke up this morning: 9:30 AM. meaning I should be asleep right now. 

Addiction: The Office, season two. I want a Jim and Pam love.

---

basically the words 'insomnia' have been running through my head in Rihanna's voice. Maybe she'll dictate my inner dialogue from now on.

homegrown

Apparently when I was about three years old and out in public with my father I would blatantly laugh at people I didn't approve of. He said he distinctly remembers an incident at 7-11 involving twenty-somethings with mohawks and excessive piercings.

It's good to know the judgement started at a young age. 

i got tired of waiting

'Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.' 

-JD

where the fuck is my copy of this book?

climatic?

I'm pretty sure the highlight of my night was flirting with a gay boy in an attempt to make him my gay best friend who I can take shopping with me. The exact words that were used went along the lines of 'anyone who can pull off cowboy boots needs to rock them.'

I'll keep you posted on this one.

gilded

Having no plans, roommates (or life, apparently) on a Friday night led to a late night happy hour with the mean girls crew. 

Realization: you're only truly screwed up when you're sleeping with a married man (and find that empowering) or when you're planning on leaving your dream job at a Big Four firm to move to London and be a bartender. Or call girl. 

Apparently your 20s is when you're supposed to do things like this. Make mistakes, come back with stories that command/scare the hell out of an audience and wonder where your potential went. 

...meaning me having my life figured out and knowing what I want is all wrong. damn.

hellfire.

no really. i always imagined the apocalypse would include talking aliens and the second coming of someone important, but instead it decided to burn down the delinquent branch of my high school.

...okay, maybe it's too soon to joke, but really. when you're told you might have to evacuate, and an epic forest fire could cut through the canyon and head towards your house at light speed you really have to think about what you'd take with you. my sister grabbed the harry potter books and ran. i took my favorite shoes.

makeup junkie.

So apparently I buy my makeup in regards to how relevant it is to my life.

Example:

My favorite lip sticks are rebel and media. Put them together and you have my future career.

My most amazing eye shadows are drama (shocker) and label whore. typical. Does it surprise anyone that I rarely use the one called trinity?

And the blush I swear by is called sincere. I guess there's a glitch to every theory.

all that glitters.

First day back in LA and:

1. i got a parking ticket. bastards.

2. i saw someone driving around apartment side in a rolls. i need to be their friend. stat.

3. i met lorelai gilmore. my life is now complete.

i fly like paper.

I forgot about this thing. I think most people did. I promise I'll get better though, I might even start spilling my guts online which might make my future in the real world less successful than the fab life I covet. (although, generally it takes a really awkward moment, a game of 10 fingers, or +5 years of knowing me for me to spill my guts. I'm like the sphinx. rawr.)

In any case in the past month I:

-turned 21. hellz yeah.

-went to vegas. pre 21. suckas.

-narrowed down the grad school list (and decided firmly against berkely since they'd probably laugh my fashionista ass right out of the mud hut that is their grad school.)

-...and cut off all my hair. 

I still can't decide which of these is the biggest accomplishment. Maybe it's my new collection of over sized rings.

More to come: fluffy and cq meet the giant balloon dog, the prodigal journey back to la and all that comes with it---primarily the love triangle of which I have somehow made a square.

grrrrrrrrrrr(e)

Meet my new BFF. I thought I was done with the ETS after it whipped me into submission in high school with roughly ten AP tests and multiple SAT sittings, however I was wrong. Even though I managed to dominate last time, I'm really wary about this round of tests. Maybe it's the lack of ridiculously overpriced test prep courses, the fact that I really am in this one alone, or the scary 'gre gnome' (princeton review's term, not mine) which is controlling my fate inside the computer---but something just isn't clicking this time. In any case I've spent the past three days at borders (I'm that broody chick alone in the corner with my really big book, only instead of Hemmingway it has a creepy Asian girl on the cover) and have written so many vocabulary flashcards my right hand has slowly become a very unattractive claw, which makes typing this extremely difficult.

