I am pretty chill for the most part, not too picky, roll with the punches type of person...except for my hatred of bananas.

Tattoos have always had a polarizing affect on people.  Some people are obsessed with the ink, while others are utterly repulsed by it.  For me, my tattoos are a visual story-line of my life; both high and low.

As another Saturday night looms closer, the buzz question becomes "What are you doing tonight?"  For me I have two options:  Go out with friends -or- Date night with Keeping Up With The Kardashians (don't judge.)

Rose lied...  That bitch said she would never let go, and yet Jack is at the bottom of the ocean and home-girl is at Disneyland celebrating life.

I already know I am going to hell...at this point it's go big or go home.  I had an enlightened revelation thinking about how short life is. 

Le Labo Santal 33 the signature scent of basic LA girls, and now me.  I get so annoyed of those "fashion bloggers" with beat faces and fried hair taking pictures in front of angel wing murals...and yes they ream of Santal 33.

I'm even nicer when I like my body.  Some days you just can't have both and you need to work with what you got!

Somehow I have ended up in Vegas twice in the past three weeks.  Katy Perry said something about "Waking up in Vegas"...but I have to say I think Ke$ha's "...brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack" seems more appropriate lyrics for my experience.

Tears are words that need to be written.  I took a little break because I needed to find those words.  For me heartbreak overwhelms me to a nomadic state of dysphoria.

You may have a hot body, but there is no gym for that face.  It appears if you have a 6 pack in this town, you have the world by the balls.

Never one to shy away from ruffling a few feathers, I don't feel the need (or have the time) to make everyone happy.  I read a quote that really resonated in me "Damaged people are dangerous, because they know they can survive."