Reason I'm Annoyed #37. Lack of Decent Blog Post Title

[Annoyed]

is not the best mood to be in.

It's difficult to understand from the outside, not an emotion to evoke sympathy the way [sad] can, or fear the way [anger] does.

Like a parasite it begins small and undetected. Then, a blink of the eyes later, and it has latched on and taken possession of all you think and feel. Suddenly, everyone and everything grates against your every nerve like sand paper. You find yourself behaving out of character. And, justifying this behavior because you're in a bad mood- therefore, it's okay... but it's really not, because no one else understands your feelings of aggravation, and you are inadvertently spreading your annoyance to others.

Today I am annoyed. The reasons range from fairly logical to completely silly, but don't blame me. I just hope you don't catch it.

I want a T.V.

khjwqfhef!

The lady protests too, too much.

I heard many vicious rumors about Milan before arriving here. I heard it was ugly, industrial. Didn't have much, just modern... Looked like any other city in any other place.

My personal verdict?

All those rumors, like most, had their truth. But- here's my revelation: Milan is Italy's best kept secret. More and more, I find myself becoming attached to this "ugly industrial city". When I leave and travel elsewhere, I find myself eager to come back. In Milan, I constantly discover new people, places, and things unlike anything I could even hope to dream of. I believe Milan keeps Italy's head above water, saves this ancient beauty from drowning in own former glories. Pasta sauce and Renaissance art have their merit [I find both amazing], but the current times call for something a bit edgier. Parlez-vous design? Milan does, but seems to me the rest of Italy still babbles on in Latin and communicates via smoke signal. [Scusa, a bit harsh, perhaps?] The Sistine Chapel left me speechless, but the Triennale Design Museum in Milan boggles my mind as well.

Do you see this bracelet above? Someone made that, and this jewelry out of paper. PAPER. The shit you blow your nose with. The flimsy thing receipts get printed on. The worthless material most commonly found in any and every household. Riddle me that. I love Michelangelo. I love Donatello. I love Botticelli. I love Da Vinci. But- I also love whatever punk ass kid spray painted all the vending machines and urinals at the metro station a few blocks away.

Skwak.

I am not entirely sure what this man's real name is. He is a French illustrator. He is the newest person I have fallen in love with. The universe he has created, Maniac World, is filled with the characters he draws, the Maniacs. Depicting daily life- only with a dash of fairy tales, a hint a immaturity, and a good heap of morbid humor. Drooping, colorful, absurd... Completely postmodern. Cured my annoyance, partially.

Whenever people ask what generation or era I wish I had been born in, I always say this one. We get the most awesome things + all which came before. Forget happiness, I'm on the pursuit of cool, if anything comes along the way, that's alright then I suppose.

Oh hey!

Represent, Represent.

Everybody thinks they're so fucking neat.

And I'm giving up on everything because...

I know everything sucks, Whoa.

I know everything sucks, Yea.

And this is gonna be the last time you hear me complain*

-Reel Big Fish.

♥ Lini.

*maybe.

If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking.

Listen & Look.

Everyday I fall in love...

... With the way sunlight laces through tumbling leaves, or with lamplight casting shadows on cheekbones through eyelashes on faces of strangers reading in quiet rooms.

... With the simplicity of a fortune cookie, of the complexity of the Brooklyn Bridge and the hordes of cars marching along her steel skeleton.

... With the quiet way your favorite song sounds when it's strummed against a wooden desk, or the throbbing pulse of your heart as it keeps time with the base blasting forth from speakers.

I love everything and I love nothing. Beauty breaks my heart in a way people cannot. Images, things, and sounds speak to me with words humans have not quite managed to shape their lips into.

I feel a tad uninspired today, so I leave you with some things I have fallen in and out of love with to look at. Enjoy.

You, you I will eternally love.

You remind me of someone.

You're beautiful. There's a gold mine beneath each fold in your skin.

Perhaps somethings never change. Perhaps I won't make such a good elephant after all (:

Clever. Love the colors.

Cute Asian shit. Gets me every time.

Sometimes, things are just pretty. This reminds me of Ali cause of the watercolors.

Probably still a radical... Yepp.

Odd number. The color pink. Fashion. You had me at odd.

♥ Pato.

¡Speak English, Maria Elena!

This weekend I am going to Barcelona.

Escuche mi.

In an ideal world,

I'll come home home with stories quasi-Vicky Cristina Barcelona-esque.

[And I'd have hair as blonde as Scarlett Johansson's.

And Pedro Almodovar would put me in his movies instead of Penelope Cruz. Broken Embraces? I wanna see it? Now? Thanks megavideo.

And I'd be BFF with Woody Allen.

And I'd be married to Javier Bardem, but whatev.]

First, I'd go to the Palau de La Musica Catalana.

It's turning 101 and this year,

Happy Birthday, you pretty thing.

I would have to enter Custo Barcelona in it's madre patria...more- the it's home city! Their use of color is fearless. They're really just nutty. I love themm.

Then I'd do Tour de Stade in Camp Nou.

Maybe.

I'd probably just give up after two rows because it's the biggest stadium in Europe and I might want to die.

Lastly, and most certainly...

[You know, seeing as there is a slight possibility I might not run into all my favorite actors and film directors in the same place at the same time and I may just have to settle for normal tourist kitsch.]

I simply must pay a visit to the works of God's architect, Antonio Gaudi.

This man was celibate his whole life in order to devote himself to creating.

