The Neon Zee

good morning

 

 

......

"half accidental

half painful instrumental

i see my mother in my face
but only when i travel

 

you know what really annoys me?

wholesome people. 

AKA

people who CURATE an aura of wholesomeness 

 

i have no patience for that. any other facade is somewhat funny...but the theatrical performance of low key wholesomeness is just obnoxious. dealing with someone who functions within the system of that lie is NOT WORTH WASTING YOUR TIME ON. 

also: political correctness is THE END OF FREEDOM OF SPEECH.

PROTECT YOUR RIGHTS. 

(but thats a different story.)

p.s. i did a bad bad ting. i bought more shoezz. i pretended like i was buying a winter jacket, but no, 4 inch ankle boot platforms. 

Sally: Are you all right?  Baron Munchausen: Am I dead?  Sally: No.  Baron Munchausen: Blast!  Sally: Who are you really?  Baron Munchausen: [groans]  Sally: Baron Munchausen isn't real, he's only in stories.  Baron Munchausen: Go away! I'm trying to die!  Sally: Why?  Baron Munchausen: Because I'm tired of the world and the world is evidentally tired of me.  Sally: But why? Why?  Baron Munchausen: Why, why, why! Because it's all logic and reason now. Science, progress, laws of hydraulics, laws of social dynamics, laws of this, that, and the other. No place for three-legged cyclops in the South Seas. No place for cucumber trees and oceans of wine. No place for me.

 p.p.s. my favorite wholesome person blogger, Emily of CupcakesandCashmere, MADE HOME MADE GRAHAM CRACKERS the other day. I LOVE GRAHAM CRACKERS. they're my favorite

Did you know that graham crackers were invented in the time of Theodore Roosevelt (WHO HATED BEING CALLED TEDDY, BY THE WAY) by a man with the last named Graham? Graham was the first health food fanatic and wanted to invent the ULTIMATE HEALTH FOOD. hence, graham crackers.

but then we added sugar. 

cus thats what we do in America. add shit. make shit bigger. better. stronger. faster. SUGARIER. 

For a home made graham cracker recipe, click Here

VIOLENT FEMME

Today was spent in the haze of valium hangover (dentist apt yesterday) and 4 hour spanish class. Little coaxing was needed to inspire my spanish teacher to wax poetic on the magic of sex- the misunderstanding of the catholics- her two lovers etc. she is 56- but listening to her is enjoyable and gives me a break from conjugation. 

im calling this week cabeza rehab:

1. spanish 4 hours/day

2. no drinking

3. "family therapy" 3/week (fucking shoot me)

4. haircut... 1cm counts? right?

5. 3 dentist appointments and 2 doctor appointments

6. voy a visitar sierra de la muerte y los quetzales

7. attempting to make the traditional semana santa sopa de camarones/tortillas/raiz/etc (takes about 10 hours)

ESTA CAMOTE!!!!!

my favorite new costa rican slang:

means: YOU'RE A SWEET POTATO! but actually it means: YOU'RE CRAZY!

because: you get served mashed sweet potatoes in institutions. 

isnt that great? 

 

I think its GREAT. 

great is such a great great great word. 

GREAT!

 

then my CAMOTE ASS heads back to CO to raisin-ify and be free of the pressure that is perfect-daughter-ness. 

WOOOHOOOOOOO

blouse purchased in indonesia in the 80s

clip bought in mercado central de san jose (originally from guatemala though)

(VIOLENT FEMMES)

im feeling violently peaceful today. i love my routine of spanish class- cafe lunch- chain smoking while wandering escazu- appointments- cook dinner- hike to "the view"- long conversations at pubs- study spanish- fall asleep- wake up early- attempt to make some costa rican dish concoction- etc.

 

its been good. 

 

 

higher powers ordain it: stupiderr than usually beE is IN

just so you know, we've all been given the go ahead by the fashionblogging queens of the entire universe (fashion blogging,) (that would be JANE ALDRIDGE of SEA OF SHOES and GARANCE DORE of GARANCE DORE,)  (grandmas of the internet, if you will,) to be absolutely way more idiotic than usual this week. also: indulge yourself. yOU'RE WORTH IT.above and beyond the call of vapid idiocy, wot wot. the internet grandmas have dictated and we must follow. without a hierarchy of glamor there can be no order, after all. DO YOU WANT THAT?

