nomad'z land

aosdfhiaosidfhasoidfhasodfihaosdfih.

perhaps once upon a time i held visions and delusions of grandeur and stardom and fame and ridiculousness deep in the recesses of my juvenile mind. this must be so, because this upcoming trip to vegas is dripping with hilarious vicariousness. j is standing up in a sunday 9am elvis wedding for whom the best man is tommy fucking lee. the reception will be poolside and will be dj’d by fatboy slim. aosidfhaosidfhaoifhaosidfh i could die at the thought. and to think, im just some nerdy hoodrat from the valley. i think we all know what the biggest issue is here. what the fuck am i supposed to wear?? we might be crashing edc, i told j i would bring a pacifier and tube socks and pigtails and those colorful beaded bracelets since thats pretty much what i think rave style encompasses. am i that off? ill be bringing at least three cameras cause we all know pics or it isnt real and shit.

stupidity aside, i had the best date night with j last night. put ma red heels on and we went to muthafuckin in n out. and got seconds. love is grand. c’est si bon!