This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Bedsider.org. But all thoughts and opinions are my own, so come at me.
Bedside drawers can be very personal spaces. You could have ANYTHING in there. Like a baby. You could have a living baby in your drawer. And that’s your business. Or, if you don’t want babies like me, you can go to Bedsider.org and figure out which method is right for you to prevent babies from suddenly occurring.
Because when people think about what’s usually in beside drawers, they think about super secret sexy stuff. We all know what I’m talking about. To quote Bea Arthur’s Dorothy Zbornak, “Condoms, Rose! Condoms! Condoms! CONDOMS!”
I didn't even realize there was a bride and groom behind me. Who photo bombed who?
I love Las Vegas. If I could go there every other week I would. This was my second year at the Bloggers In Sin City conference. The first one changed my life in that it was something I would never do: get on a plane to meet a bunch of strangers and share a room with one of them and hang out with them for three days. This time I knew more of what to expect. I even had the same roommate (Kelly! Here’s her blog).
And this time, I learned a lot more. About myself. About people. About life. Here are my lessons. I hope we can all learn something.
There is so such thing as a 24 hour buffet. This is true not in only the literal sense; that as much as Vegas loves its buffets, it doesn’t have one that is open all the time. And thanks to the concierge for scoffing at us for asking. Sir you work in Vegas, and this is the question that throws you? But the life buffet is also not open 24 hours. When you have a delicious buffet, you need to savor every moment and get seconds, if not thirds. There is so much to try. Don’t focus on only one item. And when it inevitably ends, have something to look forward to. Except when you die, then it’s kind of over. Unless you believe in the afterlife in which case, have fun talking to John Edward on his loser show. Continue reading
Thanks to photographer Raymond Liu!
Coachella is not my idea of fun; it’s more my idea of let’s make Uncle Almie cry. There’s lots of people, dirty hot sweaty people, and you have to throw money everywhere. If you can rock it out there, by all means, have fun in the assy desert. But if you’re high maintenance and totally fucking annoying like I am, Brokechella is the chella for you. Not to say that Brokechella was annoying; it was crazy fun and chill at the same time. It was a bunch of people in a warehouse getting free stuff and getting photographed and dancing to random LA bands that should be crazy famous but aren’t and eating and drinking. Big thanks to Cartel: Collaborative Arts L.A. for putting together such a creative and spirited event.
Picture of me taken 600 years ago at MoMA by Julia Gazdag.
I wrote something for Hello Giggles that will be out tomorrow/in a few days called “Top ten ways to tell you’re an adult.” (Oh hay in the mean time check out the other things I’ve written for Hello Giggles, and it will open in a window so you can read it right after this, don’t even worry about it, friend.) It made me think a lot. I don’t usually think a lot, it’s easier to just do stuff and then apologize. (<– just tweeted the fuck out of this.) I had to really think about how I’ve changed in the last few years and the whole process was so meaningful and inspiring, like a tampon commercial. It wasn’t as sad as I thought it would be. I say sad because recently I turned into someone who cares about their age and I hate it. I blame everything and everyone but myself. So sometimes looking back can be a little frightening.
Do adults feel like adults, ever? Will I reach a point where I look down and think, “I just balanced the shit out of that checkbook.” I really don’t want to. I like buying things and occasionally checking what’s up with my money, and hoping it all works out. I like to do stupid guff that makes me feel like a kid.
Guys I am Tom Hanksing the fuck out of this situation. You know, Big. I don’t mean that I am a little kid named Josh trapped in a boyishly good looking 30 something man. But close! I am little Uncle Almie with her long messy tangled fringed hair under a Mickey Mouse cap stuck in grown Almie’s body. Unfortunately, it’s not cute for me to act like this. I’ve reached the age where it is not acceptable to act like I don’t know how to act like an adult. Indoor voices. And I’m too old to pretend that I don’t know better.
And that’s how I know I’m an adult.
When and how did you realize you were an adult?
This right here is my uniform. Red lipstick, lots of black, and this Serge Gainsbourg & Jane Birkin tee when I’m not wearing a black dress.
Today I start a new job in fashion Exciting! I have no idea how I stumbled into the world of fashion (I also write for Genlux Magazine), it just kind of happened, and I love it. But I have a confession. Lately, I’ve sort of given up on my style. “I don’t know how to dress anymore,” I told my mom. Expecting her to say, “Oh of course you do,” she instead said, “Yeah you’re not really trying anymore.” Yikes. Let’s take a magical tour through my fashion history, shall we? (This post contains lots of photos so if your computer is slow, lollolol). Oh and
What is your daily uniform? What’s your favorite style, your favorite looks, your favorite fashion inspiration? And do you have any suggestions for me?