What a doll...

When I first came to US I watched a lot of cartoons. I used them to learn English..to pass the time until school started. Funny enough my favorite cartoons were actually Japanese anime.
Sailor Moon OWNED. 

There was a period where I recorded every single Sailor Moon cartoon, plastered my walls with her posters and stickers and even practiced her transformation sequence from regular girl to superhero in front of the mirror. (I am not proud of this but hey, childhood is made for doing stupid shit.)

Luckily, this was a phase I grew out of. For some people this phase persists indefinitely.

Anime is wildly popular across the globe and in Japan it is practically another religion. And like any popular movement it invites those who seek to profit from it. Enter "Real life dolls."
There is a vast array of these girls on the internet but I shall focus on my favorite (Venus Angelic is a poor-man's Cabbage Patch kid at best).


Meet Kotakoti (surname: Dakota Rose).

This is (supposedly) an American 16yr old girl who just happens to enjoy Japanese culture and dresses up in adorably quirky outfits...a trend which I feel more teenage girls should follow. (The time for tiny dresses, hair extensions and sky-high heels comes quickly enough. One should take the time to be genuinely weird. It is the only time you can get away with it. Once you hit 30 pigtails and bows make you look retarded. Sorry, La Veritas.)

As you can imagine she has caused an absolute frenzy across Asia. She has been called a "Real life Barbie," "Goddess" and, my personal favorite, "Elf Woman." (side note: tee hee)

Personally I think she's adorbs. Stunningly beautiful, incredibly original and overall a precious little child.
She wears thigh highs to school. She has bilateral lip piercings. She also curses like a sailor.
(Bleeding eyeball bows? Christ I want a child like this!)

She has got this down to a tee. The outfits are superbly "anime." Her makeup enhances her genetic attributes to make her an epitome of what is seen as physical perfection in the East.
Watch her videos...even the mannerisms and speech have been exquisitely honed to make sure YOU believe she is a real life doll. She also speaks Japanese in her videos with PERFECT inflection. That's when shit gets real.

Unlike her critics I don't believe she uses a ton of photoshop. One can work miracles with makeup and proper lighting. Trust.

Adorable little girl, right?






Except she's a 19 yr old "scene queen" model from San Francisco. Well played, Dakota.
Slow clap from me :)

Ink me...

 This could be a complicated topic.

Let's do a bit of shorthand?
Tattoos...long history...bad boys...dirty...prisoners and sailors...trashy...art...self-expression...blah, blah, blah.

This is MY tattoo story. When people attempt to explain what their ink means it always ends up sounding silly or juvenile. This is why I shall write about it. I hardly ever show mine...they were done for me not for others. They are my little secrets.

The first one: classic little "tramp stamp." I'm not proud of its genericism but it was my first and thus important. My best friend and I decided to get them after  high school graduation. I bought his and he bought mine. We laughed the entire time and reveled in being young...we spend lots of days together during that summer...No pretense, no double meaning, just friendship.
Funny enough both of us have since developed an addiction to ink. Perhaps that first one was a catalyst.

The second one came spontaneously. I saw this postcard with an Xray of a lily...it was so delicately beautiful...so effervescent. I though it would look fantastic on my foot. This time I went with my mom.
She made fun of me the whole time and tried to talk me out of it until the last second...but she came with me because this one would hurt.
And oh Dear God it did. The foot seemed to have millions of neurons all screaming and burning as the needle pierced my skin over and over again. At first I couldn't breathe...

...but then I had a realization -- I wanted THAT specific tattoo in THAT specific place because I wanted to feel the pain. (this is where you say I'm insane and move on). I had been so well loved and protected throughout my entire life, to that point, that I never experienced pain. I never broke a limb, I never got into fights, I never spent time in a hospital...dancing, thankfully, did not injure me beyond achy knees and busted toes.

                                                  Is my reasoning a bit skewed? Perhaps.

I wanted to feel that pain. TRUE, pure, severe pain. (I would never compare this to a car accident or open heart surgery, I mean only the actual feeling of pain). As I breathed in I imagined the needle ripping through my skin, buzzing through muscles and ligaments, all the way down to the bone...it felt GOOD. It made me want more...made me know I was just a bit stronger than I expected...

