countessian

This photograph was brought to you by Dayquil, Nyquil, Xanax, too much liquor, stolen beer, flirting in Spanish, The Torch of King Smartypants and lipstick so strange it made lovely girls look bad. I’m going back to bed now.

[This is in response to Malingering's Dear Bus: I Quit post.]

I moved to Los Angeles four and a half years ago and don’t know how to drive. I’m on the bus for at least three hours every week day, and I think I’ve just grown used to it (my commute in London was a similar length, so I’ve never really known better.)

I consider it pretty miraculous that I’ve only had to throw one punch (it was self defence), have only inadvertently started one fist fight (by “looking ill,” apparently) and only have to get off the bus because it smells too bad about once each month. I’m often an hour or so — not exaggerating at all, here — late for work, but luckily I can just stay late to make it up.

On the plus side, I totally won a 3am-crazy-bloke pop-culture-trivia contest once by correctly naming “Elizabeth Taylor” in response to the question “Who is the baddest motherfucking white girl ever to appear in a motion picture?”

Dead Meadow were back at Little Radio, playing under giant sparkly snowflakes with fake snow underfoot that made for lots of slipping and slide-y dancing.

Baby Girl Garcia and the Countess wore very possibly the smallest outfits ever seen in December. That’s how it goes in SoCal, kiddoes.

Flickr has a new stats feature that reveals the popular search terms that lead to my pictures. They’re joyous. Who knew I was the go-to girl for “santa clara manicure parties” and “christmas tinsel“?

I mean, “vampire girls blue eyes“, “nepenthe at big sur“, “naughty bodies” and “photos of smart girls” are a given, but “black tights“? And “poodle“?

Maybe I should nickname my models by their search terms from now on. Sally Fay gets “hot tub topless” and “vinyl skirt” for sure, and Chari’s “bird tattoos“. Christie must be “gold bikini“. Irina and Caroline are the “euro girls” and “dita dimoné” is l’il Brendita, of course.

P.S. Dear whomever was searching for “getting a girl to strip for you” — it’s easy. Just look for a “teen hooker” in “fake eyelashes” or a “smoking girl” in a “red glamour dress“.

Failing that, there’s always the “bearded lady“.

We went out last night in Angelino Heights. Coyotes stalked us; the fancy houses twinkled with Christmas lights.

Before I knew what “Oso” meant in English, I had already nicknamed him Медвежонок. (He’s the limit of my trilingualism.)

[You haven't lived until you've had it rehearsed in your living room.]

This photograph was taken by Sally Fay Dalton, using a Polaroid camera that we found attached to a pair of handcuffs. We came across the handcuff-cam when we were forced to clear the blue room of a former housemate’s belongings after he disappeared without paying rent. Well, he left fake cheques to pay for rent, but that doesn’t really count.

He still owes us tons of money, and left us with

• the world’s dirtiest room (seriously — we waded knee-deep through dirty laundry to find moldy cheese in the bed)

• stacks of blank sheets of fake cheques
• at least 100 photographs of himself
• his diary from several years ago, in which he earnestly professes his desire to turn his life over to God and also star in a Broadway play
• multiple copies of his credit report (note to whoever marked off all those debts as identity theft — you’re an idiot)
• a pile of letters from lawyers offering their services following his arrest

In the three months following his departure, first his mother told us that he had to go to the East Coast for work (but his company already told us he’d lost his job) but that they were getting together the money he owed us to pay us back, then he called with a convoluted story about getting arrested in Mexico while filming a documentary about corrupt police forces.

He said yonks ago that he was sending us a cheque “tomorrow”—we were both exceptionally restrained and managed to supress the urge to say “oh, that’s ok, we’ll just write ourselves one on your fake cheque paper!”

Sally Fay’s got the key to the cuffs around her neck, and we’re getting lots of pencil-scrawled letters from his jail penpals.

Dewar’s reminded us to celebrate the anniversary of Repeal Day yesterday — a strange party choice for a new non-drinker, perhaps, but the 1930s dress code was too enticing to pass up. Baby Girl let me taste all her cocktails, and Baby Dalton lent me a dollar to tip for my soda. They were the most gorgeous there by far.

PS — The first picture in this post is a rare capture of 22-year-old prodigal promoter Sean Carlson, creator of Mess with Texas and the Fuck Yeah Fest, sporting a mid-thigh-length lady’s cotton robe. Just wanted to make sure you knew that.

• passionate
• cheesed off
• cat person
• seduce
• foodstuff
• t’was
• trod
• square one
• what’s hot and what’s not
• fanny
• cripes
• blighty
• crikey
• gripe
• pet peeve
• folks