Weekly photo session: Experiments in heels

I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m going to make it up to all of you though. How? It’s a surprise…and I’m a tease (hey, it happens). But don’t you worry; I’ll be bothering you with all sorts of photo sessions mega soon.

So I hate heels. Pretty much.

Weekly photo session: Smile Project winners

So this is way late.  Sorry.  I’m not very good about keeping promises or commitments.  I’m the deadbeat dad of blogging…though it kind of seems like most bloggers are.  That makes me feel better.

My choice for film of the year…yes, already

Run, sprint, ride your bike as vigorously as you can on over to the Mayan right the hell now.  Then run up those steep ass stairs of one of the upstairs theaters and treat yourselves to my new favorite film Reprise.

It’s a Norwegian film about friends and writers and it’s amazingly well-written and directed and the editing is all innovative and awesome and the whole thing is at once happy and sad and funny and heart-breaking and brilliant.  Ahhhh!  I want to marry it!!!!!

Cry me a river

I witnessed one of the worst guy/girl moments ever while at a concert this weekend.

I was just sitting on a stool, minding my own business and trying to spin all around (it was making me happy), when a really short, insanely drunk girl chose to confront this really tall nerdy guy about the status of their (non?) relationship like a foot in front of me.  She actually was like, “You’re not into me anymore, are you?” and he was like, “No”…and I was like “Uh, kill me now?”. 

Weekly photo session: the American Apparel wall of shame

Whew, I’m barely getting this one in on time…in fact, it may indeed be late.  Well, uh, I assure you I have an extremely good reason for this assignment’s tardiness.  What?  Girl stuff, extremely personal, I might cry out of humiliation if you make me tell you…I’m off the hook?  Good, you chose wisely.

And here we have a big blank white wall in my apartment, which I like to pose in front of and pretend like I’m in an American Apparel ad.  Of course, I’m actually wearing a bra in all of these pictures (you thought I was the sort of girl to post pictures of herself on da big ol’ bad internet wearing sheer shirts with no bra?  Nah, you’re silly).

I see a bad moon rising…

Prologue:  In which I recount one of my terrible nonsensical nightmares.  Do not read if you are expecting to hear anything about Creedence Clearwater Revival or lesbian love scenes a la Mulholland Dr.  And maybe don’t read anyhow…yup, that’s how bad it was.

The dancing Swedish visitor rides at the Merc playing jazz with his eyes wide shut (Abridged)

Recent items of note:

1. I meant to say so a long, long time ago, but you should really go see The Visitor as quickly as possible. I adored Thomas McCarthy’s directorial debut The Station Agent but every time I read the synopsis for The Visitor I thought it sounded rather dull and predictable and all feel-goody (what nonsense! I’m all about the feeling awful, no? Yup).

Weekly photo session: MeWOW

Ohhh, I’m terribly envious of you people.

I fly like paper, get high like…a mile above sea level?

I feel weird…because, yes, I had a weird weekend. Most of which stemmed from the M.I.A. show on Saturday.

So here’s the deal: I’m sleepy, I’m sickly (booze and junk food and little sleep for three days will do that to you, honey), I’m uneasy (the scary TV preview for The Strangers has me all nervous and frightened…lame as hell, damn it), and I don’t really do show reviews. At least not in the way most people do show reviews. But I’ll try to briefly give you a glimpse into the experience. For you and only you, dear reader (aww, that made you all uncomfortable and happy? Adorable…it mostly just made me uncomfortable…but that’s still cool for you).

Badass bowling chicks in bikinis conquer the Denver zombie blues

Last weekend represented the best weekend I’ve had in a while…completely unlike two weekends ago, when the city had a super weird vibe and I was convinced there was a zombie epidemic going on.  You know, where you drive around and everything is totally off and you’re pretty sure some weird shit is going down right behind you?  So you can’t see it but it’s right there.  Look behind you!  Like Shaun of the Dead, you know?  We’d drive down Broadway and people would be getting attacked and eaten like two intersections behind us…I bet.  I can’t prove it, but I maintain things were majorly off…and my solution for this was getting majorly liquored up (I know, my brilliance astounds me).  I was all, “Fuck this!  If the world’s going zombie/uh…weird on us, I’m not going to be sober to watch it happen!”.