My foot is my first real scar. My first true pain that I carry with me forever.

The neck one came suddenly as well. I was in the midst of ending another disastrous relationship, wrapped up in Vegas club life, preparing for grad school, assaulted by a constant stream people/noises/sounds/colors. Sometimes I wanted to scream.
I saw a phrase..."Serva Me Serva Bote" (save me and I shall save you). I searched for the perfect font and when I plugged in this little phrase into an online search box a thousand "Save me"'s appeared.

save me. Save me. SAVE ME! they yelled...Save. Me.

My skin ached as though the phrase was already on it...I had to let it come out.
Perhaps that was my call to the universe...to help me find someone to save me who I would save in return. (side note: ILJ)

The fourth. That one was easy.
Well except for the 3 hours of excruciating pain which, this time, did not feel so pleasant. My rib cage was filled with words..."Don't cry, don't beg, don't fear." Classic Russian.
For years my mother said that to me and I never knew why...turned out it was the med school motto where she met my father. Though I have absolutely no connection to him (nor desire any) I loved that phrase. For better or worse these people literally made me. They were young and madly in love and, I'd like to think, gave me the best parts of themselves.

Of all my pieces this one is my favorite. This one is the most severe but also the most beautiful. It is how I live my life. (well, most days anyway)

The fifth. Worst one. Badly made, badly conceived... It was my 28th birthday. Believe me when I say i DO NOT do birthdays well. Every time someone wishes me a "happy birthday" I burst into tears. I get angry and depressed. I feel so so terribly sorry for myself.

                                                                        Why? Have no idea.

This time was worse because I was starting one of the hardest years of my life thus far, the beginning of which coincided with the end of a relationship that really wounded me. My friends were busy...away from me...unable to stop me. I was exhausted from crying but the tears would not stop. I pulled myself together long enough to walk into a tattoo shop in Salt Lake and sit in front of the first kid with a needle I saw.

His hands shook. I had no energy to encourage him. I did not make small talk. As the scorpion on my foot began to take shape the pain came. This time I welcomed it openly. It felt so good to release the emotional dam that had been building for so long.
He asked why I looked sad. I told him it was my birthday and burst out crying.
                                                      You know those really hard sobs with hiccups that come so fast you can't catch your breath? This was it. ....i begged him to keep going.
When he finished I drove home in silence. There was finally peace.

This last one needs work...his hands shook so much that parts of the scorpion are barely visible while others are way too dark. I will fix it as some point. But I still like looking at it...that was one of the worst days of my life. That was when I started to change my life...to realize what I needed and wanted and not apologizing for it.

The sixth one is coming. It has been selected..the skin is yearning for it to show through. This year marked a new stage. It needs to be acknowledged.


I'm sure I will stop at some point..I do not want to be a late 40-yr-something covered in ink.

But 10 is a good number.
10 moments of my life that defined me as a human being.
10 marks that are unique only to me.

I hate cuh-lahs

Colors. ugghhhh...where to start?
When I was little I used to love them. I had oranges and reds, purples and greens. There was even a blue period, a la Picasso, that spanned several years and was saturated with shades of turquoise, cerulean and navy.
When I was a club kid my days were filled with neon pinks and greens...strangely enough my skin did not burn when they touched it.

Somewhere along the way black took over my life. The last decade has been black. True, there were attempts at color which consisted of bronze, olive, mocha, and white. There was exactly one red dress (worn twice).

Black is classic. It is slimming, sophisticated, dark...perhaps a bit intimidating? It's always so easy to pack and mix and match your outfits when everything is black. And believe me, I do mean EVERYTHING. It is Chanel and Maison Martin Margiela and Rick Owens and McQueen...

I like my style...I think it is truly mine, somewhat reflective of certain trends but not overtly "fashion slave."
                                     modern, asymmetric...CLEAN. 
                     Black is the absence of color and is thus as clean as it can get.

