Ok, so this is my problem.  I’m trying really hard to be adventurous and ‘mix colours’ like they do in the J Crew catalogue, and then I just come out looking like a freakish work-clown.

Although my striped blazer is pretty awesome.

Also, this is what I wore on Friday.  Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh

This is amazing.  From here.

Some blogger took a picture of me.  I look like a pregnant hobo.

Oh hi.  These are my new friends.  That’s Kenny on the left.  Lenore’s hanging out in the middle.  Stu’s keepin’ it real on the right side.

Remember when I had this random idea to find mugshots and put them up in my kitchen?  Of course you do.  Mostly because of the picture of nude boys.  I know.

But the mugshots.  What?  You thought I just FORGOT about that?  Have we MET? 

I basically spent the next month searching for mugshot images all around vintage stores, craigslist, internets, and what not, and finally stumbled upon these beauties from etsy shop LarkenDesign.  Being just as wonderfully creative as me, they had the same idea, found some mugshot negatives from Cincinnati in the 50′s, and sell them in poster-size.

It took a little while for my new friends to arrive in the mail… and then I went to Argentina… and then I spent about two weeks getting drunk in my underwear on the couch.

Then, last week I finally got my shit together and bought some frames to introduce my new friends to their new home, my kitchen wall.

I just want to say that it does feel slightly creepy putting up mugshots of strangers in your old Victorian house.  And, since I’m irrationally superstitious, I kept thinking that there were demons or something who were trying to sabotage my long-seeded desire to have weird art on my wall.

This is the SECOND time one of the frames shattered.  How many frames have I put up in my lifetime?  Hundreds.  How many have shattered?  Two.  Both with my mugshot pics.  DAMN YOU, KENNY AND LENORE!

Then, a couple of days after I put them up, Stu’s picture nearly crashed off the wall because the screw came out, but I saved it in time. 

Here they are,  chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool, watching me secretly eat cheese in the middle of the night.

So my plane left at 6:00 pm on my last day (Sunday), and I wanted to get in as much of Buenos Aires as I could, so I was determined to get up early and spend the day out in the city.

PLUS, there is a HUGE antiques market down in San Telmo on Saturdays, so of course, I was plotzzing in my pants to get down there with enough time to leisurely peruse the stands. 

They close off one of the old streets and it basically becomes a huge pedestrian bazaar.  I was pretty happy… but before you get to the main square, the wares aren’t as exciting… lots of chackis and, like, tango dancers made out of bottle caps and shit like that.

THEN.  Then, you get to the main square, and it’s like antique heaven.  There were SO MANY STANDS.  I got lost at one point.

Anyways.  I happened to have a shopping chaperone who was annoying me because he is not an antiquer and doesn’t understand my orgasmic love of old shit.  It put a bit of a damper on things, so we grabbed lunch.

The concierge recommended this restaurant that is really hard to find – it’s basically up some secret stairway on the street.  But then, when you get up there, you realize it has the best location in the neighbourhood – basically DIRECTLY ABOVE the antique market.  We sat on this smallllll tinnny balcony that was just barely big enough to hold a table and two chairs.

STILL PALER THAN A PORK SAUSAGE.

Anyways, once lunch was over, it was time to check some more shit out.  I stumbled by this huge store that was clearly more professionally maintained and curated than any of the other antique places there.  So much awesome stuff.  I didn’t even look at the prices because I’m fucking poor.

OH WHAT?  No big deal:

Stuff and stuff and stuff.  Bought my gaucho belt and skeleton keys and native necklace amongst these stands.

Sigh.  And then my trip came to an end.  As I was leaving the market on my way to my LONG AND EXCRUCIATING fourteen hour overnight flight, Mr. Tango Man tango-ed me out of Argentina:

Yey!  More neon!  Sigh.  You make me so happy when I look in the mirror, neon shirt.   Also, someone told me that my ass looks good in this skirt today, so I took a picture so you can bask in it’s blue-skirt-clad glory.

Now that it’s spring, I am 100% permitted to wear pastels and sleeveless tops and nude tights at work.  But my nude tights got eaten by Molly so I had to wear these grey-ish puke ones today.  Life is pretty hard.

…all of these ink pieces by George Boorujy.

Mmmmmmmmmm.  I was 50/50 on buying this silk cheetah-print blouse, but now I don’t know why I ever questioned it.  Perfect.

I should have done a better job in putting something interesting together around it, but I was late to work this morning, so of course, the solution is black, black, and more black.  Lazy.