Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Moderate
Antisocial:	Moderate
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	Low
Avoidant:	Low
Dependent:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Information --

Since when am I not borderline??

Converse sneakers and wife beaters, baby.

Tags: fashion forward, intel, intel sponsors of tomorrow, writer's block

also, I removed "xanax" as an interest and added "kaki king" this is growth, non?

Tags: dorking out

Ms. Byrnes bossing the dorks, I mean fans, into formation:



group shot:





??

"Vintage is the midpoint between destiny and capitalism." - so sayth my newest fashion hero, Laura Jane.

Less brillaintly, my fashion un-hero Ralph Lauren says, annoyingly “It's the kind of clothes that mothers and daughters can wear, in terms of concept, ... It's not about age. It's about taste, and it's about lifestyle. I believe women of all ages can wear anything."

Anything cotton that buttons to the chin, he means. It is ok, Ralph, I am wearing your waspy little shirt right now. But I am wearing it ironically. I swear.


EDIT: Speaking of fashion heros, notice anything awesome?



(I stole this from Amanda Palmer's twitter...does twitter = public domain?)

Dear Valerie,

Why do you love seeing celebrities (and the quasi-famous) in real life? Why are you interested famous people at all? Isn't celebrity worship part of what makes America suck?

Concerned Reader,

Valerie

Dear Valerie,

Thank you for asking. No, interest in celebrity is not what makes America suck. Lack of support in our culture and in the political system for familes, women, individuals that's what makes America suck. Classism, lack of support for working people, poor healthcare and and an acceptance of violence, that also makes America suck. No, celebrities are a-ok.

To understand my gleeful fascination with people in the public sphere you have to remember what it was like growing up in relative isolation. I know, Valerie, that one of our rules is: NEVER TALK ABOUT CHILDHOOD, be we won't go back further than when you were fourteen, I swear.

So: my family was struggling working class when I was younger, and we lived in a town of a 1,000 people on an island off the coast of Maine. What I remember most is the winter when Christmas break rolled into two more weeks off due to consistant snow days. The roads were nearly impassable, and where was there to go, anyway? I didn't see anyone outside of my immediate family for a month. We had two channels of TV, we were barely allowed to listen to the radio (pop music = satan, Protestants, we), the internet wasn't really a thing yet. Also, I knew I liked girls but I didn't tell anyone. And my dad was an alcoholic, which was kind of a family secret. So I was isolated on a lot of different levels.

I remember feeling so cut off from the world, and so, I guess, embarassed, because I knew there was SOMETHING out there, but I really didn't even know what it was that I was missing out on. I felt a sort of longing, all the time, to find out what it was.

Then my sister went to Tufts and I went to Boston for the first time in my life. Serious, I was in high school and I hadn't been anywhere but Maine and Canada. And that was the first time I began to like there was something out there, and it had to do with me, maybe. I remember this coffee shop in Davis Square, full of dykes. That, in particular, spoke to me.

Anyway, fast forward to now: what I love about Los Angeles is that I feel like just by being there I am a part of the world, a part of the collective, I can feel the zeitgiest beading up on my skin, I breathe it in with the smog. I am part of the human race. Carl Jung wrote a lot about the horrors of the collective energy, but I think it was just because he was trying to understand Nazi Germany, and that he was a huge introvert, that he only saw the danger. I don't think he thought about the other side of it, the deep well of energy and inspiration that is there to drink from. Because its powerful, either way, the force of the collective- if it can be used to destroy it must also have the seeds of creation, its simple math, right?

So, anyway, when I become aware of people who inspire me, or who show me a part of myself that I hope is there but that I haven't developed, or who seem to offer a way to see the world that I couldn't have imagined on my own, it excites me. And the idea that I could be in the presence of these people, that they are real and tangible, not just inaccessable long dead authors that I used to read in the winters of my youth (serious- I read non-stop Thomas Hardy, because THAT IS WHAT I RELATED TO) ah! its like an escape from that little dysfunctional snowed-in house that I grew up in. Its like I am OFF THE ISLAND and I am a PART of the world, a part of the living, what I had longed for so much when I was a kid and had no power to attain. I don't know if this can be fully appreciated by people who grew up with money, options and educated people around them. Maybe you have to be The Beans of Egypt Maine to be hungry for some little contact or experience that connects and locates myself in part of a broader culture.

I don't know if that made any sense, but there it is,

Valerie

I will never get a My Little Pony tattoo.

But a tiny, little, white trash part of me DOES think it would be pretty awesome.

I want to be someone else.

So I could not bring myself to pay $60 for a ticket that should cost $2o before they were sold out. Actually, I could totally see myself paying the $60 if I had it. But I mostly really don't.

Also I was tired. AM so tired. From working overnight and then taking a nap and coming in to my other job to do a therapy group. I was so tired and delirious.

But I Could. Not. Give. Up. Seeing. Amanda. Palmer. So I somehow convinced husband to drive me to WeHo (as I was too exhausted to opperate anything more dangerous than a toaster. I could barely text, which is a sign I am near death) and just walk around before the show started in hopes of seeing aforementioned Amanda Palmer.

Which technically I guess is stalking. But whatever. When I got there someone offered me tickets for $30, which I completely would have bought if husband were not there. But he would have had a fit about even that (I didn't even mention that it was killing me not have bought one for $60 earlier). So, no.

So we walked around and these awesome things happened:

1. People pulled over and asked me for directions and I actually knew how to get where they were going! THAT NEVER HAPPENS! Usually, I am perpetually lost. I felt SO COOL.

2. A bunch of girls heckled me from their car. Life fullfilment.

3. THEN WE SAW AMANDA PALMER WALKING DOWN THE STREET TO HER SHOW!!! I guess her parking wasn't any better than ours. I died of excitement, husband was not sure who she was even after I explained 50 times.

4. We shared a bag of those new coconut M&Ms. I am telling you, they are magic. You should get some.

Now that I didn't spend $60 I don't really have, I feel like I saved money, and am thus entitled to spend it. I am just not good at money. Not at all.

I told husband it was our best date ever. I am not sure he agreed. Still, it was sweet of him to drive me and aid me in my stalking. Only a little sad I didn't get to actually SEE the show.

Tags: afp, celebrity stalking, west hollywood

Woo hoo! Credit was not stolen! I just owe the hospital $788 for when I broke my finger. That's the only bad thing I can find. Apparently the hospital took that bill more seriously than I did. When I moved I stopped getting bills and promptly forgot about it. I bet there are alcholics who have less ability for denial than me! I am a DENIAL GOD!

This is WAY easier than if my identity was stolen! The villagers rejoice! I will gladly pay my medical friends.

Note to self: contruct system to deal with finances. "Its boring" will no longer be tolerated as an excuse. Deadline: five business days.

I should still look for scholarships though.

Everything responsible is so boring. I really hate it.