The crazy thing? This is self-elected. If only I was content being a bag lady.

i came here to make you dance tonight.

Thumbs up for bowling. My fabulous weekend plans were, yes, happy hour bowling with a bunch of people who think I've reached my prime at the tender age of 21. I should clarify, I didn't actually bowl (I tried and ended up with a whopping score of 25.) ---I had the boys bowl nonstop strikes for me and lower scores for themselves. It was pretty exciting.




















What was less exciting, however, was the fact that they decided to give me kiddie shoes and the dying watermelon color scheme. Oh well, you win some you lose some I guess.

california in the summer <3

Things I've done in the past few days:






















1. Watched Crossroads. Two hours of my life I'll never get back, and really I'm okay with that. Must always remind myself that pre K-fed Britney Spears was a goddess.





















2. Completely re-organized my bookshelf. I finally parted with +100 books that at one time were held near and dear to my heart and was able to shelve all of my Harry Potters (which used to sit in a stack about as tall as me next to my dresser.) and various other books which have been in drawers/under my bed/gone fishing...you get the picture. Call me a nerd, but at least my literary realms reach beyond 'The Cat in the Hat."
















3. Met Bob the Builder. It was love. Don't tell Robin.





















4. Acquired a sweet new ride, which was swiftly taken away.














5. Went vintage shopping on Melrose where I realized boys clothes are much cuter than girls clothes (which makes me wonder why more boys don't dress better because, really, they should.), no matter how hard I try I can't make a mens Ben Sherman sweater fit like a cute sweater dress, and even though $15o is an amazing price for a Marc Jacobs bag it's really not if you're just not that into it. I also almost bought a newsstand. Then I realized I'd have nowhere to keep it.

I've rounded off every night watching too many episodes of scrubs and falling asleep in ways that put funny dents in my face in the morning. This is the good life, don't knock it till you've tried it.

slammin'.

After this week's encounter with a scene concert (see below) plus my slightly elevated status as a more legit fashionista I've decided a major style overhaul is in order.





















Figure one: The lead singer of paramore. Her shirt, I loved (it had fantastic yellow lacing detail up the sides.) The straw textured red hair, not so much. The fact that her and her bandmates mastered the art of synchronized head banging for almost an entire set will continue to amaze me for years to come.

The concert brought in scene kids in all shapes and sizes, wearing colored skinny jeans, overly patterned tees, 'riot' hoodies, and (even better if you ask me) 'riot' cardigans. Mr. Rogers would not have been pleased. I told my sister I'd never seen so many scene kids in one place before. She looked at me like I was crazy.

In any case, I've decided to steal the best of the scene-kid look. And by the best I mean the boys clothes. (I'd say mens, but really who are we kidding?)





















Figure two: My new fashion icon. Only I'll look better in the clothes because they actually come from the women's department.

Bring on the over-sized v-necks, second-skin fitting jeans, pin-stripe vests, high top converse, and, best of all, the fedoras. (!!!) Let's rock and roll, baby.

this night's the perfect shade of...

Have officially replaced my love for boys who play guitar (swoon.) with boys who manage to play the piano without looking like Liberachi or Sir Elton John. Marry me, Andrew McMahon.

sh-sh-shakin'.

the earth quaked at 11.50something AM today.
magnitude: 5.8 (pretty fucking legit.)
damage: one sprained wrist, one broken crystal vase, various books and cds in disarray.

...and for the majority of the day i was concerened about the whereabouts of my silver tiffany's bracelet. the earthquake (we'll call it jeffrey. i've always thought it was a little unfair that hurricanes get names and earthquakes don't, so i've decided to name it instead.) anyway, earthquake jeffrey managed to make it disappear behind my dresser and it took the combined efforts of me and my siblings about an hour to find it. damn you, jeffrey.

confessions of a self proclaimed jet setter.

number of flights in the past calendar year: 17

number of destinations: 10

(one of these things is not like the other...)


things i've learned:

