Sundays are bullshit. I've hated Sundays for as long as I've had school, or been employed with any sort of regularity. They're bullshit, man. Sundays are like airbags. You don't want to need them. When they happen, it's just padding before bad stuff happens. You like to know they're there, or ... View Post
[No shame with this outdoor concert get-up: fisherman sweater from Anthro + Rag & Bone The Cut-off shorts and B-low the belt studded belt. I think I wore the same thing to summer camp, just from the Gap.] I was sitting in traffic behind a pickup truck with one of those roof attachments. ... View Post
Some part of my brain knew that most of the books I pulled off shelves and read as a teenager were in no way age appropriate. I bought Glamorama in the Sydney, Australia airport when my mom wasn't looking and spent the summer confused as hell and way more knowledgeable about the nature of blood ... View Post
Some scenes from last week. And a little to say. We still have little to show aside from bathroom renovation progress—I mean, I got this mirror awhile back and we haven't even hung it yet, so—but I figured I'd pop by anyway and tilt the scales a little. But not about anything I want to tilt the ... View Post
[Pictured: latergram from an especially rank bathroom in RVA after a margarita. Obviously.] There are a lot of things I don't know, but I'll tell you one thing I do know: dick and fart jokes are great. I was in a relatively stellar mood on my way into a meeting recently when the familiar ... View Post