I don't exactly know why but lately I have been craving color. Perhaps the changes in my life have heralded a shift in my outlook...perhaps the incessant barrage from Vogue has finally gotten to me.

Aesthetically colors are pleasing. They are wild and loud and elicit happiness...in some people. I, much like a moth to a flame, approach colorful things with apprehension yet without control. I try them on...I yearn to like them...but every time they are in my proximity they make me feel strange. Unnerving perhaps. They do not make me happy, they do not quite look like they did in my mind and they certainly don't integrate with my general appearance.

Last week I decided to grit my teeth and power through my fear and intimidation of this palette and I went on a mission to find COLOR. Countless hours and stores later I am in possession of one blindingly bright neon green jacket, pastel blue skinny jeans, coral nail polish and a cerulean mini skirt. I also managed to find a long forgotten intense violet silk mini-dress that may make the cut.

                                      I can do this. I can do THIS. I want to do this. 
Because people that wear color seem ok...they seem happy, and approachable, and perhaps even, interesting.


I will never and physically cannot abandon black. But at this time I feel a bit oppressed by it...trapped in its' grip - unable to move away from looking like a black cat...

I want to play in the sun with the happy kids...even if I'll end up sarcastically smirking at them from a shadowy corner. Bring on the Dali period...

A lazy morning

Day in Paris #3:

Today you woke up later then expected...perhaps it was because the rain drops softly thumped on the window pane lulling you to a dreamy haze...the sky is overcast but it is warm and breezy.

You grab a cup of coffee and head for a walk along the Seine. To some this is probably just a river. It can be a bit stagnant and sometimes murky. There are no sunbathers or row boats filled with Wasp-y graduates  in their pastel polos. An occasional riverboat slowly waddles by carrying along tourists taking pictures of every foot.

It is just a river you say. But you keep walking...each of the 37 bridges along the Seine are different..interesting...unique in their construction and appeal.
The Invalides bridge is spectacular.
You walk along the river past Notre Dame and cannot help but marvel at how beautiful "goth" can be. Pont Neuf peaks your curiosity..in the distance you get a peak of La Tour Eiffel.

You browse the books and art from centuries past that is sold by the bank on Sundays. Here perfectly preserved 18th century anatomy pages neighbor Marilyn Monroe kitchen magnets and post cards from the 20's. The banks are filled with people...couples in love, couple in rage, families.. and loners like you.

You don't notice but as you walk and stare at the water memories flood your consciousness. You feel fleeting sadness and happiness, nostalgic for a time that seems perfect through the looking glass of time. You feel calm and strangely happy.
This is the Paris not everyone will see. This Paris does not intimidate you with it's cornucopia of lights and sounds...it is softer. Unobtrusive in it's elegance. Confident in it's timeless perfection.

This water has flown through these walls for centuries. It has seen flourishing kingdoms and gruesome revolutions...it has been saturated with blood and memories and managed to absorb them seamlessly beneath its weight. It is magnetic.
Strangely, you feel inspired to write something...anything...to capture this mood because you know that as soon as you walk away the hectic world will engulf you again and this brief glimpse into your own self will fade under the mandane tasks of the everyday.
You take a picture hoping that looking at it will remind you what you felt that day. How you were just walking along a river in this beautiful city enjoying a simple lazy morning...

peine de coeur

I comforted a friend with a broken heart today...seeing her pain reminded me of all the times my heart was broken. Of all the past romances that, even now, cause a twinge of regret...even shame...Remembering all the mistakes that were made along the way is not pleasant. Remembering how the world crashed down and  a pain took over that was so big it was hard to breathe or to get out of bed in the morning....still makes me sad.

Love is what human beings have in common. It is our basic instinct..our need. We love our parents, our friends, our siblings. We yearn to be loved. And when we love we gain an understanding of ourselves that cannot be gained otherwise.


Do you remember your first heartbreak?

Only when you live through that emotional devastation do all those songs/poems/movies make sense. When you truly loved...completely, selflessly loved...
When you reveled in longing someone so badly nothing else mattered..
When you nursed your unrequited feelings like a precious icon... because that pain made you alive? Made you FEEL life?

