Kitty Power

Feeling Rich

I called the automatic banking number just to listen to the balance and almost had a heart attack, so I had to do it again. "You have $XXXX.20." Praise the Lord! Part of me thinks it's a conspiracy to be suddenly flushed with cash on Black Friday, but I'll push those thoughts aside and gear up to throw some elbows at sample sales and streets clogged with shoppers. I'm beginning to think I should go to the ATM, take out a limited amount of cash and lock my cards away because I'm feeling all "my preciousssssss" looking at the Visa.

I will not blow the money I waited two months for in one day. I will not blow the money I waited two months for in one day. I will limit myself to 3 items. I will not be an impulse shopper. *whimper*

Turkey Day

Happy Turkey Day! Have I ever mentioned that I don't particularly like turkey? Luckily, I've got plenty of other meats to choose from. My family is ultra-Southern. There is no Thanksgiving or family reunion or much of anything without some pork involved. One year, Ms. Mommy declined an invite to a place where they were anti-pork eaters with: "I'm sorry, we can't go. We come from a long line of pig farmers, so no ham means we're not interested." That's not verbatim, but sums up the sentiments pretty well.

Last night, I was out and about (surprise, surprise) at the weekly party at 419. I was being sorta social despite really wanting just to hang close to the wall and take in the music. Going out doesn't always have to be about doing something. I just like being around people and noise sometimes. I got into a convo with this kid standing next to me and began to think about "the NYC" I've fallen into. Everyone is 25+ and a creative, doing all sorts of projects on the side and somehow balancing everything this town will throw at you with a life. I'm beginning to think I should ask them how they do it. I think I can be sure that sitting at home whining wasn't the first step.

Time Flies

Six months ago today, I walked across a stage and received a diploma case and handshake from my scatterbrained drunkard of a college president. Fuck. Time flies when you're...still formulating a direction.

Addendum to Bitches Always Talking Shit

I was hanging out with PrincessNella telling her about Ms. Mommy's comment from the other day. She laughed and laughed and we discussed how mothers have that strange ability to be off the hook now and again. But, her second reaction was all "wow, how'd she know that?" as in "geez...even she figured out what all of us seem to know."

All of my friends think I only date white guys...not that there's anything wrong with that. (Was that a Seinfeldian moment or what?) They all say it, they tease me, they refuse to believe that I've thrown more than a momentarily bone of attention to a non-white guy. Even Mr. Sailor, in the height of obnoxiousness when I told him that's what people think and some of my history, said I probably liked him at first because I thought he was white. Which is the biggest crock of shit and I told him so with a steady stream of curses and "how dare you"s at the time. Even my extended family thinks it...minus my uncle who as recently as May was asking me about my "Mexican" boyfriend.

I used to be defensive about it, but fuck, life's too short. I don't have to justify myself to anyone. I can date or "date" anyone I want. I personally enjoy the words of the late Big Pun: "I don't discriminate, I regulate any shade of that ass." The truth of the matter is all across the board a lot of guys say stupid shit and get deaded with the quickness. And it's also true that there are a fair number of guys out there of all shades that won't have a flicker of interest in me because I'm not only black, but dark too. As well as those who chase me like some sort of exotic creature because of a black girl fetish. I've gotten my feelings hurt as being pegged as "the wrong type" and "an experiment." Some people are just fucked up like that. I don't think I'm good-natured/misguided/crazy enough to say "everybody should like who they like, the world is destined to be brown anyways when everyone's all mixed" hippy dippy shit, but I can say without a doubt that I'm just getting started, so the static so far is unnecessary. Then again, is there anything wrong with exes looking like that Rainbow Coalition or something?

The Division

I'd be lying if I didn't say I was nervous.

I spent most of the night in front of the mirror, checking and rechecking my outfit, striving for slightly dishelved and fashionably cool yet casual. I didn't bother to ask myself why I care. It was complicated. Everything about "us" was complicated. This drawn out thing adding color to a time marked by days on fast forward and the slightest of depressions. And the realization that my stress was evolving its manifestations over the years. Now it drove me to eat and drink in excess and eye my mirrored profile warily. Still, there was no denying that the weight looked good on me. As I'd grown older, I'd rounded those chiseled muscles and sharp bones. I looked as I heard a man say leeringly on a late movie once: "a woman with curves in all the right places." I adjusted and readjusted the shiny metal coins decorated belt. It never lay right. Though it stretched, it needed someone with more hips or less perhaps. I had a strange amount that wasn't ideal. I adjusted it again and noted that it still looked good. After all, I am my own worst critic.

I called him to get directions. His words spilled out in a rush and I knew without a doubt I wouldn't remember. I said I'd call him when I hit the train stop, realizing afterwards that I was unsure which one it was. Graham or Grand? They came out so similar. I shrugged and got going. Getting out of the house is always the hardest part. It was almost midnight I noted disapprovingly and it would take me forever to get there. I’m always running late for stupid reasons.

I thought over his voice over the phone. He sounded well on his way to some sort of altered state and I decided not to bother worrying about the source. I’d find out soon enough I knew. I rode the bus to the J to the L, thinking about him, about us, about the strangeness of it all. About last night when I was caught off guard by the bombshell and couldn’t resist being close to him. About what ifs. About how situations can create such fake intimacy where making us feel so close yet not knowing each other at all. About how it was funny that I was embroiled in yet another romantic mess when I had been so sure those months ago that I left my latent need for drama a hundred miles away. Perhaps it is something in me that pulls these types (the loners, the emotionally bruised, the misguided, the self-medicating). I read somewhere – or perhaps, heard – that the damaged send out those signals to attract those partners. The birds of a feather phenomenon. Damaged? I wouldn’t say that about me. I’m just…evolving. I suppose there is a bit of yearning that comes across. I’m searching for something…peace of mind? Security? Sometimes I think: love? Rather I think: understanding. Despite how balanced I am on the inside, I need someone to balance me on the outside too. Or rather, let me know that I’m level since I have no concept of straight lines. That is obviously not him. I knew that from the first meeting. If I was to ask him if I was level, he’d rant about the constricting nature of a line. He would rather be…I don’t think he knows. That’s why I like him because I am preoccupied constantly with lines and trajectories and movement and growth and he would rather say fuck it all and let the pieces fall where they may. I said to him, I’m so young, I’m so vanilla, I’m so unformed. He thought I was implying I wanted to be molded by him, to be the shiny-eyed protege. If I said to him, I want to share in your energy for a little while, he wouldn’t understand. Sometimes he’s hopelessly linear in his “disorder” and I feel the random one. It’s more like a yin-yang I decided early on. We complement each other.

I get to my stop. I guessed right: it was Graham. I call him and feel confused by his directions again. I tentatively stroll down the unfamiliar Williamsburg blocks and feel relived when I finally see the street he told me to find. I walk slowly past the old houses with their sharp staircases and sidings to see him sitting on the staircase of the third one in. He pulls a drag off of his cigarette slowly and looks contemplative. I dread a Talk and feel my stomach drop. I fill the silence with a quick burst of meaningless words about how I thought I was lost and got confused yet whew I found it and he replies with a non-committal oh yeah. But, then I run out of words and I feel the panic about to creep up again. What is there to say really? I don’t want to hear: this has been fun and weird but now I’m leaving and I guess that’s that (which is what I would say if I wanted to have this conversation). Or last night was a mistake and I said before that I have a lot of respect for you and I don’t want to be that fuck-up in your life because you’re so…I dunno (which has been said before). Or any strange unfamiliar words. Or a potential hybrid of the first two. Almost a year ago, I decided I was sick of the words that can spill out when you’re knotted in the strange mix of intimacy and sex and thoughts and feelings and touches and baggage and life. Nothing good comes from the words. It’s easier to blame words than situations. There’s something satisfying about saying/thinking it all went wrong because we couldn’t shut up. Two people coming up the stairs killed the moment and he went into normal social mode. I was pushed to the side by their familiarity and idle conversation. It’s something that happens a lot. A slight black girl is easy to ignore. The now group heads inside with the new two leading the way and he and I bringing up the rear. He’s back to closed off and obviously thinking, but it can’t be helped now.

