She flew out of New York in a blur, leaving behind her dear, dear Riou George. I don’t know all the intimate details about Becky and Riou George’s relationship, but I have it on very good authority that they sleep together and have been for awhile. (Becky would be [...]]]> Birds,  Becky, my darling co-founder of our new art collective (more on that soon, promise!), is in LA for approximately ten days (as of January 26th?).

She flew out of New York in a blur, leaving behind her dear, dear Riou George. I don’t know all the intimate details about Becky and Riou George’s relationship, but I have it on very good authority that they sleep together and have been for awhile. (Becky would be Womb Buddy‘s girlfriend. Disconcerting much?)

Anyways, I hate to gossip about a partner-in-crime  partner-in-art, but apparently Riou didn’t take the news of her departure too well.

See what I mean? (Slideshow below, of course.) 

Without Becky here, Riou George had a bit of an identity crisis. Eyewitnesses said that after discovering his real name was “Riou George”- not “Curious George”, he repeatedly tried to take his own life and failed a total of four times.

He tried to blend himself to smithereens, but he was unable to reach the “pulse” button on the blender. He tried to burn his face off in the over, but discovered that his head didn’t reach far enough into the heat for that method to work. He tried to hang himself, and discovered that he doesn’t have lungs to breathe out of, only plush stuffing to fill himself.

All of these failures only added to poor Riou’s distress. Sources tell me he is now spending his days beneath a coffee table, trying to recover from his identity confusion and embarrassment.

 IN OTHER NEWS:

I’m hopping a plane in a couple of hours, bound for LA! On one hand, I’m excited. On the other hand, I’m feeling beleagured and beaten down, like I need a vacation from vacation. Last night I went to a lot of great places, to be dissected and discussed in later posts, of course- and you can bet your sweet asses I wore the tiara below.

ALL. NIGHT. LONG.

Hopefully later on, as I’m floating over middle America, I’ll also be sleeping.

I have so much to fill you all in on, and I know I always say this, but we’ll talk more about everything that has been going down the last month of so laterrrrrr.

(Promises, promises, right? Pffffff. ) 

Good news is I’ll be back with the sisterfrannnnnns soon! Been missing them like a fat kid misses her stretchy pants. (FOR REAL, Y’ALL!) And yeah, I have been just about every where this month.

See you on the West Coast (again), Pretty Birds. Sleep soundly!

death face, originally uploaded by jacqueline.fonte.

Getting up early tomorrow morning to have breakfast with my favorite hoeninny. Early AM? Pray to the lord that I don’t come down with a serious case of death face. Know what I’m saying?

Also, I am seriously in love with this hooker’s face mask.

(Halloween 2010)

To die for.

(Didn’t want to include his face. I felt like that would be intrusive, right? LOL. I’m a bad person, and having a camera- albeit a sheisty one- on my phone is akin to giving matches to an [...]]]> I totally snuck these photos of this dude at the pharmacia, because I mean, do you see the boots and shirt combo?

To die for.

(Didn’t want to include his face. I felt like that would be intrusive, right? LOL. I’m a bad person, and having a camera- albeit a sheisty one- on my phone is akin to giving matches to an arsonist.)

Anyways, male readers, please note the proper use of khaki; khaki is only acceptable when used in non-cheaply textured fabric, got it? Like those semi-stretchy Dockers most men seem to own a pair of? BURN THEM. They make you look REALLY fat. (Not kidding, khaki + those cuts have been making men look like wide-asses for decades now.) Those kinds of pants are for men who want to troll the aisles of WalMart for the rest of their lives, got it?

Also, please note his use of dark denim to contrast the khaki in his shirt and on his boots. Yes, he probably bought those boots with the smudged, paint-looking substance on them. No, I do not care that such a fact might make these boots considerably contrived.

I do not care. I like them anyways.

In fact, I liked them so much, that while he was sitting in the chair next to me, waiting to pick up his prescription as well, I literally couldn’t stop looking at them.

That’s all.

It was just another day in the gayborhood, waiting at the pharmacia for some druggggs.

Hate to break the bad news, but don’t exactly expect greatness. Have seen ‘em, and when they’re good, they’re A-MAZING. When [...]]]> I forgot to mention, RogueRanters, that a band I’ve been listening to for quite awhile now has recently caught on out here; is actually playing at Webster Hall. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. I don’t know how much you all might’ve paid for your tickets, something like $22?

Hate to break the bad news, but don’t exactly expect greatness. Have seen ‘em, and when they’re good, they’re A-MAZING. When they’re bad (which is like 90% of the time), it’s just seems a bit like some incoherent hippie fest that starts late and you’d wish it end early. (You don’t want to just leave early, because you paid $ for it.)

But that was in LA. Maybe New York will be different? My advice: go with expectations of mediocrity, so if they’re awful it’s not such a far drop and if they’re good then it’s not such a far rise. LOL.

I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with a band full of hippies; you fall out of love with them ’cause they’re a band full of hippies who can’t show up on time or perform up to par with their record.

BTW, I have extreme reservations about Webster Hall anyways. It’s always a bunch of really young people trying really hard to look and act cool in my experiences. It is 18+, actually, so that makes a lot of sense. Not really my scene there, but if you dig it, then get on with your bad self.

Have fun!

From my old place of residence, circa 2007.

The view from my old place of residence, circa [...]]]>

From my old place of residence, circa 2007.

The view from my old place of residence, circa 2009.

Today, it is raining here in New York City.

Yesterday, it was raining here as well.

