Kitty Power

Friend Speak

In continuing with the "I'm a random magnet" train of thought, I've realized that no matter what stage of my life I'm in (or something), the friends I have are essential archetypes in my life. I used to say that they're all nothing alike to each other, but they've all got a piece of the pathwork that makes up me. Trendvickster and I were/are wide-eyed and optimistic together when I'm not letting whatever beat me down. Jay, PrincessNella, and I are charismatic cynical bitches with sharp tongues and big laughs. Tino, Alex and I are the adventure seekers -- up for whatever, down for whatever with those glints in our eyes while looking deceptively fresh-faced. Mr. KT and I have vibrant personalities and dirty minds/mouths that you would never guess looking at our sweet little faces. Every once in a while, I get latched onto by a Dancing Queen or my ex-housemate and we share that reckless, hypersexual, fun-loving nature. But, that part has been toned down in my old age. It's an intensity that I can't keep up. All kinds of shit ensues that'll drain the hell out of you. The guys that pass through are all the same too. Wolves in sheep's clothing, occasionally just a bad sheep mask. I think I'm officially over it. For the 8,000,000th time. Doubt it'll stick.

"Misadventure is all around."

"Misadventure is all around." An email quote from Mr. Scenester earlier in the summer.

Being that it's August 29th and all, for all intents and purposes the summer is over. It's been good -- despite the extended Middletown residency and the lack of a job/funds and various things I bent myself out of shape about over the course. Truthfully, I'm easy to please about now. I enjoy random episodes, good company, strong drinks and interesting music. I'm so wonderfully glad to be out of school that the world is totally fine with me. Hopefully the fall will be equally as fun but different. I've got to admit that I'm on the flighty side, new things are needed to keep me amused.

Last night was rolling with Random, a new friend I met where I tend to meet everyone (besides the net, natch). He's funny and crazy and we met in what has to be the ultimate of randomness, hence the pseudonym. I've been drafted into the subversive randoms coalition. That's right up my alley. We went back to the scene of Wednesday's jump off and the bartender there is my new friend. She's a little bitchy in that good way yet completely chill with the coolest hoodie:

Wednesday she gave us stickers! Yay! From there, we went here where I got to practice my belly dancing skills. Bet you didn't know I used to do that shit for a min, eh? Indian dance for a min back in high school too. How ya like me now? Hehe. From there to another place where it was so empty that the highlight was surfing the net and being squicked by this guy unashamedly looking at straight up porn. It's was like "you do realize this is a club, right? Get up and drink and dance. Go home to look at that." Not that there's anything wrong with porn. Porn is good, fantastic even. Total endorsement from the Kitty Power corner.

Random left at this point because he indeed in that working world I happen to know nothing about. I strolled over to my place and was at first surprised because some of the usual suspects weren't in attendance. Strange, I noted, but I made a new instafriend. I totally attract the randoms I swear. I must give off "seek me out for chill conversation and acceptance of your randomness" vibes. Then again, I'm random as hell, so it must be a birds of a feather type deal. She's a crazy dancing completely in the mix sort. We were chatting about something strange and having one of those instafriend episodes. In walks Mr. Man, drunk as hell and telling me that he just ran back from "Puffy's VMA party." I gave my typical "whatever" look and perhaps even a shrug. You don't impress me, you name-dropping SOB! I mean, hey, I totally believe it, but he threw that in as bait. In case you haven't noticed, I'm hypercynical, but besides that I grew up with boys and my best friends are guys, so I know all the games when I hear them. Never let them get a rise out of you. Ms. Dancing Queen decided though that he was next on her conquest list. Their little pre-running off dance was kinda pathetic, especially at the same time, she's just finished saying what a player and woman hater he is but that she'll "fuck him" instead of the other way around. Right. Have I mentioned that I'm glad that I've kept myself to only going there to chill? Well I am. I felt like I was watching a cliche play out in front of my eyes. You know the surefure way to get over a pre-crush? Watch him embroiled in all sorts of grimeyness.

To Be A Woman

I read this article (via One Man Army) about how it sucks to be a woman out and about and now I'm annoyed. Granted, I can agree that it takes preparation to be "cute" or whatever, but did she have to take the most hackneyed stance. Women have it so hard because we can't eat big dinners and have to teeter on 4-inch heels in short skirts all the time...Wah! What a crock of shit. I suppose the feminist is rising up, but of all things to complain about why does her focus have to be on the most superficial typical things like shoes, hair, makeup, nails, weight and dieting? What can suck about being a woman is that you can get harassed because someone feels that your body is up for commentary by the peanut gallery, that your strength can be undermined when people won't take you seriously because of what you look like, and that those who offer you that free drink can be under the false impression that you owe them something. But fuck that it "sucks because I have to spend a lot of time looking pretty" garbage. That's between you, Cosmo, and genetics.

A Crazy Wednesday

An exchange that loses something out of context:

Moi: (feeling a hand on my ass) Hey now...am I here to sleep or get molested?
Him: Get molested.
Moi: Okay. Just making sure.

Last night was total craziness. Yay for secret party Wednesday! To say that I got fucked up would be the understatement of the year. It made Saturday look like child's play. I'm sure my liver was in pain at a certain point because we were throwing them back like it was water. Another thing I've missed about school is camaraderie in debauchery -- well no, I haven't missed Wes for that at all. Just Alex. He was the catalyst for many of the funny silly drunken episodes. And he's coming back to NYC soon! (And if he reads this, I want a Portuguese souvenir!) I and my companions made the most of the square block before calling it a night stupendously early for me. I hit a second wind after the exchange above, natch. And I'm currently desperately needing a serious nap before setting out tonight. And a friend wants to hang out and I have potential for doing up an official VMA party. Ugghh. The lifestyle's working me harder than a job could.

Music Musings

If I didn't already have songs of the week, the winner would have to be "PDA" by Interpol. I've been all about it the past coupe of days. I was kinda surprised when I liked them and The Strokes. They both evoke strange feelings of having heard it all before yet it's kinda fresh at the same time. Interpol sounds like they totally could be on one of my 80s new wave tapes or something. Rock music is something that can't really be slammed (too hard) for being derivative. I mean, everyone's starting off with the same basic tools -- guitar, bass, drums -- and no one's going reinvent the wheel or anything. Groups excel by putting on their individual spin, but everyone is starting from an influence and making their own mash. Radiohead invokes Pink Floyd for me, The Sea and Cake is kinda neo-Steely Dan sometimes, and I completely think of my friend Alex's band as jumping off from Red Hot Chili Peppers. And that's okay. Everything goes in cycles. I hate it when things get hyped as the Savior of Rock or whatever garbage. Rock is not dead and never has been, but every musical genre needs the whole evolutional process when it goes hyper commercial and the fringes is where the new vanguard is developing. Like hip-hop right now. Chingy is not cutting edge or that interesting, but it's got a good beat and you can dance to it. Lyrically, I'm not feeling anyone, but the IDM-hip hop developments on the fringe like Prefuse73 and El-P's Fandam Plus were sick. But, you need more than that head nod stuff. The original N.E.R.D. album that got shelved in the States was great in the total mash-up of 70s pop and electro funk. The mainstream's not ready. but piece by piece it's getting there. I think music is kinda exciting right now because even the so called mainstream is all fractured with all these different flavors. The bhangra and two-step mashups, the old school electro, dancehall everywhere, simple rock and the experimenters. If I was buying vinyl right now, I'd be broke as hell. But I miss my radio show because I'd have some kickass mixtapes.

Yet another bananas week...

Yet another bananas week ahead. I can not believe that Labor Day is Monday. In fact, I'm refusing to believe in. I mean, it's just a same old Monday to be really but for a change everyone else'll be off too.

