We Are Stranglers

A sunday afternoon escape, as follows: 

Golden brown texture like sun

Lays me down with my mind she runs

Throughout the night

No need to fight

Never a frown with golden brown

Every time just like the last

On her ship tied to the mast

To distant lands

Takes both my hands

Never a frown with golden brown

Golden brown finer temptress

Through the ages she's heading west

From far away

Stays for a day

Never a frown with golden brown

justifications for an overdrawn bank account

Dear Alexander McQueen,

You are my hero. Any day you like, you can make me your bitch. So long as I get to carry the egg basket behind you... I worship you. 

P.S. Nicolas Ghesquière, you are beautiful. Your clothes are beautiful. 

I LOVE YOU. 

Yves Saint Laurent Fall 2009 rtw

I DIE for Yves Saint Laurent. At night, I run through the streets naked dreaming that I am covered in YSL. I would wear it morning, afternoon, evening and night. I would sleep in YSL, brush my teeth in YSL, take a shower in YSL. I would have Stefano Pilati's babies and smother them with YSL the moment they leave my YSL womb and breathe the YSL air I provide for them. 

YSL FOREVER

McQ for Target

Am I always the last to know? I'm broke and just went on a little (but rather nicely sized) shopping spree, but I'll still be going to take a look around...

http://www.target.com/b/?node=1260398011&ref=tgt_adv_XCRH3500&afid=d_style&cpng=rtwmcq&PlaceID=33892651&CreateID=30559588&dcid=576460856370970507

Happiness is...

I was going to write a pointless blog about the amazingly delicious soft serve ice cream I had earlier tonight, but while I was searching the internet for the proper photo that didn't exist, I found this. Enough said. MeEncanta.

this town is called Stolichnaya...

3.7.09/3.8.09 sunday morning

...and this is our fabulous photo booth. we love to view ourselves. 

'strangeways' occur after a fabulous night out with friends; the Guinness glasses empty, the jager bombs exploded, the dances stepped away. and after hookin' it a bit on our favorite street corners, we convene under the stars and in our holes to sip away our daily nightmares and wear all the freshest fashions of our exaggerated limp wrist'd best friends. and eat cake. this is the good life. there is much laughter here, and plenty of nudity + screaming mothers. all in a good night's work. 

the bitch bell