Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
You'll spend the next three hours explaining that feminists are not lesbians. Nothing can shoot down a nice buzz like being looked at like you're some enraged "man hater" and then taking on the insecurity of looking like a huge lez. I love lesbians (Ellen call me, let's do lunch.), I'm just not one.
For men, this is extremely hard to understand, seeing as they think their gender could do no wrong, and the only reason we'd feel the need to be "as strong as" is if we are big bull dikes.
Feminism has such a negative connotation attached to it, not only to men but to women as well. Rather than seeing the positive, empowering beliefs a feminist would embody, they see it as small minded, angry, aggressive and exclusive.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Ha! Food! The way to a mans heart is through his stomach? Um, I'm sorry, the way to a man's heart is through his groin.
Through his crotch. Through the pants snake. And of course our mothers said it was because of her casserole, cause SHIT- she didn't want to say, "Well, I really got him when I did a full routine to 'Hot For Teacher' followed by a remix of Welcome to the Jungle Oo! You should've seen his face!"
Yeah. So casserole and lasagna was the way to go.
Now, I say stripping because....the music says so. And I always follow the music.
Many hours have been spent in the recording studios specifically to create the: Ode to the Stripper.
Bills have been folded, and tapped on the ends of stages, college funds have been dipped into and elaborate "poker night" lies have been devised. All, for, the stripper.
Not for the baby mama, not for the dance recital, not for the softball game or the family reunion. THE STRIPPER.
Which hey, ladies go on and do your thing...if I had nicer boobs- meaning BIGGER, since they're nice and small, (often non-exsistant depending on how much bread I eat)I'd strip. Amatuer night here I coooomme!!! Neon lycra thongs? Oh, I would buy them in a rainbow of colors and get my initials tattooed on my ass. In Old English writing.
I'm about to board a plane to NYC...My move is now offical. My angels were working tricks like gangbusters up there and the apartment panned out. At least for awhile, I'll be staying in a friend's loft in Chelsea. Chelsea in Chelsea. Holla.
So I leave you with this- some strip songs.
Since, ya know, it's almost Valentines Day...and we've all wanted to buy a pink feather boa robe to seductively shimmy off, and whip at our man in FULL STRIPPER SEDUCTION. Don't deny it. With matching heels even, you know the kind.
So ladies, go work on your routine. Fuck chocolates and a nice dinner....that was all a sham. He wants you to get naked. slowly.
For your disrobing convenience, I have provided you with a soundtrack. Godspeed.
Paula Cole (block out the hairy armpits if you will)-"Feelin' Love"
Justin Timberlake & 50Cent-"Ayo Technology"
Snoop Dogg- "Sensual Seduction" I had to do the obvious.
Sweet Chaarity- "Big Spender"
T-Pain-"I'm in luv with a stripper"- not LOVE, but luv.
ZZ Top- "Leggs"
Usher- "That's what it's made for"
So, I may not be on for a couple days while I get settled in the city (hit me up if you're in NYC!) so...I expect full reports on your stripper success. I promise, it'll be a SUPERB V-day.
What are YOUR stripper tunes????
Sunday, February 10, 2008
"Um, I'd do it for ten grand." No hesitation there.
"AND, I would be mad at you if you didn't!!" My grandma responds without haste over a glass of red wine.
This is precisely why I love my family. We have Sunday dinner, every Sunday...since as long as I can remember. Usually it's Italian food, since- we're Italian. But we mix it up with taco/margarita nights, and often pizza. Since, pizza fucking rocks, and everyone likes a good excuse to quench their thirst with a frosty glass of beer.
And honestly, it's the thing I miss the ABSOLUTE MOST when I'm away, not the beer, the family. I don't miss the full pantry of food, I don't miss the security so much, I don't miss my bed, I miss my family. I miss Sundays. My favorite day.
I miss "Family Olympics" let's just say we're a competitive bunch, so we like to challenge each other to games like pole-vaulting with tree branches, and trivia. My mother is convinced she is the smartest person alive, so things often get loud. We debate, we talk over each other, we disagree, we cook together, we're uncensored, we kiss each other's foreheads and gush over how we happen to be the GREATEST FAMILY EVER, who totally deserve a reality show. (MTV, Get in contact with my people.)
And every time I decide to flee, they get me a farewell cake and wrap me in hugs of encouragement, strength and send me with a shot for road.
