June 30, 2009
I hate that I have to be the one to tell you; and trust, I am finding no secret or perverse delight in seeing your tears (as I normally would). I'm just as shocked and disgusted as the rest of you. His timing ("his" being God . . . or, judging my your upbringing, MJ himself) was impeccable. Albeit not untimely, the passing of my youth was incred disturbing. I was glum, angry, pensive, and on & on - all at once! I totally felt like Margaret from Judy Blume's "Are you there God? Its me, Margaret" . . . a fucking mess of emotion! Sickening! What's worse? The feelings seemed uncontrollable.
And then, enter Michael Jackson on a fluffy cumulus cloud beaming and singing like the angel he is (was? it's no longer figuratively, obvi). Homeboy pulled an Anna Nicole. How disappointing and unoriginal and on so many levels! Thank heavens they haven't released any pictures yet ( Joe Jackson is probably waiting for People to up the ante, but, alas, I digress) - and I can still picture Michael Jackson in that "Free Willy" video heading straight (no pun intended) to the "second star to the right and straight on til morning" - the Neverland in the sky. WTF - I'm starting to sound insane - like if the track marks on my arms are from Demerol, rather than heroin. Anyway. Totes kidding.
So, on the outside I adorned myself with a sequined vest and white glove I found in my attic whilst telling numerous (totally fabricated) tales about how much MJ meant to me and how he was the first black kid from Indiana that made it, and inspired me to dance (Jessie Spano, anyone?) on the inside I was bidding a tearful 'adieu' to my first twenty five years. So sweet, so innocent, so naive. Such a young girl - grown into a woman. Right? Fuck, this is total Hallmark.
What I'm trying to say is, thanx Michael Jackson. You totally made my rather loud (and rather public) grieving socially acceptable. I only had to get one LBD for the occasion! It's so like Michael, isn't it? Always looking out for others . . . after all, we are in a recession.
The foregoing is not to discredit the pain I initially felt (and still am affected by, although it has lessened with the help of the aforementioned Demerol and/and Jager) upon hearing this horrendous news. I guess part of me is sad because he was so young, and so white. Its always a shame to lose a Caucasian youth in their prime. Don't even act like he didn't have another "Man in the Mirror" up his sleeve (or under that blanket he hides his baby with), SWV was chomping at the bit to re-collaborate on a track. When it comes down to it, especially because he was acquitted of all charges, I guess I always assumed he would really love my children. IDK - I know I've been through puberty (decades ago) and am therefore too old for the companionship and comfort a best-friendship with Michael would have offered - but you know, for my kids to be blatantly robbed of such tenderness . . . it's a sadness I won't soon forget.
When it comes down to it - you go girl! (in this case "girl" is pronounced "Michael Jackson") and thank you for inspiring the likes of the Backstreet Boys and Chris Brown (dance-wise; shout out to Joe Jackson for the domestic violence influence! Yes!). And nice try on stealing my birthday thunder. I'll forgive you this once, mainly because I know you won't be around to do it again; and also because "PYT" plays on repeat for my birthday each year anyway - you just saved my favorites the effort of requesting it.
June 25, 2009
To catch up those of you who have stumbled upon this bit of deliciousness - in my last post, I was detailing my lamentations, etc. before I turn twenty-five. I came up with one true regret. To my best friends and millions of readers - I'd like to start by thanking you for your guesses. I received a wide variety of Facebook messages, e-mails and texts regarding what each of you surmised this so-called regret to be. In reading these comments and thoughts, I laughed and cried - mostly because they were such outlandish suggestions. On Tuesday night, I even received a text from an old (2:00am) boo who lovingly said "I know that regret wasn't me. You're welcome!" . . . Clearly, I've taught him well, and no, you're welcome, darling.
So, to come one step closer to almost-ending your suspense (I totes feel like a straight version of Ryan Seacrest with way better blonde highlights) let's crack open our Merriam Webster just to verify we are all, in terms of meaning, on the same page. At first glance, Merriam defines the word regret to mean "sorrow caused by circumstances beyond one's control." False. IDK about y'all but every time I've felt regret its come up in a situation that causes me to say "Fuck, I regret not studying for this test." Yes, I'm sorrowful I'll probably have to make up some ridiculous excuse to my professor with fake tears and all, but there is an understanding that it was obvi my fault, and even though I don't admit this often (ever) but the only thing "out of my control" in those situations is the fact that sixth street bars close at 2:00 am. So, I'm not quite sure that is the correct phrasing, but, the fact that its regretful that every teacher I've ever had has mislead me to that word's true definition, I'll continue.
I am a firm believer in using what you've got, and I try to keep that in mind at all times. Knowing what you all know about me, many of you are aware of my high, real-life dreams and aspirations, and are cognizant of their true wide-reaching, well-rounded nature (because, as one of my favorites says, "Life is about money, cash and hoes" . . . + well-rounded-ness). So while, yes, I wish I would have gone to Africa in college, I wish I would have totes eliminated the stigma associated with sexually transmitted diseases, and facilitated more open discussions in regards to the fact that women have drastically higher HIV+ rates than men, in most cases, through no fault of their own. But the thing is, darlings, that can, and will, still be done. I don't regret those things because I currently am working on them. Not 24/7, like I used to, but, I have a sort-of full time job, motherfuckers. So, until Hope-rah calls me up (or Chels) . . . I have to (wait for it to come full circle) work with what I've got.
To be honest, I don't ever think its too late for anything. Finally paying off my student loans? Okay, I can't pretend, I paid for Texas straight cash. Oh - apologizing to Gymnasty for telling him that he had "a bad mouth, a bad attitude and a baby on the way" in response to his failure to remember Hypnotiq to my apartment one evening in 2004? Sure, I apologized via text just five minutes ago!
One thing, however, that I can't re-do, or do at all anymore, invades the quiet hours I lie awake, mulling over what should've been; and what so could have been. Even though it wasn't out of my control, per se - I have learned the true meaning of "regret" because of this missed opportunity . . . filming and submitting a "Real World" audition tape.
I know, I'm sure you all saw that coming. But, think about it. I mean, if fucking Amaya can get on that shit (not to mention any of the other horrible cast members from the 34820 seasons) - I was a shoo-in. Plus, Amaya was Jewish - and whiny, and not that cute, and she liked that guy with a subtle (not that subtle) lisp and a dopey exterior - Colin. What the fuck. I saw those ho's filming in Austin - boring. But I digress. I don't need to bash others to boost myself - a look in the mirror is more than enough.
So, there you have it. For those of you who were home-schooled (I hope I don't have the displeasure of knowing any of you) or a Jehovah Witness (or Mormon for that matter) - you have to submit your application prior to your 24th birthday.
Damnit. We all know I so would have gotten fame and fortune on that shit - and, in keeping with my track record, not pregnant. While I list a few assets I would've offered to the show - I want you to put on Jennifer Lopez's hit "I'm Real" to play in the background. Adorable? Check. Hilarious? Check. Formerly straddling the line between alcohol dependence and addiction? Check. Able to drink a Long Island Ice Tea in under 3 seconds? Duh. Eagerness to hook-up with multiple boys(in one night)- thereby resolving my "Daddy Issues" and showing the world my "self worth"? Of-fucking-course. Plus, I can cry on cue. In addition, I obvi can totally hold my own, make fucking amazing Eggs Benedict, can be really fucking loud, and, when drinking (which my goal is always to blackout) I can be dared (told) to do anything (Listerine or otherwise). Gah, I've gotta stop listing the reasons I would have been the impetus for the first "Real World" Emmy.
