i painted my nails to keep myself from chewing them. all the nail polish i could find at my mom's house was coney-island-hooker-red with the exception of one clear polish with gold glitter and confetti chunks in it. i carefully spread it over each chewed stump of a nail and patiently waited for it to dry, occasionally blowing on it for good measure. a few hours later i picked out all the confetti bits scraped off as much hardened glitter from my nails as possible. am i hopeless? maybe. most of the time i can't even be bothered to shave my legs.

oh for fuck's sake

being a total fucking ass, i said "go to my uncle's blog! it's so fucking great. we write blogs! yaaaaaaayyyyy" and i didn't post a fucking link. so here. UGH!

emily haines made me poop

i didn't think anybody made these. i drew these when i was eleven. cool.

http://www.punitiveshoes.com/database/ballets/rancho.shtml

i tried to express my admiration and bewilderment, but i just ended up sounding like a psuedo poetic stalker. i should just fuck off.

it's very poetic, i think, the thought of a woman covered in tattoos, wild black hair and red wine lips with a closet full of black dresses. i know this woman. i saw her shortly after getting a job at the blackbird buvette and she told me that she needed to wear black at work. a collection of black dresses grows in her closet. all cut just above the knee and without sleeves. different fabrics and styles the same black as her eyelashes and little leather ankle boots. she tucks them into the waistband of her underwear, making them puff out like funny little bloomers with big slit pockets. now, she's just walked into the room in a soft black summer dress with a layered skirt. she's wrapped black rope and strips of fabric like five sloppy belts from her ribs to her hips, cinching her waist and bunching the cloth. tattoos of horses cover her right arm while stick and poke words and items sit scattered on her legs. julia, you are a woman from a dream. you knock me down sometimes. cheers.

the heart on my left

i have this tattoo on my foot that i absolutely fucking love to death. it's just a little red stick and poke heart that i drunkenly drew above my toes with a ballpoint pen from an upside down angle. it's a wee bit lopsided and it kind of looks like a fresh scar. i winced and whined and bit my hand through the entire ten minutes it took for anna to repeatedly stab me silly with a tiny, five pronged needle. everybody laughed at me because i was being a pussy. i've had it for a few weeks now and it feels entirely natural resting on the crease between my first and second toe. i would have an immediate crush on a girl with this tattoo. i'm so fucking happy i got it.

oh shit number one

i already have a blog (with only one post) that i started sometime last year, but i can't remember my user name or password. i can't even remember what it's called, so i haven't been able to find it and delete it. whatever. while i rack my brain trying to write something worth reading, i'll send you over to my uncle tim's blog: UGH. this man is funny, awkward, offensive and utterly brilliant. i'm so glad he's been around my whole life. check him out and come back here. hopefully i'll have put this thing to use.