Yesterday morning was great. I mean, gr-eat. I need more mornings like yesterday’s, a few afternoons wouldn’t hurt either. The beach on a blustery gray day, enough rain to keep most people away. Enough rain to wash all the noise in my head away. Sounds like a pile of emo baloney (or is that bologna?) but it works. If you haven’t tried it (and live by a beach) you should. If you have tried it, back me up. Or maybe let’s keep it to…
Yesterday while H&M was being mobbed by people who didn’t get any of that Balmain stuff, Olivier Rousteing was jumping up and down on his bed tossing dollar bills in the air like he just didn’t care. Because he didn’t. He never did and he never will. “Come peasants, line up to get my cheap knockoffs while I selfie with the celebs who got paid to sport this scratchy crap on IG while drinking loads of champlagne (that’s drunk for champagne)…
If you’re looking for a way to burn two hours and have it feel like two seconds, fall down a hole on Instagram. That’s what happened last night. I went from Wicked City to Evan Ross’s IG account to midnight in the blink of an eye. First impressions of Wicked City: warped, demented, some chick stabbed to death in the back of a trunk while blood splattered all over the camera lens? Count me in for next week Ed Westwick, you twisted…
This is all that’s left of Halloween. My friend Kelly came over and we whooped it up until two in the morning over a mean charcuterie board, half a pound of See’s assorted nuts and caramels, a box of Cheez-its and a bag of Justin’s Peanut Butter cups. We’d made plans to have a coloring party and watch scary movies (RAGER), but somehow only managed to eat a bunch of food and talk about random stuff between knee-jerk reactions to whatever scene popped up…