hello, bloggies! it's been awhile, mainly because i've been spending the week trying (a) not to worry about job stuff for chicago, (b) being drunk, and (c) being holed up in my apt. because of the rain. but, the radio silence is good because it means i've been doing kewl (i'm utilizing teenage speak to be ironic. buckle up.) things and this entry will be rich with pics and fables. so, take a knee, kids and listen to auntie ashie tell you all about this week's bounty.
the work week was grueling and chock full of pimping and self-promotion with a not-what-i-expected-or-hoped-for response. but, as mentioned in other entries, i've 'come to jesus' (as my dad would say) with the fact that i can only put in so much and other things/people/fate-controlled-kewlness (#2) play a big role in how shit pans out. so, i am being breezy about this exploration and looking at my visit as an opportunity to have criminal amounts of fun, which, for those of you who really know me and the events of, oh, say, the past few years, i truly deserve. speaking of criminal amounts of fun, i reunited with brennon, emerson pal of yore, on friday night and boy, did we fuck some shit up. some things are different from the last time we hung out. for one, we're not in college. two, i no longer have red hair and i now shave my legs. three, brennon is, as he puts it so eloquently, "gay GAY," which is great, but a bit disappointing because he looked tres cute in his little hat and stripy shirt. dare i say that we had a super cool (said with french accent, if you please) time dancing to 90's music at the common ground and befriending (or being adopted by?) a group of 21 year old Berklee students with piercings, tattoos, and belt buckles in the shape of boom boxes. between me pouring beer on brennon out of excitement and rascalishness during soul decision's "faded," to brennon telling people that we were brother and sister, gf/bf, and various other lies to satisfy his devious side, the night was rich with whiskey shots, amstel lights, and bumpin', grinding, and singing along with the youth of today. we were such a hit with these cats that they invited us to their after party in the fens (which resulted in me losing my very beautiful umbrella in the cab. sadness.). wow. brennon and i were forthcoming with our ages (26 and 27, respectively) from the beginning and these kids seemed not to care, inviting us into their home that was littered with music posters, keyboards, and heineken keg cans. it was a surreal experience. not only were we hammered, but we both made out with the boys (odd? sure.) for like a second and suffered through vapid conversations from some tube-topped college girls who were talking about how they're "like best friends, but like SOOOO different" (brennon does a really good impersonation). we left our pals shortly after arriving, crashed at my place (where b made fun of my bedspread ("it looks like the oil on top of chicken soup or pita bread" and thanked me for "letting me have night emissions in your pajama pants), and made a morning pilgrimage to mcd's for sausagey goodness to sop up hangovers that only get worse as we become more acutely aware of our age. we then parted ways because i had to go get a facial (found a gift certificate a few days back that i'd won at a raffle) at a chichi medi spa, the kind of place where the wealthy get covertly nipped and tucked to the point of looking like shiny lionesses.
so naturally, i felt pretty awesome rolling in in beat up jordache jeans (a total score at marshall's) and a 'skullberry' hoodie (a gift from brian from our early skateboarding days), sipping coffee in the waiting room while russian receptionists in sky high heels pranced by like gazelles. i meet my aesthetician, tricia, who's been under the knife a few times, and she sits me down to have a consultation where she tells me shit i pretty much already know, but hell, i love talking skin care. she announces triumphantly, "well, i don't think you need any plastic surgery or injectables today, so let's just go with a facial." thanks, tricia. because, ya know, at 27, i was really worried that i might need serious intervention. jesus. i felt a bit like a hyperactive kid at a shrink's office, bracing myself for a hardcore prescription and being spared...for now. too funny.
the facial was pretty awesome - done with sound waves (i had to wear a bracelet to channel the current and everything - very johnny five) and water. it felt rad and the relaxing asian sitar type music lulled me to sleep for a bit. the coolest part was when tricia let me look in a mirror while she was doing the treatment and you could literally see shit being coaxed for my pores. now, if you know me well, you know i love this stuff. i have an unhealthy (but shared, haley and amber know) obsession with extraction. as i told hays last night, "you know how in labyrinth ludo can call the rocks and they start rolling to him? well, it was kind of like that." she understood. better than masturbation, folks (not the understanding, the facial). the sound wave facial, also know as the "ultrasonic." she recommended a toner and red tea oil, both of which are luxe and fun to use, and i woke up this morning with the complexion of a lil' peach - soft, dewy, and totally unfettered porcelain. apparently, the upkeep requires treatments every week, but at $150 a pop (again, gift certificate, people), that will not be happening.
so i spent the rest of the rainy day eating saag paneer in my pajamas and received very entertaining texts from a 21 year old with a lip ring who was trying to woo me to go to a 'clothing optional' gig with him. perhaps i'm wired wrong, but the idea of a clothing optional party actually makes me shudder, almost as much as sleeping with a 21 year old. instead, i ignored said texts (they got unsolicitedly more racy the more i ignored. you men.) in favor of watching 'beyond the sea' and 'the pianist' on ifc. hi, adrian brody is gorgeous and talented (i want to run my hands all through his glossy hair and all over his pale face). but don't watch that film unless you want to cry and be profoundly depressed. oh, and i watched loads of 'keeping up appearances' which i fucking heart hardcore. hyacinth bucket is pretty much the funniest character of all time. it was the episode where her father was found cycling naked and fell in the river. this calamity spoiled her candlelight supper. genius.
this morning i woke to aforementioned peachy complexion and a still rainy day (see view from window). naturally, a rainy day inspires creativity mixed with coziness. whatever am i to do? reflecting on the clothing optional party, i revisited my stash of actually very darling lingerie (but quite retired) and lounged around in various combinations like a madame. such is a luxury afforded only (i'd assume) to those who live alone. i felt positively vivienne westwood, which was nice because it put me back in touch with a time when i actually had a calculated sense of sensuality and detail. now it's all making out in cabs, near nightclub bathrooms, or in elevators during work (i'm not complaining - that was a cool arrangement). perhaps chicago will breathe new life into my frilly things. i then got inspired to delve into stacks of magazines and cut and collage favorites and see how i can (in the spirit of economizing and paring down) replicate looks with my own closet. pair this activity with swedish music (i'm loving "hitten" by those dancing days and the new radio dept. stuff) and some glowing cinnamon soy candles (i'm in love with them) and the day is perfect.
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