The red wine flows like water. Purple teeth and lips grin widely and laugh loudly. We get entirely inappropriate, and they still manage to accept me when I have a glass too many and confess my trashy lapses in judgement, and for good measure they offer me their stories too:
Granny, when my mom found her bong as a teenager,"OOOOHHHHH...I was just keeping it for my friend!!!" Though, she's also the one who had a pet raccoon named, Cocaine Sadie. A fucking RACCOON. I couldn't make that up, I'm not that good.
I always want them to know how much I love and adore them. We express it openly, but I want to tattoo my face with their names to show my gratitude.
I would clean their toilets for the rest of eternity, I would pay their taxes and take them to trips in Tuscany, if I could. I would take on a wild pack of hyena's with my bare hands if it would make them more content.
Anything I could do to make their lives better, I would do- they're the most important thing to me in the world, and for all of the dysfunction families can have, all of the differences and "faults", I am proud to put a stamp on them all and call them mine.
So, when my uncle asked if I'd punch my Granny in the face for a million dollars, when she was sitting across the table....Of course I said yes, cause I'd give the entire million back to her after the hit.
Ok, maybe not THE WHOLE million.
Would you punch your Granny??
Saturday, February 9, 2008
"Lean with it, rock with it" blares over the radio station and my hope crashes to the floor, with a shattering outcry of...Fuuuucccck.
"What?! What's wrong?! Are you okay?!"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry mom, I missed the Cash Cow "Jam of the day" and I really needed to win a grand. Fuck."
Ok, you know you're in desperate need of money when you waste an hours worth of gas, driving out of the way, all day long, waiting for the song of the day to come on. My finger on the dial, ready to call in, I even practiced my scream of JOY. Complete jubilation. Eh, lost cause.
So I failed to win money, but what did I not fail at??? Oh, taking the ACT today.
Yes, I said ACT. I realize that I'm five years late. I should've done it when I was 18, but instead I said "fuck school, I'm too busy trying to be famous." and actually, I was. The ACT wasn't even a thought, there was no consideration, studying, planning, etc.
Until now that I'm taking classes in May, at a four year university. I had vowed, I would NEVER ever, go to school. Not because I didn't love school, the actual process of learning, but because it didn't seem to fit in my 18 year old version of a "life plan."
So today, 8 am- number 2 pencils in tow, a baggie of Teddy Grahms, and BAM. ALL of that high school insecurities I had managed to ward off (since I was 15, I began homeschooling at 15) came flooding back like a fucking tsunami.
Fidgiting fingers, hair smoothing, unnecessary throat clearing, feeling complete judgment when walking into a room of 20 teenagers who look like they want to jump you for your lunch money, and girls who are evaluating what type of eyeliner you use and if you're elligible for future boyfriend stealing, or gossip topics.
I did NOT miss this bullshit. I didn't miss the industrial toilet paper that hurts your ass, the teachers with scowling faces, fleece jackets and scrunchies. I didn't miss self doubt, even if its a constant, as you grow it's manageable. I didn't miss the bad lighting or the rules.
Though being an adult comes with a slew of responsibilty that I'm completely aware, I am still unqualified for, it also comes with a sense of self assurance.
An assurance that I think only comes when you've decided to come into your own, live in your skin- even if it's blotchy, blemished or uncomfortable.
An assurance that doesn't mind a room full of strangers but sees it as an opportunity to connect and observe personalities different from your own. An assurance that doesn't hunch or pray to go unseen, that doesn't immediately question what their wearing if it isn't the standard jeans and tee. An assurance that has a voice seperate from the school body as a whole, and a voice that they aren't afraid to use- even if it's different from everyone elses.
I throw my hands to sky with clenched fists when I miss the "song of the day" because, I don't want to be chased by the IRS in April when I'm struggling to pay taxes, but would I trade that to revert back and take on the crippling sense of insecurity, dependance and to contort myself to fit into the mold of adolescence??
What's the best quality you've gained since leaving school?
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The fame that these people have aquired is TRULY. Magical. They must descend from voodoo practitioners, or have insanely stellar karmic pasts. They assisted in the underground railroad or saved children from Nazi's. Maybe they gave out full candy bars at Halloween?? Something.
Other than that. Or maybe a stash of four leaf clovers kissed by Irish saints, they have stumbled into unjustifiable....luck based, and entirely unnecessary, fame.
*Can we talk about Ashlee Simpson? I think we should.