And then, one day, he was hit by a vehicle of some sort and no one would take him to the hospital because he was so poorly dressed and they thought he was a hobo.

And you say fashion isn't life-changing.

Five days later he died.

If there's a heaven I'm pretty sure this man deserves to be in it.

Thanks for the sickest shit ever sirrr.

I am going to FREAK when I see the Sagrada Familia. I have been waiting for this foreverr.

Parque Guell by Antonio Gaudi.

Cutesicles.

I don't think my 305 Miami Spanish is going to cut it, but wish me well.

¡Sangria!

¡Ole!

¡Why don't we use these exclamation points, they're adorable!

♥

Paris, Je t'aime.

I bought this book today.

It's pouring rain outside and I'm sure snuggling up and reading it would be the proper thing to do. I could even drink some tea and braid my hair and do whatever it is people who read books do.

But, alas, this book is in Italiano, so I'll have to settle for looking at the pictures, blogging about fashion, and continuing my Bob Dylan youtube marathon.

Contrary to the title of this post, I do not aime ♥ Paris very much at all, but in theory, it will always be my fairy tale.... A place where people dress better, walk taller, and make everything look heartbreakingly beautiful [+ speak the world's most flawless language, easing from their lips like a symphony.] Reality, however, proves a bit more gray for a few reasons in my opinion.

1. The weather, food, and folk of Paris can be summed up as overall bland.

2. I am more partial to the Philadelphia Art Museum then the Louvre. I hate to burst any bubbles, but the Mona Lisa basically takes up the same size of a postage stamp [I exaggerate, but it is alarmingly small.]

3. Does anyone else find it a little bizarre how bad the crepes are in France? Like honestly, a $5 food court crepe stand at your local mall will make you a better one, I promise. And the Arch the Triumph will probably singlehandedly cause the death of all Parisians eventually. It's OKAY to paint lines on the road indicating where the lanes are. It's reminiscent of Philadelphia, only with stick shift cars and the cast of Ratatouille driving them.

It's not entirely fair for me to judge one of the world's greatest cities so harshly... but when I went to Paris I expected to find paradise, and instead found a city built by mortals on planet Earth with flaws just like any other person, place, or thing. I suppose the price of loving life and beauty too much is this... to become eternally disappointed with reality when one's imagination seems to consistently outdo the truth.

But, back to the point.

The runway shows in Paris last week may had me biting my tongue and putting my imagination to shame. I might even take back everything I just wrote- Marc Jacobs for LV, and Vivienne Westwood's, and Alexander McQueen's runway shows may have redeemed Paris and all my ill feelings toward it. Being a style.com junkie, I check the site daily for what's going on. The highlight of my week so far was having on two separate occasions two different people who aren't really into runway fashion and have relatively conservative styles look over my shoulder and curiously inquire about what I was looking at. Not only that, they both loved it. Why? Because these designers create something universally inspiring. Fashion can surpass vanity and if you open your eyes and try something different, you might find yourself surprised by what you could like. So try it. Be bold. Paris did, and for that, I might forgive it.

Might (:

Ombre? An Afro? Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton. I am completely in love with this man. He can do no wrong.

Vivienne Westwood. Referenced in Gwen Stefani Songs. Like 1000 years old and still so damn cool.

Look at this runway. That print. That silhouette. Those shoes. How is this even REAL? Alexander McQueen.

Street Fashion at Fashion Week in Paris.

.Listen to me.Ecoutez moi.

Listen to me too.

When good Americans die, they go to Paris.

Oscar Wilde.

From beginning, to happy ending.

Les hommes ont oublie cette verite, mais tu ne dois pas l'oublier- tu deviens responsable pour toujours ce que tu as apprivoise.

Antoine de Saint Exupery

I keep accidently blogging about things approaching "meaningful"-like books, literature, and reading...[don't worry, there's a pair of banging McQueen heels a in a few pictures, breathe with ease]. If my remaining scraps of high school French Un, Deux, Trois, et Quatre prove at all useful, I believe Monsieur Exupery said we are forever responsible for what we tame, a fact we often forget. When we read, I think we tame the knowledge contained within the pages... and if I could tame wild books in the following unreasonably GORGEOUS locations, perhaps my mental zoo would look a little more like The San Diego Zoo and less like an Petting Farm. Thank you stumbleupon.com for finding-

Rijkmuseum, Amsterdam, Holland.

Common reading room, research library, and department of prints and drawings.

Biblioteca Nacional do Brasil, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Biggest library in Latin America. Probablyyyy the most badass as well.

Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, Switzerland.

I know nothing about this other then it's beautiful and has an unnatural amount of letters in it's name.

Dear Alexander McQueen,

Can I have these flats? [Faithful Skull Flat in Black, By Alexander McQueen.] They have a skull. And a zipper. And when I see them, nothing else matters.
I'd settle for these heels. I mean, beggars can't be choosers here.

♥

Caroline.

ps: Thanks for charging 409 euro [$596.61] for a pair of BLACK FLATS. What, are you hungry? Supporting an insatiable crack addiction? I mean, judging by your collection for Target, probably. Talk about disappointing... I love you anyway. And those damn shoes.

I miss America sometimes.

I miss eating food out of cardboard boxes and watching Desperate Housewives and driving with the windows down and Hollywood beach and texting and all the lamest shit you can think of. Who said the American dream died again?

Every book is a failure, George Orwell.

Ciao. Baci. Amore. Gelato. Merda.

♥