Nuggets

The new Beddings section at Nerve is killing me:

However, Ms. Winston, a gender studies major at Barnard College, says she's thrilled for Mr. Wrightman. "I'm just so happy he finally felt comfortable enough to explore his sexuality. Maybe now he'll be up for that MMF threesome I wanted for Christmas."

I've been following the Seasonale development with interest for a while. I'm pretty on the fence about all of it.

"They need to learn pain and suffering? They need to know that women have a different role in life?" Nelson asks indignantly. "What if guys had clumps of blood coming out of the ends of their penises? We would have come out with this a decade ago."

This statement is a little over the top, but it's got a grain of truth in it. I'm all for women who are literally in pain once a month getting the chance to help themselves, but for Jane Public, whom the period doesn't really affect that much besides the obvious, another one of those extra perks I guess. We'll see how I feel about it when they come with the Seasonale patch. This is a pill swallowing free zone because Candicissima = too lazy to learn.

"Locked out?! Oh no! Wait...I know what to do. Slide down through the chimney!Yeah, that's it..." Brains, not always a given.

"Sex And The City" not an accurate depiction of NYC female single life? What? That's blasphemous! But, what I really meant to say was: no shit. It is a fictional TV show last time I noticed. But, the article was also kinda whiny. "Nobody I know can have expensive shoes and live too! Nobody I know has sex and goes out on dates! Or they just want one night stands! Wah!" Good grief. I figured that crap out around 18. Not that I have actual plan of how to navigate the city minefield or anything, but it's better to suck it up and deal than complain about it. I found this article kinda heartwarming strangely. I hope SATC ends more like this.

Life On An Upswing

Just as I was complaining last night and expecting to settle into a quiet night with my computer, the fucker broke. Or rather, I broke the fucker after having a day of deleting stuff that had outlived its usefulness. The only problem with that being that when I restarted, there were still references to the deleted crap and I couldn't restart right blah blah technical problems reducing it to a tin can with a fan. My first reaction was panic and fiddling, neither of which actually worked. So, I called PrincessNella for some sage computer advice and resigned myself to actually find other things to do around the house instead of getting bent out of shape before tomorrow when she'd help me. I listened to music. I put all my bills in order. I wrote and masterplanned my end of the year turnaround. And after most of the day away, when I came back tonight to try my luck once more, this time I could figure out the problem and now Helga's back in business. Moral of the story: to solve a problem, I need a little distance and rest before blowing that shit out of the park. A good lesson for the rest of the year.

Most of last week can be summed up in a word: Asstastic. I really limped my way into Friday totally unsure of where to go from there. But, nice interlude like meetings with Ant and J definitely helped me gain back some my confidence. I am the shit. I just need to find the right way to market that and in the mean time, get my own independent projects off the ground. I've got a list of to dos and the motivation to wrap shit up nicely before 2003 draws to a close. It's been a good year and I plan to make sure it ends that way too.

Kinda Sad

If I admit that the most exciting thing I can think to do on this Saturday night is to sit at home in my sweat pants and hoodie and contemplate a blog resign, would that make me lamer than I feel? It's easy not to feel so bad when I when I tell myself that I can't think of a reasonable alternative since tonight's line up of activities is kinda weak and I do want to kill the remnants of this cold once and for all.

For once, I don't lack the money or people who are up to roll, I'm just...blah. I'm comfortable and lacking the motivation to make a scenery change. Still, Grandmastah H and I have been playing phone tag for two days now and I can anticipate getting dragged out into the world with a call. Perhaps I'll turn my phone off. I just feel like vegging for a change. And laughing to myself about how even stone cold bastards get nicer Friendster testimonials than me.

Imagine That...

...me actually finding something else better to do than post. Well, I dunno if I can say better per se or even something else, but I've been bouncing around spending minimal time in front of the comp lately. Still a few notes:

1. Free shit is excellent. I've been on a bit of a roll lately with the swag. More free shows and prizes! (And I've just jinxed myself, natch.)

2. Everyone in the hood is an entrepreneur, a hustler, one with dreams and drive and ambition...except me, I was thinking the other day. Connecticut has made me soft, it's dampened my fire. I'm planning on doing something about that.

3a. A note for the fool at the party last week (which I will expand upon later): The most countereffect flirting technique that I can think of has to be that when you were younger, you used to go to my neighborhood to buy drugs from those funny, funny crackheads. You're lucky you weren't ripped to shreds, but at least you had the foresight to make yourself scarce after that.

3b. I really despise when people who don't know me that well want to do that touchy/kissy shit. I've got to be one of the most non-touching people I know...unless I'm drunk or have known you forever or our relationship is like that (or will be soon enough) and even then it depends on mood. At Sapph last night, this guy who has been trying to kick it to me did that whole "hey, girl, nice to see you" crap and gave me this kiss that was a little too close to my neck for comfort. Yay for a thick turtleneck sweater! He better recognize that I will beat a man, like my annoying Saturday party shadow could recognize with a glance.

4. Being broke sucks my nuts. For future reference, I'm taking money upfront and will ride them until they cut that check.

5. Isn't it possible to follow the styles (as misguided as they may be) and not fuck up your hair also? At the rock show (which will also be expanded upon at a later date), this band was all about The Look and they had their outfits coordinated and such and that was okay. But, they topped it off with MULLETS! No! That is never okay. Friends don't let friends have mullets. Why would you purposely want to look like shit? Ack. I'm out of touch. I obviously don't get it. But, fuck a mullet. I don't want to.

6. Cranberry juice is indeed good for my health. I'm feeling better already. I'll be having a low-key early in (you know, like 4 or 5 instead of 8) weekend to get the remnants of the sickly out of my system.

7. Stevie Wonder is always excellent. His covers almost make me forget that there were originals. "Blowin' In The Wind" and "We Can Work It Out" are choice.

Total Filler

*sniff* Feeling a little sickly. Need soup and cranberry juice. *cough*

After browsing the tracker today, I've got to give shout outs to I. D. Flux for the linkage and my super dedicated reader in Sweden. Kitty Power rolls international apparently.

Tonight, Jenny and I are off to see Mommy and Daddy and others at Plaid. Let's just hope we don't get another gossip column worthy episode. She's my rock guide since Candicissima = perpetually too broke to buy tix/albums and no longer plugged in on the radio, so we alternate rock shows with random house based gatherings.

Have I mentioned how much I really like Freshness? Since I've got nothing better to do really than be a low level scenestress, I enjoy knowing the haps. And I can appreciate (even if I still don't quite understand) the sneaker obsession when it's sprinkled in with art and such.

Nuggets

Why was I not surprised when I found out where he went to school?

