now I'm smelling like Indonesia

I am officially in a funk and no amount of Kate Spade Sunglasses print dresses or mouths-smoking-cigarettes print blouses can get me out of it (although they did help with the initial sting of the realization of said funk). I entertained several ways to jump start my lackluster 'joie de divre' but short of remy martin + soda pop combos or eating away my feelings, I have been coming up short. I think I am going to first start with cleaning out all the bullshit I have in my closet. The scary thing is, I have grown so emotionally attached to my bullshit because it isn't just crap I picked up at the local Forever 21. It's treasures I have hunted for, high and low, Indiana Jones-style, like the 80s Prince-printed carnival mirrors, the terrycloth Hanoi Rocks banner, the 70s Marlboro Red printed umbrella. If I don't do something to stop the hoarding now, down the road I will end up wearing oversized necklaces I find at craft fairs and tapestry coats and smelling of cat urine. I'm going to make an effort to wear everything I own and if not, it is out. At least if I can see for myself how ridiculous I look in a hot pink Comme des Garcons tube skirt, it will make it a lot easier to unload my shit.

On a more somber note, Nate Dogg has yet to redevelop his ability to speak. When he sings, it is like angels play harps in heaven. I hope everything works out for him, not only for my sake, but for the future of the hip hop industry as we know it.