VMA fever is trying to catch on. I swear, I haven't been so blah about one of those shows in years. When I was younger, I used to be obsessed with it. We would run down to Radio City and watch the arrivals and now I'd be clueless if I happened to pass through the crowds. Madonna and Twitney "singing" together on sta....*snore* Oh, sorry, what was I talking about? Still, I'm all stoked about the $8.28 dinner special. Food is something I care about. I'm kinda interested in catching something at Katz or Oliva for cheap. Oliva, btw, is where my Gael Garcia Bernal bizarro works. Plus two of my friendsters are throwing an afterparty at where else.

I was chatting with one of those Friendsters outside the place Monday. He pretty much explained the recent explosion of interest in me there as people being drawn because I'm a regular yet still kinda mysterious. I only selectively talk and I have the cocked to the side Kangol style plus I'm not fawning over anyone all "ooh...you're a DJ," "ooh...hook me up Mr. Bartender" and all that tripe. Speaking of women throwing themselves at folks indiscrimately, since when is it the norm for chicks to be throwing their breasts around for free bus rides? I wanna be like "listen Chickenhead, the bus is a $1 most of the time. Get a grip," even though I suppose I might understand what it means to be sub broke a little too well. But still, that's wack.

The Blahs

I've been suffering through the blahs. I'm super restless. Luckily, I've got an interview Wednesday but some time this week, I need to go up to Middletown for the day to retrieve my sleeping bag and various files off the office computer -- and maybe send people their pictures back, if I feel like it. I went to the usual place and found myself sitting outside on the front step more than socializing. I just totally wasn't in the mood. This guy called himself being all slick and sliding up to me, whispering in my ear: "You wanna dance?" I shot him a nasty look and said: "if I wanted to dance, don't you think I'd be on the dance floor instead of holding up the wall?" I mentally added "bizzounce!" and indeed he did. I wasn't feeling the crowd at all tonight. Everyone was so fucking hip that it was painful. I know I'm going against the grain and knocking what's hip, but I'm not feeling this 80s revival shit at all. Sure, I rock the Adidas and the Kangol, but that's got flavor. Who would willingly try to look like Cyndi Lauper or Dale from Missing Persons all these years later when we know they were just playing and/or high as fuck? There's nothing cool or "ironic" about looking like a technicolor clown. Then again, I'm just a hater. I've been hating everything -- and almost everybody -- for a week and change now. As my away message tends to say: "Haterade. Tastes great and less filling." A byproduct of the blahs I'm afraid.

To honor both my blahs and my hate, I've got two songs of the week. Numero uno is STP because I've been having a high school era renaissance:

I'm lookin' for a new stimulation
Quite bored of those inflatable ties
I'm lookin' for a new rock sensation
Dead fish don't swim around in jealous tides

I made excuses for a million lies
But all I got was humble kidney pie
So what

I want somebody to walk up behind me
And kiss me on my neck and breathe on my neck

If you want to feel me
Better be divine
Bring me water, water for my mind
Give me nothin
Breathe love in my air
Don’t abuse me
Cause these herbs are rare

Thought of the day

Thought of the day: I really need to get my license already.

I've been thinking about how different my life could be if I drove. I would be able to take trips, get more people to go out with me, make coming home late at night infinitely easier, generally move around better and be a rarity amongst native city people I know. Hey, if she can learn to drive at 43, I can be ahead of the game and be a licensed driver at 22. I do actually know how to drive and park and stuff, but I haven't practiced since about September. I'll put that in the goal for Turkey Day category since that apartment thing is looking hella unlikely about now.

Ask Men Okay

Mr. KT and I get a kick out of surfing Ask Men. Him for obvious reasons and me because I tend to "think like a guy" about most relating things. I was reading it tonight and was kinda taken by their version of a surefire way to segue a conversation into something else. I gotta admit that it's shit simple. Imagine that -- getting a person into you by talking to them, listening to what they have to say and responding accordingly. Mind-blowing.

Thursday I was like a poster child for what not to do. Need I say where I was? Do I really go much of anywhere else? Besides, the Thursday party is thrown by my Friendsters, so I can get hooked up -- more than usual -- like a mofo. One of the things I love about the place is that most of the people rolling through are connected to the place, i.e. other night promoters, DJs, bartenders, etc just hanging out and kicking it. Despite the other day's assertion that platonic is ideal, there is one dude who I see there all the time and just kinda trade looks with, but nothing's ever come of it -- not that I'm necessarily trying or not one way or another. So, the typical was occuring and I was chatting with my boys and not really thinking much about it. At one point, I'm waiting for the bathroom, contemplating that the bitch ahead of me must've fallen in the toilet or something. Stupid heffa. The guy himself stands next to me and we start chatting:

Mr. Man: You waiting?
Moi: Yep.
Mr. Man: You know if someone's in this one? (gesturing towards the men's room)
Moi: No clue.
The door swings open on the men's and Mr. Man grabs it as a guy walks past
Mr. Man: Do you mind if I go? I have to go up and DJ in a min.
Moi: *shrug* It's all you.
Mr. Man goes in the bathroom and I raise my palm in a "WTF was that about?" sign.

It's a good thing I don't actually wonder why there's nothing happening romantically with me. My middle name is Self-Sabotage. Like I said though, it's no biggie. He might be fine (and indeed he is), but in my indifferent state, unless he steps up his 3:30am drunken chatter/game or I become less indifferent, it doesn't really matter.

Party Madness

I found out last night the one thing I truly miss about Wes: house parties. Truthfully, the kids I know in the city aren't big on throwing things at their homes besides pre-parties to ease up the drink costs on our wallets. Especially my last couple of weeks at school, there were these impromptu gatherings where we would just sit around, drink and chill like mad. It was great.

My initial plan for yesterday was the scavenger hunt and if were done before too late, a gathering Jenny had told me about in Williamsburg. Instead, I hung around with PrincessNella for hours and watched Knockaround Guys (good movie, btw) and bits of Like Mike and The Fast and the Furious. I hit Manhattan about midnight and couldn't find my team, so it was off to the gathering with me. I got there and spent a good half hour feeling like a kicked puppy outcast until I fell in with supersocial kids that helped me break the ice. That plus a drink (that turned into a few, including some I poured which always means trouble) had me incredibly good for a while. The people were really cool and I ran into a girl who went to my HS briefly (not that I knew her or anything). Have I ever said that NYC might as well only have 3,000 people in it because I run into people I'm connected to all the time?

Kids were smoking all around me and at first I was indulging in the cigarettes but nothing else. The school connect girl told a story of how she smoked up and ended up in the hospital and I was all "none of that for me. I'm presently scared shitless." But this other girl came out with the declaration that "everything is better high. Absolutely any and everything." As I've said before and all my school people know, I don't smoke. Not for any particular reason besides everyone else does plus the fact I'm like future junkie template. I've got an insanely addictive personality. For the record, I might smoke some cigs (with the occasional cloves and hookah) and drink hard liquor exclusively, but I leave alone chocolate (former allergy), beer (looks like piss, smells like piss, tastes like piss...why would I waste my time?), caffeine, weed and most drugs. During my Wes Middle Ages a.k.a. "oh shit, I have 50 pages to write by next week and I have like 5 plus the goddamned yearbook has to get done somehow and I must've been crazy to want to do that fucking job," otherwise known as May -- it's the Middle compared to the Dark Ages because that was The Continental Chronicles Part 1-8 and my depressed pre-DC state where I was about as fun and lively as a dentist with a drill aiming for your mouth. During that time, I was a little smarter yet nowhere near the civilized progression -- I experimented with coffee as a last resort to get me jump started. Drinking it felt great for my focus, it was like my brain was locked into place. But, the twitching...bad, likewise the fact that I couldn't stop at one cup. My first night of the stuff was a 4 cup, I'm-bouncing-off-the-walls affair. I was telling my father about the whole episode a while later and he said that it sounded like I was on drugs. No kidding. That's how it felt.

