* Not to be like that girl in junior high who complained about having too many potential dates to the dance, but sometimes I wish I were good at less things. What I mean is, wouldn't it be better to focus my energies in one area, and really excel at it, instead of just having these 75% hobbies? But I think the only reason I feel this way is because I'm constantly saturated in media and it creates pressure to be an entrepreneur, so I feel like I should stop screwing around and start a real blog, like a fancy blog on a paid domain with a single topic and SEO it up and take real pictures with a good camera and monetize it and so forth. I mean isn't that how you get a book deal, by proving there is an audience slavering for your smoky-eye vids and DIY body scrub recipes? I'm sure this is just a phase; I was just in Houston hanging out with old college buddies and most of them make more money than me. What's funny, though, not ha-ha-funny but sad funny, is that my brother easily makes twice as much as me and he obsesses about why he isn't worth more too. By the way, this is us, at Goode Company Tacqueria getting a Tex-Mex-brex on Sunday:* I normally hate cutesy shit (I recently vowed on Twitter that my next book will be devoid of cuteness), but lately all I want to wear is Pink Sugar Sensual, which smells like pink lemonade and cupcakes. Then there was that whole crayon thing. What's going on?
* I enjoyed the debates tonight, not just because Obama was present and holding Mitt accountable, but because the other half of the country was finally addressed (the ones who don't have
* Here are some random lines from the poans (koan-poems) I've been writing over the last few months:
I love when men say the word pretty.
I told myself, “Be thankful for your enemies; they make you more yourself.”
But what if the truth isn’t elegant?
I rarely transgress in a dream; I dream of the guilt that follows transgression.
Time moves so fast I want it to move faster.
My dream life has its own past, memories I only access when asleep.
But shame, a friend told me, can be comforting.
Adulthood is knowing that someone is watching, an increasing sensation of things being fixed.
I have a Post-It on my desk that says BE AN ACTIVIST.
The only way past is through.