A NEW ENGLAND LIBERAL ARTS EDUCATION: In-state tuition? Fuck that! My friends were smug, my parents dubious, but I said - I'm going to prove myself up there, and it's got apple orchards and shit, which is cool. Shack up with some chick who "summers" on "the Cape." I'd be set. Trust fund in tow, I'd spend all day in cafes writing verse essays and radio plays. The faux-homenian life I always dreamed of would be mine. So what the hell happened? Not so sure. It seems the blue bloods can smell a Jew at forty paces, and all the JAPs are at Binghamton. Everyone I know is temping in Boston, permanently, with 100 grand in debt, and growing. Time to join the American Foreign Legion. And quick. I mean, I'll risk Gulf War Syndrome if it means I'll never have to see Connecticut again, and I don't have to live around the corner from that girl I puked on the night I turned 21. C-

Yeah, that's right. Go Wes!

20 Questions with Prefuse73 over at Prefix. I keep hearing all these things about Barcelona as a real vibrant place. Maybe I'll go there if I don't stay under the covers for much longer...and get my money...and uh, learn some Spanish. Also from there, an Aesop Rock article.

On the artsy tip, I'm tempted to see these works because these articles. The New York Press on Isaac Julien's Baltimore. The Village Voice on my friend Alex's dad's new show.

Modern science making it easier for non-swallowing losers like me. Hmm...that sounds dirtier than I meant it. Let me know when they've got cherry flavor! Yeah, that sounds dirty too. Ah well.

Nick gets a Voice Club Crawl mention. Rolling big dog style!

What Candicissima wants for Christmas: some footie pajamas! Just for the sheer novelty aspect. [via extra medium] I also made up a beginning of a rhyme over there in the comments that I have to share. Imagine this set to "Get Low." *ahem*

While tha jolly fat man is away,
Spreading good cheer with his sleigh,
I'mma be at the mistletoe, tradin kisses
With his fine young bootylicious Missus
Can't hate on the Christmas playa
You can call me the seasonal laya
Girl, you better get on ya knees
To unwrap this present
And make my holidays nice and pleasant
You better work it, girl, go go go
And make this man say "ho ho ho"

No more Southern booty rap. It's obviously poisoned my brain.

Sponsored By The Letter "F"

Scene: Candicissima marching down Greene Street on the way to the train station. Pissed off. Bitch face in place. About to pass a storefront with some guys are working on the awning. Stupid Fool, a worker, stands in the middle of the sidewalk.

Stupid Fool: Hey, girl, you should smile so somebody'll say something nice to you!
Candicissima: Oh yeah? Fuck you. Oh, look at that...now I'm smiling.

For a change, I actually didn't say that. Instead, I rolled my eyes and continued the soldier march. Some other fool around the corner had some commentary to make also. Fuck you, you fucking fucks with your unsolicited bullshit. Like I give a fuck what you think or have to fucking say when I obviously don't want to fucking be bothered. Fuckers.

I'm fucking tired and disgruntled and feeling like a puppy that keeps getting fucking kicked. (And no, the gratuitous use of fuck isn't improving my fucking mood, but fuck you. You can skip this one.) I'm broke and sad and at a loss and sick of this city being so claustrophobically small. Shit just isn't going right. I've got no focus. I don't know what I'm doing and most importantly, don't know what I'm doing wrong. I just don't know what to do. I just don't fucking know. I need some good news.

I'm going to go crawl in bed and cry now. Just because that's better than nothing. And hopefully later I can regroup and bounce back. It might be a few days though.

Of Selected Drunken Episodes

Bitches Always Talking Shit

Scene: Young Candicissima attempting to tame the mane. An uphill battle and the real reason the Kangol is so ubiquitous. She screams in frustration and call out to Ms. Mommy.

Candicissima: Gah...this is so annoying. If I left it alone and didn't twist it, do you think it would just lie there?
Ms. Mommy: *scoff* Yeah right.
C: What was the point of growing it out if it still won't do what I want it to?!
MM: It would if you had a perm or something. You seem to forget that despite the men you date, you're not white.

Candicissima murders Ms. Mommy with the BitchCon2 Death Glare.

Moving Thoughts

Yo, this is a lesson in friendship
The depths of a kinship
What women and men begin with, and then slip
My pen drips
As I scribble my thoughts on thin strips
Of emotion
A fraction, seduction, attraction
Eruption of passion
Corrupts if a lasted friendship's involved

Nuggets

Thoughts on the new Timbaland and Magoo over at S/FJ is cracking me up.

20. This song said something about shoving a dick down somebody's throat. My friend Joshua said line reading can save any lyric. He was wrong.

21. You should read Joshua's poem "Aeon Flux: June", for is it truly crunk.

22. I have figured out why people don't care about T1m & Mag00 records. But Welcome To Our World was great. And Indecent Proposal had some great tunes. So did this album, about 30 minutes ago. Hi. How are you. Get off my couch.

Heh. But, I've got to admit that my favorite part is the C train visual. I miss the C. I think I've lived at every stop between Euclid Avenue and Broadway-East New York at one point or another.

Jay took the Candicissima Quiz and got a 6/10, but I'll readjust that to an 8 because those wrong had to be a slip of the fingers because she knows the answers. Anyone else want to take a turn?

Unfortunately also my reality right now which is why the job search stopped being so leisurely. [via P6]

I was flipping through a Glamour at the job (*shrug* what can I say? They print the damned thing and I was bored) and like the second page was that Vickie's Secret ad with the young black girl. Is anyone else disturbed to see this kid who can't be more than like 16 dressed up in skimpy lingerie and knowing that she's gonna be strutting up and down the runway on TV wear that? Oh, just me then, okay. Still, no wonder why kids are so out there. If I saw my peers always tarted up everywhere I turned, then I might think it's okay too to wear whatever skimpy thing I felt like it -- that is, if my mother wouldn't have shot me down without a word before I could touch the doorknob. Which reminds me that the "Parents: The Anti-Drug" poster in the subway is so over the top and the commercial is even worse. But, hey, that's truer a lot more than it isn't. The kids I know who had folks that were just strict enough didn't get into half the shit that everyone else did. That's why I'm still practically an angel at 22, man. But, here's a big surprise of an article and a commentary. I wouldn't really say that the ads or the models affect me in any particular way besides wondering why I see half naked women all over the place, but men not often enough to suit me. I'm from New York where at every corner there is always someone prettier, smarter, more successful than you or anyone else, so if you spent all your time comparing yourself to the person in front of you, or conversly thinking that you're such hot shit, the new breed is waiting around the bend to blow everybody out the water. It's the way it is. So, I always try to tred that fine line between being confident but not deluded and try to appreciate someone else's looks without having especially any feeling about it. Unless it's some 2 X 4 being held up as the standard I should want to be or the crack designers seem to smoke when it comes to clothes. Being a size 10 does not mean I'm 6 feet tall and 130, fuckers.

Anyhoo, a relationship manifesto up on Smitten. I agree with some of the comments that say just because a relationship is work doesn't mean it has to be a bad thing. There's no human interaction that's sunshine and puppy dogs all the time and if you really want it, sometimes you have to put in the energy to keep things on track. Then again, if it's more bullshit than goodness, you've got to know when to walk away. Now excuse me while I don't even take my own advice.

On a musical detour, in a post about the hip hop equivalent of rock albums in the section for:

album by a group that everybody pretended to like, but were actually complete crap...

Without question this would be 'To The East - Blackwards' by X-Clan. There are no cornier rappers on the planet. This is rhythm straight from 1979 and the Gary Byrd Experience. Only people who were addicted to the Afrocentric Idea could vibe with this album. Where are they now?

