Oh my jesus, what a weekend. (I thought throwing Jesus in there may add significance to that statement, yeah?)
Anyhow. I ended my viciously busy and incredibly colorful weekend with attempting to write my first (love) letter or letter of any sort since elementary school. ELEMENTARY. I am so old. Basically the last time I managed to gravitate my hand towards a clean sheet of the loose leaf was when I was 13. I am pathetic, officially, or just conforming to my generation X novelties and writing emails and facebook messages, like all the cool kids. But, there I was, trying to write this letter. I was so nervous, I could not even free write. I had a thousand things and more I wanted to translate onto paper. I could not pick a starting point, never mind gain any sort of momentum. I have always found the idea of writing a letter to a person, but never giving it to the recipient to be so poetic. I have never done it, because I didn't think I could, but I underestimated myself. I ended up writing a dull, substance-less, non romantic letter (in my harsh opinion) that will never be given to the recipient, unless she makes me give it to her. But, my gad. The next one will be so much more effortless. I have thought about how to let my thoughts flow, and not to expect anything. I will be an olympic letter writer people, just wait. But I am so taken by letter writing, and will gladly write to anyone. Just ask, though you may be waiting weeks, months, years even to receive it.
So, I will now justify my lack of posts over the past three days.
Friday. Friday was the perfect day, night. I bought my first sweater that makes me feel like a grandma, printed up my cover letters and even made a special purchase of a shit stapler to staple said resumes/cover letters together, which was an oh so glorious moment. There was a vigor in the air that night, the hip parts of the city were so alive. People seemed happy and hopeful. I wanted to take a bus, (WHAT), and usually they completely freak me out. I felt it seemed inviting. I ate pumpkin pie, talked on the phone with a best friend, and was then picked up for a sushi date. Date was cute, beer was purchased, another dear friend joined in the beer drinking in the parking lot of my favorite bar. Beer drinking in the car is my new favorite thing, (only on fridays), but so much fun. The night was then danced away, until my lady could no longer hold her alcohol, which was heartbreaking for me to see. (I will spare you all the sickly details.) More amazing car conversations were had.
Saturday called for early hangover brunch. I was still slightly intoxicated from my three drinks (proud light weight), but had a hilariously entertaining lunch with my 4 best friends. Our order was forgotten about, and delivered 45 fucking minutes late, but I was able to be empathetic as it is my favorite restaurant and all. Then I worked, slaving away serving coffee to la hipsters and sexy women. I had to assist in the mediating of some awful domestic violence gone public, (comes with the territory), but fuck. So shitty to see materializing before you own young eyes, my god. But, then the end of the night rolled around, close was difficult and long, wine was brought to me, as was baileys. (I am not an alcoholic, swear), oh, and I acquired 2 clove cigarettes, holla. And then we were off, to Nuit Blanche at the WAG. Okay, HOLEY SHIT. This event was life changing. I know anyone reading this would happily disagree, as many things about said event could have been better. BUT, not only am I a lover of mass groups of people in a shared space, but I am also a lover of fashion and art, so you can only imagine my elation. I was sober the entire time, eyes pacing back and forth at all the beautiful winnipers I have never before seen, where did they come from, and why had I not seen them before? People clearly my age were scattered happily everywhere, looking intolerably beautiful in the dark. I pretty much experience ADD that entire night as I was so enamored by everything. I felt like I was in a foreign city, only clearly I was not, as I ran into 99 billion faces I know and like, I could not keep up, and the women, yowza, BABELAND. We danced, I swooned my beautiful girlfriend (the prettiest girl in all the land), and then, do to poor planning, we were kicked out (as in everyone), before 6 am. There were roits and po pos and angry faces. So many people did not get in, shucks.
The rest of the night was spent at my lady Kristels gallery, listening to ambient music and watching people trip on drugs. Yep.
Come calm sunday.
Sunday, on 3 hours of sleep, shot an incredible photoshoot for Sandbox magazine. Met some amazing interesting women, models, makeup artists, comedians, women in trade. The shot went until 5, a la cornmaze. Holey hell, kids, kids, kids. Not my bag, but fun was in the air at said location. We managed to slip in between this chaos and accomplish what we were out for, whilst managing to have our own fun. I will never forget that day, and the abundant traveling talent that was my group of friends, I am proud and honored to have been a part of it. I spent the night doing dream analysis with my girl over cigarettes, pumpkin spice lattes, earl grey tea, and suburban air. That was nice.
I have a hand cramp. And, have decided to leave you with some blackberry photos for the road. All from this month.