In LA, it is sunny, a nice lovely summer day. Just when I was getting used to the swamp season here, my best friends are headed to the beach. Just like that, after a heatwave, she drops in from the clouds, and you realize in this [...]]]>

Today, it is raining here in New York City.

Yesterday, it was raining here as well.

In LA, it is sunny, a nice lovely summer day. Just when I was getting used to the swamp season here, my best friends are headed to the beach. Just like that, after a heatwave, she drops in from the clouds, and you realize in this city, she’s a full-time lover.

Back in Los Angeles, she’s just a part-time hooker, and chances are, you can’t afford her.

Rainy days like this are reserved for the four S’s, my dears: Soup, Sandwiches, Sex, and Scintillating literature.

All preferably hot.

Don’t you forget it.

See you tomorrow.

]]> http://www.rogueranting.com/archives/2465/feed 0 http://www.rogueranting.com/archives/2273 http://www.rogueranting.com/archives/2273#comments Sun, 11 Jul 2010 03:23:34 +0000 J http://www.rogueranting.com/?p=2273 Pretty Little Birds, when putting the pedal to the metal,

always use protection.

Sometimes, it’s a lazy session.

Sometimes traffic gets in the way of your quickie.

If you’re not careful, you’ll be peeing on stick.

[...]]]> Pretty Little Birds, when putting the pedal to the metal,

always use protection.

Sometimes, it’s a lazy session.

Sometimes traffic gets in the way of your quickie.

If you’re not careful, you’ll be peeing on stick.

Just because she delivers doesn’t mean it’s love.

Flowers and booze won’t necessarily get you some.

Girls like bad boys, in leather jackets. Musicians are always attractive.

But if you think you’re gonna hit it, make sure you’re not forgetting

to wrap, wrap, wrap it up.

In the words of  Lil Wayne :

“Safe sex is great sex
Better wear a latex
Cuz you dont want that late text
that ‘I think I’m late’ text”

Summer is love, RogueRanters.

Now I’m not saying to go out and be the town bicycle, but definitely get your swerve on.

* This post is dedicated to my safety conscious friends, Nohea and Nu, proud adult helmet wearers.

Good evening, RogueRanters.

I logged into my flickr account this afternoon- a rare moment of lucidity for me- only to discover a group dedicated to Dr. Scholls and clogs wanted to use my “Hogs” photo for a flickr group. Bahbahbah. I said yes, of course. The internet never fails to surprise me. It connects the few people that love hogs, heels, and clogs- or maybe it’s cheese-covered [...]]]>

Good evening, RogueRanters.

I logged into my flickr account this afternoon- a rare moment of lucidity for me- only to discover a group dedicated to Dr. Scholls and clogs wanted to use my “Hogs” photo for a flickr group. Bahbahbah. I said yes, of course. The internet never fails to surprise me. It connects the few people that love hogs, heels, and clogs- or maybe it’s cheese-covered almonds. Whatever your seemingly weird fetish or obsession or hobby, you can always find someone on the internet who shares it with you.

Maybe “the people” are right? (The people meaning people who say the following:) With the Internet, it’s entirely possible that while people can be alone, they never have to be lonely again. Hmmmmm. Chew on that!

For now, a link to those oh-so-cute white Chanel clogs Ms. Garance Dore posted today, and the stark admission that I’ve long been a closeted clogs whore; I have always just been a little too embarrassed to wear them out of the house. My little sister and my stepmother wear them as well. When I left LA again in September, I threw out my last surviving pair- knit black with a light faux-wood heel- and thought to myself, “What a shame that I’ll never wear these puppies again.”

Say it ain’t so! I was wrong.

Not the first time that has happened

Neither did hot pink hair or a little falafel.

A slice a day keeps the doctor away.

The Solomon R. . . .

R. Guggen . . .

Genheim . . .

Ashes to Ashes  a la Guggenheim.

Never failed anybody’s wardrobe.

Neither did hot pink hair or a little falafel.

A slice a day keeps the doctor away.

The Solomon R. . . .

R. Guggen . . .

Genheim . . .

Ashes to Ashes  a la Guggenheim.

Jackie O. rises from the lake.

Empire State of Mind Fog

The Euro-clubber and his old Jewish maid, aka Womb Buddy and Becky modeling glasses.

The mother load near Penn Station.

My hair is a mess, and Nohea compared my to Kanye’s Amber Rose in these shades.

Yeah. Hid-day-us. Needless to say, I didn’t buy them.

Border Crossing.

Guess what I sneak-read at the bookstore because good reading ain’t for the poor?

Planetarium-esque carpet? Yessss pleassse.

Empire State of Mind Fog by Night.

Night Lights.

Commies say “Black coast and black pants for everyone!”

Death by Train Commute.

My self-studded boots carried me home.

Womb Buddy, his girlfriend, Becky, and Nohea + me . . . Pizza on St. Marks amidst pink haired people. Pay-what-you-may trip to the Guggenheim. Tripping out on Modern Art. Picasso in real-life is always a trip. Nohea not getting modern art. Pretending to wait outside in the cold so we can yell at Womb Buddy. Hanging out in Borders reading $15 magazines I can’t afford. Drinking Hazelnut coffee I can afford. Penn Station. Burgers nearby. Two Wolfpack members over lunch. Joy came to visit in the city. Grey Poupon on my French Fries. Yessss. “I see where you’re going with this.” Grey Skies and foggy weather.

There’s never too much black in a wardrobe, and there’s never too much pink in someone’s hair. There’s never enough money in your pockets, and there’s always too much time spent on the train. There’s never too much pizza to be consumed, and there’s never enough sunshine. There’s never enough time.