I love Sundays — and moms <3

Probably the best way to enjoy the substance that will eventually kill me. I’ve accepted it.

Does anyone have a recommendation of something better to watch on either Hulu or Netflix?

Hope your weekends are lovely!

Hugs///

AJ

This was in a store front in Venice Beach. I thought it was real until I noticed there wasn’t a phone number. I can be so gullible. Happy Easter!

Love///

AJ

1. Sleep in

2. Blast “Come Sail Away” by Styx while you brush your hair until it gets way frizzy. End your hair brushing during the last major chorus, then use it as a microphone. Bonus points if you stay committed to the song even though the gardeners can hear you.

3. Wear mismatched clothes. It should be noted that I sometimes accidentally do this in real life. You know that conversation you see in movies where a mother makes her child change because her outfit is too revealing? I’ve had (and occasionally still have) that conversation with my mother, except instead of slutty clothes, it’s because I am doing a bad match job.

4. Make sure that it’s not the day the fire department comes and checks your smoke detectors. If it is, make brownies.

5. Consume as much food as you want without regard for the other c-word: calories

6. Sit around all day and watch Bill Murray movies. Realize it is your life goal to be in a Billy Murray movie. Turn off your phone, put a bunch of newspapers out front, double check that your front door is locked.

7. Try and fail at watching daytime TV because your television is way to complicated to turn on by yourself. Does anyone else have this problem?

8. Come out about your Facebook cover photo. A lot of people have been liking it because they think it’s a girl playing a specially-designed piano in bed, but I don’t think they know that that girl has polio. Awkward. I might keep that one to you guys. Shhh.

9. Make art out of your tissues, just make sure to recycle them by the time your roommates get home. Be sure to take a picture, so you can remember the good times you had with your used tissue pterodactyl.

10. Organize your shoes

11. Accidentally sneeze on your dog, be thankful for unconditional love, but make sure he knows that it wasn’t revenge for all the times he drooled on you.

12. Go on Twitter and see that James Franco called your friend an offensive name, get strangely excited. For the record, he called your friend “A Faceless (the real c-word) that can suck my d***” Oh, James Franco.

13. Post your journal for the day to your blog

“I’ll have to get it from the back” he grumbled. “Stay here”

I put my weight in my toes. And I would have runaway, but that’s awkward when you’re in the only independent record store in town. I didn’t want to banish myself to ordering things online.

I walked home one gaudy Beyonce poster more wealthy, and my fake obsession with Beyonce had begun. Fake in that I am really just meh about her music as a whole, fake in that I just thought it was funny to pretend to be obsessed with someone so different then me. Not fake obsessed like those hipsters that got bald eagle tattoos after 9/11 and threw “America the Beautiful” parties, those dudes are just dicks. But fake obsessed like, what’s a nerdy econ major doing knowing all of her Beyonce trivia. Humor in the unexpected, right? Also, I really thought the poster would be like 2003 Beyonce, but it was actually 2007 Beyonce. Girl, glad you got to your fashion sense, it took you a long time of no one telling you that you had metaphorical spinach in your teeth.

That night my roommate and I made our room Beyonce-themed for our co-op’s room-to-room party. A room-to-room is basically a huge party where every room has a theme and a corresponding alcohol. We had cheap pink champagne because we were doing Beyonce on a socialist house budget.

For the entire Fall of 2010, I woke up to Beyonce’s butt and Drake’s “The Best I’ve Ever Had,” which I set as my alarm because I loved him on Degrassi. Whenever I was doing my dish shift in the kitchen, someone would put on Beyonce and I would pretend to love it.

I read her wikipedia entry, I even read the articles linked at the bottom (which was also my main research method for a lot of my environmental policy papers) and I read her interviews. I know her shoe size, the arch of her career with Destiny’s Child, I even tried not to empathize with Solange. It’s hard to be an American and not root for the underdog!

After three years of fervent to casual to passive Beyonce info-gathering, it seems many other people are starting to get in my Beyonce-obsession space, ironically or otherwise. She’s getting the attention she probably deserves so I can finally be released from my ironic fake love.  I am officially coming out: I am lukewarm towards Beyonce. I have three of her songs on my 800-song gym playlist and I only ever purchased one album. But as with any love, I will allow a keepsake — I will continue to follow her on Instagram, because if you aren’t following Beyonce on Instagram, you aren’t living life to its fullest.

I will now just get my dose of irony by going to karaoke places, singing “Fat Lip” by Sum 41 and immediately leaving. Because if anyone needs my ironic attention right now, it’s Sum 41.

I was playing one of my favorite games yesterday with a new friend and we ended up walking all the way to Santa Monica. The game is called “Robert Downey Jr’s House” and we walk through the residential streets of Venice and guess which house is his #coolhobbies.  In my head, his house is one of the modern art-looking ones that stick out from the beach houses. Sort of like how RDJ’s face sticks out from most other faces. He also just doesn’t seem like a beach house brohini to me. If the house has a ringer/buzzer/intercom thing we ring and say “Mr. Downey Jr.?” and it never is. We could probably just Google his address, but that’s zero fun. Also, feel free to comment your opinion. Would he be Mr. Downey or Mr. Downey Jr.? I feel like Mr. Downey just doesn’t sound right, like RDJ would say “no, that’s my father” and be totally charming about it.

If there is one thing that halfheartedly (and perhaps half creepily) looking for RDJ ‘s house does, it’s make you hungry. My friend is newish to town, so we decided to go to the OG Hot Dog on a Stick. Unfortunately our wallets and accounts were pretty much on E, and there is just something really sad about being in your mid-20s and sharing a corn dog. Made extra sad by this  tie-dye-clad street performer/singer/songwriter who was just awful and not self-aware about it playing right next to us. So basically, shoutout to McDonald’s for being cheap and for me being able to justify my meal me there to myself by playing the artist card. Also, the delicious coffee card. The only downside of McDs being that Mr. Downey Jr. (Mr. Downey?) would never be there. His face would also stick out a lot at McDonald’s. He fancy.

Also, I have a show tonight in the Del Close Theatre at 7pm at iO West and I joined instagram! My username is: ashleyjillian. Looking for cool people to follow on there!! Hope your weekends were awesome

Rushing up to the undertaker’s office, I am hoping to see some rusted old-fashioned medical tools.

With a hand on the door, I notice an old man with an overweight golden retriever and an oversized cowboy hat.

“The undertaker died” he said in his gravelly voice.

I summon a nervous pity laugh, and wait for the second half of the joke.

“The memorial service was lovely, we held it about two weeks ago.”

Awkward.

The closer to laundry day, the more I look like a Mike Judge character.