this is not my beautiful house

It’s my birthday and I have a list of demands, for myself mostly

It’s my birthday and I have a list of demands, for myself mostly

But since we’re on the subject I’d like a xylophone, leather knee-high boots from The Row, a Theory shift which sounds slightly quantum but is only a dress, and Portugal would be nice. Also I prefer platinum, and diamonds are my stone of choice, next to magic mushrooms of course

I prefer to make resolutions on my birthday and I prefer to make the achievable kind of resolution, not the stupid kind people make on January 1 that involve gym memberships and vitamixers.

No. Birthday resolutions are adjustments and fine-tuning that you can do in the comfort of your own head.

This year my primary resolution is to make a bigger stink, which I know is a very immature way of putting it, but when I get too serious about these things they get all weird and scary and before you know it I back-off as in chicken-shit-out as in wallflower-the-verb

Birthdays are weird without your parents. No matter how coupled up you are, or how many kids you have, or how many Daisies or turtles or what have you you have, gasp, no matter how many people you love dearly who love you dearly right back, nobody on earth is as pleased to celebrate the day you were born than the two people who actually participated in the event and when they’re gone, well, it’s a little lonely no matter what.

Did you see Phantom Thread with Daniel Day-Lewis? It’s a wonderful film and one of the best (for me) things about it is that DDL, or at least his character, and me, (or and I if it’s grammatically correcter, fuck off spellcheck), have something in common, sort of, besides our gravelly voices although mine is only temporary I hope. Gasp.

I carry photographs of my parents with me some days and always on my birthday. DDL, or his character anyway, sewed photographs of his mother right into the linings of the clothes he made for himself. He also did this for his clients. Sometimes just words or tokens of some sort. So they were invisible, but they were there.

Kind of like tattoos but on the inside

And btw, and you can only sort of make it out, but in my picture down at the bottom of this page, on the table to my right, is the photo of my mom and dad that I carry around.

Now out into the cold, stormy and beautiful November morning because they’re all beautiful and I’m thankful for every single one of them

Also it’s the perfect day, on so many levels, to wear my visibility cloak which is a beautiful Hilary Radley alpaca wool jacket that I’ve never worn before due it being so very thoroughly and unmistakably MAGENTA!

So on with making a bigger stink. Look the fuck out!

I am reading The Great Gatsby again. Please pass me my eyelashes

I am reading The Great Gatsby again. Please pass me my eyelashes

If this pink eye keeps up, and all indications are that it will, I’ve got my costume

If this pink eye keeps up, and all indications are that it will, I’ve got my costume