July 24th, 2005

(no subject)

Every party has a theme. Everyone obeys the theme. Be it slutty or inappropriate or black and white or no pants allowed, everyone obeys the theme, and that is what makes parties out here so fantastic. Succeeding at making the act of getting ready just as fun as getting there, the parties I've attended out here have blown me away. People everywhere are so hopped up on entertainment that every night is a different lifetime.

I have been here for a couple of weeks now and I am still waking up every day and wondering how and why this place is so perfect.

Last night was our slut party. Well, sort of. We wanted a theme and although one had not been properly assigned, we showed up in our sluttiest anyway. Because that's how Bunny rolls. But of course, due to our slutty attire, the theme soon changed to "makeout party."


Token gay boy Chad. Every girl's gotta have one. Or a few. I think people in San Francisco are allowed to have more than one.




There were hickies and good times had by all.

I love this city.

(no subject)

The first person I saw when I walked into orientation was this cute little thing with two eyebrow piercings and a head of cute, wavey blond hair. That girl, I though to myself. That girl is gonna be my friend. I was in a new place surrounded by peoplee -- artists -- that I had never seen before. But for some reason this all-American little number with skate shoes and piercings stuck out to me, and I knew I had to talk to her somehow.

An hour later as I was unpacking my things, I looked up from my suitcase to see that same girl walking in the front door of my apartment. I had been slightly nervous about these roomates. I'd met one of them, a 25-year-old from Texas who is very sweet, but overweight, sleeps into the mid-afternoon, and is obsessed with pancakes and TV on her laptop. The other was another Spanish girl who I later learned has been brought up strictly Christian and had therefore never disobeyed any rules of life. Her English was not very good, and a couple nights ago when she asked me to proof-read and edit her paper for her,I had to stop at page three out of seven because it was just too God-awful. I got to know her over a nice viewing of the 802 DVD, in which Jay duct-tapes a handle of 5 O'clock to his hand and proceeds to get so drunk that he really should be dead by the end of it. During the segment of excessive vomiting was when she told me she'd never had a drink before.

When that girl walked in the door, I jumped at my opportunity, convinced that this was my good karma catching up to me. And alas, from that day on, Ani, better known as Johnni Kay, has proved to me why she was worth noticing that very first time I saw her. Unlike other roomates I've had, Johnni wears socks, doesn't steal, doesn't think she's black, speaks fluent English, isn't extremely ugly, doesn't listen to awful music, and doesn't suck. From day one, we have been the best team of the VonGoGos, and everyone knows not to mess with a dynamic duo of fashion design bitches.


And if her personality wasn't cool enough to win me over, I was sold when I saw her move. Damn, can this girl fucking dance. One of the first things she told me about herself was that she had spent the last three years as a Hip Hop dancer, and although I was a little thrown off at first, I didn't question it for a second after I saw it. I always thought I wasn't all that bad a dancer, but shit, I just can't move around this girl. She rips up the dance floor like there's nothing hotter in the world, and her confidence shines through her as she glows. She is so remarkably hot when she dances, and when I can keep up, she is just such a pleasure.



That's my girl, Johnni Kay.