Baja Infierno

So spending most of my waking life reading other blogs I learn a lot about Blog Protocol and things that Bloggers do. Mostly things like how you all like to post lists of random You Facts, and how you interview each other with impressively random questions (If you had to, would prefer to club a baby seal or a baby panda?)

And then I get my mind blown when I see that people GUEST BLOG and then I am still trying to figure out what a meme is. I keep getting it confused with meta, but as far as I can tell the concepts are interchangeable. And then there are the awards. (I feel like this is kind of like when you win a trophy on Rock Band 2. Earlier this week I won a Best Singing Trophy at the Heebie Jeebie's venue in New York. Like, it's kind of cool I guess, but does it really hold out there in the Real World? Not like the Real World and I are BFFs, but you know what I mean.) Anyway, I guess what I'm saying, is much like most things, I just can't care that much. And much like everything else, I always think I have strong levels of caring, but then I see how much more everyone else does, and I realize I kinda don't. But I envy you, you the carers and the daily posters. You live life in a way I only sort of dream of.

But ANYSORRYFORBORINGANDOFFENDINGYOU, today I am going to continue boring entertaining you with a Random Fact Story about myself. (A list of ten or twenty-five is just too many to conceive of.)

So I am obsessed with the Baja Fresh Salsa Bar. More specifically I am obsessed with the Baja Fresh Stab-Yourself-In-The-Face-To-Make-The-Burning-Stop Red Hot Salsa at the Baja Fresh Salsa Bar.



Now I am no salsa snob. If there is a fried chip and a red salsa-like substance, I will immediately ladle and inhale it. But if it makes you cry from its fiery glory then I will like you more. This past week however the Baja Fresh Red Face-Paralyzing Salsa obsession has gotten out of control.

For those of you that don't have this glorious chain in your state, Baja Fresh is the "healthy" Mexican food chain, which is a hundred times more expensive than street Mexican food or El Pollo Loco, but when you live in LA you eat Mexican food fives times a week for dinner and three times a week for lunch, so you have to mix Baja Fresh in, so you don't feel so guilty that eighty percent of your diet is fried in lard.

And while Baja Fresh is no bargain (or ganga, as we used to say in the AP Spanish), the Salsa Bar is free. Flanking the salsa bar are these little containers and you fill them up with a melange of mild to hot salsas. Now on Saturday, when the obsession decided to take over my life, I went with Leah to an art opening in Culver City and I consumed about a bottle of red wine (Because at art openings the red wine is Free. As in, "¡Que Ganga!") So after this red wine opening, I mean, art opening, I decided that the only way to make Saturday night better would be to raid the Baja Fresh on Sawtelle of its Face Melting Salsa. Normally I get two or three because I don't want to look like a homeless person with a Taste Bud Death Wish, but, in case you aren't aware, excessive consumption of red wine liberates you, and you will henceforth have no qualms about leaving with six or seven or twelve containers. I'm sure I looked very glamourous filling container after container up for twenty minutes.

I then spent Sunday watching Vh1 and drinking the salsa straight from the container. (Leah: Oh, girl. That much of that salsa is messed up.) and by Monday I was almost out. So I went back to Baja Fresh Monday night, but not drinking on the school nights and all, I left with a tame five containers, allowing my self-consciousness to rule me, which is weak, people.

And that's when I decided to begin having the Tongue Melting Salsa Elixir for breakfast. Like I would wake up at 8:30am, actively look at the granola, and then go directly to the fridge to consume this En Fuego Salsa like it's orange juice. Individuals. I have problems.

Now it is Thursday and I am totally out and having the shakes and what not, so if you are looking for me, I will be at one of my Baja Fresh locations burying my face in the vat of Red Salsa For People That Hate Feeling Good In The Face. It will be a proud moment.

Okay, that's all for today.

Except for I would like to say that I am going to attempt to Vlog for you all very soon, since my endlessly generous mom sent me a way better memory card for my digital camera, and now you can hear what a ding-dong I sound like when I speak words and not just write them, but please don't laugh or judge me too harshly because I am kind of sensitive and am only doing this to bring us closer.

Georgia (and YOU) on my mind.

I know. I KNOW. Lame times in Camp Sensation. But I promise it's because my life has been filled to the brim with MARVELOUS and GLAMOROUS things like watching TV with Leah for hours on end writing for the glossies and going to contemporary art fairs to network with editors. Really my life is just endlessly fabulous.

