We continue to roam.

For those of you still checking here.. we're no longer at Uber. The economic crisis is whacking everyone hard, and they weren't going to be spared.. So, I've packed up my bags, saved all my pictures, and I'm at www.mieletcannelle.wordpress.com . They're a little more established.. a little more stable.. It's like leaving the couch surfing and staying with your nice cool aunt who owns her house but still dresses way cool. Yeah. Like that.
See you there!
xoxo
Ms. P

Where She's At.

Hello Everyone -
I've stopped in to say hello and give you directions to the new blog.. I took a brief hiatus and stopped momentarily at livejournal, then kept moving until I found Uber.. which is where I'm currently resting on my laurels. So, if you're directed here, get your butt back in your browser and mosey on over to www.uber.com/alicef

Dearest Readers

Hello to All -
Well, that time has come. After 3 years, 1005 posts, many photos, tears, cliches, spelling mistakes, boyfriends.. I'm moving on. Poshlust Inc. is not going to be deactivated, or changed, or moved, but the time has come.. to leave.
After a few late nights of contemplating changing colors, fonts, formats.. I've realised that by changing Poshlust, I'd be trying to change the hue and reality of that that's been put here, and I can't. I've lived through 3 years with SP, as SP, and slowly but surely, have grown more into the person that I want to be - and part of me feels that maybe Poshlust Inc. must now bow out. So, I'm moving. Up, onwards, to a nice place, a new name, a new blog. If you're interested in following, let me know, leave me a note, I'll send you the address. If not - that's ok too.
Thank-you all, for three years of support, of listening, of advice of EVERY kind - thank-you.
Andrea/SP

Today's Doodles

THE purse

..that contains all aforementioned paraphernalia. I think that would make a cook coffee table book. Purses, their contents, and the mental status of their owners.

Blurry Casino Night Photos...

You know it's a party..

When apple pukes and there is some inter-ingredient cookie love going on..

To the asshole..

...who left such a fucking ridiculous comment? Go fuck yourself! Cheers!

What is is your purse?

I really love.. like, love, creeping on other people - and one of the things I love the most.. is knowing what is IN things. Fridges, make-up bags, purses, medicine cabinets, wallets. I love peering into peoples lives in tiny, little ways - my friend posted her list of "What is in your purse?"... So I figured I'd reciprocate, and let all those poor souls like me get some enjoyment on the miniscule tote bag scale.

Albert Camus - The Outsider
Karl Marx-1844 Manuscripts
Karl Marx - The Communist Manifesto
My Wallet
A black Moleskin
Dove Silk deodorant
4 pens - 2 black, 2 blue
1 blue highlighter
3 Staedtler pencil crayons - black, grey, white
Marc Jacobs Daisy sample
Stella In Two Peony sample
One toony, two loonies, 5 quarters, 4 dimes, one nickle, 4 pennies
Nail cutters
birth control
anti-depressants
anti-biotics
voice recorder for lectures
pay stub

My god. I am boring.

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

-TS Eliot

Merry Literatie

Too tired to post. Not too tired to wish I lived in the 70's.

Graphed

down - had to get up, and realized for the first time in a long time I was actually immobilized with depression. Eventually got up after extending consequences of not going to class as far as dying alone because I hadn't been a part of Marx's bloody revolution of which I am studying this afternoon.
up - checked my mail, got 612$ from the government.
down - sat down in class and realized that I had a pair of black lace panties stuck to the mesh on my backpack and had walked all the way to the school with them there.
up- got my Rousseau essay back with an A on it - and the comment "It is always a pleasure reading your essays" on the back.
down - now am in the library where I will probably stay until midnight tonight writing on Heidegger and reading Camus until I want to kill myself even more, then going home to make sure my boyfriend would still miss me.

Hiding in the library

I "love" this site.

Check it out.

Strange Days

Light Pollution

Art made in the shade.

Yup, "Jesus" loves you.

one.

You.Can.Only.Type.One.Word.No.Explanations.
1. Yourself: relaxed
2. Your significant other: working
3. Your hair: burnt
4. Your mother: waiting
5. Your father: learning
6. Your favorite item: bracelet
7. Your dream last night: tortured
8. Your favorite drink: wine
9. Your dream car: jaguar
10. The room you are in: bedroom
11. Your ex: missing
12. Your fear: failure
13. What you want to be in 10 years? happy
14. Who you hung out with last night? Jared
15. What You're Not? empty
16. Muffins: bran
17. One of your wish list items: purse
18. Time: 9:10
19. The last thing you did: ate
20. What you are wearing: blue
21. Your favorite weather: sun sun sun
22. Your favorite book: can'tbeoneword
23. The last thing you ate: pho
24. Your life: fast
25. Your mood: content
26. Your best friend: jarholbine
27. What are you thinking about right now? Modigliani
28. Your car: nonexistent
29. What are you doing at the moment? watching
30. Your summer: hard
31. Your relationship status: loved
32. What is on your TV? L&O
33. What is the weather like? frigid
34. When is the last time you laughed? minute

Too Tired.

