Honey and Toast

This case was a goddamn travesty of every facet of our criminal justice and judicial system.  Even though it is absolutely heartbreaking to me that these men lost 18 years of their lives (seriously for 30 seconds, put yourself in solitary confinement for 18 years.  Think about every experience you would’ve missed out on.  Every friendship, every relationship, every city’s unique sounds, the distinct smell of honeysuckles, the night at that adorable restaurant tucked away in Soho, the night at the bonfire in the middle of an abandoned field, the night on the beach you got drunk on Boone’s Farm, a large frosted glass of Tucher with a fresh orange slice, the first time you saw Saves the Day at the Troc, your college writing Professor’s accolades for your first short story, gaining those 5 or 10 pounds because you live right next door to the best bakery in the world, tweaking your resume to get that job you were just shy of being qualified for, going from entry-level at Pep Boys to a certified BMW mechanic, growing up from being a teenager and buying your first house and landing a real job and getting divorced and then starting anew.  Or falling in love with your high school sweetheart wife or husband all over again.  Imagine if someone removed every memory you’ve ever had in the past 18 years of your life and replaced it with 4 gray walls and the same shitty processed food, and prison guards as your acquaintances.), Yay for FINALLY freeing the West Memphis Three!

science.

After watching ‘Black Swan’ for only the second time tonight, I was reminded of its heartwrenching beauty.  And the simple fact that I need more tragedy and less comedy in my life.  Her debilitating infamy.  An inevitable downfall into psychological manifestations.  A tempestuous soundtrack.  THE hottest and heaviest lesbian scene.  Ever.  And an absolutely killer wardrobe.  God damn you, Rodarte.  How did I miss your exhibit at MOCA.  I think it’s because you didn’t want me to die there.  Frozen in front of your designs.  Desperate to be a swan queen.  The Swan Queen.

I may or may not have a mild major infatuation with a certain bow-adoring, mysophobic and utterly fictitious guidance counselor.

Saturn is tooootally a single lady, teach.

For your viewing pleasure, Joan Holloway and her lovely bum.  In all its animated gif glory. (click on the grayed out thumbnail…technology ::exasperation::)

*from meatbeerbabes

“Jersey Shore Gone Wilde.”  Transcripts from Jersey Shore acted out with a British accent in Dorian Grey style clothing.  I. seriously. DIE!

I don’t know who took this photo, but it’s striking.

I’ve always lived by this, but now I don’t feel like I just threw my hands up and walked away when I cut crappy people out of my life.

So I just found out I have to move to LA in two weeks.  I have to find an apartment that fills my every whimsical desire; I have to pack up every single thing in my life including two of the neediest cats in the entire world and move them to who knows where in Hollywood or Weho; I have to somehow organize all of my Anjou Clothing and Vintage stuff, and I have to plan a quick jaunt back east to visit family/friends.  In two weeks.  I’ll be gallivanting around LA tomorrow and Wednesday to scope out some places, as well as partake in some delicious bevys and get some writing done.  I’m not even sure that I can be excited yet.  But I’m getting there.  I hear extras’ auditions, meaningless cafe writings, art and cultural smatterings, celebrity sightings, and killer vintage practically knocking down my door.

So since I only have like 12 hours to plan my day tomorrow, does anyone know of any LGBT-friendly cafes (besides Urth, which I have mixed feelings about) that have reliable wifi and foamy deliciousness?

It was too pretty for words yesterday in southern California.