Sassy Jones on the decks

So much fun last night at the Dogstar. Brixton is just a really chill place, exempt from the posh nonsense you find in places like Victoria, where I live, and South Kensington, where these kids live. Mellow cats.

Yesterday evening Johanna suggests I just call the Dogstar since I hadn't heard back from them on DJing Friday night. Novel idea, I introduced myself to the resident DJ who was super nice and then he says he would set me up with his friend who runs an all-girls DJ night in town.

I played a really fun set, some of my mashups, some baile funk, some hip-hop, and my entourage and I had a blast. The room was packed with people getting crunk, singing along, it rocked! I have never DJ'd at a real club before, but I like it. And the Dogstar guy wants me to give him a demo, which would be "Beaster Eggs" from 2007.

Flashing. Lights.

Celebrity Syndrome

Walking down Queensgate last night in South Kensington, I hear

"SASSY!!"

It's Alyssa, wielding a wine bottle, we cheers. I meet 2 people who already know me. This keeps happening. Monica says I have a fan club. I say thanks, but please don't stroke my ego.

There was a queue last night @ Notting Hill (?!?!) because some big shot band was there. Luckily Sarah spotted Dominic and we jumped the queue.

The band finishes. Everyone inside is so skinny. Highbrow crowd. I keep expecting to see Kate Moss. Meet a director named Raoul who's making a gay zombie movie called Mr. Right. He throws me over his back and somehow I land on my feet.

Dancing on couches with my 60s soul sister who looks French, but isn't.

Lights go up and we're dancing on stage. Get a lollipop from a baby. Keep saying thanks to compliments. Too many. Top form.

Rolled everyone cigs after they finish cleaning the bar. There's a girl with holes in her sweater. It's awkward.

Then I read everyone's palms and people actually believed that shite. The bartenders were sticking their palms in my face, lining up. Turkish people. Jules and Dre, Dr. Dre.

"I'm going home." This keeps happening. We're all sitting around the table talking about fortunes and street names and pearls and England. All the boys have cool shirts. Sometimes I'm standing on a bench, always laughing.

Then it's 5 and I'm trying feebly to unlock a door so Levi lets me out. Dumb smile, thanks, and I throw myself onto a bus.

Wake up at 12:34!!! For my 1pm class and stumble in on time. My eyes are so red. I think I'm going to a party tomorrow but now I need a nap.

Hang Loose

Been rolling with an international crowd these days. Norwegians, Australians, you name it.

I went to hip hop karaoke, going again for my birthday.

We took a cab to the corner store, made it wait, took it back to Martin's.

When he says beers, it sounds like "bears".

Me, upon re-entry: We got BEARS!

I am a woman.

And as such, I bloom, wilt, curl into a shell, then burst forth again, like the seasons.

I just figured out this paper, 1 of 2. I'm quoting Mikhail Gorbachev himself and using his words against him. So naughty.

Last night I designed a gown, it's really sexy. I can't wait to get back to my studio in Pittsburgh and go nuts this summer. Living with Drew!

Also, t-shirts:

SKINNY WITCH (Halloween)

THEY'RE REAL (across the chest, w/ glasses)

and

NO HARD FILLINGS (pie)

CAN YOUR URETHRA DO THIS? (baby) haha, maternity line

Twenty Years Old

If you are 20 years old in America, the you are missing OUT!

Johanna put it so simply, "I will never be 20 years old and in London ever again." So true.

This opportunity is highly time-sensitive, and it's becoming more and more evident.
Par exemple,

Earlier tonight I attended a lecture on the Russia-Ukraine gas conflict which concluded with sandwiches (I had 4) and wine in the senior common room of my college. I mingled with my Soviet and Russian Foreign Policy teacher, Pete Duncan, while he tipped back a glass of white, and implored him as to where I should seek sources for my 10-page paper for his class, due in 1.5 weeks. He gave me good--and appropriately erudite--advice, "the primary source". Well, duh! Also, I should note that today Georgia taught me how to use her espresso machine so I've developed an intimate, and timely, relationship with that thing. For example, it's 1 A.M. now and I am likely going to brew myself another shot and dig into the wealth of said primary sources (statements, contracts, press releases from the CIS and its constituents) then toss back a hot glass of mulled wine and call it a late, sexy, Russian night. Does this mean I'm officially 89 or just saucy and cultured?

I vote cultured.

And also, I call mad bullshit on the grody feathered creations from this year's Lunar Gala. Try harder, please.

Russia's Next Top American Model

is smarter than a 5th grader. Pilot?
This is my sole inspiration as I research the tits off Russia-Ukraine relations. 10 pages starts... NOW!

Holy Hella

"In short, he was also good. And they looked very good together. Their dance was imbued with something lasting and unforgettable."

-Vasilii Shukshin, Snowball Berry Red

A wave just swept over me. I can't stop reading this.