...when bitches fuck with me, it's like, OVER,"
says the click-clacking conversation that just walked past my house. I know how those random drunk neighbors feel, though. Control issues and nsecurity have a way of misdirecting natural healing processes into petty drama, especially when you're female. did I say that? oops, my bad, feminism.
I'm in a half-way here, half-way there kind of confusion with old friends and new.
there was an invisible but weighty divide between my black-clad indie best friends and my sun-bleached homies tonite. I just tried to focus on the sound of the waves and ride the divide, but ineffectually enough that the snooty Hollywood versus laid-back Venice memory is now bothering me.
there are no cool-o-meter cops patroling the ranks of 'fashion sense' 'who-you-know' and 'what-you-do,' people. there really is no mechanism out there to give you college-esque GPAs on social success. the thumbs-up is gonna have to come from within.
hipster or beach bum? what's my thing? and why should there be a genre?
How about 'just living?'
***
"hell, no."
"look, calm down."
i will not calm down, motherfucka. that shit is fucked UP."
this time the walk-by conversation was two dudes.
I guess it goes both ways!
ah, humans, us lovable hateful, silly, silly things.