Am I secretly purposefully neglecting to change the water and trip the stems of the extravagant lily's oliver bought me? Would I be more drawn to encouraging and supporting these incredible budding jewels if I was less hessitant (guilty? resentful? sad?) over the complexity of the baggage they seem to imply? Are they an imposition, albeit pleasant, in much the same way their giver perhaps, maybe, sorta... I can't bear finishing these thoughts.

I am hungry. I have been training myself to be hungry recently; practicing hunger as a concept. I could claim that it is about self control (which would be true, to an extant). I could claim that it has to do with my minimizing (as in trying to take less cabs, resisting shopping inclinations). And more than anything else it is sad. Here I have the best of the est at my finger tips and the money to indulge. But that's the sort of justifying that got me here in the first place...

HMPH.

I am a bit baffled as to the logistics of a good bad art opening. Had I been consulted in advance, I would have declared tonight's photo show horrific and artistically weak in every and all ways. Also cheap, with a sexualized title to garner quick notice. If I had been privileged enough to receive the actual invite (rather than word-of-mouth) I most certainly would not have gone. And yet it was one of the best events I've been to in weeks. People I genuinely wanted to run into were there and I just don't understand how or why. Why did everyone seem to know that this would be cool? I'm headstrong enough to beleive myself incredibly savvy but perhaps there are clues to be percieved only after languishing about in new york for years upon years? Or maybe its a social thing, as in the photographer is of a certain social network? Yet these feel so intangible (especially in tonights instance where connectivity amidst attendees was particularly baffling).

only because i mentioned Fara Fawcett in the bellow post do I feel the need to write myself a virtual reminder-note about the time Fara Fawcett broke my faucet. Ok, bit of an exaggeration. It was her son. Him and his man friend got kinky in the upstairs bathroom (Isa, Alex and Yoona's) leading to the eventual ceiling collapse in my living room. I had forgotten the story entirely.

Ok now I feel shallow. My desire to revisit this long neglected blog is spawned by a nearly identical incident as last I blogged of... surprise photo shoot. En route to morning coffee, first flattered then quickly bombarded. Before I knew it I was standing next to Whitney Port and both of us were having out hair brushed into Fara-esque fawns.

I feel like I am doing an awful lot of fleeting, now to be confused with tweeting... or perhaps? hmmm... dare i suggest that there has been an infiltration between our online modes of self expression and our in person styles of socializing? Regardless, I feel very ping pong these days. I flitter from person to person at a big dinner, or a crowded party, dropping a funny line or a warm squeeze here and there... but its all rather perfunctory.

Though maybe this is a chicken and egg circumstance?

I think every night should end in a 'you looked gorgeous tonight' text. It does wonders to the ego, also mitigates second guessing and hindsight concern. I wonder if its an interesting goal? Is it realistic? It almost feels like they could actively be sought with the right dose of subtle, windy warmth, coy flirtation yet appropriate, light dismissiveness and abrupt goodbye...

Has a memo recently circulated amidst a certain male contingency that this is a smooth move? I feel like I have been receiving an unusual amount of the 'by the way you looked beautiful tonight' texts from boy swiftly disregarded or quickly kissed hello (double cheek). Sometimes from the least predictable specimines... though often from the most. Is it a testiment to a new lipstick shade? A couple pounds shed? An attitude adjustment? Feels doubtful... Anyhow, despite professed weariness I secretly am enjoying em as nice ego boosters.