She, is an identity stealer. Straight ninja. Someone should tell her to please...find yourself, go on a fucking retreat, instead of overthrowing Ashley Olsen's identity and then discarding it for that barely famous Fine Frenzy girl's image. I miss the squealing "LALA" Ashlee who shamelessly ate pancakes and looked scrubby on national television. Put the Stepford Wife back into the closet, we're here for you. And pick up a box of L'oreal hair dye at Rite Aid on the way.
You must be incredibly grateful, and you should lick your sister's platforms for treading out a path that you could drunkenly skip down with boys who like rhinestoned hoodies and eyeliner.
*Dear Heidi Montag,
I'm embarrassed for even knowing your full name, but not nearly as embarrassed as I am about the VIDEO you just made.
Just because you have money, and you know some men with one syllable names (J, Trey, C, D, followed by fizzle, izzle, and money.) who have expensive beat makers- that does NOT make you a singer. And fake boobs do NOT make you a pop star. Blonde, does not make you "hot" and beach frolicking- Britney did it better.
Chelsea Talks Smack
P.S. I'd take up knitting, baking, Kegel exercizes and other housewife duties since, you know, you date a chauvenist.
Who makes these decisions? What executive is sitting behind his desk and starts letting his little head think for his big one when "butta face" Heidi walks in and asks for a record deal?
Who wrote a check for millions and passed it across his cherrywood table, in his office with a view, to fund the careers of the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus?? And did he think of anything other than his forthcoming "black card" when he/she spoon fed all of America's youth, trash? Thus, sending them into a future of "sheep-ple" syndrome, a syndrome that will buy anything, will sticker their notebooks and paint their faces with the only options available and call it talent.
Who listened to a proposal, read a script, talked over "lunch", and conferenced via webcam, to fund movies like "Over Her Dead Body" and "Honey"; then instead of making the money useful they attempted to trick us with beautiful women to camouflage a shitty script. Wasting their money, their time, and insulting our intelligence thinking we'd "buy it."
Given the opportunity to sit behind "the desk", what lapses in judgment have been made, that YOU would have been able to foresee as failure????You're aren't allowed to say the movie "Glitter".
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
I turn into a Neaderthal and use mostly vowel sounds- Ah, eh, eeeee, oh. and GAH. I'd only use OO if I were maybe talking to a baby or something magical happened, like I could move my fucking pen through telekinesis across the room. I'm in true caveman form and it's fairly simple to understand. Straight to the point, minus all the babble.
I was supposed to teach voice lessons today and GAAAH, I left my keys- in my Mothers car. She left before I could figure that out, so I had to cancel all of my lessons, lost out on some much needed cash AND am confined to my home. all. day.
Confinement does not make me productive. Rather than writing, reading, doing a Yoga tape, or perusing CNN or other informative sites to keep up on current events. I procrastinate, do random sets of wind sprints from my fireplace to the microwave while making hot cocoa, and most dangerous of all.....I window shop. Window in the computer sense.
Right now I have: Nordstroms, Urban Outfitters, Lucky, Sephora, Marc Jacobs, and InStyle, open in windows on my screen. Literally, plastering the screen behind this one making a collage of pretty little things I currently cannot afford.
This, I understand, is materialistic and vain and probably some strange form of torture that should have a name.....Who do you contact when naming new forms of torture that you think are Webster worthy?? Mr. Webster?
So here are the things I would like to buy using my imaginary bank account:
Shiny Shoes. Since, hey, I like my shoes to be as bright as my future.
Dear Marc Jacobs,
You. are. a snobby, snobby man. $748.00 dollars?! WHAT. DO YOU THINK THE REST OF US PAUPERS DO?? I am not royalty, and I do not think I am royalty like Paris Hilton, BUT, I would appreciate these shoes far more than the people who can afford them. These shoes will become sad, abandoned footwear in 4 months, in the back of some heiresses closet, with dusty Louis Vuitton bags and your previous fall collection. Work on your prices.
Sad Consumer Chelsea Talks Smack
I like my shoes so shiny in fact, that when I wear these T-shirts, I could either be mistaken for The Lord himself, or I can scream my political views at you without risking damage to the chops.
I've also found out- through my time sucking, black hole of internet "shopping", that pleating is coming back. Pleats?! NO. I am not, nor have I ever been a fan of the school girl/tennis player chic. You will not find me in pleats. ever. I'd rather Hammer Pants come back than pleats.