1. match all outfits to one (comfortable) pair of shoes.
2. take advantage of any and all free food...though i'll never eat another croissant ever again.
3. if you look pathetic at the airport people generally feel sorry for you. and their original suspicious ideas about your character seem to go away.
4. no matter what they tell you they could care less about liquids in your hand luggage. unless you're carrying $100 worth of lipgloss and the lady has been eye-ing the chanel one.
5. i spend far too much money on magazines.
6. people will never learn. and they will always be annoying. so stop expecting more.
7. sleeping pills are your best friend. really. i might be immune now...

things i'll never understand:

1. why i'm writing this in the margins of a sudoku book.
2. how i managed to buy a sudoku book in the first place
3. the last puzzle i couldn't finish :(
4. okay, enough.
5. children on leashes...isn't that illegal now?
6. why there's a small child sitting in front of me wearing a pirate costume. complete with hat, eye-patch and plastic sword. someone is lying to this child...i think it's the man sitting next to him named john.
7. people who ask for you window seat because they 'really want it.' I really want it too, that's why i requested it. christ.
8. the man sitting next to me is reading something that looks like a best seller, but I just saw the words 'prophet muhammad.' ummm when did they start making islamic fiction? and, better yet, why weren't his bags screened?


...I love traveling. I just really hate the process.

worst european pick-up lines ever.

As followed:

'i'm not sure why, but my friend likes the looks of you...' the worst wingman ever.

'so this is a picture of my youngest son...' the 21 year old proceeded to tell me seconds after he sat down as he was showing me pictures on his phone.

'are you a person? no no you angel' fobtastic chinese man.

'yeeeeeeeeah americans!' annoying lacrosse playing tourists in dublin

'can i be your boyfriend?' drunk homeless man in cambridge.



so far my options are looking good.

IV.

And that can only be called Spring Quarter in a nutshell. Hello summer, europe, senior.

no wonder.

'I think I'm afraid to be happy because whenever I get too happy, something bad always happens.'

-Charlie Brown




...and this is what they taught us when we were children. No wonder generation peanuts became the first generation of emo kids.

'i don't know where the artificial stops and the real starts'

I've begun to dictate my life in terms of Andy Warhol quotes. I wonder how far this one will get me.


I also thought I forgot my blogger password for the past three weeks. Then blogger told me my email address didn't exist. Then five minutes later I tried to log in again and I managed to get here, so there you go.

loony.

When you lose your disney virginity at the tender age of 21 things like this are bound to happen. Also, fluffy's gotten me hooked on How I met Your Mother. Bob Saget, Doogie Houser...it's good that early 90s sitcom stars are finding their footing again.

countdowns.

I'm an insomniac. Go figure.

Days till:

-wednesday: 1
-school's done: 45
-Europe: 52


...that's a lot of days.

come around and talk it over.

New obsessions:

-hair bands
-tank dresses in bright colors
-partying in stanford
-lush bodywash
-my new ringtone.


and the euro trip is booked. hello, summer:)

um.

facebook deleted all of my albums. w-t-f.

trippy.

things to look forward to:

4.24: the end of midterms. and a trip to narnia:) i swear i'm not on drugs.

class. no, literally.

I'm currently sitting in my 'Modern Perceptions of Classical Political Thought' lecture. For the past hour my professor has been rambling about justice and 'unjustice' (I'm pretty sure it's injustice) in the eyes of Plato.


The hasidic jew wearing a yamaca sitting next to me is very into this lecture. I have no idea what that says about him.

manic.

jypped: brb i'm so bored i'm going to put a green face mask on and scare the neighbors



...she also wanted to get 'best fucking friends' necklaces. I think we're becoming JD and Turk from Scrubs, I'm just not sure who's who. And who rowdy is.

lust.

Okay, I'm not lusting after the book (even though it's pretty fantastic and I'm going to start stalking every vintage store she's listed in here) ---but I'm lusting after the dress. erm. shirt. she's wearing on the cover. It gives new meaning to the term jailbait.


In any case I'll probably look like a cartoon prisoner in it. Plus I'm not emaciated enough to pull off anything she wears. Sigh. She's still a major fashionista.