I was just listening to this album with my father a month or two ago. He had found the tape (yes, I said tape) buried in the garage and decided to give it a listen. It was downright unbearable and annoying after a while. Especially with Professor X shouting over every song with his "SISSSSSY!" though that was the most amusing part. [via Negro Please]

Night Interludes

"When I first met my SpottieOttieDopalicious Angel/I can remember that damn thing like yesterday"

Saturday night brought me to Williamsburg to attend Farmer's going away gathering. As I've said before, our relationship has been up and down, but a lot of my post-school episodes have been due to him. He's only gone for a month or so before coming back to regroup, but he's as good as done with New York after the New Year. I haven't decided exactly how I feel about that yet, but I'll miss him for sure. Also in attendance was Grandmastah H and his roomie, B. The three of us bonded in the corner away from the cokeheads strangers and because they can't help themselves, pics were taken. I'll post some when they post them up. Just checking them out to give my save approval, it really struck me how ubitiquous the Kangol is. They've got a million pics of me and I'm always in it. Poor B doesn't even know what I look without it and I'm sure GH doesn't remember. Ah well. I've only got a few more weeks of this hat before I have to find something to cover my poor freezing ears. GH remarked at how "hip" the party was and how all it was missing was a fleet of trucker hats. He even accused me of having one. The horror! I didn't kill him for the insult and we coopted the couch before getting bored and blowing the place. The three of us took the L into Manhattan together before they succumbed to the lure of the bed, the net, and digital cable and I, ever intrepid, was off to my Friendster's afterhours party.

See every episode remains in this mode/Very cool, very calm, there's no sweat in my palm

I got there just before 4am right before they started charging. *whew* It was a good time, a strange yet mostly not unfamiliar mix of nightlife people about town. I saw the random girl I met at Sapph forever ago and I finally got the name gaps of the regulars filled in. I also realized why I keep getting offered bumps and such -- I have very druggie behaviors. Namely the circuiting and general party antsiness with constant trips to the bathroom. It's because despite how lively a place is, I have to move around and get a change of scenery. I just walk in the bathroom and wash my hands or do nothing more than take a mirror glance, then walk out. I'm also sure that I periodically touch my defective nose doesn't really help matters much. And because my general party mode is in the mix yet outside of it, so people probably just figure that I'm on something. Then again, people on shit always want to believe that everyone else is too. Oh fuck it, I'm obviously protesting too much, so I've obviously got a slight cocaine problem. Except I really don't. I have no idea why I end up talking about it so much. I guess it's the damned sociologist in me trying to figure it all out. I'm always being constantly surprised by people with that. It's always the ones you don't suspect.

In other news, I'm still tired of being hit on. Scratch that, I'm still tired of being hit on badly. This one guy who said he recognized me from 419 (which isn't so far-fetched, especially since he named Sunday night in particular) kept periodly coming up to me saying something more idiotic than his comments before. Like while I was standing in line with my hoodie on: "You look strong, girl, like you would beat a man." Uh...thanks? Because I was cool towards him, he accused me of misjudging him by the way he looked (he reminded me of Mr. Cheeks kinda, just a lot less attractive) and I decided to bite me tongue instead of saying I judged him by his annoying persistence, touchiness, and how he insisted I really, really looked like I needed a bump or at least had to give him the opportunity to pile me with drinks, so he could wear me down being the unspoken part. As appealing as that was, I think it's easy to understand why I was majorly underwhelmed.

It all had to do with mood really. I just wanted to dance and take the atmosphere in. The music was dope. DJs were bringing their vinyl and doing little sets. I had to have heard about 10 different ones in the 3 hours I hung around. My Friendsters were introducing me around and it was nice to be more than just that invisible kid on the sidelines. But, I think the scene is one of those where they can smell fresh meat a mile away. I could see that I generated interest, but really it doesn't phase me. It's good to be friends with those that have been around longer. As at Sapph where my bartender friend basically told me flat out that some of the promoters no matter how cute or slick they might be are bad news, a girl I know from there intervened when some new guy (who truthfully didn't even rate for me) tried to step. You've got to have comraderie in the trenches and always keep your wits about you as a general rule. Some areas in New York will always be as seedy as they used to be. Luckily, this girl wasn't born yesterday. So, that night I was guarded after the night before's lack of impulse control when it really mattered. I do often what's the point of integrating myself into all of that so heavily when I know that ultimately I doubt that what's for me is in there. I guess it's the optimist in me hoping that I can find the exception to the rule.

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

The days have been getting weirder and weirder lately. I've been swept up in stuff that would rival those crazy summer days. I'm currently trying to coast and enjoy this, but I'm also in a constant state of disorientation. I don't give a crap how many people are in NYC. It might as well be the smallest city in the world.

Thursday, PrincessNella and I went to a whiskey tasting, though we both hate whiskey. Q: Why the hell did we go then? A: 'Cause that shit was free, man! Act like you know. It was actually a good time minus all that whiskey we had to drink. Ugh. Then to Sapph, where I took a plunge and asked my Friendster friends about promoting and such. They were pretty into it and said that they had already discussed amongst themselves asking me if I wanted to. Nice. I have yet to figure out which party of they have that I want to tackle, but it's gonna be dope for sure. On the way home, I did my typical "Wes person alert" thing. I swear, it's like spidey sense or something. That night's encounter was with K, who graduated when I was still a bushy-tailed youngster. It was cool running into him and we discussed the "to acknowledge or not" dilemma that pops up before he switched trains. It's rare to run to cool people from school.

Friday, I ventured out to super downtown Manhattan for Hollertronix. It was like an NYU reunion! Oh wait, I didn't go to NYU...it was still fun though. When I realized where it was, I had a crazy sense of deja vu because I rang in 2003 at this triplex across the street. Ah, the last New Year's Eve. I must post that. I should really make a category called "Stories From The Candicissima Archives" or something, so I can put a lot of the funny pre-blog stories. In a nutshell, it was an unexpected HS reunion, ill-advised phone call to Hawaii, Filter 14, Austrians and at one point, having drinks in each hand that I alternated. Aren't you dying to hear that one? Anyhoo, I spotted Nick immediately, but he was schmoozing and being the consummate host, so I made some circuits and was chilling out. Standing on the crazy bar line, I looked to my right and thought to myself that the guy standing next to me was Mr. Shady...surely impossible because he was supposed to be in school overseas and all. I laughed at myself for being silly and went about my business. Later on, I was standing minding my business and again ended up next to this kid. But, this time I could see him full on and I knew 150% that it indeed was him. WTF? I tapped him as he was walking past, all "I know you." He blah blahed and said basically he had dropped out and had just gotten back before running off. He was with his girl and I observed that someone looked a little whipped. *bitchy side comment* About what I expected. She isn't even that cute. *bitchy side comment* That amused me and eventually I formally introduced myself to Nick. He was totally cool and it was funny getting introduced to his friends from home.

Nick: This is Candice.
Friend after Friend: Who?
Nick: Candice! You know...Candice!

They'd look at me like "WTF?" and I shook hands and shrugged in a "go with it" way. Total comedy. He took pictures of me that are so horrible that he might be able to blackmail me if he was so inclined. I'm prone to bad pics, so I'm always making bad faces when a camera comes out. Vicious cycle. After they left, I found myself on a circuit when I ran into K from Thursday. We both agreed it was type weird, but had fun just chatting and doing a bit of dancing before I made tracks around 3am.

