Names names names: Nike, Jansport, Ugg, Victoria’s Secret. The ladies of Iowa City are reclaiming pink in bold new ways. Don’t dare them to pair fuchsia with cotton candy–they’ll do it. They’ll even throw in a fierce teal or a muted camo as a little “fuck you.” This year, independence day comes early (or really late?). Throw that hair into a pony and get to class with spring in your step–you can get your roots done over Thanksgiving break.
Iowa City is louder than Los Angeles. Train horns and ambulance sirens are never-fucking-ending. And then I have the subtler yet equally bothersome tit tit tit tit of a typewriter wafting up from the apartment below. In 2010, typewriters should only be used for ransom notes and/or love letters: text that benefits from that kind of drama. If you must, set your font to Courier New and be done with it.
*such whimsy*
I’m back and I apologize for being lame and leaving this site to fester. I’m no better than my deadbeat biological father, Robert Lane Siegel of Atlanta, Georgia.
I’m in school for nonfiction writing (yeah, I don’t know what it is, either) so I left Los Angeles for a place with one gay bar and a Craigslist Men Seeking Men section that averages two new postings per day. One of the two posters fluctuates between ages 57 and 59 and is desperately seeking his long lost “twink son.” I keep telling him I’M HERE, I’M HERE, but the fucker won’t write me back.
I need new pics.
I will be updating this shit from now on.
Overheard at the local CVS pharmacy, one pharmacy technician to another:
“A girl’s NuvaRing overheated ’cause it was left in the car.”
