Miss Gina Forestieri. I am so inspired by her in pretty much every way possible, and of course I have to thank her profusely for all of her help in making this dream a reality. We shot this set in the area we used to live together, the Downtown Santa Ana Art District. We ate at one of our new favorite places, The Grilled Cheese Spot and basically reminisced about all the madness and aging hipsters we used to surround ourselves with.
After I basically wore out my welcome on Gina's futon back in the day I decided it was time to be a big girl and "get my own place." I drove around with Gina for all of about ten minutes before I decided I wanted to rent a studio from what looked liked the hippest place I could afford. It was neat on the outside: a cool teal with a brick walkway and huge cement porch. Basically, I had chosen to live in a freezing cold, feral cat infested, "renovated" Victorian building that was a magnet for drug dealers, morbidly obese gay alcoholics, and aging hoarders. But- it looked cool. One evening, as I was unpacking my last box of plastic ponies I was calling "art" at the time, I heard a party going on across the street. Zapp and Roger was blasting, and I was considering riding my bike by and seeing what kind of trouble I could get myself into with one or two cholos, when I heard two voices getting very loud. One was a man's, one was a woman's, and they were both daaaah-runk. The woman was telling the man he was uninvited, obviously belligerent, and that no one wanted him there. She was insistent that he get in his car and go. I was laughing because her accent was so thick it sounded like she was calling him a ho. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" I had no curtains at the time so I was fully visible staring into the complex across the street, trying to see the center of the commotion, but all I could hear were their words. The guy was obviously not going anywhere. Suddenly, I heard him shout, "EH! You can't kick me out, Esmerelda invited me!" I don't know what it was about this statement, but I lost it. I fully started busting up, laughing so hard I was tearing up. When I had finally composed myself I noticed about eight strangers had turned and were giving me perhaps the hardest looks I have ever received. Two men looked like they had either eaten bags of glass as snacks their entire lives, or just swallowed motor oil. Their faces were scrunched up, jagged teeth exposed, and squinting as hard as they could in my direction. Everyone was decked out in Dodgers gear, head to toe. Here I stood in my window, wearing the brightest of bright...orange Giants shirts. I took my "Dumb White Girl" award with pride, ran into my living room, and turned all the lights off: scared to death someone who was possibly armed and possibly named Esmerelda was going to appear at my door to kill me.
I lived downtown for a tumultuous two years, and I have many stories like the one above. Honestly, I'm glad I left. Had I not, I would never have met my man and got engaged. But I still love going down there, especially with Gina. You can see how talented she is at capturing my awkwardness, especially because I usually cannot stop either hysterically giggling or chattering when we're together.
It is my hope that this new blog can be the same for you: a funny and sweet friend, brutally honest, reliably entertaining and kept close to your heart.
|shoes: Bass via Free People dress and cardigan: Old Navy necklace: vintage plugs: Body Jewelry Resource|