She Moves in Her Own Way

And right now that way is toward the Kooks.
Towards England.
Or New York.
Or California (LA region only, I don't do deserts).

Fucking shit, can Renton be more boring? Could I be anymore Chandler-ish?

Hot douche. I wish I were Blythe.
No, not Blythe Danner. Although brunch with Gwynnie wouldn't be too shitty...
But no. I mean the Blythe. What a fucking glamour girl. Especially in this hat. I want to become a fashion designer for the sole purpose of outiftting this chick. And occasionally myself. And maybe Rayanne Graff, in a perfect world. IN A PERFECT WORLD.

In a perfect world I'd have my own credit card too. I've been totally fucking eBay crazy this last month. But of course I have no way to buy things online by myself and have to use mum's bank account, which she never leaves money in. Anywho, I'm fucking excited because I just got this old Delias butterfly top that I wanted forever, but it sold out before I could get to it. Fucking six dollars, hell yeah Ima thrifter. So far I'm winning these two French Connection and Christian Dior shirts, all the more reason to love myself. And to love these cute little Japanese girls with the fucking most awesome kid-in-you store ever.

Speaking of Japanese, I am still being recognised as such. I think one actual Asian guy could tell I wasn't. Fun stuff. Maybe I should drape myself in my real flag so people aren't so confused. I smell another hideous downtown Seattle bookstore-cafe-in-one trend emerging!

Rubbish.
Time to go continue failing Kramer/Cramer however the hell he spells his bloody name. Either way, I still love his oversized hook-and-eye ethnic sweaters.