I didn’t see it.

Therefore it doesn’t exist.

Sweet dreams, goodnight moon. 

Ya know, I might be able to fall asleep if this song weren’t still stuck in my head. Problems.


When it was looking like I was going to have to move to Kentucky, I was semi-comforted by the thought that I could mitigate my misery by emulating Claire Colburn. I would become a student of mix-tapes—and names— and sit around my  charming apartment till the wee hours of the morning wearing a Maker’s Mark t-shirt getting brain cancer from talking on a cell phone all night to some hot, mildly-intriguing dude I barely know. 

But then UCLA came knocking, and I was spared that fate.

Driving to work today, it seemed like a good day to listen to the Ramones. I thought about how now I’m pretty sure I could make a soundtrack that could rival that of a Wes Anderson, or at the very least a Cameron Crowe, film. And you know what, I think you could too. You know you’ve thought the same thing at least once… probably more…. 

Let’s compare notes, yes? I think after all we have been through, you owe me at least one lousy mixtape. 


You: make a playlist that is 90 minutes long.

Don’t forget the rules: the 90 min. restriction implies that your playlist is divided into two halves of 45 minutes each. Each half must not exceed 45 minutes. And under no circumstances are you to record any of your own shitty DIY music, okay? Leave that to the professionals. And nothing lame either… errr, scratch that, lame is fine— you know, in a “Mr. Roboto” kind of way. Theme tapes are okay. I once made an entire mixtape about love songs that use drugs as a metaphor for relationships and heartbreak. Be creative! You’ll get extra points if you *gasp* actually get the playlist on a real TAPE! :0

**Tapes can be found at staples. …  Yes, that Staples. I already checked.

DO IT! Do it NOW!! :)

"Can you say ‘Scumbucket’?"

I have a feeling I will soon be at the mercy of a slumlord. Better learn the ropes.

Thank God for this instructional film series!

Drunkenness is temporary suicide: the happiness that it brings is merely negative, a momentary cessation of unhappiness.
Bertrand Russell

Nevermind. Here is a cute video about a banana and a lemon who find love.


Last Days of Temec: #179

Really, I’m getting sooo sick of these people and their pajama pants. Went to get donuts this morning. Place was packed. In front of me, a group of three teenaged girls each wearing some hideous incarnation of yoga pants, or plaid pajama pants. Holy shit. I took a photo.

A t-shirt and pajama pants. Can you just pretend to give a fuck? I mean, come on. What sort of effort does it take to find a pair of actual pants that are suitable for public display, and put them on? I realize it’s Sunday morning and all, and that this trio had probably spent the whole night staying up and talking about boys and stickers, but really, aren’t they afraid of running into someone? Don’t people give a shit about what they look like anymore? It just really bums me out when people care so little about their appearances. My point is that if you dress this way, people automatically think two things about you, 1) you don’t give a shit, and you are a slob, and 2) your house must definitely look like something I saw on Horders, which gives me nightmares and makes me judgmental. 

Sorry guys, I just can’t take it. One day I’m going to get in a brawl, or show up on the six o’clock news and get all Howard Beale and shit. 

Last days of Temec: #181

All I wanted was a new bottle of perfume. Then my car died. I blame the commuting; it has also taken its toll on my right knee. 

I hate this place. I hate this place in a John McEnroe kind of way. 

Is it time to go yet? I want to go home. 

Birchbox!! Bright-ass pink lip gloss. Matte grey nail polish. Sample of Juicy Couture. Chocolate!! Organic nail polish remover. Sweeeet.

Birchbox!! Bright-ass pink lip gloss. Matte grey nail polish. Sample of Juicy Couture. Chocolate!! Organic nail polish remover. Sweeeet.