Dropping names

Living our lives distractedly has its obstacles. Whether cutting my split ends at a stoplight and missing the green (don't ask, I have now removed the scissors from the car!) or walking and texting-sooner or later, you're going to step in dog poo. And that's not a metaphor. Ew.
Be more aware. OR please clean up after your dogs.

Driving home, I look to my right, to the crowd of people and the police in their fluorescent green vests. At the centre of it all, is the Reverend Jesse Jackson.
The light turns green and I drive away.

Leaving work, there is a line of silent paparazzi, waiting in the darkness, for Sienna Miller and her latest love to finally emerge.

The next week I am in the elevator of a London hotel chatting with David Schwimmer, about to do his girlfriend, Zoes makeup, as soon as Thandie Newton's stylist finishes dressing her in vintage Chanel.

Tara Reid asks me a question but is more interested in her reflection in the mirror behind me. I want to tell her, her foundation is too muddy.






I am on a park bench on a beautiful September Saturday. I have just booked another job. My iPod is with me but i don't need it. I am lucky enough to be sitting near a man playing a sitar, and it's so lovely. Very Sufjan Stevens.
This is where the gardenless gather. The mothers who need to air their children.
My plans of laundry and vacuuming float away on the breeze. As Jill Scott would say, i'm living my life like its golden.

Reasons to be joyful;

My flight to Florida is booked!
Tomorrow, I'm going to see Prince!

Tomorrow...tomorrow.....

Listening to Lullaby-The Cure.