DO YOU?

fucking anarchists!

"At least the shoes took my mind off the crazy people in Vegas, though I guess I'm not in much of a position to be pointing the crazy people finger since I'm the nutcase who got two pairs."

 

"I have in my possesion, and have since the dawn of time,  something I have no idea where it orginally came from, I have the most sublime copy of a Birkin.

It is made of the most beautiful tan leather, supple and perfectly aged. It’s made with a leather that Hermès no longer uses (we’ll get to talk Hermès leather soon, promise…). Oh I just love it so much.

So much that when I walk down the street with it, people stop me to tell me how beautiful it is, and I feel bad unless I tell them…

“No, but it’s totally a fake. Yeah, it’s beautiful and all. And yeah, they don’t make them anymore… but it’s still a fake.”

Result : Obviously, I never wear it.

So a fake is a fake. It could be ugly or exquisite, maybe other people know, maybe just you, but still, a fake is always a fake.

Pffffff and yeah, that’s the super boring moral of the story."

 

BUT......... in all seriousness....

what is there to be said about utilitarian art's custom of mimicry??? IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN FASHION AT ALL, YOU SHOULD WATCH THIS CLIP. BECAUSE I SAY SO. i am the zitty teenager of fashionblogging...not a grandma.... BUT IM BRATTY AND PERSISTENT SO YOU BETTER FUCKING CAVE TO MY WHIMS.

I'd hate to take a bite out of you

you're a cookie filled with arsenic

the dentist's assistant worships satan. 

i can taste more blood than flouride and there are cuts beneath my tongue from where she stabbed, missing the crevice between teeth. 

 

also: did you know that in spanish the individual garlic buds are called dientes de ajo? 

there is nothing worse than having somebody you dont want to fuck right up on your grill for an hour and a half. 

fact.

my mouth has been scalpel fucked by a vengeful piece of hooked machinery....but fortunately for you bored people and my bored post spanish-class post dentist-fuck post-obligatory fight with parents self....my fingers remain unharmed. 

 

ANYONE WHO IS A DENTIST IS A CLOSET SADIST AND UNABASHED MONEY WHORE. in the totem pole of career status seeking and exploitive brutality, dentist might be RIGHT AT THE TOP OF THE evil-eyed-many-tiered monster. 

the end.

p.s. 

now that i've made your brain hate itself for reading my blog and sending compulsory fear signals to the appropriate axons

LOOOOOK HOW PRETTTTYYYYYYY

OOOOO BUBBBBBLESSSS

sins of omission

nothing more beautiful than the story about the sisters of the moon in chinese mythology

ok the ones that include my face are way too embarrassing. 

Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man by Ogden Nash   It is common knowledge to every schoolboy and even every Bachelor of Arts, That all sin is divided into two parts. One kind of sin is called a sin of commission, and that is very important, And it is what you are doing when you are doing something that you oortant, And the other kind of sin is just the opposite and is called a sin of omission and is equally bad in the eyes of all right-thinking people, from Billy Sunday to Buddha, And it consists of not having done something you shuddha. I might as well give you my opinion of these two kinds of sin as long as, in a way, against each other we are pitting them, And that is, don't bother your heads about sins of commission because however sinful, they must at least be fun or else you wouldn't be committing them. It is the sin of omission, the second kind of sin, That lays eggs under your skin. The way you get really painfully bitten Is by the insurance you haven't taken out and the checks you haven't added up the stubs of and the appointments you haven't kept and the bills you haven't paid and the letters you haven't written. Also, about sins of omission there is one particularly painful lack of beauty, Namely, it isn't as though it had been a riotous red-letter day or night every time you neglected to do your duty; You didn't get a wicked forbidden thrill Every time you let a policy lapse or forgot to pay a bill; You didn't slap the lad in the tavern on the back and loudly cry Whee, Let's all fail to write just one more letter before we go home, and this round of unwritten letters is on me. No, you never get any fun Out of the things you haven't done, But they are the things that I do not like to be amid, Because the suitable things you didn't do give you a lot more trouble than the unsuitable things you did. The moral is that it is probably better not to sin at all, but if some kind of sin you must be pursuing, Well, remember to do it by doing rather than by not doing.

like, for instance, this one. 

but like i said, portrait of the dumbass as a prematurely old idiot. 