And in closing, the perfect little pouch for carrot sticks, change and condoms:
However, if you hand me a chicken wing I will not deny you.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
My day to day listening is more indie oriented,I connect more with it, obviously since I'm dramatic and from the 'burbs, but sometimes, I simply feel like bouncing to mindless sugary beats rather than crawling inside my introspective cave that has a special cozy corner in my brain.
So I feel, as a closet listener, or often (in an altered state of mind) not such a closet listener (HELLO DRUNK KARAOKE. CLASSY.), that I'll give back to rap community with translations for the rest of you indie folk. And beyond. Rap community, here is my version of a bake sale, I would like to offer my time as translator;
From the brain of Flo Rida, "Make it rain, I'm makin it snow
Work the pole, I got the bank roll" Translation: The more naked you get, the more dollars you get. He's letting you know, he's got the cash to stick in your crack. After you hit the 'flo (FLOOR.)
From the genius of Lupe Fiasco, "Kick push, kick push, coast." Translation: White boys with dirty skater shoes, this is for you. Pull out your vans and your best Tony Hawk impressions and become one with your connection to LUPE.
Two brains are better than one with Bow Wow and Omarion, "Her jeans be riding low
Homies breakin they neck,Just to see how far they go down down" Translation: Ladies, these are both ASS MEN. Thats all you need to know, and don't worry their necks are fine.
Oh Fiddy, you're more like a dolla' holla',In 21 Qestions, 50 is feeling a bit insecure; " If I didn't smell so good would you still hug me? If I got locked up and sentenced to a quarter century,
Could I count on you to be there to support me mentally?" Translation:
The answers to these questions should be NO AND NO. I don't like smelly ballsacs or convicts. He's got more where that came from, hello...."magic stick" anyone?
Chris Brown needs to ENUNCIATE- "She want that lovey dovey (lovey dovey)
that kiss kiss (kiss kiss)" Translation: Who else was convinced he was saying Laffy Taffy?? I was going to attempt translating that but it made no fucking sense.
Cassidy f Swizz Beats are drinkin' and two steppin , "The whip sittin on two-sixes, the lip's chromed. My money used to be immature now my shit grown" Translastion: Cassidy has a nice ride. Ride= car. Apparently he used to spend his money on bubblegum and action figures, now he's GROWN, so the dollars are reserved for shiny things and bitches.
Busta Rhymes would like some applause, "Make it clap" Translation: Put your hands down. Get off the stairstepper. Grab a piece of fried chicken. This is no peanut gallery and no need to say Bravo, let those cheeks flap away, and if you have a moment I would consider referencing this entire song for true lyric genius.
At the Holidae Inn (this must be a different chain than the usual HOLIDAY) with Chingy he'll tell you, "Ya that's me, Ching-a-ling equipped wit much ding-a-ling" Translation: His mother forgot to tell him the "big boy" word for penis.
If you ever find yourself at this Holidae Inn, the beer is in the bathtub and the Hennessy is down someone's pants. Weed is welcome if you bring shawties= chicks.
And to the late Biggie Smalls,"Pull the truck up, front, and roll up the next blunt, So we can steam on the way to the telly, go fill my belly A t-bone steak, cheese eggs and Welch's grape" Translastion: Only TRUE legends can reference Welch's and remain "Big Poppa". Ladies Biggie liked ass, but he really just wanted a nice piece of meat. Literally.
Feel free to contribute to my rap community service with your translations......
::updates on my move to NYC to come::
Friday, February 1, 2008
My question is, between his stance on healthcare and his strategy on exiting Iraq, during his pauses and frequent "uh's" is he thinking about sex every 7-10 seconds like the rest of the male population?? Or is he too much of a robotic polical genius? "Roboma"....Poses the question, does the "sex mind" of a man have an on/off switch during important events like debates and law making??? Please, talk amongst yourselves.
"And frankly..."= saying something I probably shouldn't.
Practicing gang signs when songs come on that say, "Throw your DUBS in the air" = Finger gymnastics. Gangsters need seriously limber phalanges to throw down.
My sister saying, "I have three crushes....wait, NO, Two." Me: "What happened to the third guy?" HER: "Oh, he got a haircut." = Longing for when "love" was as simple as a haircut. If I could choose love or lust based on; shaggy, buzz or 'fro, dating would be cake.
"Can't have your cake and eat it too"= what's the point of a mother fucking cake if you can't eat it?
What are your equations my lovely bloggy friends???