The other week Farmer and his friends asked me point blank if I smoked and I was all "nah." They looked at me like I said "I'm a lizard and I eat people. Call me Mothra" because seriously, not only am I a jobless 22 but not even a fun one with the usual vices. So, last night when they were passing the pipe, I took some hits but I didn't feel a thing. Sure, I was knocking over the bottles on the floor near my chair, but hey, so was everyone else and that was more the liquor. I'm a super social "everybody's my friend" type of a clumsy ass drunk.

Sometime around 6:30/7am, most of the kids and I trotted off to the train. I hate weekend subway shit because despite going from Brooklyn to Queens on the G and then switching for the purpose of getting to Jamaica, I woke up at 34th Street once and then again at 2nd Avenue before I could get my shit together and get to Parsons. I'd like to say that the weed gave me the stupids, but I've been dumb all weekend. I've had some serious trouble focusing and doing what I had to, hence bailing on the scavenger hunt. I'm just a bad person, it's true, but I think that was my last smoke up for a while: one because it didn't do shit and two because the real reason I don't smoke up (or buy my own cigs) is because I can't afford that shit and it's just something else to throw my money away on. No thanks. So, I got home at 10am and I'm just wide awake. I think the fun part was waiting for the G and feeling like my eyes were totally disconnected from my body. That was dope. Wasting mad time in the subway and having my bus transfer expire, not so dope for sure.

Bah

Bah...this Midnight Madness thing might end up being a lot more work than I initially anticipated. I was expecting when I signed up to chill with people for a couple of hours doing fun scavenger hunt type things and then going about my business to the parties that are coming out of the woodwork. Alas, I get an email earlier that's all: "we keep this shit going until dawn!" Hmm...not making a kitty happy. If they keep that shit going until dawn with some refreshing crunk getting beverages, then I'm all for that. Otherwise, a kid's gonna contemplate jumping ship. Sad but true.

Home Bars

A suggestion to everyone is to have a spot where you can go and everyone knows you. I've got my very own Cheers type hangout spot -- if that place was reimagined as a two-room joint with a bumping sound system and dim lights. All of those plans I had for yesterday totally fell through due to dragging my feet and Murphy's Law concerning the best laid plans and all that. But still, I went out to my spot and just chilled the whole night. I'm the resident fresh faced ingenue I suppose. My homeboy the barback was joking that I should be leaving soon to get home at a decent hour (not that I listened) because he thinks of me as a little sister and I shouldn't be out late. I laughed and scoffed in good humor. I'm popular there with all the staff guys. It's all harmless chatting on my end -- who knows what any of them are thinking. Except for the barback, all of them are on the far side of 25 with 30 directly in sight. I suppose it's somewhat cruel for me to say but I have no interest -- not even passing -- in someone more than 5 years older than me. With the most rare of exceptions, I don't have a fucking thing in common with them. I'm feeling like the most stereotypical of a recent college grad: totally clueless and doing basically nothing as I live with my 'rents and wish that a job would just fall from the sky. I'd like to hope someone substantially older than me has their shit together...and if they don't, why would I want to be with them? I have enough trouble dealing with my slacker issues. Two of us would be some asstastic drama that wouldn't be pretty. With that said, I still like chatting with the guys and I hope they see me as a little sister too. I realized today I go there to stay out of trouble. When you're somewhere that people know you, you're less likely to act a fool because they're watching you like a hawk and will bring that shit up next time they see you. It's like a built in conscience. And also motivation for when I finally do break out and have my long overdue summer wildness to go somewhere else. Like I could go apeshit here. Who would know the difference?

"Waaarriors...come out and plaaay!" They're showing that tonight at midnight at Sunshine. I'd be there for sure if I hadn't seen it a million times on cable in my lifetime. The crowd should be pretty chill for that though. I'll most likely be in the general area knowing me, so perhaps I can be persuaded. In this movie is James Remar, most recently playing Samantha's cheating ex on Sex and the City. He is fine...even at 50. The exceptions to my "you're old, fuck off!" rule include him, Billy Zane, Viggo Mortensen, Michael Wincott, Blair Underwood and Adrian Paul. They might be in the "dude, you're pushing my mom's age" category, but I don't care. If it could happen, I'd be all over that like gravy on rice. I'm just saying.

My prerogative…not just a song, it's a state of mind...

My prerogative…not just a song, it’s a state of mind. This little kitty is experiencing the blahs. I’m partied out. I’m looking for alternative stimulation. I suppose that’s because my whole week has been screwed up by Tuesday being such a freaking rager. I’m type tired.

With that said, I’m finally venturing out the house cave today. I need to see people and be social, but perhaps lay off the sauce. I might even be home before *gasp* 2am tonight. I’m finally checking out the Fela exhibit going on at the New Museum – especially since it’s $3 entry on Thursday nights. Hey, I’ve probably lost my student discounts privileges, so a kid’s gotta take a deal where she can! (In an aside, my first instinct is to call that place the Newseum, which would be totally wrong because there is already one of those in DC and it’s awesome.) And I’m meeting up with the throwers of the hottest store party hybrids in the city to catch this movie Afropunk. I was actually gonna hold out for the Saturday showing, but since my weekend’s looking jammed packed like a mofo, there’s no time like the present. The screening’s at Pianos which should prove an adventure.

Another reason I’ve been in is because Tuesday drove home some irritation I’ve been feeling. At the store opening that blew, I saw a group of people that are extremely familiar to me. Strange because I have no idea who the hell they are. But I know them by face because I saw them here, there, and here, and there, and this one too and various other events and spots around town. They are the present scenesters, the black bohemian variety that occasionally I aspire to be. You’d think as a scenestress in training, I’d get to know them and hang, making contacts and getting the hookups yadda yadda what’d you’d expect from someone that professes to want to go into PR, but fuck, I’m sick of looking at them. NYC is downright claustrophobic for me sometimes. If I’m not running into someone from one alma mater, it’s the other. I run into people I’ve only seen online via Nerve or whatever. Even online, I run into someone who knows people I know and I can connect myself and various nemeses in less than four degrees. Add to that, I haven’t decided what I want “my scene” to be and as I’ve discovered everywhere else eventually, though you see yourself as fluid and able to defy characterizations, other people don’t see it quite that way and will give you static. So, the question remains for me: what to do? I obviously can’t hide in the cave forever because truthfully, though I might be occasionally scared, timid and/or dismissive, I love people and what I love about NYC is the different opportunities for interactions everywhere. I suppose I should suck it up and deal across the board. Being a scenestress is about being in a not-so-loose network. I think this whole dilemma is boiling down to my notoriously convoluted Piscean thinking because as much as I want to be loose and free, I’ve also been feeling a need to settle down and nest. Hmm. I’m starting to confuse myself.

Last Night

Last night was totally surreal...except for the store opening. That was just sucky. Me and a bunch of people I'm beginning to swear I see everywhere standing in a store where they weren't even displaying clothes. It made the scenestress in me feel totally claustrophobic. Add onto that the drinks (which were indeed free, no food to be found when I got there around 8:30) were so strong that they cleared up a sinus problem I didn't even know I had. Yikes. From there to my old standby where I learned that randomness makes the world go around. Yeah, there's a story. You can ask me later.

As I figured Williamsburg was just out of the question, but I've made plans to hang with Jenny there hopefully this weekend. When I'm not playing Midnight Madness, natch. Team Tomato power!

Last minute things I might...

