She, orange. Me, red.

I see a few steppers out there looking sharp. Devendra Banhart and Natalie Portman have recently become a couple. If I can't bone him, I am glad she is.

In other news, today Rudy, Erin and I played soccer in Chinatown. Chinatown recently being referenced to as my town of birth, Rosenort, thanks to it's single Chinese Restaurant. High waisted jeans, athlete shoes, muddy ball, sweaty forehead, dropkicking the ball into my brother's car, practice, practice, practice, Rudy's laughter at my pathetic aim, river nature, dusty ball, Erin's skinny legs (bitch), more running, giant calves, more laughter. Spring was heavy in the air.

At one point on a family walk (we are unapologetically predictable on Sunday afternoons in the country) my mum made us stop mid-stride beside a ditch enroute to Grandma's house and listen to the rushing water. The sounds of spring. I drank copious amounts of merlot and coffee in and on various porches/stoops/gazebos and ate too many hamburgers. Classy joint.

Aunty Marj made the grave mistake of allowing me to fawn over and eventually perv on her trillion dollar camera at the birthday party yesterday. I camera-whored it up at my grandpa's three-quarters-of-a-century non-themed birthday party. Erin and I had a photo shoot in the entrace of the said old folks home and everyone thought we were crazy because of our chosen shades of lipstick. She, orange. Me, red. High fashions. Pluralized.

Here are a few snapshots of the grand affair. Since the party was sans theme (every party needs a theme) I opted to herd certain family members into the aforementioned entrance for balloon/head shots (to those of you not pictured, I couldn't enlarge certain photos, sorry; so shoot me). Again, everyone thought me insane, but in the long run it was a roaring success.

They will thank me later, I know it.























Fin, Queens.