Okay, okay. So I do spend most of my time watching TV with Leah and composing brilliant and ribald emails to Rivers (he gets my best work), but I find my life very fulfilling so don't judge.

But something genuinely big did happen last week. I had my first Blog Date. Now lest you get this confused with one of my Normal Dates, one in which I fail horribly at connecting with an individual of the opposite sex, this was a Blog Date, one in which we meet because we are mutual Blog Fans and our meeting would only collectively increase our awesomeness.

And points for us because we were so totally right. The situation, like all introductions made via the interweb, had the potential to go horribly awry, but this was all I dreamed of and MORE.

Georgia Hardstark: You are the bees knees.

I started reading Georgia's blog back in October and immediately took a shine to her because the first post I read was about Halloween costumes and how she wanted to go as Diane Lane from "Ladies and Gentlemen: The Fabulous Stains".



I mean, hello? Holy hotness! I have long held the belief that if I had more moxy and less lazy coursing through my veins, I would totally rock this as a daily look. (And for the record, Nights in Rodanthe excepting, Diane Lane is perfection.)

Reading her posts I always felt like we should run in the same circles. We seemed to haunt the same hoods and have the same aspirations (snarky writer-ing, indie music-making, general hotness). When she posted cute pics of her apartment recently, I broke down and emailed her directly because, well, we all know Clover has had some issues this past year with LA apartments. And it turned out she lives in the same building as one of my favorite people in the whole world, Flipit, my TVgasm editor, making it a building I frequent at least once a week during my recap seasons. I mean, this isn't a small town. It's not a typical discovery.

So we decided it was pretty much time to booze, and as of press time, we have now had two fantastic Blog Dates that have covered hipster drinking spots in Silverlake, Echo Park and Atwater Village. Both have included manic talking, impressive drinking and discussions of writing careers, boys, starting bands, the fact that we do know all the same people, boys, and DODGEBALL. That's right, fools. Georgia is a dodgeball bad ass and in two weeks, I'm joining her team. (Among other things I learned this week, the thought of me getting blasted in the face with a dodgeball is something people would like to see.)

And in summary, I now want to have more Blog Dates. I want to for real meet Laurie and Chris and Kiala and Jimmy and Aine and, well, there are so many of you that I wish were a part of my daily world. Smart, clever people that I know would have lots of fun making trouble with me in this here Hollywoodland. (Nico and Bex, you really have no excuse.)

Okay. Enough schmaltzy talk for one year. But yeah this week I vow to be better about the blog post reading and writing and commenting. I totally shirked last week. But I had no choice. My Bloody Valentine 3-D had to be watched by me.

You know you love me. xoxo, Gossip Girl

Every now and again I've alluded to the fact that I had a failed attempt at being a part-time celebrity nanny. I wrote about it a little bit, but I didn't really go into specifics because I thought it would be tacky. I have no qualms about posting drunken texts nor sharing that I like to spend my time driving around downtown LA weeping in my car, but draw the line at mentioning whose kid I'm watching. Clover Logic is a special creature.

Anyway, I am ending my silence. Mostly because they are now being totally tacky, but also because the interweb, (or INTERTRONS, as very hot Kiala would say) has said more crapola about them in the past couple weeks than I ever could. I haven't talked to the family in question in about three months, okay four, and apparently since I haven't been gracing them with my presence everything has gone to shit. (Coincidence?)

Also, as we say in the South, these people done gone and lost they damn minds. And that means you gets talked about on the INTERTRONS. Since I left them, Kelly get knocked and then filed for divorce and now it's becoming a regular Knock Down Drag Out. And why aren't they getting me on the horn?

I called Kelly last week and left her a message saying that I knew it was weird to find out about something this way blah blah blah, but, you know, I heard the news about the divorce, and if she needed any help to call me, and, btw, congrats on being knocked up and whatever, this whole sitch is so totally not weird.

(And, PS btw, no hard feelings about the time we spent seventy-two hours straight together in the Hamptons and both silently wanted to kill ourselves.)

Srsly! Who wouldn't get the nanny as a character witness? I saw everything first hand. And so. Because, they are not utilizing me as a resource, LIKE THEY SHOULD, I will respond to all the intertronic reporting on my blog. This will make all the difference.