I need to desperately take a Crystal Light & Rum break. Don't get used to this inside look into my heart of stone. They say once you open up your heart to one person, you end up letting everyone in - wasn't that shit in "Beaches" - I mean it is so Bette Middler. Anyway - that statement, in my case, is false. I had a teacher in high school, who, in between sips from her vodka-filled water bottle and Bill Cosby clips would always say: "Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do but don't get ya anywhur." (That is dialectical, duh.) Totes true, but, in my case, by "worrying" I mean "possessing emotions."
I think all of this is best said by George Villers, 1st Duke of Buckingham (and also 1st "Duke" of King James I - if you get what I'm saying, which, I hope you do. Its okay - I'm liberal.):
"Methinks I see the wanton hours flee,In summation, drats! Thanks for nothing, Chronos! (aka Father Time)
And as they pass, turn back and laugh at me."
June 22, 2009
As the anniversary of my entrance into this world looms upon us - IDK why, but I get very contemplative. Like, I'm more or less 25 - and y'all are so, so, so terribly lucky I'm still "all up in this bitch" to quote a favorite hip-hop artist. I nearly died when I was twelve years old and, on the up and up, IDK how the fuck I'm not hanging in some closet in West Campus/North Campus/Austin/Dallas/Houston/Raleigh/Apex/Chapel Hill/Durham, yikes! Suffice it to say, I am more mindful than normal of my innumerable blessings during birthday month. As such, I also consider the imperfect aspects of this life I live, which, auspiciously, are very few. I know, you're thinking - "Less than perfect? Psh, yeah right!" But, alas, little darlings, I do have a signle, unaccompanied regret. Yesterday evening, pulling a total Raven, my roommate/mother probed, rather poignantly, if I would re-do or change anything looking back on how I've done . . . all of anything and everything.
I shot back an immediate, albeit impetuous, "Fuck no, dudette!" As we sat there, in the cool June evening breeze, the song "I Hope You Dance" started to faintly cycle behind my thoughts. I mulled over all the success, love, laughter, friendship and pure fucking luck I've come across in my 288 months here on earth. After a few seconds, apparently, a scowl spread across my face. At first, I suspected it was the wailing of Lee Ann Womack (accompanied by my roommate, of course), but after I told them both to shut the fuck up, I realized, yes, there is one instance that has become my life's great attrition (I mean, I guess). I told Joan that I did have one lamentation, and she began to list off the things she thought it might be.
She inquired, "The semester of the 0.0 GPA? Not working to your full potential in college? Not working towards anything at all in college? Your cognizance of binge drinking? The boy haircut you got in fifth grade? Not being more respectful to your Mother? Pre-marital sex? Dressing Neville as Santa Claus so you could put him on a roof and sing that horrible Christmas Carol?"
To which my answers were, respectively: "Nah. Nope. Not really. Binge drinking has kept me alive and introduced me to a number of celebrities & interesting characters (JJ Redick, Lance Armstrong, Steadman Graham, Perry [convicted of murder, I later found out, but so hilar], Ginger [my favorite real life hooker] & Tom Green, in order of increasing importance). The haircut was your idea, bitch. Its hard to respect your mother when you look like a Lil' Rascal. Fuck no! and That was my Christmas wish, Neville obliged."
Joan was shocked! She had no idea what it could be. While she went inside to get me a fresh Diet Coke, glass of ice and a straw, I realized I was ready to come out with it, figuratively speaking, and open the smallest piece of this stone heart up to her, and the world.
June 19, 2009
I didn't want to end my work week without answering the knock of opportunity at my door this very second. You are probs wondering WTF opportunity has to knock about today, since I've already discussed Iran (E-ron) and Clay Aiken this week. Here, let's head to the foyer and open the door to . . . silly American Indians and/or outlandishness! My favorite(s)!
This definitely deserves to be noted (by which I mean made fun of). I'm sure you all awoke to your www.cnn.com homepages and started off your day by reading the story about some Minnesota idiot's fine of nearly $2,000,000 for "illegally" downloading music. I won't say a word about the Midwest, but this shit shouldn't be surprising to people who have ever dealt with someone from Minnesota or either of the Dakotas.
Now, I'm not going to talk about any legal issues here - I'm way too burned out on work. You can keep your legal dictionary on the shelf for now - you're welcome. For a long time, I looked at the pained face of Jammie Thomas-Rasset (um, with a hyphenated last name, obvi she's not legit) and her attorney as I read she was definitely going to appeal the case (this is the second time she's been tried for the offense, which, by the way, that 2 million dollar fine is for 24 songs, keep that in mind). Whew!
The real kicker is the following sentence: "Thomas-Rasset downloaded work by artists such as No Doubt, Linkin Park, Gloria Estefan and Sheryl Crow."
What. The. Fuck. Seriously? Homegirl has got to feel like a dumb bitch after that became public record (thank you CNN). I know, y'all - all she wanted to do was have some fun and/or she's just a girl, in the world (I hope her attorneys included lyrics from those played out bands in her defense) . . . Um, you can get a Gloria Estefan cassette tape for less than $84,000 . . . like in the back of my damn trunk. And Sheryl Crow? No Doubt? Linkin Park? Embarrassment.
To top it off, the lady has 4 kids and works for an Indian tribe or is in one or something (typical). If I were those kids, I'd get the fuck out of there, there's already too many insurmountable factors stacking against them, not to mention the $2,000,000 debt Mama's about to bring home! No Christmas this year Pocahontas. Let's hope Jammie (Running Deer) fires up the wampum and stored hides for moccasins because its going to be a long winter on the reservation this year.
June 18, 2009
I've got alot of things on my mind. For the reasons above mostly and because I'm a thinker, like that statue. While we're on the topic of birthdays (and I always am, especially when I'm out), I'd like to address a question I've been asked repeatedly over the past month. The query involves what I'd truly like for my birthday. Whether asked by my roommate, father, friends, ex-boos or co-workers . . . I have yet to come up with a good answer.
I have everything I want, essentially. Or so I thought. I've got health, happiness and great fucking hair. I have a list of boys I can call to put on a pair of jorts and come over in 10 minutes flat. I have a top-notch family and truly great friends that I would abso donate a kidney to (such offer is less valuable since my college invention of "blackout week" but I'd still give that shit, so it counts).
I really pondered the question. I hate re-gifting and usually (all the time) just end up throwing shitty, thoughtless presents away . . . unless I can barter with either of my roommates for goods or services. I obvi took the question seriously, with it concerning my favorite holiday and all. We are in a recession, so I don't want people throwing money away, especially in the form of some tacky costume jewelry.
And then, like a lightening bolt. Duh. This year, for my birthday, I'd like both of the following: (1) a professional lotioner; and (2) a tutor for Neville.