I found a voicemail on my phone from Farmer who I had been trying to lure out all night. Our plans to check out Hop Fu had fallen through and then he had a friend visiting blah blah crossed wires and such. They had perked up for a minute when I said that it was a party mostly filled with 22s and younger, but were too lazy to venture from Sunnyside said the message. I had figured as much being that it was 3am and all. I'm perceptive like that. Still, I called over there and was given the invite to come hang if I wanted. I was torn between that and closing out Sapph or just feeling lazy/sleepy when I got on the train and heading home. Sapph died as a thought quickly as I had to endure the slow ass late night train service and home was looking like a possibility until I heard an announcement over the loud speakers in the train car at 14th Street. "Due to a gas leak near the Queens Plaza station, there is no E, F, G, or 7 train service to Queens. For service to Queens, transfer here for the L to the J train or at 34th Street, go upstairs for Q32 service."

Shit. My night wasn't over yet.

Part of me almost felt like it was my redo for the blackout since I didn't do shit of interest for that. In my car was this guy who looked completely thrown and confused by this event. He does as most do: ask me directions. Perhaps I give off a vibe as child of a former MTA employee, but more that I know what the fuck I'm doing. He was trying to get to Kew Gardens and had totally missed everything she had just said. I explained that basically we were fucked, but that at 34th, we could take a bus and get into Queens. I encouraged him to stick close to me and we were off. In talking, I discovered he was a German intern for an airline and had only been in town for a few months. Outside was total chaos, a hundred or so people standing across from Macy's without any transit people around to help. I don't even think the bus we were supposed to take stops there and the service that time of night was basically guaranteed to be shit anyways. I called Farmer and said, "I'm coming by after all, but not why you think" and explained the whole situation. We were just standing around when two girls behind us asked if anyone wanted to split a cab. One was headed to near I needed to go in Sunnyside and another was off to Rego Park. The four of us decided to go in together and we walked down 34th to find a cab. Only in New York would a German, an Isreali, a Brazilian, and the appointed group leader, a kid from Brooklyn, bond with each other and their Turkish taxi driver over the randomness and confusion that the slightest of "disasters" can bring to the city. We traded email addys and decided to plan a meetup in Queens for the near future to celebrate surviving the whole ordeal.

At Farmer's, they were wide awake and being "computer nerds" despite it being almost 5am. That's what drugs does to you, man. I got the bombshell dropped on me that Farmer's upcoming trip Monday was going to be extended for a month or so and then on his return, moving was pretty much inevitable, though where wasn't decided. Talk about unexpected. I'm processing. Even if they weren't tired, I was approaching finished for the night since my adrenaline was running out after the getting to Queens adventure. Lack of stimulation made them give up and go to sleep also. Despite me being the one actually encouraging the whole sleep thing, I was the one suddenly wide awake. I hate it when that shit happens. Boredom led me to a lapse in impulse control. A night like that it was almost inevitable and bringing back the NYE comparisons that much more. A night like that can't go out on low note.

80s Song

"Sweet Dreams" (by Eurythmics)
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused


Which 80's Song Fits You?
brought to you by Quizilla

[via Liminal Liberal]

Worn Out

This is one of those days for a hoodie and sweats, head nod music, food, and especially not moving. Too many late nights taking their toll on a girl, man. This was a banner weekend -- fun, hijinks, interesting encounters. Details are forthcoming once I take another nap and work on my NaNoWriMo work which hasn't been going so well. I'm pretty behind. I don't even think I've got a 1,000 words, so 50,000 is looking a bit unlikely. Hanging out with Farmer and a friend Friday night, I showed the friend my blog. He was like, "Damn. I can type fast, but I know I can't even think of outputting that much text." Prone to wordiness...definiitely. Considering what I'm working on is semi-based on me and the exploits with composites of people and episodes that I don't find it that hard to imagine (except for the fact I am. Pesky writer's block. Well, pesky laziness rather), I should just mine the archives. I can't really plagarize myself. Then again, that is a lot of fucking text. Transferring that from Blogspot was a bitch and a half. I had to break it up into week by week because MT import just couldn't handle the sheer amount of words. I'm actually surprised those fears of carpal tunnel ended up being a false alarm because not only do I have bad typing form but I'm just doing it all the freaking time. I'd say I'd take some time away from the comp, but I'm trying to get the weekend roundups up so I can get to bitching about something else. A few of "their" sayings running around in my head over the past few days:

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."
"When you think you have all the answers, they change the questions."
"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought her back." Natch.
"Only in New York."

Would Be Fashionista Blues

Make me feel like paradise
Give me what I'm missing
Send me to the highest heights
Take me up and away

Yesterday started off with good music and a nice view as I was crossing the Broadway side of Times Square on my way to work. Damn. What I would give to be that panther!

Q: What do you call the temp assistant to a freelancer?
A: Candice.

Another week, another stint at steadiest yet inherently frustrating thing I do. The fashion world is kinda interesting to me, if only because it's pretty new and strange, but it also has its appeal. Even when I was the tomboy extrordinaire, I had my "girl" dreams. I remember the phase when I designed clothes for the Barbies and was convinced that I was going to be 5'9" and I'd be the next Naomi. The first one was dashed when I realized I couldn't draw or sew and the second when I ended up being a big boned 5'5". Still, I've always been about the fall issues of magazines where they have the big fashion spreads -- but I'm not that clothes-obsessed where I can't read some articles or take a stupid quiz or two. Jay once thought I'd like Lucky, but I'm sorry, all clothes and no text is boring to me. I could feel my brain cells dying. Basically, I'm lay fashionista. I like knowing what's out there, I can generally get a feel of the season's styles, but I'm not particularly interested 80% of the time.

Until I started doing this. I'm finding working in fashion to be like crack. If I wasn't already broke, believe me I would be. Between Bluefly, Yoox, and all the sample sales I just know about by being Miss Websurfer/Too Many Mailing Lists Subscriber, if I had any money it would be killed post haste. It's because I'm around the stuff the designers send all the time. I'm gaining "an eye" and it's harder to keep my "4 inch stilettos as a must" disdain when everybody's doing it and dammit, they're so nice! It's kinda nice being sent off as a rep for my boss. It's almost like being a regular old editorial assistant, but we're both kinda outsiders. She's genuinely cool and we get along great. I've also worked with some of the big editors and such on the floor, so they know who I am...which leads me to the problem.

I'm not really what you call a "schmoozer." I mean, I know how to get along, be cool/nice, do my job, etc., but I don't have the slightest clue of how to get ahead in a way that I get a real job out of this. Damn Connecticut dulled my New Yorker hustling skills! I'm at a loss about how to even indicate to my boss that I'd like her to keep me in mind when she goes perm. I suck. *sigh*

Nuggets

Via a posting on my Friendster bulletin board:

As Clark went to greet the next veteran, I held my arm out in front of him and said, "It's great to see an OutKast fan running for President." I had no idea how he would respond. This Veterans Day event couldn't have been more removed from anything remotely linked to MTV or the rap world. But, the General immediately lightened up and grabbed my hand while laughing. Suddenly Clark an were completely surrounded by reporters and he whispered into my ear, "You gotta shake it like a Polaroid picture," quoting lyrics from OutKast's recent hit song, "Hey Ya!" My question had been answered. Not until hours later did it occur to me that a top Presidential Candidate, West Point Valedictorian, Oxford Rhodes Scholar, NATO Supreme Commander, Kosovo Operation Allied Force leader, and United States General had actually whispered rap lyrics into my ear.

