My giant light up cross went straight to the right people. I couldn't take it with me. It's hard to work into a living room design scheme.
I left the LES. I love my new hood and it's denizens. The LES used to be hipsters and Carrie Bradshaw NYU bytchez, but NOW it's bridge and tunnel fake hipsters and more NYU. Oh, and Generation Y - the generation without charm. None. They just want stuff and have chosen the 80's as their look. Along with being illiterate, their parents didn't give them any protein so they are all tiny. They march around the city in these Napoleonic suits and knee high boots or weird nautical wear sometimes, like they are captains. Little Nazis with too many electronics. They are all terrible in bed. Yoga and Pilates will do that.
Manhattan Maxi Storage. All my art lockedUP. When there is a reason to stand around making art, then maybe I will. The art world is a scumscene I don't even want to draw it makes me sick.
It didn't happen and I want my money back. I never understood this threat about the end of the world. I don't care if the world ends and I'm comforted that somebody feels confident enough to give me an exact date. But it didn't happen... again. There's always the Mayan calendar, but they couldn't predict the end of their own civilization. I think they also just ran out of room. I do have to start recycling again, my new building is still squaring away it's recycling abilities and I slacked. A friend of mine said he was going to stop recycling until he got equal rights (he's Geh), so he better start separating his paper and plastics. I tell you, I'm happy that I have the option (because I have great health insurance and that may make me a catch), but I was more upset that (good) poppers were made illegal in NYC than my ability to marry or not. Just keeping my goals in realistic sight. My psychiatrist said I was selling myself short.hinthink that I'm just reasonably priced.