Gossip Girl's got nothing on Kelly Rutherford's real-life drama.
(from E! online)

Just one week after the teen-soap vet filed for divorce from David Giersch, Rutherford filed emergency papers in Los Angeles Superior Court Jan. 9 seeking to ban her estranged huband from leaving the country, saying she fears he may try to disappear with their 2-year-old son. "I feel there is some risk that he will leave the country with Hermes and I will not know where they are," the 40-year-old actress said in her declaration.

First round: Kelly. Since the first day I met her, she's told me about how The German eventually wants to settle in Hamburg and if his business isn't here, his marriage is in the crapper, and he's not an actual citizen, I totally don't put this past him. Do you really eff with a mad German?

Adding to the way-past-acrimonious custody battle are Rutherford's new allegations that the 34-year-old Giersch, who is not a U.S. citizen, "has a history during our marriage of getting angry with me and leaving without telling me where he is going."
Giersch, an entrepreneur, countered Rutherford with a filing of his own, painting an even less flattering picture of his missus.

Point: Kelly. Angry Germans are scary.

Giersch said Rutherford, who is currently four months pregnant with the duo's second child, has an equally bad, and physical, temper: "[She] has tried to hit me with an open fist when she's had an angry outburst. On July 6, she threw a laptop computer at me while we were in Hamburg. She smashed the computer on the table and it broke."

Point still goes to Kelly. I mean, big whoop. Kelly told me about this incident. One time we were in the car together and she was speaking calmly, with her big doe eyes musing thoughtfully, and I asked incredulously, "How do you keep it all together?" I am always a little ball of anxiety and I genuinely always felt relaxed around her. And she was all, oh sister, I am no stranger to a meltdown. I threw a laptop two weeks ago in Germany.

And this anecdote impressed ol' Clover. And I was thankful she was giving me wise marriage advice. Throwing something seemed like a very effective way of channeling anger and stress. And if my man and I are rich like they are, then you can bet your bottom dollar I'm throwing a laptop. Most likely my husband's.

Giersch also claimed that Rutherford's bicoastal, work-oriented lifestyle was the single driving reason behind their split and voiced strong opposition to the idea of the actress taking her son with her on location. "I have been extremely concerned about our son living in a hotel and a New York lifestyle, and this has been one of the main reasons, if not the reason for the ending of [Rutherford's] and my marriage."

Point: Kelly. I call BS. First of all I knew there was no True Love Forever in this match. EVER. And she's a damn actress. Do you know how many actors and actresses in this town have this travel-for-work lifestyle AND procreate? ALL OF THEM. If that beautiful couple with a child army can do it, I promise you these two can.

He also claims that it is him, not her, who acts as Hermes' primary caretaker. "[Rutherford's] routine is that she has weekly hair appointments for at least two hours, manicures, pedicures, shopping and the like. She has been able to do all of that because I have been taking care of Hermes, and am happy to continue doing so, as it would be best for him."

And one point for The German. He really does spend his days with the kid, his businesses being in Europe and all. Even baby-hating Clover will admit they are totally cute together. I've never seen a dad so enthused about being a dad, and hearing him and Hermes speak German made my day. (I have a secret desire to speak German. I feel that it would go well with my Jew fetish.)

While both parties are seeking sole legal and physical custody with monitored visitation for the other, a judge has denied Rutherford's latest motion to travel with Hermes for work. A subsequent hearing on the matter has been set for Jan. 21.

This one kills. These people are both totally obsessed with this kid. FOR REAL. Both of them equally live for this child, who is pretty much a living doll. I can't imagine how devastating it would be to either of them to lose daily contact with the boy. And I know the German is gonna get German on this and not make this easy. But clearly most points awarded to Kelly. I have officially thrown in my hat for Team Kelly and not just because she is beautiful and gave me things.

And couldn't she use some back-up? Since she hasn't returned my call, I may just include her on the next drunken texting sesh. I'm sure I will make my offer to be a character witness in her custody battle witty and hilarious.

And for the record. I really do dig this breathy intro.

You know you love me.

XOXO,
Clover

Boozing with Clover!

Welcome to our next installment of why I am awesome and totally fun to be around!