You're probably wondering WTF a "lotioner" is. Do you all remember that episode of "Cribs" with Mariah Carey and her shoe closet . . . ? Didn't she have someone to put her shoes on for her (American Royalty, I know) . . . ? I might be making that up but either way - I can abso slip into four-inch heels. BFD, Mariah. But, the lotioning, now there's an area where the assistance of another would so come in handy (no pun intended). And yes, I can get some idiot boy to do it, but the problem is, I need it done right - so that excludes the majority of that group. Listen, I have amazingly supple skin, very soft. It comes natch but I am getting older, and, in addition to keeping my mystic a perfect shade of orange, good lotioning is a necessity. In fact, I often jest that I'd be the perfect candidate for a skin coat - and oftentimes this fate scares me. Especially when I get drunk and insist to boys that I would look good, under any circumstance, as an anorak or sweater. Okay, I'd look good, and it would be super soft, but no thanks. Because the foregoing is starting to freak me the fuck out, I'll just say that yes, I'd like a professional lotioner (not a masseuse . . . I'm fine with my own happy endings, thankyouverymuch - ew) along with a background check.
Now, let's move on to my son, Neville. The little American gentleman. Yes, he is so adorable, and though he's a mixed-race boy, he is a vision of perfection. He's only a baby, so I know complete sentences aren't to be expected yet, but, after all, he is the fruit of greatness. Since I don't have the luxury of being a stay-at-home-mom, I'd love for someone to come in and work with him on his letters and numbers, in addition to proper grammar and keeping his food in his bowl . . . and maybe giving a few more nuzzles; just as a bonus. When we have had the time to go over his sounds I notice a particularly lovely English accent. Furthermore, when I'm hungover, I usually have my sister read me "Miss Nelson is Missing" in an English dialect (whilst feeding me bite size pieces of Saltines), but Neville's already dabbing my forehead with a cool cloth - it'd be so much more effective. Obvi this person will need to provide three references, a background check and be First Aid/CPR Certified.
So, there you have it. None of you ever have a reason to say you don't know what to get me! And if I think of anything else, I'll be sure to let you know, don't worry. So next time you're at Macy's debating on whether to get me a fucking cubic zirconia encrusted heart pendant to celebrate the anniversary of my crawling down my mother's birth canal - save your 20 bucks and think of Neville (pictured below). We all know that in today's world, a child (especially one of both black and white heritages) needs an education.
June 16, 2009
1. Is anyone as fucking jazzed as I am about Nick Cannon hosting "America's Got Talent" . . . ? Yeah - he's so going to bring a new aspect of wild'n out to that shit. Sharon Osbourne and that horrible looking Englishman better watch out - you know he's got jokes (mostly about your momma, wait, wrong MTV show? whatevs.) for dayz. Fingers crossed he coaxes wifey to perform for the season opener - fingers crossed y'all.
2. Second - today, people in Raleigh did some protest at rush hour for the peeps all up in Iran. Apparently, they are very worried about Iran's government controlling the media and about all the violence occurring in the area lately. Wait - hold up. Just protesting now? Haven't they been fighting and having their media controlled um since like forever? Just like I said earlier - people only care about shit when its posted on Twitter or Facebook or kind of relates to them. I bet I'm part Iranian (I have really tan skin) and you don't see me acting a fool, do you? You don't see me fucking up an already hellish rush hour with chants so loud you can't hear the new All American Rejects song, do you? No. Damn, protests all up in the newz today. People that have time to protest should probably spend more time doing blue collar work - obvi they aren't employed. I think they whole cast of "A Different World" needs to enlighten them on the idea of a sit-in. I know y'all watched that episode/show. Don't even play.
3. Speaking of one of the best African-American targeted sitcoms, ever . . . I feel like a child on Christmas. I heard on the radio this morning that Sinbad is coming to perform at a comedy club this weekend. What a way to start off birthday week. I loved that man on "A Different World" and "House Guest" . . . he totally pulled off being a dentist! Man! Such travesty when such talent gets overlooked for major motion picture awards. I wish I could regale you all with some silly Sinbad tale about that time I met him randomly getting his shoes shined in the airport (that was just Steadman Winfrey) but, to be honest, I am not as familiar with Sinbad as I'd like to be. Since Sinbad was (a) black and (b) had an earring I was never allowed to watch him as a child and had to sneak Whitley and the rest of her gang - yes, including Sinbad. Thanks, Dad.
Anyway, LaNautica and I are getting ready to try out the new bistro in our building (I wish!), but I wanted to take a second to address the increasingly relevant topic of unfair elections. Now, yes, I am using that term loosely. IDK why everyone is up in arms about another country's elections. Last I checked, Ahmadinejad was voted President, right?
Okay, yes, I know, that sounded moronic. Thank God that's taken from a convo I overheard (i.e. totally eavesdropped) of some ho on her phone in the post office. But seriously, I kind of have to agree, a little. We have unfair elections all the time in America. Yes, yes, start spouting off about the 2004 Presidential Election. But I'm talking about a vote that was so unjust, I still don't believe a recount wasn't ordered, like immediately.
I, of course, am talking about the American Idol Finale of 2003. I know you remember - hometown favorite Gay Aiken (either way, I'd still bear his child - pass it on) and the Velvet TeddyBear repping the 2-1-5, Ruben Studdard. Throughout the season I sat in my dorm room and dialed furiously on my cell phone, room phone and any other phone I could get my hands on to get Clay to those finales. And we did. And there I was, in the Outer Banks with my best friends, watching a shitty television with even shittier reception to see who won 2003's "greatest singer in the galaxy" award. I held my breath. I had voted from a pay phone numerous times, and my friends had, too, all very willingly.
Ryan Seacrest opened the envelope and . . . Ruben Studdard. I mean seriously, I ask you, What. the. fuck. After his entourage rushed the stage trying to plug their albums, Clay graciously accepted second and dip-setted. I won't go on about how the only thing velvet about Ruben is his favorite cake or anything that has to relate to his singing and (s)hit single about him being sorry for 2004 or whatever. I know, I am so hating, but there was some illegal shit going on there. Don't get me started. Listen up Ruben, I'm sorry for 2003, personally. That shit rhymed. I think I see another hit.
Clay has since gone on to bear a child, star in tons of (off) Broadway plays and take out a restraining order on me. No, I'm totally kidding, I can't back that up. But he did attend (s)Leesville high school (offense, TM) - a stone's throw from me. Plus I bet Clay loves Raven and Lady Gaga, we'd totes be BFF. Furthermore, anyone ever heard of a multi-platinum CD (corroboration?) "Measure of a Man" . . . ? Psh, I have. Performer? Clay.
"If I was invisible, then I could just watch you in your room, If I was invincible I'd make you mine tonight . . . " and so on. Tell me those lyrics don't touch you in a way that only Clay can, and does.
So, my point is not to tell you that I threw my phone (along with my best friend's) into the ocean from our crow's nest in utter (incredibly wasted - who let me up there anyway?) disgust. My point is not to try to fight for fairness in Iran or the spread democracy. I'm just an American, who, surprisingly, wants people to pay attention to the turmoil I had in my life in '03. Yes, I've let it go, but damn, America! Justice and equality for all! If Iran recounts, so do we. Just a quick clarification though, Mousavi said he'd recount at any cost, and I've already technically lost like 250 bucks with those phones - so I think we're even.
For those of you looking to add your name to the "official" petition . . . You're welcome.
