it takes a village
the digs, for those of you who've never seen the inside of sparklemotion no.1
i feel like it had more of an industrial feel before the remodeling/redecorating. it was just more ecclectic.
the owner took this from the 2nd floor. she had a few of me doing this that i didn't know existed until i perused the entire set of photos. kinda weird.
trisha
david
bridgett in red, anna in black. see how long the model's hair is?
bridgett does phenomenal work. all that length went into a bob with some donuts on top.
'backstage' at the victor hotel
my team leader carrie looking on after my gril
the blondes are two of the other assistants. jennifer on the right is a stylist.
more of bridgett's grils
fucking models...
monica -her name's monica- did a fantastic job. sure, her ensemble isn't the most thrilling piece of work i've seen in life, but for a print model, she walked really well.
my favorite stuff that night was from anna fong's collection. i feel like everything comes together well here, but would that shit work on normal women? prolly not.
yes, i would wear this. don't she look like paris hilton?
this was from steven rosengard's collection. you know, the weird squinty guy from project runway. i didn't get to watch the season, but you can gather from this photo the reason why he didn't win. just look at it -my grandma wouldn't wear that shit.
***
pride was fun, but i think the parade people need a little more creativity. i wonder how many men dancing around in pink panties it takes before even the gayest of gays has had it. i found myself hoping for a nativity scene or something just to catch a break. luckily it rained and that seemed to do the trick.
ok, i'll be honest. i was a little embarassed to take sylvestre out again when the summer started. all the gearheads and rich folk with their bianchis and peugeots and raleighs, and me with my three stooges schwinn that i got for $25. however, i'm glad to report that i can still hold my own on the streets of chicago. it seems these thick ass mexipino thighs that i possess make up for in strength what my bike lacks in lightness and efficiency. what's sad is that sylvestre is probably the most reliable thing in my life right now.
the fourth of july was spent riding around logan square watching the townies set off fireworks. every now and then i would reach into my pocket for change and scatter my nickels and dimes. my friend lectured me on how much energy went into making new coins since people like me waste them, or something like that, but never asked why i did it to begin with.
i really want to start taking some sort of class here, like yoga or cello or fisting. maybe that will give some finality to my existence in this city.
i really really want pure, unadulterated romance. but i keep getting games... why? seriously, why can the cro-mags of the 21st century be happy and breeding, and i'm like the poor schmuck on wheel of fortune that keeps landing on bankrupt? is it because i use gameshow analogies to describe my love life?
fuck it. she wants to lead the glamorous life -she don't need a man's touch.
i need my friends. come visit me!