Backstory: Wednesday was a Bad Day. I was going to pursue something I really really wanted and then at the last minute I choked hard. I sat in my car instead of going to the thing I wanted to pursue and drove circles around Little Tokyo crying that I was a self-saboteur and that I would never be successful. To make myself feel better, I called Ex and told him that he didn't care about me and was a shitty friend. (This is after last week when he loaned me cash because of the whole raped checking account thing, took me out to several lunches and let me cry on his shoulder a lot about how God doesn't want me to ever be rich.) Being a girl is hard. Sometimes the crazy gene just pops out and there's nothing we can do to stop it.

So looking to be cheered up I sent a sad sack email to Mark Rivers, who always makes life better.

Aw, dude, that happens to everybody. Seriously. The paradox of fucking up the thing you want because you want it so much that it freaks you out. You're mortal, Clover, hate to break it to you. What the hell was it, anyway?
Don't be sad. Move on. That's what you have to do in this town. And by this town I mean Eagle Rock. As for Hollywood I recommend giving up and getting drunk.

Don't worry, you'll always be a successfully hot ding dong to me.

love,
Rivers

And, people, that email was like a wake up call. Get drunk! That is exactly what I should do. And Wednesday night was when I realized that none of my problems are too big for the alcohol. Yes, they can all be solved by booze. Mostly because the next day you will want to kill yourself, but this is helpful because you have transferred all that attention away from that original problem and can solely focus on making it through the day alive. I haven't been worried about that whole self-sabotage thing since!

And Wednesday night was a grand time. I met lots of new, nice people and was generally reaffirmed that life is a happy place that was made to be enjoyed! Now in some ways I don't understand how I was able to consume so much beer and meet so many people because I was texting NON STOP. Boozing makes me a regular multi-tasker.

It started with Rivers. Now this is only a snippet of the conversation because it would take a large portion of the day going through all our material. But here is a sample of how awesome it is to text me when I am out in the world judging people by their physical appearance (learned: way less judgmental than when I am sober!).

(Also, I should add that back over the holidays when I was flying back to LA from Altanta, for the first time EVER, i was sitting next to someone I wanted to talk to, a cute guy, of course! But seriously when does this happen?? I get crying babies and not much else. Anyway, he bought me a bloody mary on that plane ride, so clearly it was the start of a beautiful friendship. He is in a band, and also hosts bands at this place in Hollywood. I decided Wednesday would be the night to check it all out.)

Clover: I found pretty plane boy dude. He is prettier than I remembered. Jesus, Rivers. He's like if Jeff Davis was a blond girl.
Rivers: Ugh. I'm sexually confused by your imagery.
Clover: Okay. Like Wesley from the Princess Bride. But LA. How's that?
Rivers: Ooo, fairytale homo boner. Like maybe your dream guy when you were ten?
Clover: Yes, exactly. So did you ever watch Deadwood? Or that Miranda July movie everyone loved? I'm now hanging out with that guy. John Hawkes, I think? Everyone is so pretty here.
Rivers: Yeah loved the Deadwood. Which Deadwoodian? Gay starfuckerishly, Fagsy
Clover: The one who played the Jew. He's gorgeous.
Rivers: Oh yeah. Saw him at a xmas party and couldn't place him. Thought he was an Aussie rocker or something. The hot blonde girlfriend threw me.
Clover: Not as hot as me, Rivers!!!
Rivers: John Hawkes. And he ain't so gorgeous, Clover. You've just got a pay cable star boner.
Clover: Okay, so not compared to pretty plane boy, but I swear he looks better in person.
Rivers: He looks like Neil Finn or something. They must be enchanted by your constant texting.

Constant texting is not enchanting? And he didn't even know the half of it. I was also simultaneously having a passionate discussion about the suckiness of Gran Torino with Rickett. And since I have passionate texting exchanges with Rickett, oh, never, and I probably haven't even spoken to him in at least a month, let this demonstrate that Clover + Drunken Texting = Equal Opportunity.