June 15, 2009
1. New Jersey was founded/invented/discovered/taken from the Indians (p.s. you're welcome Powhatan) today 279 years ago, or SOMETHING LIKE THAT. I think I can agree with the rest of the country, but I'm throwing out an extremely sarcastic "thanks" to the colonists. Yes, Judy Blume, The Boss & Jon Bon Jovi are all New Jerseyites, so we are all good for something, but come on. Before I move on, I know you've all realized there is a notable, incredibly influential person missing from that list - Lauryn Hill. In all fairness, I read in Teen People, circa 1998, that she hates white people, therefore my lack of her inclusion is obvi, right? (And, on a side note, Arkansas became the 25th state on June 15th, 1836; and to our founding fathers, I'd like to bestow my warmest of thanks for the land the brought us our 42nd President . . . done & done.)
2. Moving on. Today Stacie Carosi turns 39 - yikes! More importantly, let's all take a minute to pay homage to Waylon Jennings. Totes his birthday today. "Luckenbach, Texas" was one of the first songs I loved in Austin and the dance hall - great reason to treat (?) yourself to a Shiner, duh. Also, I met his son on my 21st birthday - memorable for both of us, I'm sure. Shooter was a true delight (I was told) - ah, yes.
Obvi, the "take-away" from this short, meaningful post is simple. Texas > New Jersey, duh.
June 12, 2009
With that being said, the dawn brings us all a new day; and, luckily (for me) Celine Dion's song of the same name came on just as I was getting up.
Anyway, I couldn't wait to relay to you another bit of delight I heard on the way in. I'm sure you all know that I was gifted with a lovely name, thanks for my roommate (who is also my alarm clock). I love my name and with the exception of sixth grade, I always have. It has always been such a relief to be proud of what people call you (at least in formal situations). I hope that all of you share in this sense of pride with me.
On the "Friday Shout-Outs," one of the morning hosts totally "big-upped" a Durham senior graduating high school this weekend. The deejay started by sharing with her listeners all of the merits of this soon-to-be adult. At the end of an unbelievably boring story (I was just waiting for the "Friday Morning Mix Session" and crossing my fingers it would start with Biggie Smalls) the host ended the above-mentioned props with a phrase like "So you go on girl, make yo' way into the world! Let's hear it for LaNautica!"
Yes, you read that right. LaNautica. Mother of god. Really? I wouldn't dare name my kid after a brand that fucking sucks. I'm (not) sorry to say, it doesn't matter what socioeconomic class you're in . . . Nautica is so not cool anymore. The only place (I've heard) that you can even find that brand is at stores like TJ Maxx - which I initially surmised was one of her mother's favorites. I'm surely not hating, while I don't personally shop there, there's nothing wrong with trying to get "the maxx for the minimum" - we are in a recession. Although I still feel that way, I realized that when LaNautica first came into this beautiful world (18-ish years ago, I'm hoping) Nautica was so fashionable in places like Durham, North Carolina (maybe even still is, I don't travel into those parts). That obviously justifies LaNautica's given name, right? I'm sorry, I can't stop saying it - LaNautica . . . flows right off the tongue.
In summation, to reiterate my favorite deejay's sentiments: Congratz and warm wishes to my new friend, LaNautica. You go girl!
June 11, 2009
From what I know about Cher, I'd argue that "If I Could Turn Back Time" was by far her greatest hit. There are others, perhaps, that would offer a different answer. Chastity is not only the name of her first successful album, but also her daughter. IDK about their relationship, but I am definitely the apple of my mother's eye. We get manicures together, listen to Journey all the time and ride to work every day in honor of my desire to save money (in the form of petroleum) and her inability to use the word "No" in my presence. Anyway, tonight has caused me to rethink all of this and consider what our relationship would look like if I decided to swap genders. I shudder to think! I'd still help her with matching her outfits - but I doubt I'd be as good.
Back to Cher and company. First of all, I only know about Chastity Bono because I've got gay people in my family. If you were born in the 80's and unfortunately lack opposite marriages amongst your kin, Google that shit and educate yourself. Right, very (not) surprising to most. Chaz (IDK if that's her legal name yet, but apparently that's her preferred moniker) looks like a man already - shouldn't be too evasive of a procedure, but keep in mind I'm no doctor.
All I'm wondering is WTF is going through Cher's mind right now? Obviously we can't ask Sonny so his opinions are irrelevant. Even though Cher used to be a non-gay supporter, even though the feelings were not mutual - Cher has become such a gay champion. But switching genders is very permanent. How do you explain that shit ? Cher is no stranger to controversy - she'll know exactly what to say, whew!
To those of you still picking your jaw up from the ground, let's examine Chastity's fatherless childhood (can we confirm this?). Think about it - growing up with all those sequins and shimmery fabrics, not to mention Cher's penchant for Hillary Clinton? Transgender-ing is the obvious next step. Normally, I'd give Chastity a high five followed by an emphatic "You Go Girl!" but, seeing as how that's no longer applicable . . . I feel horrible! I just . . . I just . . . I wish I could turn back time . . . I wish I could find a way . . . okay, I don't remember any more lyrics.
You're welcome for that.
Perchance my anguish is due to the week's news. Shit, y'all. WTF is up? I propose a nationwide listening of "Where is the Love?" by the B.E.P. . . ? That song encouraged me to love everyone! IDK why it wouldn't work for everyone else.
Now, I may be the only one that's noticed, but the "far right" is going fucking bananas! IMHO, those that consider themselves "far" right or left are all a little batty. Razing the Holocaust Museum? That's horrifying. When I visited the museum, I actually felt like I was "Number(ing) the Stars" (so to speak). Distressing, obvi the point. But then, the murder (in church - Jesus frowns on that) of Dr. Tiller? Come on. I get feeling unimaginably passionate about a cause - like the 2000 Backstreet Boys "Millennium" Tour. I went to 10 different cities for the show! You know what? Worth it. I believed in what the Backsteet Boys stood for. But would I have died for them? Not of my own volition. Or taken the life of another? No way, even though I did bite a girl in front of me in the autograph line.
To be honest, I'm politically neutral. As long as I can control my ovaries; and "abstinence-only" sex ed stays out of school, I'm jazzed.
I tried to think of some crazy American leftists. I've got 2 examples of very-liberals going wild, literally. At first, I recalled a story about an informant that joined a militant animal rights organization planning to decimate an animal testing factory. As I reviewed the story, I wondered why the hell Christopher Meloni and Ice-T kept showing up. Then it came to me! That was an episode of Law & Order! The only other example that comes to mind is when Daryl Hannah mounted some ancient tree to save it from being hacked. Now that is silly. Daryl Hannah was in the Little Rascals for God's sake! How the mighty have fallen! There's got to be more stories about the "radical left" losing their damn minds. However, finding none, I'm starting to think those instances occur only in the swaying branches of a "Giving Tree." I could be wrong, but I doubt it.
Let me say that I do not hate the Grand Old Party. In fact, I used to be an enthusiastic supporter! Jenna Bush and I have similar interests and had countless run-ins on Sixth Street, each more delightful than the last. I'm not even hopping on the "Republicans are out of touch with reality" bandwagon (side note: any word on if John McCain is using e-mail yet?). All I'm saying is there's a whole lot of hatin' recently amongst some conservatives. Limbaugh wants our Prez to fail . . . wait, what? That brings to mind a younger me. It was 3rd grade and I wanted so badly to be "Special Child" before the year ended. I wished repeatedly for Wendy Thomas to become super ill so I could take her place. What's worse - Wendy was my third grade BFF! I'm surprised at Rush. That guy loves America! By "America," I mean Oxycontin. I know - so 2006! But, when he puts down his haterade; everyone else will, too.