'my best friend leslie said...'

Is it entirely shameful that I've been listening to a Miley Cyrus song on repeat for the past hour? I'm well aware of the fact that the girl can't sing, dress, or dance, and that the album is actually called Hannah Montana...but for some reason I feel that this guilty pleasure is much more justified than, say, a cd called 'Welcome to the Dollhouse.' Or that day I danced around to 'bye bye bye' for three hours. I mean.

In other news I impressed someone at a decently prestigious publication today. Granted, the last person who impressed said person is a reality tv superstar/la pseudo socialite on 14:57 of her 15 minutes of fame so I'm not entirely sure what exactly it takes to impress.

I'm thinking it's my impeccable taste in music. Hello 3 more hours of pre-teen pop.

ohhh eight

Tonight I:

1. Applied for over 40 internships. yes.
2. Decided to go to San Francisco for the weekend on a whim.
3. Got hit on by a man who goes by Rampage, is apparently worth a few million and is the current ufc light heavyweight champion. Oxymoron if I've ever heard one.
4. Watched Bridget Jones. Twice.

XI

How to survive Finals Week*
a brief overview, brought to you by a semi successful bruin.


After 8 quarters, 187 units, 23 final exams, and 2.7 gallons of redbull I can finally call myself a senior at this pseudo prestigious, not at all pretentious, classy and fabulous school known as UCLA. (fill in the abbreviation as you'd like, or say oooooklah. it's more fun that way.) In any case, I present to you 12 steps on surviving the hell that is the eleventh hour of the quarter. Enjoy.

1. Admit that you have a problem. No really. You did not attend too many lectures, nor did you keep up with your reading and you have a comprehensive history exam in roughly twenty four hours. That, my friend, is called a problem.

2. Learn how to multi-task. Reading your history textbook while driving; probably not the best option. Reading your history book while glancing at slides to keep your focus, extremely efficient. Go you, you rockstar.

3. Compile a list of study music. Mine consists of the entire DCFC Transatlanticism album as well as bits of Chilli Peppers and emo flares of dashboard on a playlist called 'zone.' It's supposed to get me in the zone---and no, not in the Britney Spears Sense of the phrase.

4. Bake cupcakes.
They:
a. feed into your ocd
b. keep your mind off the material for the thirty minutes it takes to festively frost (lucky charms!) the glorified muffins of your dreams.
c. provide a fun, energizing study snack! I'd say healthy as well, but funfetti is only good for the soul...and when was the last time soul food didn't lead to premature heart attacks?

5. Invite friends over to stay who are already on spring break to remind you that in a few days you too will bask in that same glory. These two make for an interesting pair.


6. Shop for no reason. Like I said there's no reason.

7. Facebook stalk people you went to highschool with who you're no longer in contact with at all. It's always nice to know that superiority complex you had panned out in the long run.

8. Evaluate your itunes playlist. Do you really have a song called 'yeloomooni,' four variations of 'hands down' and the entirety of Tupac's Greatest Hits on your computer?** If the answer is yes reflect back on a time when you were on an unheard of amount of illegal substances.

9. Check everyones aim away messages. Obsessively. You do it anyway, you creep.

10. Stare at your bed longingly. You used to remember how amazing that pink cloud felt when you slept for +14 hours.

11. Update that blog you started for what reason again? Oh right, Fluffy told you to.

12. Look for an adventure. Mine consisted of driving to campus, picking up a stray who I knew a million years ago, cursing those who partake in the midnight yell*** and giving the drive through man at in n out a handful of yellow starbursts. I hate yellow starbursts.


happy studying, kids:)


*Also known as success week, a la Winter Quarter 2006.
**Some people might also question the complete Aladdin Soundtrack, however I consider that an amazing musical addition.
***A close second to Undie Run in the 'Most Useless Campus Tradition' lineup.

la la la

Lalalalala. 3AM. Not tired. No desire to do work. Still planning on waking up at 9AM. Getting McDonalds breakfast. Calling it a glorious day.