Clover: Everywhere I turn, critics and civilians are freaking their shit over Gran Torino. I mean, really?
Rickett: I know, it's so weird. Even my own friends like it. Well, ex friends.
Clover: Whoa. I so can't imagine you with friends that are bout the Torino. I've analyzed the trailer (which is inexplicably on heavy rotation) trying to find the brilliant film and I still don't get it. Partially because they don't include the Asian clown car moment.
Rickett: Even the title of the film is bullshit. It's the equivalent of calling Star Wars "The Millenium Falcon". It was totally incidental to the racist subplot.
Clover. Thank you. This is also a big issue for me, especially because "gran torino" almost sounds like you could be in for a classic Eastwood spaghetti western and you're like, wtf am I doing in Detroit with a golden retriever and some Koreans? Seriously, Rickett. I stare at the billboard in traffic like some bitch with Asperger's trying to make sense of it all. We've been had.
Rickett: That movie validates my atheism.
Clover: I hear you. I personally revisited "Thus spoke Zarathustra" after my viewing. So when can we expect your feature? I've seen some of the shit that's at Sundance this week and it's killing my belief in even dignity.
Rickett: Im trying to raise money right now for my first film called, Gran Totino, about a guy who hates pizza and lives in a neighborhood full of Italian chefs.
Clover: Starring Josh Brolin because Josh Brolin does a great anti-Italian bit. And Marisa Tomei because she's Italian and looks hot for, like, sixty, and Shia Le Beauf because you get an extra two mill if you cast him as the irascible son.

Unfortunately my phone had to die and quit that bitch just when all these conversations were getting so good.

But before it peaced out, I ran into one of the actors from Ex's movie and because of this exciting encounter decided Ex should be included in the passionate texting. It made no reference to consuming alcohol, but was a blur of variations of "I'm here with Luke Griiiiiimes!!!" and future plans for all of us and Loving Life 4evs.

All I got in response was a text around noon yesterday.
Ex: How u feelin

LOL, Ex. L.O.L.

Clover responds:
Why? Did manic texts at 1 am about Luke Grimes and strip clubs give you the impression that I might be turning my liver into Jack Palance's face? To say I'm in a world of hurt would be an understatement. But last night sure was fun!

And, in conclusion, I hope you have gathered that I will pretty much text anyone with vim and vigor when out drinking and would like to extend an invitation to send me your phone number so you can be included in this drollery . Clearly it won't matter where I am and what I am doing because me and my texts are UNSTOPPABLE.

Oh and shortly after Ex's text, I got this from Rivers.
Did you wake up in Deadwood this morning with one of Swearingen's whores between your legs?

Dating with Clover!

Welcome to a very personal blog! One in which you get to learn more ways in which I am awesome and fun to be around!

Okay, so here is something you should all know about me. I have trouble being a real person. Not like I don't bleed or get hangovers, I'm totally with you there, but I have trouble interacting with people, like a genuine, normal human being. Specifically when it comes to dating.

I somehow wound up hardwired to want to dazzle and enchant you with my wit, cheek, and ability to get even the most obscure pop culture references. I just can't seem to not be in this mode. Moxy used to always beg me, "Just be less witty. Just be softer and nicer." Even when I want to, I...just....can't.

Now this schtick works on some level. Boys like me and I like them. But suffice it to say that I cycle through a lot of guys, mostly because they want to like me and I just want them to be charmed by me. So what? I lead a meaningful and fulfilling life. Mostly because I watch a lot of TV, but whatevs.

So when Strauss (my oft-mentioned favorite pick up artist) got a very good feeling that he should set me up with a friend of his, a guitarist in a well known indie rock band (Well, at least well-known if you are into indie rock music or from their home country, where I hear they are as big as U2 and leprechauns), I was excited. I love charming men in hipster rock bands! This is what I excel at. But then there was talk of him being really really sweet and sometimes "sweet" guys do not do well with me. It's not like I like assholes. I just need my men to be banter-y. I just really really do and "sweet" guys often seem to just want to "connect". And whoa, nelly. Clover does not like connecting.

Although really, it just comes down to this: If we do not share the same sense of humor, we will probably not be that close. I just still think things should be funny and glib after a year of dating. Just ask Ex who still insists he has never been "deeply connected to my humanity." Go, Clover!

So it all went down Saturday night at a pointlessly overpriced steakhouse in Beverly Hills. A group of us gathered together for dinner, and Irish Rocker and I were put next to each other to let the sparks fly. HA.

It went something like this:
Clover: So...do you drive when you're in LA?
Rocker: Um, yes. We do have cars in Ireland.
(Okay, not my point. Many people don't drive when they're visiting LA, especially people in bands from Europe. I mean, maybe he doesn't have an international license. And for the record, there was no mirth in his voice when he delivered this. But ol' Clover decided to persist with the jokes!)
Clover: Well, yeah. I mean, I know you have cars. But do you have the internet? There's this thing that's all the rage with the kids. It's called email.
Rocker: I have a blackberry.