To continue, Ed Gillespie, former chairman of the Republican Party, said last week that "[the GOP] cannot be a party of balding white guys" in response to a Gallup poll which found that Americans can't identify a Republican leader. The poll, in USA Today, also said that if someone had to be chosen - it'd be Cheney, Limbaugh or Gingrich. Yikes! My "right to choose" is shaking in its metaphorical boots!
The "take-away" of this? Moderation. By tempering our views we can all enjoy tea and strumpets together by dusk! Trust, if anyone knows about excess, its me. Whether it was (countless) shots of Jager or drunk texts, there was a time that I could out-do anyone. Those days have passed, thankfully. Ah, adulthood.
Anyway, someone should correct Ed. The Republican Party is way more diverse. He left out that stuttering Indian dude from Louisiana, not to mention Geography whiz Sarah Palin. And yes, I agree, Pelosi can be such an uber-bitch, and we don't even have to broach Kennedy's past (not-so-past?) problems with alcohol. Either way, from now on, when Ed Gillespie laments, he should make sure he includes everyone (wasn't that a conservative slogan in '08?). The GOP isn't just a bunch of balding white guys! Its (becoming?) a bunch of balding white guys who are killing fathers in church and work and increasingly dissipate negativity at alarming levels. I know, I know, not all of them - just some, right?
Okay, enough! All this nonsense is making me ill(matic) . . . and not like Nas' album.
June 10, 2009
The answer is, of course, hypocrisy. I love it. I revel in that shit. If I could, I'd take hypocrisy out for drinks and get tons of steamy gossip. Sadly I can't - so I have to wait for people to fuck up . . . and then get caught.
There have been two outstanding examples in America recently. Yes, there's millions more, but I've had a long day - you'll have to wait for numbers 3 to a milli(on). The thing is, I know I'm going to sound like a hater. But, naturally, I'm not. Either way, I digress.
I know you've all guessed number one. Bristol Palin! Homegirl has outdone herself lately. I mean, as if bear hunting with Levi wasn't glorious enough (FYI, "bear hunting" means something totes different in Alaska) - she screws it all up and gets knocked up! To her mother's (political) dismay - it wasn't through Immaculate Conception - but I bet Madonna was involved somehow - they love that shit in the Arctic. Anyway, we all know the story. With child (inside the womb), with child (outside the womb), engaged, tattoo rings and eventually - heartbreak. So typical. I saw this shit coming from a mile away. What's great about this story is Bristol's recent fight for abstinence! Wasn't it MLK that said "if you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything" . . . ? In B. Palin's case "anything" took the form of an illiterate high school senior trying to make it in the NHL - also, he was named after denim. Wacky bitches up at the North Pole. Not to worry Bristol, we all make mistakes! As I read Bristol's push (no pun intended) for a sex-free life (post baby) on Fox News & Entertainment Tonight - I couldn't help but chuckle! I had to holler at my homeboy - Merriam Webster, just to confirm that I really knew what "abstinence" meant. I did. I haven't read anything about her reading "The Shack" and re-finding Jesus so she's obvi full of shit. I feel bad sex didn't work out the way she imagined, but girl, come on, you can't un-do that whole thing. Born-again virgins are silly and still can't wear white at their weddings. Bottom Linee? Bristol Palin advocating abstinence is as silly as my campaign for non-denim shorts (Levi?) . . . !
Speaking of jeans, next up is Miss California USA. Ah, Carrie Prejean. No offense to Jon-Benet, but isn't it kind of understood that "beauty" queens are all slutty? I'm pretty sure that's been proven. I've had a bit of a problem with CP from her initial appearance on my news feeds. Listen, I love making up phrases with the rest of them, but "opposite marriage" . . . ? Give me a damn break. The term is linguistically as sophomoric as the line of thinking it propagates. You can believe in what you want - just keep it (figuratively) to yourself. Carrie appears on the "Miss America USA" pagaent (which is a poor man's "Miss America") and makes a complete ass of herself, her state (not that Cali has had any street cred since Tupac "passed" and The Terminator took over) and most importantly, Jesus. Don't fuck with Jesus. Homeboy loves everyone, even Carrie and even "opposite humans" Her praise? Outlandish. She was heralded as the paragon of "good Christian morals." Until . . . oh fuck, those undressed pics that she didn't think anyone had, especially not readily available to be published, were, well, published. Everywhere. Listen, take all the scantily or non-clad pictures of yourself you please! Put them under your pillow at night and on your business card - I could care less. But don't make staements about others' integrity when a $50.00 bill was most likely all it took to take off yo' threads. All of this brings me to Donald Trump. That clown fired Carrie as Miss California USA, saying she grew too big for her britches (didn't she take them off for the photos?) because she didn't show up for some events that tomato-face had planned. The pictures were fine though - pedophile. Whatevs! I'm sure her resume is still shining - just like her teeth. No thanks.
Let me take a second to tell you about a (former) neighbor of one of my co-workers. His name is Catfish. Catfish is a scoundrel of the worst variety. When he lived in my co-worker's neighborhood, he had children constantly in and out of his house - whores, too. He was surprisingly unfriendly and radiated a vile odor even from a distance. In addition, Catfish was always getting caught in some compromising positions in very unsavory places, to say the least. I'll spare you most of the deets but one involved a methamphetamine lab and another dealt with indecent exposure. His shenanigans had been going on for some time but then one day - Catfish vanished; never to be heard from again.
We all hoped for the best - well, okay, no, I didn't really, I was just so fucking thankful not to have to hear anymore Catfish tales (tails?). Since that point, its been a running joke (to half of my office) to wonder aloud the where and how-abouts of poor Catfish. I surmised that had had been dawg-napped, but eventually found his way - most likely working in some shelter tutoring misguided children while doing braids or shaving designs into their 'fros.
Just moments ago, I heard a loud "You have got to be kidding me!" from the back of our office. Assuming, like it always is, an over-exaggerated story about her child speaking in complete sentences or her husband in nurse's aide school (former truck driver) I acted like I was on the phone, etc. I should have rushed to her office at first yelp.
Turns out, yes, Catfish is most likely braiding hair, but not for Durham's underprivileged youth. Catfish (given name Jasmond) was scheduled today to be tried for capital murder! I was way off! He is currently (wrongly I'm sure) accused of killing a teenager while driving his car (drive-by shooting). To complicate matters, at the time Catfish was arrested, he was also charged with some assaults, kidnapping and a shootout in order to evade officers.
Of course, his family vehemently denies the claims of the Durham Assistant District Attorney - and they offer tons of valid, legitimate proof. Catfish and the shooter have the same kind of car - but Catfish's car has a manual transmission! To those slow on connecting these outlandish dots, not even the best driver can steer, shift gears and shoot at the same time. Furthermore, the shooter was described with braids, but Catfish has cornrows. Case. Dismissed.
What a tremendous weight off my shoulders! IDK if any of Catfish's kin has looked into a career at all, but I'd like to be the first to direct them towards a profession in sleuthing. You're welcome relations of Catfish! I know I'd surely take off my bullet-proof vest knowing that Lil' Sherlock Catfish Holmes was patrolling the streets, wouldn't you?
