On the 18th lunar year after my mother spent 9 hours of labor, my rebellious teenager phase finally kicked into gear. Today, I:

– Decided there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to go swimming in 10 degree weather on my birthday, so I forged a note in order to skip PE class.

– Waited over 30 minutes in traffic just to order a #1 at In n Out, which included a Double-Double, a Medium Coke, and Well-done French Fries.

– Spent more than an hour at the grungy-hip Haight Ashbury tattoo parlor. Mutilated my body with a tattoo. Almost fell asleep if it wasn’t for the incessant buzzing sound. And woke up with some black lettering on my upper back that will always be there. Great.

– Was hit on by middle aged, over-the-hill french waiters as their pot-bellies poked out from between their black capris and tight white and blue striped sailor shirts.

– Continued to consume alcohol illegally and “underage”.

– Ate a devilishly delicious crème brulée.

– Went to bed completely and irrevocably happy with a prominant sting on my left shoulderblade.

Couronnée de Lauriers

Hope your day wasn’t as great as mine,

Laura Marianne


Slut. Skank. Whore. Absinthe. Mini dress. Thigh high boots. Silver lipstick. Bare back. Trashy.Drugs and Alcohol

Let’s go crazy, let’s be free. Do what you want, because that’s all that really matters anyway. Why care about everyone else? They have their own lives to worry about. And you have yours, and I have mine. The big city is my destiny. New York. London. Paris.But not San Francisco. This town is just too homosexual. I need myself some bright lights and long nights. Shine those LED club lights in my eyes, and blind me for minutes at a time. Let’s catch up with some old friends, Jose, Johnny, and Jim. And maybe flirt with some new ones.

Sleepless nights are always my favorites. I hope and wish to wake up with an ear splitting headache because then I know I’ve done my best. Remembering the previous nights or not is always the biggest challenge. We get to go back through the adventure of the rampant night. The sweet alcohol breath kiss, the Urban Decay Asphyxia eyeshadow melting down my cheeks, the vintage slip falling off my shoulder, and the runs in my brand new Ralph Lauren sheer stockings. There’s something romantic about trashy, forgetful nights.

Contemplate that druggies,

Laura Marianne

“Las Vegas looks the way you’d imagine heaven must look at night”

– Chuck Palahniuk (American fiction novelist and freelance journalist)