
because when guys hit on me, they won’t go away unless I say ‘I have a boyfriend/husband’. Apparently ‘I’m not interested in you, go away’, doesn’t mean anything and the only thing to deter them is another man.
So, so wrong.
Personal customization sess to boot. They just keep hitting me with the surprises. (Taken with instagram)
Hanging with my swoosh fam today! And got these sweet Liberty air maxes! (Taken with Instagram at Ricardo Montalban Theatre)
I never quit working. I work in the dark cause work is light. I tell my work all my problems because it never gives answers i have already. It never edits without me. Doesn’t call me names. I give my work away, because it doesn’t cost me much. In fact i’m indebted. I work hard since life is hard. Death is a soft place, it can wait. But work ain’t love. And love ain’t work. For sure.
I’m performing with Las Rakas at UCLA on May 18th // 7 pm // free! (Taken with instagram)
Only responding because it’s hilarious. You underestimate me (and my ability to trace IP addresses), anon.
I wanted so much to write
about the weekends we spent drifting in and out
of thrift stores and crate&barrel clearances,
the chambray shag rug you bragged about for days,
the four perfectly tinted teal and emerald pillows
we shopped for endlessly to find. the coffee pot
your mother brought down from her summer home
because she knew I’d never been a morning person,
the books from the beginnings
of our library. But I just keep wondering
about the bubble wrap we kept, why we hoarded
the hundred cardboard boxes - an emergency escape
when our permanence should have been the only option.
.........................................................................................................................................................................................
blue Bic in hand
we beat them all
by 20 points, sitting
on your microsuede
couch on a Wednesday
afternoon.
We didn’t cheat.