June 9, 2009
So I've finally had a chance to catch up on the newz. First of all, I know this story may have already reached you - but I'm pretty (100%) sure that the "stomach ache" Heidi Montag Pratt bitched about over the weekend has another, more medical moniker - chlamydia. I'm no doctor, but I skim over WebMD at least once a week.
Shortly thereafter, thankfully, I came across a delightful video of a press conference with the leader of the British National Party - Nick Griffin. Not knowing anything about the BNP, nor having any desire to Wikipedia that shit - I'm not going to argue policy on either side, but I will quickly recap. What should have been a joyous celebration in a free-speech country turned ugly when peasants/commoners broke through and totes pelted the British National Party's leader with eggs! IDK but I'm pretty sure they don't refrigerate dairy over there - ga-ross! Either way, thank you England. Thank you protesters that I would normally shun while refusing any spare change. You can peep the vid in a moment and thank me later. This story made me seriously consider England. Whether its them half-heartedly backing us up in war, giving the United States the right half of their "Friends Forever" necklace or spurring the American version of "The Office" - England is okay in my book. Since I'm waiting for the storm to pass, and I just spent a serious 3 minutes compiling a list, allow me to highlight my favorite English things.
1. As of about 5 minutes ago, English liberals. It takes something special to be able to throw an egg and hit your target. Trust. This story reminded me of a friend who spent hours on the third floor balcony of her apartment complex one afternoon - launching egg after egg across the street. Sure, it took about 4 dozen to get really good, but the young fraternity recruits had no idea what hit them as they were forced to Elephant Walk through their house. Amazing.
2. Harry Potter and, obvi, Draco Malfoy. This needs no explanation.
3. Feudalism, which gave us vassals who graciously allowed peasants to work their land. Peasants, which I like to refer to as commoners, can usually be found riding the bus.
4. Text Messaging. The English have been doing this shit since the early 90's - while everyone over here was watching the latest episode of "American Gladiators."
5. Polyester (and with that, listen closely for a resounding "Thank You" from my parents circa 1973).
You know what I don't love that hails from England? The cops. Thank heavens Potter makes up for it. Ain't no thang England - I forgive you.
Moving on. As you will recall, I mentioned yesterday that, in between my efforts to free T.I. from the big house (kind of like an adorable version of The Innocence Project - idk, but they don't sound that cute, I'll try to find out) , I'm trying to corroborate my experiences via live shots as they occur. My first attempt, unfortunately, didn't go as planned. Let me set the scene.
I stealthily got on the elevator in order to get the fuck out of work, obvi. Normally I hold the "Call Cancel" key all of the many (three) floors down - just to avoid having to speak to people I normally wouldn't. I must have forgotton to "leave work at the door" and forgot to press the "Lobby" button. That shit went all the way up to the 5th floor. I know - another 30 seconds wasted all up in that 'vator. The doors opened and an elderly lady of about 38 boarded.
I recognized her, having seen her park in the/my Visitor's spot by the door. Rude. I assumed she purchased a candy-painted PT Cruiser and spinning rims to show if off - and what better place to do so than in the bright sunlight of uncovered parking? Clearly I'm mistaken, man, I sure do feel like an idiot.
Anyway, I looked down, in order to save myself the effort of a half-assed smile or silence after she inquires how my day was (I should be so lucky). And then, the angels in heaven smiled down upon me. I noticed then that homegirl was wearing tights and sneakers - with socks! What luck! Obvi I was meant to share - and I was going to take a photo and "throw some D's on that shit" (figuratively speaking) with a lovely post. I readied my camera phone, zoomed accordingly and snapped.
Fuck. The flash totally went off. Brightly, obviously and noisily. Thanks alot, Blackberry.
So there I was, totes embarrassed (if I had working feelings) . . . and I mean, what in God's name do you say in a sitch like that? Yes, you're totally right, she's the one that should feel sheepish. Opaque tights (of course) and scrunched socks? Combined with a rather old pair of Reeboks . . . ? I didn't know "Tacky Day" still existed when you grow up. Hopefully its as valid as "Hung-thefuck-over Day" - I'll have to check. She gave me some hideous look, which I just took to be her normal face, and kind of tilted her head in wonder. I'm pretty sure she was oblivious to the fact that she was just snapped, well, let's at least cross our fingers. If I had to guess, I'm betting homegirl still has one of those Nokia faceplate mobiles - or, more likely, a Jitterbug - and neither of those are equipped with a camera.
Thankfully, I played it off (I think I blacked out during this time) and swiftly walked past her to my car . . . right there in my Visitor's parking space. After all, my office is not my home - I just "visit" for 8 hours a day . . okay, fine, 5 and a half. Either way, "camera mastery" is definitely on this weekend's To Do List. You are so welcome.
Anyway, I was expecting today to full of spectacular and extraordinary headlines. IDK that Tuesday was opposite day but I feel like a jackass for getting my hopes up! I was imagining the crazy antics that SamRo and Lohan might have gotten into last night - or who John Gosselin accidentally fell into bed with during the long wait for CNN to boot up. And then, disappointment.
Let's see - oh, right Adam Slam-bert is gay. Big surprise. I don't even watch American Idle - I saw one shot of his wanna-be Lohands on "Entertainment Tonight" and had him pegged (not literally, obvi) from square one. Although Dr. MLK, JR. and I are a little disappointed that he told "Rolling Stone" he didn't want to be some civil rights person but just wanted to sing. IDK - call me crazy, but gauging his talent strictly from the number of times I had to ignore a Facebook group invitation demanding a finale recount - I feel like he was the missing piece to the civil rights puzzle. And now, the world will never know.
Fucking Paula Abdul.
I give this shit 2 thumbs up - I'm so not an obsessed fan but y'all remember that episode where Zach takes that paralyzed girl to the dance? Right - that totally came out when I was stuck in a wheelchair - talk about inspiration (to get the fuck up and walk when I realized there was no one at my middle school with a heart of pure gold - just like Zack Morris.)
I'm just thankful that I can let my breath out - I know you've all been holding it as you wait for Mark-Paul's confirmation of a "SBTB: The Middle Aged Years" kind of show. The suspense was killing me! I mean, besides that show he has on TNT (you remember - where he had long, weird, James Van der Beek hair and a molester's gaze? No? Weird.) and the 1998 classic "Dead Man on Campus" - where in god's name has he been? Obvi planning a reunion and working on his vocals. Anyway, fuck yes.
June 8, 2009
When I left work on Friday, I had with me (and had spent at least an hour compiling) a weekend To Do List. I am such a list person - I really can't accomplish anything without one - trust. Given that it was such a good, productive weekend, I got mostly everything marked off - I mystic tanned three times, watched The Chronic - (WHAT?) - cles of Narnia 1 & 2, had three (minimum) glasses of a lovely Chardonnay, took Neville to the dog park and gave him a bath and pet-icure. No, I didn't finish reading "The Secret" or get to confession (although, I did hear Usher's version thrice so I'm counting it) but I'm feeling very good about my accomplishments.