I can't really see how convincing that would be on me, but funny episode nonetheless.

Kitty Power is a PHST link free zone, only because my net connection is too slow to download porn. But, that'll be changing real soon! Hooray for cable net! On the other hand, there's a long wonderful post on sex, porn, violence, and society on Feministe. And I'm a bit torn over the article and miniblog dispatch about financial aid money support given to private colleges and universities by the government. As a person who went to a school with upwards of $37K a year in tuition and now carrying the burden of $40K in loan debt (to be paid back in pounds of my flesh for the next 10+ years), I can't think of many instances where a person just as broke as my family who went to a school I had the opportunity to go to for free back in the day because I was in their magnet high school should be getting as much aid as me because I was "paying" over ten times as much. But, I'm going to think on a real response/position on the issue because I think that alone makes me sound clueless and elitist, neither of which I am.

And to end on a lighter note, nuggets of truth from Choire a.k.a. The Master of The Universe over at The Black Table:

One cannot assume a correlation between you giving up your sweet punani and your relationships ending. There are a million other possibilities. Like, what if you're just totally stanky?

Listen. Why don't you get a grip and take charge of your life? Why don't YOU fuck who you want to fuck when you want to fuck them? I can guarantee you that self-assurance and confidence is a lot sexier -- not to mention more fulfilling for you -- than whatever the hell this I'm-a-confused-girl bullshit routine you're working is.

Weekend Plans

To start off in an aside, I got a callback for a second interview for that job I really, really want. *Candicissima doing the cabbage patch*

Tonight, I'm all about Hop Fu tonight, though I better hurry up and register. Oopsy there. it wasn't about me. I might still go to SMH to check out their Black Belt exhibit one of these days. I've got until the new year, so no rush. But, John Waters is speaking at the Chelsea B&N too! I love him. I think Hop Fu's gonna win out though. Maybe I'll roll through Hollertronix to throw some support to a link buddy. Candicissima wants to dance heavily, so I might also finally get my tail to Bang The Party. Or roll to my Friendsters' party. And imagine that yesterday I thought I'd have nothing to do tonight. Silly, me, Trix are for kids and the Trix bunny was voiced by the dad of my HS b-ball team's one-time captain. How's that for a fun fact!

Manana, the PFFR show and nothing set in stone until I do up a friend's loft after hours thing. No rest for the wicked, I tell ya. I might have to update this because Saturday is looking quite sad.

Cracking Me Up

AllHipHop: What city got the best groupies?

Lloyd Banks: Connecticut! That was actually the first stop off the Roc The Mic tour. Houston, my god! I told 50 we need to get us some boats and ship them down to New York, they are built like horses down there.

Oh, Lloyd...where to start? [via Catchdubs]

In an e-mail sent to Widmar Monday, Lillian reported in large purple letters that she was "VERY EXCITED :)!!!" to find his "computer diary," but was perplexed that he hadn't mentioned it to her.

Upon receipt of the e-mail, Widmar mentally raced through the contents of his blog. He immediately thought of several dozen posts in which he mentioned drinking, drug use, casual sex, and other behavior likely to alarm his mother.

"I don't have one of those sites that's a big tell-all about one-night stands and wild parties," Widmar said. "I mostly write about the animation I like or little things that happen to me and my friends. But there are definitely things in there that I wouldn't, well, write home to Mom about."

Fortunately for Widmar, Lillian's comments about the site indicate that she has not delved deeply into its contents

A would-be nightmare of mine if Ms. Mommy hadn't already admitted that she's checked the blog. Eek. I guess I'll have to leave the orgy stories for offline...and yes, I am kidding. [via Gothamist]

Have You Ever? 60

Directions: Ask yourself the following questions.For every 'Yes' give yourself
2 points then add up your points at the end to find out How Bad Are You Really? It's that easy..... Then put your score in the subject and pass it on. If you don't change it to your score it will mess the game up, because no one will know your score, so change it! This means, the number in the subject box is the score of the person who sent it to you.

Questions: Have You Ever?

1. Smoked?

2. Been drunk as hell?

3. Screwed someone of the opposite sex?

4. Screwed someone of the same sex?

5. Shoplifted?

6. Lied?

7. Betrayed a friend?

8. Been to jail?

9. Smoked weed?

10. Done LSD?

11. Done any other illegal drug?

12. Given oral sex?

13. Received oral sex?

14. Screwed something not of the human race?

15. Screwed something not alive?

17. Cheated on someone?

18. Used someone?

19. Paid someone for sex?

20. Been paid for sex?

21. Played strip poker?

22. Skipped school?

23. Skipped school to get high/drunk?

24. Danced naked?

25. Danced naked in public?

26. Flashed someone?

27. Mooned someone?

28. Kissed someone?

29. Kissed someone of the same sex?

30. Held hands?

31. Hugged someone?

32. French kissed?

33. Had sexual fantasies?

34. Had gay/lesbian fantasies?

35. Stolen money?

36. Stolen money from family?

37. Stolen drugs from family?

38. Been convicted of a crime?

39. Dated someone because you heard they were 'easy'?

40. Had someone date you because they thought you were 'easy'?

41. Been called a whore?

42. Been called a bitch?

43. watched porn?

44. Taped porn?

45. Watched porn you taped?

46. Kissed someone in a moving vehicle?

47. Screwed someone in a moving vehicle?

48. Used sex 'toys'?

49. Tried to kill yourself?

50. Tried to kill someone else?

51. Told someone you hated them?

52. Told someone you loved them and didn't mean it?

Nuggets

I guess this is one of those races that could only take place in California. It'd be interesting to see some young people shaking it up in NYC race, but it seems like you've got to be a career politician -- or richer than just about everyone else around -- to make it politics around here. Though strange freaks a la Bernie Goetz run from time to time. The less said about him the better.

I'm amused by the over the top ramblings of her, him, and her. I'm feeling like a latecomer to her linkers, though I've been a reader for a while.

In the S/FJ vein of writers I like with blogs, here's one from Jeff Chang.

Big topics on Plastic: Choice, Not Ceilings Keeping Women From Management? and Where Do They Find These People? — The Nonwhite Chameleons Of The Bush Administration.

Interesting site with some city haps.

Mythological Form

You are Form 0, Phoenix: The Eternal.

"And The Phoenix's cycle had reached
zenith, so he consumed himself in fire. He
emerged from his own ashes, to be forever
immortal."

Some examples of the Phoenix Form are Quetzalcoatl
(Aztec), Shiva (Indian), and Ra-Atum
(Egyptian).
The Phoenix is associated with the concept of life,
the number 0, and the element of fire.
His sign is the eclipsed sun.

As a member of Form 0, you are a determined
individual. You tend to keep your sense of
optomism, even through tough times and have a
positive outlook on most situations. You have
a way of looking at going through life as a
journey that you can constantly learn from.
Phoenixes are the best friends to have because
they cheer people up easily.


Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Cool. That was going to be my tattoo when I was in the phase that I wanted one... [via bellejaune]

Yeah I'm So Special

Go take a look at Jay's new template. I did that. Well, not made it up, but I put it in. And my head didn't explode. And it didn't even take that long. I'd revamp my own stuff, but I'm still kinda into the basic template over here. Meanwhile, I'll be breaking my arm patting myself on the back. Don't mind me.