Last minute things I might be running through today:

Free sushi and drinks plus DJs and shopping @ a store opening from 6 to midnight

Belle and Sebastian DJing @ Red and Black in Williamsburg at 10 [via catchdubs]

But knowing me, I might just say fuck it to both and sit at home on the net as is becoming my usual nightlife pasttime, especially since my hair's being a real wanker. Ah well.

Ho hum

Ho hum, party on a train. The kids at Complacent did that a long time ago. Everybody knows that is old news.Then again, when is the Times ever current with what's cool?

For Later Comment

Two interesting thoughts on hip-hop and youth. I want to formulate some sort of a response, but right now I'm sleepy. That's what edit is for I suppose.

ETA: I did eventually have a response. Better late than never.

Modern Medicine

Ah, modern medicine! Am I the only person who found this quote disturbing though:

As one mother-to-be told one of the researchers, “Our vacation is important to the entire family and I would rather have the birth over with than ruin that for everybody.”

Song of the week

Song of the week:

Twenty-nine pearls in your kiss A singing smile Coffee smell and lilac skin Your flame in me

I’m only here for this moment

I know everybody here wants you
I know everybody here thinks he needs you
I’ll be waiting right here just to show you
How our love will blow it all away

Calling Volunteers!

I'm usually pretty blase when it comes to strange organized things around the city a la flash mobs and the Condiment War, but dammit, this looks kinda fun. I missed out on the scavenger hunts and Frisbee Golf games and the like at Wes, so this could be a trip. Besides, my team would probably win because I know these streets like the back of my hand. Calling out 9 volunteers!

Conundrum

Last night was one of those where I spent a lot of time feeling weird. Actually, the last couple of days have been like that. Spending 25 hours with no electricity brought it home my general lingering thought of feeling overstimulated. I'm in a mood to weed out the unnecessary clogging of my space. The strangest thought that hit me was to take the "dating" part off my Friendster profile. I only put that in there in the first place to imply that though I wasn't looking for a "serious relationship," I wanted something besides "friends" which is what I suppose "dating" means. I hate "dating." I don't do it well -- in fact, I don't know how -- and I'd rather avoid it whenever possible. It's like a neverending series of interviews and you have to maintain that sunny false front. There should be a category that envelopes "chilling just for kicks -- no pressure -- and if I decide I like you (or just get the urge), I might have sex with you. Again, no pressure." or is that dating and I never got the memo? (Oops, mentioned the "s" word. Silly me, I keep doing that.)

But what does it matter anyway because I don't want to do it in any of its forms. On my train ride home last night, I was just struck with how utterly bored I am with that stuff. I ended up there where I had more chance of being struck by lightning in the basement than getting a second look and I just loved being out of the game from the door -- though the novelty of that will wear off soon enough. I had enough of that every year of school but the last one, thanks. I chilled, was left alone, and just had a good time, not disappointed because I had no hopes out there. Not that I do anyways. I've realized that I'm indifferent, stuck on neutral. I don't like anyone, I don't want to like anyone and anyone that crossed my path, I've feigned the motions but I don't really care. I can't remember the last time I've been really excited about someone -- wanting to hear their voice, talking about them all the time, just feeling smiley and fuzzy when I'm with them. Perhaps that's a silly standard to have of what's good, but I'll stick with it until I know better.

Besides on a practical sense, I'm jobless and broke, working on a master plan and feeling a bit of pressure right now. Why the fuck would I try to further complicate the issues by having to worry about someone else and/or lose energy to tackle that by focusing time on them? I'm being selfish to get my shit together. I can almost guarantee I'll be a better person to be around once this crap has passed. I also realized last night that I've been single for about nine months now. It's been rough through a lot of patches, but I've earned my security. If it's not something that I think is going to make me feel the way I did the day this picture was taken, I really don't know if I can bother. To be clear, it isn't even about him -- after all, when I was crazy, I thought he was great, but I'm not so crazy anymore -- it's about regulating that youthful exuberance and the inevitable fallout because disasters are just tiring after a while, you know?

Oh, and what does this have to do with anything? Nothing. Just saying.

GOSPLAC Silliness

You'd think after all the time I spent there that I'd be used to kneejerk nitpicks that have nothing to do with the subject at hand yet have to be thrown out there to soothe an uneasy subconscious. Last weekend, there was an event in the "DUMBO" section of Brooklyn. The master of a site I really like stumbled upon it and wrote about it, then wrote another piece as he thought about the whole thing some more. Then today in my boredom, I was browsing his site when I saw the editorial someone had sent in as feedback to his last post.

I just read your article. You put a lot of thought into it. However this bothered me a great deal:

“But mostly white GOSPLACs showed up to throw food. What does that mean?”

Listen, I know you will say “most were GOSPLACs.”

Me and my friends are hardly that. I grew up in Union City/Jersey City, NJ, which is very far from an upper middle class neighborhood. I work for a living and support myself, in fact i live pay check to pay check, like my 3 friends who went. dont you think that comment was a little inappropriate? i could understand your a little ticked there was a mess, but i think being middle to upper class has nothing to do with the condiment war.

Oh dear, I love selected reading! The exchange with the organizer woman that bothered him so read:

“And I noticed the demographic—”

“White.”

“Yet at least half women. There were some people of color, but very few.”

“Definitely true.”

“My instinct is that about 80% of the people there were middle-class or upper middle-class GOSPLACs.”

“Hmm?” she asked.

“Graduates of small private liberal arts colleges.”

“At least.”

“Does that bother you?”

“We invited everyone we could,” she said. “Anyone who wanted to fight could fight.”

“But mostly white GOSPLACs showed up to throw food. What does that mean?”

She shrugged. I did't have an answer, either. It was something we just understood about being Americans.

Now personally, I would've taken offense at the "being American" part. What does being American have to do with having a fake war with condiments in the middle of the streets? Apparently a lot more than getting mistaken for middle to upper middle class. Haven't you heard that the best privilege is the unacknowledged one?

Bored bored bored...

Bored bored bored. I'm impersonating a log today. I was supposed to go to Summerstage for this, but I just took a nap instead. I'm definitely on for tomorrow...I swear.

The strangest part is that I'm dressed, have been up since before noon and had the motivation to get up and go, but I just can't bring myself to get out the door. *whisper* Secretly, I think I might be a little antsy about getting on the subway. But don't tell anybody. I've been devising all sorts of alternate bus-based routes to Manhattan or else considering outer borough ways to amuse myself. Williamsburg isn't really that hard to get to from here. I'm just not really into travelling under the river because I've got a long list of worst case scenarios playing in my head. I remember my first visit back to the city after 9/11 and being on my way upstate via the Short Line. I just about jumped out of my skin as we started going through the Lincoln Tunnel. There's something about shit going wrong in the city that gives me Daylight flashbacks. A pussy, you say? Why yes am I, thanks for sharing.

It'll pass I suppose once it gets closer to prime time. I refuse to stay in another night. I love the cats and the mom, but enough is enough. I need loud music, people, bars, and stories for my Scenestress. Tonight I might be doing the Panty Party up big -- but keeping the pants on, thanks. (They're not ready for this jelly, kid.) Or perhaps here. Or here. I can't decide! Getting out the house is half the battle.

ETA: "Me, I'm a pimp/I'm not paying for no sex/I'd rather buy a car or new rolex" and pictures!

Blackout 2003

I don't really have much of a Blackout 2003 to tell like other people do. When the power went out, I was napping. I woke up an hour or two later sweating to death and was all, "the power's out? That sucks." As the sun went down, it was irritating to live across the street from a Co-Op Cityish development that has their own generator. Totally business as usual up in Rochdale as they watched TV and had lights blazing while my side of the street looked like underground or something. We lit candles, threw open all the windows, made dinner on the gas stove, and traded back and forth my mom's Walkman. It was a good night to be old school.