Remember those times when your love was returned? When the world took your breath away and every day...EVERY DAY...was amazing. The electricity you felt with each touch...each kiss?



As I drive home from another exhausting day all my past romances pass by. They left their mark but they are shadows now.
I hear our song...I feel him near me. I smile because he loves me so well.

Whether your loves have been beautifully tragic or truly fulfilling they mattered. Love makes us human. Even if sometimes they don't lead to a happy ending.
Amor fati, right?

today...

My old man is a bad man
But I can't deny the way he holds my hand
And he grabs me, he has me by my heart
He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past
He doesn't mind I have a L.A crass way about me
He loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart

Swimming pool
Glimmering darling
White bikini off with my red nail polish
Watch me in the swimming pool
Bright blue ripples, you
Sitting sipping on your black crystal, oh yeah

Light of my life, fire in my loins
Be a good baby, do what I want
Light of my life, fire in my loins
Gimme them gold coins
Gimme them coins

And I'm off to the races, races
Up Bacardi chases
Chasing me all over town
Cause he knows i'm wasted,
Facing time again at Riker's Island
And I won't get out

Because I'm crazy, baby
I need you to come here and save me
I'm your little scarlet, starlet
Singing in the garden,
Kiss me on my open mouth
Ready for you

My old man is, a tough man
But he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam
And he shows me, he knows me every inch of my tar black soul
He doesn't mind I have a flat broke down life
In fact he says he thinks it's what he might like about me, admires me
The way I roll like a rolling stone

Likes to watch me in the glass room, bathroom
Chateau Marmont
Slipping on my red dress, putting on my make up
Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac,
Fume, says it feels like heaven to him

Light of his life, fire of his loins
Keep me forever, tell me you want me
Light of your life, fire of your loins
Tell me you want me, gimme them coins

And I'm off to the races, races
Up Bacardi chases
Chasing me all over town

                                       

                     

Escaping from the world...

It is finally here. We are off to the Paris of Latin America...Buenos Aires. No phones, no email (ok limited email), lazy mornings lounging in bed and late nights filled with wine and dancing. Just us...

Although we never make definitive plans a few key items are definitely on the itinerary.
Teatro Colon? Claro que si!

And, of course, knowing me, a trip to La Recoleta.
Stunning, isn't it??  I cannot wait to see who lives here. And the sculptures are going to be spectacular.

Being fiendish lovers of anything modern we will definitely spend one day here:

MALBA. (giddy face!)

There will also be several underground tango clubs, foodie adventures and many a wine tasting.

I so desperately need this. I want to get away. 

To forget what I do and where I come from.

To be in love and nothing else. 

To get lost in a strange city...to emerse myself into a place full of colors and sounds and exuberant LIFE.

Travel reminds you that this world is unbelievably big. It is incredible, infinitely amusing and glorious. To travel is to LIVE.
If I could not travel I don't think my life would be worth living. It is that important. And though I do not travel as much as I would like now, when I am done with my training, I shall take off on trips every chance I get. It is a necessity, a basic need. The experiences and memories gained from stepping outside one's boundaries cannot be substituted or replaced. 

The warm wind is blowing through the car window...the music fills the air...a plane is waiting to whisk me far far away to a beautiful country. PURR.

A bittersweet day...

I truly love this song. It is so exquisitely beautiful. I love hearing it when I am sad...when I need a release but I cannot scream. It makes me have hope again...even though the lyrics are quite depressing. 

It is my mom's favorite as well. It has always been her song. And when I hear it I hear her voice in my head...and I hope again that everything might just be alright tomorrow. 

Cause it's a bitter sweet symphony this life..
Trying to make ends meet, you're a slave to the money then you die. 
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down...
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet yeah...

                                No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
                                         But I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
                                     But I'm a million different people from one day to the next...
                                           I can't change my mold, no, no, no, no, no,no, no

                                        Well I've never prayed, but tonight I'm on my knees, yeah.
                                    I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah.
                                     I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now.
                                   But the airways are clean and there's nobody singing to me now.