I'm too exhausted to post anything with any originality or composure.

Helen Levitt Rocks My Socks

The Ten Most Visited Pages on Conservapedia

Hilarious.
Kinda.

The Finer Things.

intricate, beautiful, sweet and dangerous. http://www.petercallesen.com/index.html

Fun.

The Israeli script looks like bullet holes.. urp..

Before you embark on writing a Heideggar essay, dig two graves. The smaller of which for your paper.

ARG. I had a great lecture this morning on Sarte, but now I'm home faced with a very messy apartment that I have to make ready for house guests (M and H are stopping here for 4 days on their way to Vegas) ... So I'm grumping about thinking that I need a mop. Grump grump. And listening to Heidegger lectures so I can write my essay this afternoon. All of which is putting me in a serious existential slump. At least it's sunny. More on Sarte later.

I have been thinking of this painting.

Thayer's "The Virgin"

And a way better person if this doesn't make you.. squeamish.

Miss Landmine Angola.

You are a better person than I if you don't laugh at this.

No Tempests in this Teacup

Jared and I just likened the deep redness to of our tea to steak blood before he dropped it on the bed. He was trying to save the teacup saucer (which, truth be told, I would have been more upset about breaking) but what was priceless was his facial expression and the words that immediately came out of his mouth. "I am a terrible person and a horrible boyfriend." I stopped laughing ten minutes after. He's shocked. "But you love that bedspread!". Not as much as I love you babe.

with his awful teeth - Charles Bukowski

this dog Sadness is gnawing at me
again.
I sit in this room with a big hole
chewed in my
side.
all I want are some gentle moments
to fall like soft
raindrops.
they will not arrive.
this dog Sadness is a persistent
mongrel.
he finds me so often these days,
again and again.
he is here with me now.
"go on," he growls, "write your
poem about me,
it won't make me go
away."
he's right.
I stop and look at my
wristwatch,
follow the second hand around and around.
it leads me nowhere.
I am trapped here with this sad dog.
I make small movements,
light a cigarette,
rattle a box of
paper clips.
nothing changes.
this dog of Sadness
continues to
sit here with
me,
feeding greedily.
he is getting quite
fat.
you want a pet,
my friend?
I'll give him to you right
now
along with this
poem!
if only
you would
be kind enough to
take him away,
this
Sad
dog.

Discrepancy.

Speaking with Jared last night.. I realize there is a huge discrepancy between how I view my success at my job, my life, my happiness, and how it's viewed by others. I'm not doing so.. great. It seems like there is this huge gap, this grey space that I have to look up into, this bubble that is above where I am, and below where everyone else sees me. That they look at this sheen that sort of looks like I have it under control, that I'm put together. And that below that, there is this grey space that hides the fact that I'm falling apart. I'm tired. I can't stop sleeping, at all the wrong times! It seems like I can't get anything done on time except the bare minimum. *sigh* Ridiculous. I want to be at home, with my mom. I need Christmas break so very badly.

I'm saying it now.

I love ikat prints, and they are going to be huge. *sigh*
I just wanted to say.

shiiiiittt...

just.. scroll.

ghetto-folio.

Handy Man

The other morning I heard a smash and a groan come from my bathroom - Jared dropped my bottle of Coco Mademoiselle on its head and luckily only smashed the lid off. So it didn't work with all the parts tenuously mashed about it. Last night I hear Jared fiddling in the bathroom, and then coughing and spitting. He "fixed" it, by removing all the pieces and then tried it, spraying it all over himself. It was weird, it was like sleeping with me last night, it gave me the willies. I don't know if I can wear it anymore..

I like this idea.

C'est du Vandalisme! ... un moment... C'est l'Art!

I love Europe. They pour paint into the Trei fountain and after an initial moment of outrage, the police commissioner says "If it was me, *wink* I would say this is art. I wish it had been me! *wink wink*" No lasting damage done and the fountains spraying pinkish red foam? Bien.

In Ottawa however, a relatively benign exhibit displaying Lord Durham, who advocated the assimilation of our French citizens, is being taken down because it is offensive. If I have learned anything in philosophy, it is that we cannot judge the moral actions of an epoch, only the progression of reason towards it's realization - we were not there, it's easy to judge from here.
What I have learned from these two news stories?
No wonder we have shitty art here.

Tuesday Art Class