Around 3:30 am, I started up out of bed when I heard what sounded like firecrackers. I'm like "what the fuck? Firecrackers this time of night? Fucking kids." I turn into a crotchety old woman when my sleep is interrupted. I look out the window and see/hear some sort of official people battering down the back door of the house diagonally behind mine. Then, I think, "oh shit...what fuckups! Getting raided in a blackout!" I also think I'm in an episode of Cops when I get woken up in the middle of the night. South Jamaica representing. Anyhoo, then I looked up and saw the smoke. It turns out the house was on fire. No one was hurt and they put it out pretty quickly. A woman had fallen asleep and the candle had fallen over onto the mattress. It was contained in one room, but the firefighters were having a field day breaking windows and tossing the frames in the backyard. Talk about overkill.

Today was just like any old day minus the fan/AC. The buses and traffic were running normally, people were hanging around as they do. The difference was my mom telling stories of braving the mob at the supermarket and a guy down the street selling big bags of ice out of his trunk. I became so bored at one point I started folding up the clothes I washed the other day, but for a change my room was cool. Then around 5:15pm, the lamp came on and we heard cheering next door. The first thing I did was watch some TV and turn on the ceiling fan before pulling out The Colour And The Shape to rock out before the call of the computer became too strong and I had to jump on the net. It's a disease.

Is it wrong for me to be all: "well, the buses are running -- and free. I could go out if I want to. There's no real reason to stay home." Kids nowadays...never satisfied.

Tracker Roundup

So, I've been tracking my site stats for a minute now -- actually, about three weeks -- and I figured I'd be like everyone else and have a "guess what strange Google search led to my site!" session. Mr. KT and I were rolling on the floor the other day because someone came to my little blog under the guise of searching for a "blow job blog." Not once, but twice! Damn, can't a girl tell a couple stories involving her drunken bragging about her oral prowess without getting typecasted on the web? Geez... Cry me a river, right?

There's the unsurprising "friendster supernode" (600K+ and counting, mofo!), "pretty kitty parties," and "freaking grinding clubbing." I can't argue with those. I'm mildly puzzled by "list of colleges with adidas endorsement deals" and "adidas commercial shawty," because do I even mention my sneaks? I'm mildly amused by "deftones screaming kitty" and "badonkadonk." What's up with "pretentious moi pedantic i?" For the record, I'm all for welcoming someone who has sought out "Kangol wearing super star tshirt having brown scenester princess" because that shouldn't lead to anyone but me.

Uncharacteristically soft moment

Things currently melting my hard little heart are: little kids and kitties. I was on the bus home and this little girl behind me was on a roll singing all these kids' songs from Barney and Dora and the most interesting version of the ABCs I've ever heard: "A B C D E F G H...uh, X M B Y Q..." She was all 3 feet tall and cornrowed up. She was about 3 or 4 I figure. There's only a window of where I like kids (where my brother is now): 2 to 7. Before that and 7 to 18, screw 'em. Goes to show you how my biological clock is not ticking. I don't do diapers or dealing with brats. I just like to pet and run.

Now, you could figure that I have a soft spot for the felines. This blog isn't Puppy Power if you haven't noticed. So, this little one had me all "awww." I ventured off to meet my Friendster Farmer last night and he's not a serial killer...unless to lull me into complacency is a part of his evil plan. (Just kidding...hopefully.) I was made fun by him and his friends for keeping working people up to late on a weekday and being the strangest young'un they know -- non-beer drinking and not indulging in the MJ. I spent way more money than necessary on beer alternatives and found the newest thing I want for my future bachelorette pad: that On Demand digital cable stuff. That's some cool shit. That or Tivo is for me. I even watched Pulp Fiction for the first time in years. Still not too crazy about it, but I was laughing when Ving Rhames said his "I'm going medieval on his ass." I'd forgotten where that came from.

Good Reads

A good read (via Gawker), though not especially surprising. I'd just been reading a dispatch on a blog about that the other day, plus my own nightlife experience from last weekend. It's so very easy to fall into a homogenous trap. I mean, it wouldn't take half a thought for me to join the dancing black bohemians, but at the end of the day seeing the same people all the time is boring. Variety is the spice of life.

Song of the week

Song of the week: Turin Brakes, "Feeling Oblivion" though I'm still all "lalala lalala lala...strange magic" after almost a week. What can I say? I've got a soft spot for singer/songwriters with acoustic guitars singing about love and crap...occasionally. I'm just easily influenced.

To pass the time...

To pass the time, I volunteered to transcible lyrics for a fave site of mine. This is shit hard. I would pick to try to decipher the man whose whole style is breathy mumbles. Sam, I love you! But I hate you today. Pronounce your words, dearest! Like I'm the person to talk, right, Jay?

Bitches Ain't Shit But Hoes And Tricks

Now a queen's a queen and a stunt is a stunt/You can tell who's who by the things they want

I'm remotely holding court with Trendvickster over the assholeness of the male specimens that we keep encountering. She liked this guy who liked her back, but he jumped for the first girl to pass by with a loose snatch and some weed -- and a fiancee and stories about cheating with dudes up and down the eastern seaboard. The kicker is that all of this interoffice. Ugh...drama. I think it's reminding me of why I'm choosing to remain blissfully unattached right now -- too many encounters with fuck-ups. There's The Continental who was dating 4 girls at once (including moi) -- no small feat in the middle of nowhere Connecticut and years later doesn't understand why it might make someone angry. Beats me... There's Mr. Sailor, for whom I'm the first and last person over the age of 18, he's been involved with since he passed that age that didn't understand why his ass got dumped when he disappeared for two weeks and changed his cell phone number -- and passed that along to a mutual friend, instead of you know, telling me himself. That was sure the mystery of the ages... Or my "friend," who I didn't want to slander so I blogged about the encounter tamely, that lost out on a sure thing because he didn't understand why I wasn't particularly impressed by: "you know, I came to Wes because I was sick of dating white girls, but as soon as I got here, I just got snapped up again. I'm sad I never got my chance." Because after all, what is a liberal arts education for but giving little suburban white boys all the colored ass they can handle. Fucking jerk.

So, I'm raging. Just because I can.

Browsing

Today's been browsing on the net thinking "I want that! Send this to my house!" -- in between looking for a job, natch. Rather, I'm talking to my employed pals and trading links back and forth. This one's deadly, beware. Jay laughed at me for liking him. If Jen from Gothamist is wrong, I don't wanna be right!

I've also decided my resume sucks. Figures. *sigh* I was also thinking of taking some design and advertising classes at SVA since I've decided I'm on this creative track. But, wait, got no money. It's definitely sucking to be me this week.

Job Report

I've given myself a major kick in the ass and am doing up the job search like a fiend. I'm feeling pretty hopeless. Tick, tick goes the loan people, poof goes my money, grumble goes the mommy. I just want to DO something already. I have the sinking feeling I'm more likely to have a nice little breakdown rather than a job by the end of the month. But, I'm not licked yet. When in doubt, get creative...

The Future Is Now...

I hereby launch The Scenestress Chronicles, my new blog dedicated to New York City after dark and all the adventures that can and do happen. It'll be jammed packed with my reviews, retorts, carousing, and exploits with an R rating because whatever happens out there isn't necessarily tame. I'll even post the parties catching my interests plus how to get on lists and etc. Think of Scenestress as the web archive of what will ultimately compile the Cheapskate (Read: Poor) Young Singleton's Guide to New York City -- without all that useless shit like spas and yoga specials. Not to say that stuff isn't nice in its own way, but the operative word is cheap and $150 doesn't fall to my eyes as cheap when I'm trying to live making a a dollar out of 15 cents and running around town on an unlimited ride, m'kay?