Awkward silence. It went on like this for at least an hour.

So, I whip out my own blackberry and just start texting Strauss.

Clover: Okay, so I don't think what's his tits likes me. At all. My attempts at humor seem like SO AWKWARD. I am sucking, Strauss.
Strauss: Treat him like the goat, and everything will magically work out.
Strauss: Maybe feed him some him some edamame out of your hand.

I should point out at this juncture that Strauss just got a goat, one we were feeding edamame before heading to Mastro's. And his whole point (echoing Moxy) was that I should just be gentle and sweet, instead of cheeky and glib and typically, completely inaccessible.

So with that in mind I decided to toss out some barbs about Steven Adler and Celebrity Rehab, both of which were met with extreme distaste. But so was the mention of karaoke, arguably a fun, wholesome time, so what gives with this dude?

I mean, who does this individual think he is, so superior to reality television and drunken public singing? Does he think he is above Bret Michaels and/or the Japanese??

So before you think I am completely unacceptable for human interaction, I would like to add that the other females that interacted with him over the evening also thought he had the personality of a wet rag. Actually, the other ladies there, who I'd just met for the first time, found me to be positively delightful. While the men that interacted with him found him affable and interesting. This makes me think that perhaps this individual is just painfully shy around women (something Strauss agreed with), and it wasn't necessarily my general suckiness at knowing how to relate to people that made this an awkward experience for everyone.

But what I will point out is that clearly if you are shy and you are meeting me for the first time, I will do nothing but make you feel more uncomfortable. YAY.

I ended the night resignedly texting Mark Rivers about the unsuccessful dating attempt. Dashing, talented Mark Rivers, who thinks I am just a glorious stitch, but has yet to allow me to wreak havoc upon any of his own hot, nerd friends.

Clover: Oh, Rivers. Strauss set me up with the guitarist from [redacted]. Ha. Ha. Set up: FAIL. You would have LOLed, Rivers. Clover charm lost upon Irish rockers. Holy god. My humor was not well received. What you find adorable, guitarists from [redacted] find retarded.
Rivers: Ugh! The Irish. Worse than the sexless Jews. [a jab at the other boy in a hip indie rock band I attempted to date last year] What a waste of a Bettie Page 'do.
Clover: WORD. When Clover can't get dudes in hipster bands, the end is nigh. I'm thinking this also means Bono is now out of the question.

Hipster Bangs Redux

I am avoiding the blog intentionally. I am a broken record in both inner and outer monologue and I don't want to drag you into it. In a nutshell, Identity Theft 2008 has gotten not better but WORSE. I thought everything was on track with that whole getting my money back in my account thing. SILLY CLOVER.

I went into Union Bank of California three days days ago to make sure everything was coming along, since, well, why wouldn't it be? Back on New Year's Eve, my one plea was that my bills clear no matter how long it took to investigate the fraud charges, and they were all, oh totes, Clover, we so got your back on that one.

Turned out they did not have my back. Drained checking account, overdraft fees, now bounced checks and late fees and fees for all the pity parties I'm throwing myself. I live on AIR right now, people. And that is way less magical than it sounds.

So yesterday in an attempt to stop dreaming of rat poison and arsenic for myself, the identity theft perps and UBOC employees, I went and got a "new look". (Bang trims are free, FYI. I now know exactly what is free in this world. Pretty much nothing, but bang trims are one of them.) My love for long sixties go-go bangs means lots and lots of fringe maintenance until I just can't take it anymore. And yesterday was one of those days. I was in the mood for a good whack and that's just what I did.

So while normally I sport the long hipster bangs, I went with the short hipster bangs and I'm afraid they're far cooler than I am. I've never had bangs this short and I'm still getting used to them. I'm convinced they don't look good without glasses and black liquid eyeliner. And this a lot of look for me to keep up, considering my daily wardrobe consists of hoodies, jeans and Oliver Peck Vans.

I'm just not sure I'm comfortable with so much...face.

See how sad I look? This is what getting your bank account raped looks like.



Okay, I'm going to leave you all now before you get sucked into my vortex of doom.

009: The Gold Standard

Things are improving already in 09.

See? I'm already getting lucky.

American Apparel: Call me.

(PS-For those that expressed confusion, this is me at The Standard in Hollywood on New Year's Eve. Where else would I bring in the new year? I love that box.)