Seriously though, I had two things on my list that I didn't have time to broach and I feel totes embarrassed. The first was to add real life pictures to this amazing daily chronicle you all enjoy . This will be easy. I got a Blackberry Curve back in February for a reason - and since we've broken up, I might as well use it for something worth while. OMG - that was such a joke - and I feel inappropriate leaving it there - but I'm not applying for a job anytime soon (fingers crossed). Anyway - please be ready and excited for this to come. Real life is, obvi, way funnier than a Google picture of Michael Bolton or Kenny G or whateves. I'm jazzed and will start post haste. Then you all can actually put real visuals with all the jokes (lit/fig) I encounter on the daily.
Secondly, and by far more important, has to do with the self-proclaimed King of the South. I hope you all have been slowly but surely increasing your hip-hop listening time. If you haven't been able to, I know you all saw that Emmy-winning (can we confirm?) show with T.I. and those hoodrat kids on MTV? You know, he got them to pick up garbage and broaden their minds in an effort to show Georgia courts he really is a good guy and that he didn't mean to violate his parole with an outlandish amount of guns in his car, honest. Anyway, I hate to break it to you - the show didn't work. Even though T.I. looked like a young Judge Joe Brown with the heart of Mother Teresa, it was a futile attempt. So homeboy's locked up for a year and a day. Good mugshot - not as good or as Lohan-ish as some people's that I know - but, you live and you learn.
With this all being said, in my opinion, something needs to be done. Um, hello, T.I. can have whatever he likes - and at this point, I think its some help getting out of the clink. Being no stranger to "Lockdown: Raw" on MSNBC, I had begun to craft a plan to help T.I. excape (typo and it stays - Michael K, thank you) from the slammer. I don't have any heroin to put in between a stamp and envelope and plus - I'm sure the mother of his children (and new wife) has that on lock . . . down. (Get it?)
Anyway, I feel like I can be most of use to T.I. by writing his name in the prayer book at St. Andrew's Catholic Church and figuring out how to send him a cake that is moist and delicious, but also has a file hidden inside. No, really.
Having not been in jail in . . . a year, I don't know if they've changed the rules. No one on "Lockdown: Raw" gets baked goods sent their way, but all of them are gang members who have killed everyone in their families and in some cases, well, no, I won't go there. But not T.I. - he's got children for God's sake. And a family - can you imagine those little ones growing up without his influence - let alone beats? Disgusting.
I'm going to spend the rest of the evening marking both overlooked items off my to-do list. You're welcome, T.I.
Ever since I grew out the boy-cut Joan got me for my 10th birthday, I've made it a point to only have generally attractive and witty friends. I am no free-for-all (unless we've hit the 5 jager max) and neither is my life.
You'll find that the people I "lose touch with" have also lost touch themselves. Only in their case its with fashion, the ability to deliver a toast, the know-how to go along with me when I tell some poor sucker that it is, in fact, my birthday/the anniversary of my divorce/I just got accepted into Cornell Law School and yes, we would love a drink (or 8). Losing touch with a friend, in my life known as the "probationary period" preceding my yearly Inventory (more about this as we approach my birthday), is always hard but it always works out for the best - for me, at least.
Scoff if you like, but by only hanging out with good looking people who can use a clever comment/literary quote in daily conversation - it makes life simple. In an age when we are all are rushing about, my dislike/distrust of unattractive people saves me from having to back them up if they get called an ugly bitch at the club. The aforementioned rule allows me to go out into the sun whenever I please because obvi there aren't any redheads (okay, well there is one, but he is so witty and bronze he's a welcome addition) - thank heavens. I think you get the idea here.
IDK about you, but I had a magnificent weekend - not surprisingly, I did everything I wanted to do - accomplished a few things on my to-do list (more on this later, I'm sure), managed to take my son to the dog park and have a glass (or 4) of Pinot Grigio with the friend from the doughnut story.
And, on today's topic of exclusivity, I will say that I had to interact with a certain type of person, well, people, that absolutely make me cringe. I will share the unpleasantness with you now my dear(s).
Being as vague, but offensive, as possible, I had to attend an outing that left me distressed. An encounter with undesirables - 2 to be exact. Now, because I have an obligation to be friendly to all God's creatures (whatever), I really did give it a good try. I smiled as she swept her chin-length bangs out of her face to reveal heavily lined eyes, an uneven bronzer application and teeth that can best be described as - no, they were whack. Think like Kirsten Dunst - except this bitch couldn't afford braces. I knew her companion and therefore feel much better about judging him. First impression? When he creepily followed me all over downtown and wouldn't leave for the entire night? Creepy. Not like "exposing yourself to children in McDonald's" creepy but worse - like "Don't worry, his Mom is talking to him about touching other people and personal space" creepy. Um, he's 27. If homeboy doesn't know that a verbal "quit touching me" means I don't like his clammy hands on my person - then I'm pretty sure he's an idiot.
So, I'm forced to talk to Gretchen Wilson's fucking twin sister and the male (questionable) version of Mary Catherine Gallagher for most of the night. Horr-en-dous. It was all so damn underwhelming & gross. Adding insult to injury, the two spent the whole time trying to argue with me, rude. Now, I love everyone, but I take offense when people say dumb shit about me or my roommate or alma mater (I mean, I don't get mad, I just roll my eyes and flip my blow-out).
Call me pretentious (they did) but I expect greatness and complete sentences! And as pretentious as I am, I'm never attracted to someone that is competing in the Special Olympics - I mean, that, plus his lack of knowledge about David Yurman - there's no fucking way. And, alright - "ECU scores higher than Texas" on some tests - but I think they all involve an oral swab. Am I wrong?
Let me bring it back in (if possible) to my main point - exclusivity. You, little ones, are all a privilege! I can't stress this enough! Unless you need community service hours, save your best for some downtown club, cigar bar or late-night after party.
This occurrence has only bolstered my own convictions and understanding that most people won't impress me. I hate to say it - they just don't. I always take for granted my inherent traits - and pay the price. This obvious in the terrifying encounter I described above. People like that, just are; and its okay - because I won't have to see them again (knowingly or unknowingly), ever. Cherish that blessing! That kind freedom doesn't happen everywhere. No way! Things like that only happen in the United States of America, and that, my friends, is glorious.
June 5, 2009
That being said - a few "big-ups" are in order.
First of all, can I get a boisterous "Happy Birthday" shout-out to a couple of beauties God has given to the women of the world? Yes, today Pete Wentz, Brian McKnight, Marky Mark & Kenny G all share a birthday. If that doesn't make Jesus your homeboy - IDK what the fuck will.
Secondly (and these are not in order of importance) the automatic washer and dryer made its debut today. Wow, if every woman reading doesn't give a hearty cheer - prepare yourself for a glove full of pebbles across the face. Hello time saver! I know that in my own life, the washer and dryer allows (my mom, who is also my roommate) copious amounts of time to do whatever the fuck you want (in my roommate's case - the dishes). Um, you're welcome! Yes, today was the day in 1780 or whatever that Ben Franklin invented electricity with his bifocals and kite - but come the fuck on - electricity or an automatic W/D? . . . too easy. I'm not sure, but I think the popularity of the washboard as a musical instrument below the Mason-Dixon also increased - I think on June 6, but don't quote me on that.
A mere 22 years ago, "Nightline" had a whole show about AIDS - it lasted until 4 in the morning! Haters. So fitting that a disease that has been far more detrimental to women (who don't contract it from men, right? Anyone Pre-Med?) would have some invaluable television time half a decade too late! I hope someone at NBC got a promotion for that shit. I'm betting it was Chris Hansen - he loves the most immoral and computers weren't invented yet, so, do the math.