So, from now on, Kitty Power shall be devoted to everything not involving roaming the streets looking for a beat. Solid.

ETA: With the new domain and MT and all, there's really no need for all that. It's all in a category of its very own.

Report

Annoying are reports that are all doomsday like when generally what it's saying isn't that bad -- considering.

Now, as I see it on the big peachish chart, 73% of those 18-24 (you know, the stupid kid demographic of which I am a proud member) with 3 or more sex partners are out there using condoms. That's about 3 in every 4. No pat on the back to the stupid kids generally doing what they're supposed to? Especially since it's the stupid kids who are only having sex with 2 or less people bringing our smart levels down to 61%. Even so, we're looking mighty brilliant compared to the 37/66% in the 25-44 and 24/40% in the 45-64 ranges. Then again, it's the kids who are high risk, so what do the old folks matter.

Me being disturbed that 33-37% of women report condom use is tempered by wondering how that question was phrased. As I learned in soc stats back in the olden days, question phrasing can greatly influence data. If someone surveyed me by asking "did you wear a condom in your last sexual encounter," I'd have to say "no" because I don't own any Realitys and *bam*, instant sexually irresponsible stupid woman -- in the data, at least. Biased question! If it's not, I gotta wonder about those 61% of men (not sleeping with other men) who are using condoms compared to the 37% of women unless they're all sleeping with each other -- in which case, good for them 'cause you'd probably catch something from the rest of those fools! I'm proud to be of that 37% percent, but I didn't get a phone survey. What's up with that? I like those.

*ahem* See this is why I go out so much. Sitting in the house makes me delerious.

Funny Stuff

I'm easily amused this morning. I suppose that's because I'm up in the morning for a change. What's up with me? In bed before 3, barely went out Saturday, didn't go out at all Friday. It's called being dead broke, kiddies. It happens to the best of us. Anyhoo, all I can think is: you get a new one when you refresh! Niice.

Bad Night

I think tonight holds the record as one of the most asstastic of the summer. I went to Filter and god knows why. In actuality, I hate the place -- when it's not Wednesday night 80s, that is. I mean, it's totally wack. I felt as if I had mistakenly wandered into a Girls Gone Wild Mardi Gras celebration or you know, Culture Club. These chicks were having a bachelorette thing and they were so shitfaced that all girl needed was a pole and she'd be making some bucks. And what kind of club doesn't have any guys that didn't already come with women? Blah. And I hate to say it, but it was the whitest room I've ever been in -- including wandering into random spaces at Wes and that Deftones show. There's a difference between you as a minority being somewhere and casually observing that you're it and feeling it with every step you take anywhere. I felt like an alien.

Adding onto my misery was the shitty ass weather. I'm so sick of rain. The death cough feels like it's getting worse because of it. Now you would think: "Hmm, you're complaining about being sick and the weather has been bad all day, so why'd you go out in the first place?" Shut up. Don't question me.

Anyhoo, I ran away as fast as I could and ended up here. I'm trying to feel it out as a new spot. I like it so far and think of it as easing into the rock scene without wading through the scum at Pianos (oops, did I say scum? I meant, poseurs. Sorry...). Kids are cute, verrry cute and hardly any trucker hats in sight. Music's got me interested. Fun place to roll with folks. And it was nice after the Buffies party I had escaped from to see that a mixed crowd isn't a fantasy everywhere. Last time I checked, NYC is a multicultural mosaic, n'est pas?

ETA: I made the new site but Blogger's being a real punk today and keeps giving me publishing errors. *grumble, grumble* Stupid publish error, sucking my invisible nut...

A Little Yearning

Isn't it kinda sickening how what's simplest is really so true? My dear Trendvickster is all bubbly and excited about this guy she's cruising towards something with in Beantown. I dished sage words, advised her not to put the cart before the horse, and grinned to myself at her smilies after every sentence. Despite a case of extreme jadedness and the general disgust with the males of the species that NYC will invoke, I remember what it's like to be warm and fuzzy about somebody...kinda. It's been a while, always complicated by some unresolved something or another. Sometimes I miss that, constantly talking about someone, always anticipating seeing them. Just that new stuff feeling. But then, I think of the distractions and miscommunications and how shitty it feels when stuff just gets jumbled and I don't miss any of it at all.

I'm torn. The hopeful kid full of verve and pep wants a little amusement to pass the time with. Something bright and shiny to go with the summer weather. The still wincing kitty with an elephant memory wants to be left alone. The position changes daily. That's why I dealt with C: all the perks, none of the liabilities. That's how it should be...for now at least. Perfectly nice kids that I might like if I weren't just...indifferent have been crossing my path. That's been the enigma of the summer: I give off an air of being totally disinterested and closed. As I said to one, "I don't play hard to get. I'm telling you I'm impossible to get." Assured words, but as always, I reserve the right to be flighty and I'm a sucker for a grand gesture or bold words. Occasionally.

Hmm

The current mystery of the my world is why my top banner pictures aren't showing up. I don't know what the fuck the deal is. I'm contemplating starting up another blog, one focused strictly on travels out and about in the nightlife world. I mean, hey, look what blogging about what you'd be doing regardless did for them. I want a club night! I could be a promoter! I suppose...I'm just saying shit really.

Musical Plea

I feel like a girl dying of thirst in the desert. (Ironic because I'm still wet from last night and the weather report says I'll be getting drenched until Wednesday. Just bah at that.) I need some new music. Desperately.

It's almost unheard for me to feel out of the musical loop. Music is just my thing to put it lightly. I became a DJ at school just to have the power to foist my musical tastes on an unsuspecting public. Eventually, I'll come out of pocket for my Technics and spin somewhere. But, right now, I just feel out of it. Probably because I've lost my high speed connection (*sniff*) and I can only go to Kazaa for must-haves because everytime I try to download, a vein in my brain threatens to burst.

So, I'm soliciting picks. To put it simply, I like everything...except classical, death metal, Celine Dion and most country/bluegrass/folks things.

This summer, I saw the shows and liked: Ely Guerra, Donnie, Jody Watley, Jeru The Damaja, Blackalicious, Sekou Sundiata, Ramata Dikite, Chaka Khan, Orchestra Baobab (I saw them last year actually, but I mean generally bands don't get worse), Deftones, Sea and Cake, Dabrye and others I can't remember.

Last CDs purchased were: Nas, God's Son, Mariah Carey, #1 (okay, I know...but it was $4 and I loved the hell out of "Vision of Love" when it came out...you think that's bad, obviously you don't know the Richard Grieco story. Many people have lost respect for me when I told them that one), Justin Timberlake, Justified, a compilation from The Source magazine of the rap hits of 2000

I own (briefly because this could take days): Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, The Stones, The Who, Stone Temple Pilots, Alice In Chains, A Perfect Circle, Deftones, Foo Fighters, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sea and Cake, Pete Yorn, Jeff Buckley, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, Rick James, Stevie Wonder box set, Steely Dan box set, too many 80s compilations, Duran Duran's greatest hits, George Michael's greatest hits, Aretha's greatest, Talking Heads' greatest, Jamiroquai, Daft Punk, Basement Jaxx, Roni Size, Missy Elliott, Wu-Tang, Weather Report, Fela, Donnell Jones, the first Wyclef, the last two Nas albums, Jay-Z (the CD with "Big Pimpin"), Big Tymers, N.E.R.D, Res, the first Doves, the first Coldplay and Kid A.

