You better work.

LG Fashion week was a huge success. Can't say I had much to do with it, but I did get the chance to dress models backstage. Skinny bitches.

I had a great time, but I'm glad that I'm not a part of that world. I couldn't believe how full of themselves some of the girls were, even though they looked like emaciated bone racks. This one girl I dressed was a bitch to me. It's not like she said anything, but it was just in the way she acted. She barely lifted her arms to get on her dress, and expected me to do everything. Karma is hilarious as usual though, and when she was going down the runway, her shoe got dislodged and she was walking with a horribly awkward limp. While most people backstage had a look of concern, I had a pretty big smile.

Apart from that, everyone was nice (and fake). Ended the evening by going to New Ho King for some general tao chicken and tofu. Place rules.

Couple awkward pics.






Bi.

Like a cigarette, she makes it hard to breathe.

I'm currently waiting on a delivery of caffeine pills. I'm not buying a whole bottle, just enough to get me through this all nighter. Remember when I was "true"? UH.

As for my life, it's looking pretty decent. Here is my upcoming week:

Monday: Come off my all-nighter, volunteer, hand-in my paper, night class, write another paper.

Tuesday: Hand-in another essay, travel up to Toronto and work at Fashion Week from 5-10pm. I'm going to be backstage dressing some of the models, I can't wait to develop an eating disorder after that.

Wednesday: Production night at The Sil. It's the week we're putting together The Music Issue...my little baby. This is the last thing I'm going to do at the paper that really means anything to me. I'll probably get emotional.

Thursday: Calling in sick to work, going to classes, going to Buffalo to see Morrissey. Yeah, that's right.

Friday: I can't remember, but I know I have some kind of social plans.

See you.

Dorsay.

March 2009. Probably one of the most intense months of my life. Each day I feel closer to becoming a female Patrick Bateman. Every minute of my life is calculated. Even the ones I spend procrastinating. I find pleasure in clothing, records, and restaurants and this Batemanian life is pleasing. Goodnight.

Dance like nobody's watching??

Sick of the hordes following around the camera guy. Look, I get it. It's the whole, "Fuck. I hope he takes a picture of me because I spent hours picking out my best outfit, and I want _______ to see me and think 'Whoa, ________ is really fucking cool'"

It's one thing if you are in a photo at random, but it's another thing if you actually move across the dance floor hovering like flies over a fresh carcass. Sometimes I feel like I'm in the water and there is a current pulling everyone around me. Schools of fish that move like one big mirrored reflection. It's just funny to me, especially when I'm dead sober, which I am doing more and more just so I am able to laugh inside my own head and still remember it weeks later.