Am currently watching Sex and the City. Carrie Bradshaw is the most amazing fake icon ever, with the exception of Princess Jasmine. She's encouraged me to rent 'The Way We Were.' Will make good use of my 50% off Hollywood Video membership and get it tomorrow, as well as another Desperate Housewives dvd.

Also. Need to stop writing in telegraph. Time to focus all attention on CB.

[blank] at first sight.

Weekly lust items:
Tory Burch Tory Charm Bracelet and Christian Louboutin Mini Bout Pumps.

Total cost of imaginary shopping spree: $1025. Enough for 20 pairs of 'normal' shoes, a brand new macbook, the amount of makeup to make even the most unfortunate look presentable and, well, more money than I make in a year. But damn would it be worth it.

stat.

I need a new picture taking face. ASAP. Case in point, in the past few months I've managed to take a series of pictures where I end up looking somewhere along the lines of:

Attractive. I'm well aware. I generally leave my apartment and find an item of clothing that is not mine and did not leave the house wearing (ie the hats, sunglasses, etc.) ---which generally leads to me looking extremely bewildered and confused. Hence, the 'muss face.'

I've realized in retrospect that I've been trying to imitate this man:

Well, y'know, with the addition of skin and. ligaments. But the whole wide eyed, dazed. Wondering how exactly my life ended up where it is. Probably not my best photo role model and icon to live by.


In the future I'll try to emulate:

I've always loved the sparkle in her eyes. And I want a pet monkey.

do you believe in.

The boyfriend has taken to calling California a magical place, which I object to for many reasons. Mainly because when I think of a magical place I think:

oooh! the colors!



Or, more recently:




Which is apparently becoming everyones favorite commercial.


However, I stand by the classic:





Nothing will ever beat being chased by an angry chicken.

midterms during ninth week are officially not allowed.

In one last ditch effort to avoid my piles of globalization notes I present to you:


Last Week vs. This Week.


vs.

Figure 1: 'best week ever' of nonstop raging including:

1.1 jetset weekend to new york.
1.2 blackout tuesday where everybody knows your name
1.3 dwayne wayde nba party where i wore satin hot pink stripper shoes.
1.4 being dragged back to aforementioned bar by my pet mex and telling the bouncer he had to let me cut the line because our names rhymed. they actually don't.
1.5 what happens when you wander the apartments at UCLA.


Figure 2: coming off the high.

2.1 who i have become this past week. unnecessary obsession and binge eating included.
2.2 a place where i have been everyday this past week. and had awkward drive through encounters.
2.3 sustenance.
2.4 where i enjoy my sustenance.
2.5 grounds for flamboyant wizard angst corner of doom.

...the good life.

The problem is I haven't tapped into my snark gene in a while. Apparently it will be good for me, granted the last time I had access to this part of my brain I was college cool in high school which was grounds for a lot more angst than you can ever expect.

Anyway.

As per the request/demand of the bff (who apparently needs a nickname as she plans on calling me the pineapple cupcake queen. I think I'll call her fluffy.) Anyway. Fluffy's request plus me not having shit to do (except studying for that thing called a midterm tomorrow. oops.) has resulted in the creation of yet another outlet for my unresolved childhood issues. The perils of a young fashionista couldn't be more fitting as I live in a city dominated by looks, charm, and swagger. And I definitely believe in shoes and cars. It could be worse, I could be 95-pound, doe eyed, bon-mot tossing, label-whoring package of girly evil. If anyone gets both of those pop culture references you win at life more than I do, and I'm pretty fucking legit.

In any case, the most exciting part of my day included getting my first REAL byline. Look out for me, I'm doing big things. And now I'm cowering in the flamboyant wizard angst corner of doom (fluffy has an emo cave, I have a wizard angst corner because of my dragon calendar. and it's flamboyant because it's pink.) and watching Keeping up with the Kardashians. Clearly Kanye was deluded when he described the good life. I've got it instead.