I've got downloaded (again briefly): ELO, Sam Prekop, Archer Prewitt, Badly Drawn Boy, Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz, Trina, Lil Kim, 2Pac, "96 Tears," "Time of The Season," Interpol, The Strokes, Robert Owens, Frankie Knuckles, Blue Six, Masters at Work, First Choice, One Way, Nice and Smooth, Club 69, Artful Dodger, Craig David, Cassius, David Gray, Fat Joe, Big Pun, Santana, Freeway, Aaliyah, Mary J Blige, Sean Paul, Erick Sermon, Redman, Beta Band, Pavement, Bobby Conn, Shawn Lee, John Mayer, Muse, Starsailor, Tori Amos, Turin Brakes, Nancy Wilson, St. Germain, Thievery Corporation, The Cure, Manic Street Preachers, PJ Harvey, Queens of The Stone Age, Femi Kuti, Rage Against The Machine, and REM.

If you think you'd know something I'd like, let me know.

As if I didn't know...

As if I didn't know it already, a sign that I go out too much is walking through my door at almost 4am (btw, pissed that it took me 2 hours to go from Brooklyn to Queens. Fucking track work) and the first thought being, "wow, the places I usually go aren't even closed yet." Perhaps I'll stay in this weekend to catch up some sleep and get better since stuff I was going to see this weekend, i.e. the Cafe Tacuba/Sidestepper/Yerba Buena show at Prospect Park will probably be rained out anyways. Ah well. I doubt I'll actually maintain that resolve, but my liver might enjoy the temporary reprieve.

Rain, rain, go away. Just don't come back. Really.

Being home has me going all personal retro. I've been playing Tiny Music like it's '96 or something. "I am I am I said I'm not myself, but I'm not dead and I'm not for sale/Hold me closer, closer let me go let me be just let me be" hat album is still fresh for me. I had a strange moment where Fiona Apple popped into my head the other day. I like her, even if she's crazy. I've got both albums. "I said honey I don't feel so good/Don't feel justified/Come on put a little love here in my void/He said it's all in your head/I said so's everything but he didn't get it/I thought he was a man but he was just a little boy" But, being in a restaurant in Williamsburg surrounded by so much irony I thought I was going to be knocked over, hearing "Strange Magic" made my fucking week, man. Dude, ELO! In high school, my musical upheaval after I got tired of rock radio was declaring all modern music crap and becoming fixated on things like Weather Report, soul and especially 70s soft rock. I went all Steely Dan gung ho even buying the box set and going to the concert. I was just all about 70s AM Hits and I even bought that compiliation off TV. Good times. I declare the song of the week: "Strange Magic" by ELO and if you think dial-up stopped me from downloading that and playing it to death, you don't know me very well. If I can risk that for Get Low by Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz -- though I was actually relieved when I heard a girl singing it on the train the other night, I'm not the only one sucked in by that sonic crack -- I can do it for a song I like and haven't heard literally in years.

Speaking of the train, since when is bleary eyed unfocused momentary staring the equivalent of a come on? At least they just stared at me dumbly. I swear, my night's not complete until I have drunkards calling after me that I'm some fine chocolate. Ugh.

Fashion, Partying and the Scenester-In-Training

So I am free to be leisurely again. I suppose I might as well get around to telling the story of how I was snapped up to go help the event get pulled together (it was a complete smashing success btw. Thanks to Jay, Ash, Mari, Hani, and Mac for coming out!) There's something to be said about me jumping into that the day after I got back to NYC for good (which has only been two weeks ago Tuesday). I'd actually been thinking about hopefully working for it since I volunteered last year and I was enjoying the goody bag swag until fairly recently, but their old site was down and my google searches were hitting nothing.

The Wednesday after I returned, I was out and about here, a place I hold a soft spot for because of New Year's Eve. I recently got on this special email list that the owner sends out which can give you all sorts of secret passwords and heads up on private open bar filled parties. I might head to one tonight if I can get over this death cough that's been making my life miserable. The only good thing about it so far is that folks have gotten over saying, "maybe you've got SARS." Hehe, prick. I was indulging at their last password party yet kinda bored. This dude was kicking it to me and I wasn't feeling him in the slightest, but my sense of adventure was piqued when he said that he and his friends were headed over to this supposedly hot party a few blocks away in this place called The Park. I'm always on the hunt to check out a new spot, so I rolled. We get there and it's like every uptown private school 9th grader was trying and failing to get in. I was all "hmm...could this be any less my scene?" The guys ran into trouble at the door with the prissy bouncer who wouldn't let one in with shorts on, despite knowing him. I figured I didn't owe them any loyalty being that they were strangers and all and I had no obligation to roam the streets when I could get in, so I left them and went inside. The place...eh. Restaurant by day, loungish at night. Reminds me of Gustavino's decor-wise and by the overblown crowd who are just thrilled with being where the "cool" people are. I was standing on the wall contemplating my next move when up walked the girls behind the event. They recognized me and were happy to see me as I was them, i.e. a The ladies are mad cool: the production company is their baby, but they have creative day jobs. (One's in fashion and the other is a publicist.) We traded numbers and they dragged me along with them on their travels while filling me in on the happenings with the event. I offered to help out and thus began me handing out flyers. We hit here and here and found the crowd was wack, wack, wack. "Ooh, we're rich (or at least want you to think so) and not cute/connected enough to be models, but we can shake our narrow designer clad asses on the stands while raising up the glasses. It's from bottle service, you know." I amused myself by getting into VIP areas to pass out invites by strolling up to the bouncer shyly and saying "can I get through? That's my sister over there" by pointing out a black lady. Works like a charm, yo.

We all grew tired of the people who weren't the types they wanted to attract to their event. We rolled over here where the crowd was definitely chiller and I got the prompt that made that line pop out of my mouth. You should ask me what he said. How else was I supposed to respond? That was like a challenge.

I've gotta say, it was pretty cool to running around partying as I tend to yet being all junior promoter handing out invites to promoters and DJs I befriended. It made me feel like I was up on something. I was relishing being a scenester-in-training, but we all know I was well on that path already despite barely being in the city this summer. My personal fave part was Monday making calls to press folks, making sure they were going to drop in on the event. I had nice rapport with a few of them and the schemer in me is all, "I have their numbers...I need to go begging for a job!" LOL. I wouldn't though...I guess.

So, Tuesday was the night and it was busy as hell in that piece. I was running the credit cards in that neverending line for 3 hours and change before I took a break to wander and chill with the people I had invited. Plaid is a strange looking place. It's just too busy. Then again, I had the Spa decor burned into my brain, so to go from super white and blue starkness to a upholsterer gone wild was too jarring for me. If I ever go back (which is likely), it might grow on me. The designers all had really great stuff. This one had all these cute '50s/60s retro style dresses and skirts. My post was right across from her and I had to fight trying on this rainbow skirt and running away with it.

After the event was the afterparty at this place. I got there earlier than the girls did though I had gone from a little wandering with Jay, Ash and Mari and stopping off here for a yummy frozen margarita. I've been having weird reactions to tequila lately. I get halfway through the drink and all of a sudden I'm burning up and sweating. It's totally strange. So, I walk up to the line and I'm already thinking "WTF?" It was like ghetto paradise. Don't get me wrong now. I was born and raised in East New York, former crime capital of Brooklyn, but I have a scene and rolling with the hoodrats isn't it. The place itself was really nice, but I felt like I was in the middle of the video for "XXXplosive" by Dr. Dre. It reminds me of what pisses me off about places that want to portray themselves and their clientele as swank: the lack of class. I mean hell, I dress down as a general rule because I have an hour long ride to and from wherever I'm at most nights and I get harrassed enough, but that doesn't mean I'll be especially shocked if I won't be sliding my ass into Pangaea or whatever. I especially go to chiller joints more about music than the number of bottles in your VIP booth. Who cares if you have a $300 bottle of Ketel One when your throwback looks like you got it at Modell's? But that's just me I guess. I was extremely put off by the atmosphere, all meat market-y -- another thing with these places: the "high rollers" standing on the side is packs ready to paw as you pass like dogs. Ugh. I was about to just walk out and go home when the group came in. I sighed in relief to see them, but I was thinking to myself that I'd make an escape if I had to go back in that mess. We were whisked downstairs however (I actually did have the VIP wristband but the place was empty when I got there) to the lounge playing old school with these nice couches. We chatted, we chilled, they ordered up some bottle service and that was pretty cool. I texted Jay that we had to do that to celebrate our jobs, definitely not there though.

