time for change

This is what it looks like to move out of an apartment on the last day of 2009.

Smelly, rotten roses. Great.

Beautiful drawing by A. Williams of NY.

Good idea. Lotions, cat collars, picture frames and My Little Pony. That makes sense. I must have organized my boxes based on how much they make me say AWWW! I'll have no problem finding this stuff later.

WAAAAAAAAAH! I haven't done ANYTHING to upgrade my mini mansion. It's like a physical embodiment of my deteriorating intellect ... AM I LIVING THE PORTRAIT OF DORIAN GREY?!

Most of it was packed away so we decided to take a break and make burgers at Marc's place. We could finish the job on new year's day (all hungover, still drunk and terribly grumpy).

Our bikes in a mattress bag.

The extra couch was shoved into the dining room.

Thanks for helping out, guys.

Then we got claustrophobic and went to the Paseo skate park.

New Year's Eve happened. Woke up unpleasantly dehydrated and finished packing my things into small boxes.

(Actually, Marc packed and loaded things into the cars and I posed for a dozen photos because I am a girl and obsessed with my self-image and documenting memories.)

What if my nipples were that large? (the most unimportant question ever asked). ANYWAY!

Goodbye, pyracantha bush! It was occasionally fun to fall into you after stumbling home from Joe's. You will always remind me of my strained and confusing post-college months and the incredible freedom when I realized I was free from anyone and everyone's judgment of my life. I was a free sparrow on your thorny branches ...

Nostalgia makes me geeky.

Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye, little house on Vassar. I never could have imagined all the strange, fun, weird, crazy things to happen to me since I moved into you. Now, I will have a little shelf in my heart where all the memories of you will live. I will always be that girl in shorty shorts, neon nail polish and heart sunglasses when I think of you! Goodbye, little house. Goodbye, Goodbye.

goodbye fair deodorant!

Boo hoo! They stopped selling my favorite deodorant and as far as I can tell, have made no specific plans to replace the wonderful, fantastic purpose it served. Deodorant WITHOUT antiperspirant. High Fidelity is playing in the background so I'm inspired to give you my top 5 all-time reasons why Adidas deodorant without antiperspirant rocked the shit out of my daily hygiene:

NUMBER 5: It was cheap. It was much cheaper than Secret or Mitchell's.
NUMBER 4: The smell was. Mature. Pretty. Subtle. Charming.
NUMBER 3: It didn't stain my shirts yellow.
NUMBER 2: It didn't clog my armpit pores.
NUMBER 1: It didn't give me breast cancer (hopefully!).

Girl deodorants are pretty fucking disgusting. Sure, it's fun to take a few hours to smell them at Walgreens, but overall you don't want to be a grown-up smelling like Languid Peaches, Satin Rosebud Powder, or Sugar and Cinnamon Candybars. The rest smell like pleasant chemicals. It's kind of like the nail polish problem. It looks red, but it's called Rock 'n Roll, Tokyo Princess Blush, Roulette Table, Candy Apple Gloss, or Rich Girl Red, thereby convincing me to buy five shades of the same color for my little piggies. And my adidas one smelled like slightly poisonous baby powder. Le sigh!

But, what ultimately made this the best deodorant was that it was free of antiperspirant. Not wanting to sweat because you're a girl and everyday is your princess barbie wedding day is creepy. So, I remembered my favorite television hooker uses men's deodorant and switched over.

She alludes to wearing men's deodorant at 4:22. I'll give you the update in a few days.

bye bye skyler

I had just come from the cave of the musician I told you about yesterday. I'll call him W.O. although those aren't his initials. He was barefoot and spoke to me with heavy eyelids. My shiny black miniskirt was crumpled. Rosy, freckled cheeks. And when he walked me to the front door, I sauntered as slowly as reasonable just to count the stringed and brass instruments in his living room. His skin smelled like bar soap. Art Blakey was playing on his speakers. I waved bye, forgoing the nonsense of parting kisses and stomped down the sidewalk with an open Newcastle in hand.

On to Skyler's house and farewell party.

The night air was dangerously windy. It smelled like mountain junipers. My hair whipped around and I could see the trees bending over in slow windy cadence. Their green leaves twisted the reflection of street lights down toward my shiny skin. It was past midnight, I felt young.

I brought Skyler a 40, but he was long gone - mentally, not physically - so I chugged it myself. Marc lent me a warm shirt. It was green and black flannel. The 40 paired with the flannel instantly made me #1 obnoxious hipster at Chez Skyler's. Do I look like a halloween costume?

T.C. turned my olde english into a brass monkey. yum yum!

Beautiful, drunk girls danced to Shout Out Louds and Talking Heads near the fireplace and a few people were passed out on the lumpy red couches.

Gee W. took out his pipe in le kitchen and a couple drug whores fluttered over to him. The smell of pot pinched my nose so I walked out back. Kat played the broken organ keys, Pipe and Raj drank budweisers by themselves and the rest of us sat in lawn chairs under the swinging desert trees.

I explored their storage shed.

Pipe got hit in the head by a folding chair and Skyler split his forehead with a sprinkler nozzle. No pics though. sorry.

This is so my next halloween costume. not!

We met J at my apartment. He was in a bad way ... why do you think?

Guess again.

Then walked over to Marc's place and I played him my Allman Brothers Band discography.

Like Marc's new shoes? He and J went outside to smoke ciggies and gossip, boy-style. Baby and I preferred to hit repeat on Please Call Home.

Effing wonderful night.

The next morning, a thousand tree branches were lying in the street. It felt like the memories and dreams of the windy night party escaped our minds and placated the real world.