                                    No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
                                         But I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
                                     But I'm a million different people from one day to the next...
                                           I can't change my mold, no, no, no, no, no,no, no


Have you ever been down? 
I can't change, I can't change...


                                                 Cause it's a bittersweet symphony this life. 
                                  Trying to make ends meet, trying to find somebody then you die.

Jardin de Luxembourg

A day in Paris #2:


Built in 1611 by Marie de Medici in an homage to the Pitti Palace in her native Florence. It initially contained a fountain built by Salomon de Brosse and 2000 elm trees. 

When you first come to Paris do NOT go here first. This place...it must be savored. You must come here when the beauty of the city overwhelms you and you feel that if you see another magnificent palace or quaint street you will explode from being overjoyed. (run-on? def. moving on.)

When you first walk in you BREATHE. It is quiet despite being quite vast. It is completely filled with people, all the time, yet it never feels crowded. It is stunning. Bar none, you will never see a more beautiful park (yes, including Central Park).

The foliage is perfectly groomed but in that way models off duty look - perfection without trying. There are sculptures and art installations dispersed throughout. They change frequently and they are always amusing.

My favorite part is the pond. (Not the OTHER pond - that one is surrounded by thick aged oaks and is the perfect place for a picnic and a good book). I like the open pond. It always has the most visitors and you are lucky if you can snag a chair. It has not changed since Louis XV...oh what I would give to stroll by it then...amazing ball gown glistening in the sun while I listen to a poem written for me by an admirer.  

                                                                          Sigh.   haha

                               The pink light is here in all its glory. The whole place is drenched in an ethereal pink luminescence that takes your breath away. This is coming from a misantrope! It is just...so...perfect. How terribly lucky the French are - to be able to sneak away to this place during lunch...or even walk through it on the way home...you would not dare to say you've had a bad day.


I miss this place painfully...I miss Paris. It is the only place that makes me melancholy and happy at the same time. Perhaps next year I'll return...

It girl

Angie...the Jolie...Santa Angelina. 

My friends have always laughed at my, semi-unhealthy, obsession with her. I figured it's time to give a little background (not a rebuttal to the un-healthiness in the least haha).

I first saw Angelina in "Gia." Contrary to what others may believe I did not love her then. I loved her acting, her incredible raw talent and unbelievable beauty, yes, but not HER. At a time when every tabloid and gossip site reveled in the perfection that was "Jolie" I could not fathom why a person so clearly broken would be applauded and admired. That is..until I became broken myself. Perhaps it was because I saw so much of myself in her actions that I shunned her image and ridiculed her...

Have you seen "Hackers"? Changed my life. (you laugh, but you have those movies too, admit it.) I wore the outfits, copied the make-up...hell, i STILL wear that silver ring on my index finger. I can see every frame of that movie when I close my eyes...
                                She was an alien. No human could ever be that beautiful...that talented...and so dark.

As she grew up so did I...and I truly (am not being facetious) began to admire her. To be a single mother at a time when men would literally die for a chance to spend the night with her...to choose to be alone for the sake of a child that changed her life...was unusual. Unexpected.

To travel the world, and slowly, begin to change those horrible places filled with unmentionable nightmares for the better...without publicity or self-preservation...you may not like her but you have to admire her "balls" so to speak.
To finally find love in  a man who is truly an equal. To show that strong and smart and beautiful can, and do, co-exist and should not be dismissed.

To show those like me that life can be dark, can be painful and sickening...but it can also transform into something...B.I.G. Bigger than your own selfish self. Bigger than what one life can offer. Even if you came from the most desolate corners...

                        Broken can be useful.
                                           Broken can be strong.
                                                      Broken can be loved and love back in a grand way.

I emulate...I shall not lie to you about that. I hope to become bigger than what I initially expected of myself. I want to be a GOOD human.

We all need role models. Whether it is our parents ( and mine is amazing), our friends, sports heroes, or actors...we seek what we adore and emulate by example. It is a basic human instinct. This is mine. A wild, often misunderstood, beautiful woman...who I hope won't fade away for a very long time.