As is seeming like a trend this week, I got fucked up. I think all of Jay's talk of vomiting and such got my poor drunken mind thinking that a little of that would go a long way for me, but I resisted because I hate that. All I gotta say is thank God I had my sneaks with me because I would've been a real mess tottering on those heels. Wednesday was secret party time. I missed the open bar portion of the evening, but $4 drinks aren't bad. I was even in the 80s dancing mood for a change and that rarely happens. The only unfortunate portion of the evening was running into Wes kids. Ugh. I was doing pretty well running into the ones I generally like for a while there. Ah well. It couldn't last forever.

Job Thoughts

Nice thing about sitting at home all day with nothing to do is you can do all these long put off tasks on your computer that would just streamline a lot of stuff...and fuck off on the net too, but I've done that at work too, so that's no real plus. I've changed the color schemes and stuff again. Sure looks like red and gold are my favorite colors, eh?

But seriously, on the job front, I'm beginning to feel the crunch. In case I forgot to mention it, the original pact I made with my mother back before school ended was that she would lay off my back and let me be as productive (or as leisurely) about the job search as I wanted, but when August rolled around, she could nag and prod me to her heart's content. Oh look, it's August. Great. She's been cool for the past week or so but I know that can change quickly. In my corner, my schedule and life is finally clear. No more yearbook, no more helping out with the event. I finally have some sort of focus about what I want to do. And to top is all off, I'm so broke that I'm all about finding a job posthaste because I can hear the loan people starting to call my name. *sigh* Making my life miserable is that I'm still not really hearing about people finding anything and in Sunday's Daily News, their feature article for the Lifestyles section was all about elite college graduates languishing jobless. They especially were talking about this kid that graduated from Princeton who has been out of work for 11 months. 11 fucking months! That's crazy.

What pissed me off last week was two seperate encounters with stupid old men (what else is new really?) that basically thought that coming from my school and not having a job, I was a pretty loser. The first guy basically replied to my bitter "I'm taking the summer off" response to the inevitable "what do you do now" question with: "The summer off? You can't find a job? You must be rich because if anyone can find a job if they want one." I suppose -- well, I know -- that's true, but part of me just wants him to fuck off anyway. If I wanted to have a job just to work, I would've interned at a number of places this summer. But wait, they were unpaid and being totally not independently wealthy and having a $40K noose over my head that starts tightening right before Thanksgiving, that wasn't really a viable option. Don't get me wrong, I made money this summer. I got a minor stipend for yearbook stuff because hell, it was sucking my lifeblood away and a kid had to live and I got paid for helping out at the event last night (plus all sorts of networking and nightlife perks I'll talk about in that post later). But, I didn't make a lot. Not enough to shop without immediately mentally cursing myself for days afterwards when I've got $5 to my name yet a nice new shirt or three. The second fool came out of his face when I was promoting by saying, "what are you doing that for? With your education, why would you want to promote?" Because you can make good money doing that shit, elitist mofo. Besides that, what's a degree but a piece of paper? It's not actually a pedigree of anything, it's just a toe in the door and networking credentials. I can puff Wes all I want and go all Cardinal Pride, but at the end of the day, you have to hustle and be proactive. Wes grads do all sorts of stuff anyways. The ex girl of the metrosexual from the spring is currently a stripper in Hawaii says the grapevine. We've got a porn impresario and I've always heard there's good money to be made in phone sex. *ahem* Regardless, I'm on a heavy scenester track about right now because to get into PR, you need connections and I'll make them how I need to. I've started surfing the alumni database and found a few involved with that. This girl needs to do some informational interviews.

Blog This!

The Blog This! thing is kinda cute -- if only for the little box that pops up. It's like a mini-updater. Yeah, I'm easily amused today and only starting to feel like a human being again after being shit hungover. I need food and then I can start in on the post-event superpost.

Weekend Wrap

The weekend was chill almost to perfection. I caught Ely Guerra at Summerstage and Jody Watley and Donnie at Prospect Park. All were great. I spent most of the weekend puttering around the house because I was just tired. I've been beat lately. Being on the scene so much is wearing me out. My flighty self is contemplating new ways to spend some time. But, my life is being made miserable by a touch of allergies. I need to dig out my Claritin from wherever I packed it. I'm about to ban the cats (though I love them so) from my room because all the hair is killing me. I've woken up hacking the past 2 days and I feel like the fan is just blowing it down my throat more. I need to attack the room with the vacuum cleaner and give those furballs a good brushing.

The event's tomorrow and I'm picking up some of the stress that the organizers are feeling. The venue owners were being real idiots last week having scheduled a photo shoot for him running until when the doors for the thing were supposed to open. But, they grew a brain (and probably got threatened with a lawsuit), so everything's all good for tomorrow -- and you bet your ass I'm gonna try for an autograph. He's like all kinds of fine. I have no idea what to wear considering I'm going to be there from 3:30 until its over and then trot off to the afterparty if I'm not dead on my feet. And I'm not even going to have that much of a chance to be super social I think because unlike last year when I volunteered and floated aimlessly and drank until I got to be guest list girl at the door, I'm going to be doing credit card transactions this time and trying not to fuck up. Regardless, me being me, I'll be about some dancing, lightly boozing, and chattering. Or folks could just come and buy something and chat me up then. A few folks have been asking me about a freebie hookup. I suppose I could be called on arrival and let you know what I could do, if not $10 for all the stuff they'll have going isn't even bad.

Quickie

Last night was great. I'm mad backlogged with stories though, so this is days worth in one:

1. Observed phenomenon with a disclaimer: I hate trucker hats. I think they're ugly and almost universally unflattering. Not to mention most people just look stupid in them. With that said, a good-looking guy can only look exponentially better in one. I've had my sneer turned into a slack-jawed stare more times than I care to admit in the past couple of weeks. Damn. Is it possible to institute a rule that unless you're some certified eye candy, leave those hats alone?

2. I'm starting to feel annoyed. I've got a pesky 5...or maybe 7...pounds making my life miserable. I'm all for pinchable chubby cheeks (on my face, perv), but buddha belly and too much booty for the pants inching over moderation equals a miserable Candicissima. And God knows, the last thing I need is to convince myself that nothing in my closet fits and spend the money I don't have out to buy a new outfit for Tuesday. Blah. And I'm too busy to go to the gym.

3. Though I say, I'm hip-hopped out, my official songs for the summer are "Flipside," "Frontin'" and "Get Down (Like A Pimp)." I don't even care if it's wrong for me to be with my hands in the air singing that I'm going to "scoop bad bitches like Haagen Dazs." I think that's a clever ass line really and sinceI've still got a month or so left of summer and bitch is one of those equal opportunity words, you can bet I will.

4. Last night was great -- despite my boredom text to Jay and Hani not wanting to hang out with me *sniff* (I kid). I went to Smithfield's for their supposedly ladies' half off night and spent $5 on an Amaretto Sour. That's straight up BS. $10 drinks at a place that looks like a frat party hangout? Smithfields gets the gasface. I strolled over to Sapphire then and everyone was like "you're here so early!" That was advantageous to me because I got 5 drinks just sitting there minding my business at the party chatting. It pays to be a regular, man. Then I danced my ass off and on my way home found $10. Good times.