A Sip of Haterade

I'll start off by saying that the cold weather is having ill effects on me. I'm wishing the days when I could stroll around any time of day with a tank top and light sweater were back here again. It's gonna be a shit cold winter. I think that much is obvious. I'd like to be in stores buying up thick sweaters and cordoroy and a nice wool coat, but I can't because I'm broke because I still can't get paid for the work I was doing like a month ago. Candicissima = disgruntled.

Anyhoo, Thursday I strolled down to this female DJ event in a music store in midtown. Things like that are exciting to me because I like music, I like supporting women in music, and I like goodie swag, so wild horses wouldn't have kept me away. PrincessNella and I took in the scene, feeling some of the competitors majorly and others not so much. I drew a correlation between the level of "cutesiness" (in terms of "cool" hipster dress and stylistic choices) and attitude with the level of actual skill. Now, the event was supposedly all about the 10 best entries across the country picked to represent here and be held up to be one of the nicest amateur female DJs around. With that said, tell me why these two chicks, stepping up to the decks like they do this all the time, bringing posses simularly attired like they're hitting up the club right after this sucked so fucking hard that they were embarassments to all female DJs. One trick could not mix and had no clue about transitions and scratched the hell out of her records because she had no clue about how to even play a record. I also bitterly noted that they were also the ones who were all "I'm gonna mix up the music, I'm all about different styles" and when they could get two songs to play together without having to stop, put the most dissonant and farthest removed beat wise records together because they had no clue what went together. And then at the end when they thankfully did not get picked to be finalists, one of those bitches had the nerve to yammer over a set from a girl with skills like she was too good to have been passed over. I wanted to be like "fuck you, you need to shut up and watch and learn because she is a DJ. You are a poseur." It also bugged me because the crowd was so male-skewed and you could see all over their faces that they were like "mmm hmm, female DJ contest. I gotta see this...
" When those girls screwed up so totally, you could see some nodding like that was pretty much what they had expected to happen. Grr...just plain old bad DJing pisses me off. I need to get off my ass and get some equipment and put my old show skills to the test. The world needs me.

Then Saturday, Jenny and I went to a reception for some special edition sneaks in this store in Williamsburg. I'm kinda intrigued yet repulsed by most of the truly hip environments. The store was super stark and modern, as if a piece of Soho had been transplanted into a side street warehouse. And then it hit me, what is a hipster really but a yuppie with bummier looking clothing? You've got the overpriced plain items, gentrification of formerly sketch neighborhoods, bad coke habits, obsessions with the latest in electronics, aesthetes flooding the fashion market with special edition originals, I could go on. I'm so out of it in terms of fashion obsession. I've never gotten the big deal with sneaks or jeans or whatever. I mean, I don't care how people spend their money, but I'm not going to get all bent out of shape over a pair of sneakers. If I'm buying a pair, they are to wear a lot, not be brought out for show every once in a while, lovingly washed down and put back in the closet. In the part of the Halloween story previously unblogged, I was hanging out with this guy I met at Sapph in Williamsburg. He lived in this crazy modern apartment, all wood and stone with a terrace and warehouse type doors. He had these sneaks that had like a LV print (with a matching hat) and was wiping them down checking for scuffs. The closet was packed with sneaks and clothes that all looked exactly the same. If this was 1984, it'd have been SoHo and Armani or Gucci and Lacoste, but I still would have been "what the hell am I doing here?"

I suppose it's the wall anyone who is making some sort of effort to be in a scene without really embracing the values (or having the capital to live the life) bumps into sooner or later. Of course, people are more than what they wear or buy or do or live. Maybe I'm disgruntled because I'm just a wannabe, but I don't even know that's true. Even if I did have $160 to spend on a pair of Seven jeans (if they could fit me), I don't know if I'd want to get them. I'd think of all the records and concerts it could buy or the places I could hit up and then just get a pair from Old Navy or something and probably buy a shirt from H&M with the leftovers. I could get a pair of Adidas or Pumas that I know I would always wear and love with what I'd pay for some Dunks. I think I'm just annoyed that so much of what's cool right now has to be about what you've bought. Can I be cool without the iPod or expensive accessories? Sure to me, but does anyone else think so? Then again, do I care what they think? I've marinating on a post about an adventure I had in Williamsburg/Greenpoint a few weeks back and I was telling Jenny that I was put off by the cliquishness. I'm social but inherently a loner and places where everyone is rolling in packs of 3 or more is just off-putting to me. Being in the mix is just currently troublesome, but I'm sure it's just a phase...or perhaps the novelty has worn off. Definitely could be.

ETA: See why I sat on this? I still feel the tone is kinda vitrolic, but what can I do? Meanwhile, here's a link from Abstract Dynamics telling me something I didn't even know about them. Now if someone would've said that about them instead of "they're just dope," I might have been interested. I don't really want to be a hater, man.

Editorial Decisions

There's this post I've been chewing on -- besides the oft-forgotten adventures in North Brooklyn one -- that I was all set to post, but I'm currently re-editing. Why mention it? Just to put out there that though some posts may seem -- and are -- off the cuff, every old rant doesn't make the cut. So, I'm tinkering and it should probably be up later.

In other news, it's cold. And I think I've overloaded on beef and cheese for the time being, though I didn't believe it was possible. The thought of a cheeseburger makes me want to throw up about now. And I'm still broke. And still want things. But, I'm working from a masterplan finally and that makes me happy. I've nested into the homestead and finally started unpacking and putting things on the wall like I really live here. I've also set February 1st as a move date and am tentatively planning a birthday extravaganza at Sapph. I've been list making and trying to visualize some goals for a change. I've had a good run being all blase, living a step in front of chaos, but it like everything has become tired. Structure is more than necessary about now.

The Tracker Knows

Someone on Friendster is cheating. I put in my profile that I had a blog, but I neglected to link it because who needs randoms on your site. Scratch that...randoms who you have no interest in. It's like if I actually gave out my numbers to those undesirables on the street. There's just no logical reason for it. Anyhoo, someone's been googling "Friendster blog Candice" and the like. Blah. The girl would give half a point for being proactive, but not so much when they can't even leave a comment. It's like being back at stalker-friendly Wes or something. I can also see randoms from Wes checking in too. I'm just saying. You know who you are.

And also, my home net is down. Phone jack directly over the base heater + full blast of heat coming out of the radiator as the boiler gets started up for winter = fucked up wires in the box that the phone company has to come out and fix. *sigh* We're in Day 2 of the no phone, no net saga. All I gotta say is cell phones and net cafes/libraries floats this girl's boat. If I could figure out how to plug my cell into my comp for net access, even better. Ah well. I'll post when I can.

Nuggets Part Deux

Oh, the things you uncover on the net when you're just sitting around BSing!

Kill Bill, Vol 2 -- as imagined on Knot Mag:

THE BRIDE (VO)

Four years ago Bill killed me. He put a bullet in my head.

We see a bullet explode from the chamber in a big FIREY BLAZE, see, okay, and then we follow the bullet from the barrel of the gun into her head, we pass by HER BRAIN, and it's ALL GOOEY, right, and SLIMY and then we see LOTS AND LOTS of BLOOD AND BONE BITS flying out of her head with the bullet and we see THE BRIDE'S head exploding!

THE BRIDE (VO)

But he made a mistake: he should have made me deader. Two down, three to go.

I'll be first in line for this one!

Why have I been wasting my time with Friendster? This is the dating service I should really be on! [via Black Table] (and yes, it is fake. Note the Liquid Generation logo on the page.)

More to come as I browse.

Roundup

Being a person who likes to find new things, I browse a lot of places for the haps listings. With all my other resources tapped out and barren, I hit paydirt on Craig's List's Events Board. Gotta love that site.

