The 20’s I’m content to close the book on. The last image is a screen print/mixed media “piece” my ex boyfriend Alex Nunez made as an I’m sorry gift after we had a fight and he changed the uniform at a popular restaurant in New Orleans to t shirts of my face with GET HIGH ON CRACK emblazoned in 1000 point Arial on the back. He and I worked wonders creatively together and when it was good it was heaven but as we all know that means frequent trips to hell to keep the scale from tipping. so that pretty much sums up 2002-3. The mosaic of polaroids were all taken my senior year of high school I believe, featuring the beloved and dearly missed Rob Wilcockson, whom I had just met that fall. We became fast lovers, faster soul mates, quit the romance BS and became a narcotics fueled sleep when we’re dead dynamic duo. I now understand codependence and all the ways we nearly killed each other while claiming to love one another but i will always stand by that friendship as the most profound and influential of my life. My general perspective and foundational thinking when I observe the world around me is all Rob. we spent days expounding on social dynamics, our mutual love of other people and fascination with the absurd created a bond that was unbreakable. he knew he would die young and most likely how, and as always rob called it. and i fucking miss you so much but not 1 days goes by without fond thoughts of you wearing my tennis dresses dancing around my astroturfed room to cheer me up or the time you slit my tires because i accidentally didn’t say hi at fucking one eyed jacks on a thursday night! fucking hipsters. we wore it well. in our own way. and there’s Art and I on my 21st birthday summing up our years together in 2 pictures. Drinking delirium, laughing so hard he actually spit a shot of patron in my face one time, then licked it off god forbid we waste. whispering, probably about what hot shit we are and why followed by some air drumming, powders all shades of white and brown (sorry mom) razor blades, inside jokes, passing out before even making it past first base. wake, rinse (with water or johnny walker) and repeat. Art took me out on a date to see Zack Galefenakis and some other comedians one of the several times we gave dating a shot. 20 minutes in I had peed my pants and the jokes kept getting funnier and funnier, the bathroom was like a mile away and I had been up for 3 days about, popped a xanax and decided to just sit down so no one would notice my wet rear. benzos kicked in and i apparently just laid down and happily fell asleep right there on the sidewalk outside house of blues, classy lassy that i am. obviously he was smitten and we hung out constantly for like the next 2 years. really. not the smitten but the years. 90% of it was spent awake so there are a LOT of stories. I’m tired, more 20s chronicling later.