(no offense to ogden nash who wrote one clever fucking poem while all i did was take some vain photobooth pictures)

i heard you make the sexiest pancakes

here is a nice list of nice things you could say to people who deserve to hear you say good things about them:

- Your smile reminds me of a puppy.

- When you opened your mouth to say what you said I did not regret that I had ears.

- You are a fantastic person and I’m glad that we have class together today.

- If there was a contest between two groups of people and the two groups of people had an equal number of people in them and the contest was to see what group had the most people and you showed up late and joined one of the groups then you would be the difference maker.

- Your brain is made of neurons because I think all brains are made of neurons, but I like the order of your neurons.

- There’s a real sense of sparkle power to your aura right now.

- Once I saw you walking down the street and I got really excited and yelled unintelligible things and people looked at me and I pointed at you and then everyone understood and it was okay.

- I heard you’re really good at that dance trend that hasn’t been invented yet.

- I wish I could hold the words you just said in my head forever and repeat them when I am lonely.

- They say things about pictures and a large quantity of words but when I see you I can only think of three…You’re. So. Cool.

- I heard you make the sexiest pancakes.

p.s. WHATS THE DEAL WITH ALL THE FINGERCRUD IN THE WORLD???

I DONT SAY NICE THINGS ABOUT YOU IF YOU HAVE FINGER CRUD. people with this kinda shit going on don't do anything worth paying attention to. 

don't trust people who don't use their hands. although i would be misleading you if i didn't throw cautionary glitter to the wind:  don't trust italian men as a species of hand users. thats a huge mistake. 

its all about the calluses and the short, clean fingernails. 

 (massage, palm reading, handshaking and hand holding are all good discovery tactics)

(sometimes i think im crazy but mostly i just think im RIGHT.)

mom told me combat boots aren't beach appropriate.

taking this trip to prove to you that I am what you already think I am, but I am actually not so sure that who you think I am is who I really am

 

oooo you got me right in the feelings. Right in the feeeeelings, man. 

but we're not going to the beach. we're going to the Osa National Park. and snakes rarely bite above the ankle, mom. 

--------

back in 6 days. when i come back i'll be a jungle creature...but for now, i am still a human girl. 

heres to a year of transformations!!! love you all!

bitch got totally juiced

just came across the year old carine roitfeld quote posted below...

"If you struggle to pay bills, working on advertising you do not like, on magazines you do not like, at the end of the day is difficult to still like fashion. You know, is like when you squeeze a lemon... whereas I still have some juice."

heres some of her old work from paris vogue:

The Fashions

She didn’t like it

when I wore a

Buddha on my chest,

the Zen of advertisement

on my breast…

enlightenment and all the rest—

OHM!

But I digress.

 

She didn’t like it

when I wore Hindu goddesses

around my neck,

I accessorized with religion

for the discotheque—

A little sexy Shiva to make up

for my boring dress!

 

She didn’t like it

when I played Jesus Christ Super Star

in my car.

I sang along

when Judas yelled WHO IN THE HELL

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

 

She didn’t like it

when I made a Jewish joke.

How many make fortunes

charging for a single toke?

That’s why college kids

are always broke!

 

She didn’t like it

when I got a tattoo on my ass.

Arabic symmetrical script

up my back,

an attractive, tactless

guaranteed surprise in

the sack.

 

These are rational

mass supplied passions.

You can ignore mothers,

but you can’t ignore fashions.

ah man. the shit that can happen in a year...god only knows...

(

(Yeah but) Baby I've been here before

I've seen this room and I've walked this floor,

(You know) I used to live alone before I knew ya

And I've seen your flag on the marble arch

and love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

 

Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya

----

what did 2010 do to you on the inside? For me 2010 was an internal experience. as in....2010 juiced and squeezed and then rejuiced and resqueezed and.... (you get the idea) and so my insides must be more raisin-y than carine's outsides. 

you know, my stomach talks to me all the time....it rumbles... like how god's voice is supposed to sound. 

 

i love you with all my guts. 

hallelujah

YOU DISCUSS ME

 

John Keats. 1795–1821

624. Ode to a Nightingale

 

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,	5
But being too happy in thine happiness,
That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.	10
O for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South!	15
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stainèd mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:	20
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,	25
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs;
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.	30
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,	35
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.	40
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;	45
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.	50
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,	55
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.	60
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path	65
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.	70
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades	75
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?