when i was a kid, i used to search through my mom’s medical books to find new diseases that i was almost certainly dieing of.

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i had half a glass of $170 wine today. it was good, but not half an ipod good.

eulogy:
oh, black hoodie. the thought of you out there…..lost…..alone……
drowning in the groping smoke and grit of this dark and sharped-fanged city.
i remember when i brought you home. things we’re a little awkward at first, you were a bit….healthy in size. but you were patent enough to let me practice my Frankenstein-esque sewing skills on your fuzzy fleece and soon we were inseparable: an indie kid and her ever-present, genera-specific security blanket. warm. soft. perfect
just the thing to keep out the sub-Arctic tundra of those icy, 64 degree California winters.
but now, suddenly, you’re missing and i’m just a shell of a hipster without you. naked.
well, you know, not naked (suddenly everyone’s all uppity about that stupid “indecent exposure” law. jeez, you crash one lousy elementary school carnival in the buff and you never hear the end of it)
see: i wear other clothes, but they don’t keep the chill off my heart.

R.I.P. Black Hoodie 2002-2005

gone but not forgotten.
(*cue “end of the road” by Boyz 2 Men*)

In my past experience, cream cheese is not the sort of thing that is overly nomadic by nature. that is — under normal conditions and assuming standard laws of gravity and physics — it tends to stay where you put it. but brothers and sisters, as inconceivable as its sounds: my Philly has gone A.W.O.L.
somewhere between the grocery store and my house the rogue carton has ceded from the union and formed its own republic. i should hardly be surprised: i’d be obliged to hit the road, too, if my grocery bag-mate was “Chamberly” brand toilet tissue. (”Chamberly” being Gaelic for “newsprint.” Not that i, y’know, HAVE bodily functions: that’s gross. we just buy it for Elowsky.)
i guess i shouldn’t worry about it. either i will never hear of it again, or after several months of being convinced that the streets of Oakland have taken on a decidedly…..well, a foul-er stench than the normal blanket of piss and Remy, i will eventually come across a fuzzy green tub-shaped lump buried in the trunk of the Malibu.