"You can sleep when you’re old."

Patricia Denis Romero, in response to me complaining I’m too tired to go out tonight

WHEN I KNOW MY FRIENDS HAVE MY BEST INTERESTS AT HEART

howdoiputthisgently:

Store Street Espresso should put a bed in here for me

Then I can just like move in for real seeing as I’ve already spent the past two days up in this bitch, blitzing through internship/job/summer course applications and daydreaming over pdfs of graduate course prospectuses at prestigious colleges in major metropolitan areas of fabulous foreign countries…

Because fuck. I know I always talk about London like it’s the single best thing I have, better than my better judgement, better than my more exotic tastes, better than my pretty face. Even better than all my possessions, Margiela dresses, phone numbers of Thai princes, better than the six nation mashup that my past is.

And I love it, I always will. The first city that was ever wholly mine; eighteen years old, stepping off the plane. First loves don’t die that easy, and maybe my infatuation is accurate, maybe it truly is the best thing I’ve got. But I’ve been acting like I don’t have anything else? and that’s a delusion of being in a relationship with one city for too long.

I am so insanely lucky that my alternatives are all cities that are exciting, original, cosmopolitan, and crazy beautiful. Shanghai and San Francisco and Singapore and Dubai… and I am so privileged to have the languages and empty apartments and lived experience that I do. And I’ve been acting like my options are so deeply inferior to London, to this life I have now, but as grand as it is, as deep as my love runs… it’s not a drug that I take, it’s a choice I made.

I guess it’s just been particularly rainy, gray, unforgiving and maybe I’ve suffered a little too much rejection in the past couple weeks since my ridiculously intense high of a birthday, but I’ve come to realize that I’m being too one-tracked and knowing that makes me feel much better. And I’m still doing my grind and sitting in Store Street writing apps for hours on end, loving my city like it’s ride or die, staying out all night… but my mother has an unused flat in SF, not Akron Ohio or some crap for godsake. So I’m adding Berkeley summer school to my pile of apps and looking up jobs in China in a background tab. The way I see it, you could be dating Ryan Gosling, but if you also have Jake Gyllenhaal and Taylor Lautner and Joseph Gordon-Levitt (whatever, I give you permission to question my taste) in your phone, then what the fuck. So although Ryan and I are really happy together, I’m going to start texting those other guys anyway because you’d be an idiot not to.

Sunday groceries (Taken with Instagram at Crinan Street)

Doing clippings this morning—Vidal obits in every paper. My mom modeled for him in San Francisco 30 years ago and everything I’ve ever had done to my hair in London has been by Damien Peers or Pink at Sassoon Academy. Legends never die. (Taken with Instagram at InStyle)

Said The Whale (Taken with Instagram at The Borderline)

"Cheek is stretchable formalwear for elegant plus-sized women and huskier gays."

Angie, Queen of Jordan

Never going home. (Taken with Instagram at Blue Marlin Ibiza)

IBIZA: Double deuce part deuce (Taken with Instagram at Pacha)

I’m turning 22 on April 26th. Birthday week time. Cake and/or champagne everyday x7 days is the plan. Dinner on Thursday, party on Friday, flight to Ibiza on Saturday morning. My excuse is that I’m young but I’m only getting older so somebody shoulda told ya

STILL ON ONE