Before you all get started, I would never forget to mention Suze. I know we all know that 100 years ago Suze Orman was crawling down her mother's birth canal (there are way too many things to say on that, I'll allow you) but can we all take a moment to honor one of the most gorgeous things I have ever seen on VH1?
On June 5, 1993 (jesus I feel old), Mariah Carey wed her (ugly/old/loaded) producer, Tommy Mottola in one of the most elegant, meaningful ceremonies I. have. ever. seen. Sure it only lasted seven years and he apparently was "abusive and controlling" but come on girl - you looked good in that full lace-sleeved dress. A vision in white. I'm sure she was a virgin, too, which makes it all the more special.
I don't really know anything about MC since "Dream Lover" inspired me to make my own music video - but I think I'll holler out a "Girl Power" for her finding love, yet again. This time, with someone twenty years younger, rather than her first attempt with the opposite. Ah, some people are just lucky in love.
Anyway, I noticed that its National Doughnut Day. Thank god! If there's one thing we need right now - in a time when unemployment is low (fingers crossed that no one reads the news - 9.4% - "Still under 10!") and Americans are looking thinner than ever, its a fucking piece of pastry heaven.
I fucking hate doughnuts & for the life of me, couldn't remember the reason. Then it came to me. Here, come closer, let me share.
It was 2002, and after a long night filled with factory installed subwoofers and Boone's farm, a dear friend and I stopped at the downtown Krispy Kreme. I can see your naive mouths watering right now, and, at one point I would have reacted the same. We pulled into the drive-thru and I ordered a Boston Cream. Abso my fave. I still resembled a cue ball with a full fringe bang (thanks Mom) and knew my way around a drive-thru, especially this one. The second that I began to enjoy one of the doughnuts I'd purchased . . . my dear pal says, in between her freshly made doughnut holes . . .
"Oh! I don't order Boston Creams! You know why? Because they use man juice in that cream."
Right. Those exact words, verbatim. I should have paused there and addressed the fact that my best friend had just used the phrase "man juice" in high school, but hindsight is always 20/20.
While a logical thinker would dismiss this right away - we were in downtown Raleigh, and I doubt this KK had stellar health scores. To my dismay, I haven't made my way through anything resembling a doughnut since.
It worked out for the best though - the steep decline in doughnut consumption (and brief cocaine habit) led to an emaciated look that immediately followed a short 4 years later. Thanks, friend!
So thanks but no thanks! Do I hate missing arguably one of the greatest American holidays this year, or any year for that matter? Abso-fucking-lutely. But sadly I won't be forking over $.79 for any cream today . . . after all, I'm done with college.
I was on my way to work this morning - (only half an hour late!) and Weezy was on. I listened, enjoying the two or three incredibly witty lines he throws in about sexual exploits, baller status and drank - and normally this would have made my Friday. However, as a hip-hop enthusiast, I'm starting to worry about the New Orleans-bred rapper/wrapper.
As Weezy went on to tell us about entering the club and instructing his fans (or hoes, whichev) to give him "dap" and give him "luv" - which obvi we all know that is protocol if you're ever lucky enough meet homeboy. OBVIOUS, we all know that! He's no fool (and any fool can get dap in the club, trust).
However, I'm ready for Lil' Wayne to start telling me some stories. Spin those smartly-placed one-line metaphors (or similes - I'm an English degree holder, but fuck, I was drunk for that 6 year period) into a haiku or a limerick. Am I right? Weezy - we all know you're rich, gettin' paid and can have any hoodrat you want. Give me more.
If someone can go from a Hot Boy on Cash Money Records to the University of Houston to purple drank to Tha Carter they can put out a book of poems in disc form - shit, look at e.e. cummings (no offense).
"Un-fuckin' believable, Little Wayne's the president! Fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em - even if they celibate. I know the game is crazy; it's more crazy than it's ever been; I'm married to that crazy bitch - call me Kevin Federline."
Now go listen to Weezy do it - you're welcome.
Listen, I love Wayne. And despite the fact that I am a Yurman-wearing, mystic tanning white girl, I still think he is one of the best - but what is each new sunrise; if not a chance to make ourselves better? Come on Weezy, gather us all around the campfire - trust me, we're listening. I'm ready for you to become the modern day T.S. Eliot of hip-hop, or, at least, Dr. Seuss.
June 4, 2009
- Harry Potter
- Jack Dawson, "Titanic" - I'm pretty sure he was a real person too, right?
- Jessie Spano
- Holden Caulfield
- Aslan from "The Chronicles of Narnia"
- Pope JP the Second
- Bill Clinton
- Nancy Grace
- Phyllis Vance
Of course, the Two Fat Ladies would cook a hearty bacon-wrapped feast, centerpieces would be furnished by Martha Stewart while Hope-rah and Gayle would tickle the ivories with their rendition of "Heart & Soul."
IDK if this list even needs explaining - we'll see how we feel tomorrow. Good night, friends.
Today is the 90th anniversary (did I do that math right?) of the passing of the 19th Amendment. Raise the roof! What what! Indeed! For those of you out there that tried your hardest to stay stoned all four to six years of high school rather than learn American Government (guilty) - homegirls were allowed to vote. Holler at that.
Normally I wouldn't shout out this topic or any topic about like real life things but - what kind of feminist would I be without any mention of this historic event? Exactly - a shitty one. Had I not made a reference to this oversight, coupled with the fact that I am heterosexual, know how to use a razor and wouldn't dream of burning anything down - especially high-priced undergarments would have been the end for me. I'd have to take the "God is coming and SHE IS PISSED" bumper sticker off my Subaru post haste. Thank heavens I remembered.
In all seriousness though, I first learned about suffrage from my favorite movie as a child - "Mary Poppins" - and the American Girls series. As a child, I thought that was how all women's rights suffragists looked. As soon as I was reading 5 grade levels above did I see my first picture of Lucretia Scott. Holy fuck. Yikes. I'd take Ms. Banks any-fucking-day. For those of you with parents who favored a more interactive childhood (i.e. your parents spent time with you/you couldn't afford a VCR - or worse, the Disney Channel) Mrs. George Banks (Winnie for short) is adorable. How could they not afford women the right to vote? And even though Mr. Banks, George Banks to be specific, frowns upon the cause - you KNOW he's going to come around as soon as he's done flying that kite made of paper and string.
I know all the words to the movie; but some of my favorite occur when Winifred sings her world famous song "Sister Suffragettes" - First off, the song is truth, no doubt about it. She starts off - “Although we love men individually, we agree that as a group they’re rather stupid”. That bitch must have had a crystal ball, in addition to being wise beyond her years - I wish I had some anti-man joke about screwing in a light bulb, but I don't so, you'll have to do with with out.
And later in the song she proclaims: "Our daughters' daughters will adore us and they'll sing in grateful chorus, "Well done, sister suffragettes." And I hope you do, ladies. I hope you do.
Anyway, this is getting far longer than I expected. Tonight - I propose everyone raise their glasses high - in honor of the American suffragists - Lucretia Mott, Elizabeth Cady Stanton (I'd call her Libby, just for kicks) & Suzie Anthony - you go girls. You are so welcome.
Even though none of you looked like women, you sure did knock it out of the park for women's rights.