Zulu Nation 30th Anniversary Extravanganza. Nice and Smooth, son, Nice and Smooth! Squee! And I did not know that November is Hip Hop History Month, but I do now.

Naked Music in Astoria. That's such a great label and Lisa Shaw is an awesome singer. I'm all about her album when it drops.

MetroFly: A Party With a Purpose. I'll check it if I feel refreshed enough after my nap.

In other news: Prefuse 73/Beans/Dabrye at Southpaw manana, only $12. *whimper* I decided not to go to the Bowery show because who knows when my checks are gonna come and I need my pennies about me. But, $12...that's like $4 per person! Must. Resist.

Nuggets

A few pictorials with Grimace and Devil Duckies on attack from Effinchamp.

NaNoWriMo has been on for seven days and I haven't even started yet. Oops.

Maybe it really is Kitty Power:

“We found they [the infected women] were more easygoing, more warm-hearted, had more friends and cared more about how they looked. However, they were also less trustworthy and had more relationships with men,”

Meow. Scientists say: Feeling Sexy? It Could Be Your Cat, but it is Fox News. [via Mercurial]

Women Who Rock Magazine puts on a good event. Their DJ contest last night was fun plus goodie bags and prize giveaways! It takes so little to make this kid happy.

Breast exam advice with your wash and set [via Ms. Musings]

Gangsta activity by young enterprising young students:

The students from the Astor Place high school for gays and lesbians promised men cruising the Village various sex acts for money. Once the men stopped, the students flashed fake NYPD badges and handcuffs and told the johns they were undercover vice cops. In one case, the youths brandished a gun. The teens pushed the men against walls, handcuffed them and took their money, credit cards and bank cards. They also demanded the personal identification numbers for the bank and credit cards. Once they had the valuables, the teens typically would say, "Oh, you're not such a bad guy," and let the men go, a source said.

And the headline just slays me: "Bi-way robberies in the West Village." Daily News, you so punny! Though, I think "Criminal Transgressions" would have been more what they were looking for. [via Gothamist]

Notes

*yawn* I actually think I'm still tired from last week. I've been worn out all the days since plus stressed and easily annoyed. I'm highly influenced by the atomosphere and crappy weather only does bad things to my mood. The week was kinda asstastic and I've been out of it. I've been belligerent to my bank on the phone, but they deserved because they've fucked up twice. I mean shit, I don't have much money and I refused to let them take what little I've got in overdraft fees when it is their error. Damn right they fixed it post haste. I'm sure I sounded like my head was going to explode and it felt like it too. What really set me off was yesterday.

I was on my way to an interview and walking down a platform to transfer trains. This guy moves aside to let me pass him and as I do, starts clapping and making a ruckus while following close behind me, singing some obnoxious songs about my ass. I was so ready to get violent. I held my umbrella in my hands really weighing how late I'd be if I just hit him one good time. I could pretend it was a bat and his stupid head was a ball and swing for the gate. But, I resisted and finally we went in different directions. But, I'm so sick of that shit. All the fucking commentary on the street. Fuck you, you stupid fucker! What you want your mother/sister/daughter/friend to be harassed by strange men like you are doing to me? Some bastard's gonna catch me on the wrong day and end up a castrati.

So, after talking to the bank, I'd had it. I decided to treat myself to something nice. Strawberry cheesecake and a strawberry coolatta. The day only improved from there. When the world looks the most bleakest, get some sugar. Then again, perhaps that explains my newly snug clothes...hmm. Ah well. At least I'm not raging anymore. You've gotta pick your battles.

In A Break From The Heavy

*ping*

You're the cowboy. You're charming, old fashioned,
and down to earth. You're more comfortable
alone on the range than in social situations,
but that doesn't mean you don't want someone
around to rope and ride now and then.


What member of the Village People are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Drone Forecast

I had a really kick ass interview yesterday, despite the usual things going wrong left and right from stepping out of bed until getting there. Her opening line to me was "you've sure done a lot of stuff, huh?" and I was like, "oh, not really" because I'm extremely self-deprecating and -critical and unless it is a roaring smashing success/I have something to show for it, it doesn't count. But then, she was like "okay well, tell me about the yearbook and your temp job and your senior essay and your DC internship and radio show and ITS job and writings" and then I thought to myself, "whoa...okay, I have done a lot of stuff." She and I had a nice rapport and I realized that usually I'm extremely uptight/nervous in interviews, but this one I was just normal. I was the first person that came in to interview for it and I think she liked me, but I can't help but think that if the Yale comparative literature grad with the 4.0 GPA comes in after me, I haven't got a prayer. It was still nice though. Another one tomorrow at the place I went for one thing the other week and that HR person's opening line was basically "for what you're here for, you suck and have no real experience, but there's this other position that might fit you." She said it nicely and all. but I still felt like a kicked puppy. In that case I wanted to say, "what do you mean? Screw you, my resume is jammed packed! Of course I don't have five years of PR experience, I just got out of school! Plus it's freaking entry-level position! Sheesh!" Fucking "we want a ridiculous amount of experience in fresh faced out of school kids for entry-level positions that we can pay $2 for a 80 hour work week" economics sucks my invisible nuts. Everybody loses in this craptastic job market. I wish I could be like Alex and opt out by being in a band and doing something he's reallly connected to. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have my passions and it's not that opposed to what these jobs I'm going for are and I've got enough of that liberal idealism/protestant work ethic/respect for the capitalist system, but fuck, can we go back to 1999 when I could get paid a lot of money for doing jack all day? I'm just saying.

But back to the jobs, both are non-profits, paying okay actually (I've got a pretty easy criteria on that. I think of salaries as: 1) can I pay my loans on that? 2) can I pay rent on that? 3) would I have to spend a lot of time begging the 'rents for money on that? The answers should generally be yes, yes, and only for kicks), and the one that went really well was even in publishing. I'd feel like a good little GOSPLAC if I was at either. What would really be nice is if my temp job supervisor was installed as an editor somewhere because I know she likes me and would maybe take me with her. Or if I could get in there on my own because the place is kinda interesting in an observing the wild in their natural habitat sort of way. Or if I could become suddenly independently wealthy and take an internship which is hard to justify currently. Ah well. I'll just plug away I suppose. Being lackadaisical has gotten me this far and I don't really have a real complaint yet.

Picture Time

I thought that was a cute blast from the past, circa March '01. And that was for an article, btw. I mean, come on, why put up a sign requesting a date when you can do that on the internet? Sheesh. I've been going picture crazy this weekend since Grandmastah H and Farmer realeased some early fall pics. For a person who doesn't feel especially photogenic, I sure did a lot of mugging. Upload a few, you say? Maybe later.

Passing The Time

*ping*

Your Name: Candice
Nicknames: Candicissima, C-Murder, various other things. Never Candy unless you have a death wish.
Hometown: Brooklyn, NY
Current Residence: Queens, NY
Croutons or bacon bits: neither
Favorite salad dressing: creamy italian
Do you drink: yep, like the fish I am
Ever gone skinny dipping: Nope
In an outdoor pool of an apartment building: Nyet
Do you make fun of people: All the time as a sport
Favorite color: Red
Ever been convicted of a crime: Negative
One pillow or two: Two are on the bed, but one is used.
Pets: Two big ass diva cats
Favorite type of music: Something with a good beat
Hobbies: Music, dancing, net crawling, weight obsessing, sex obsessing, and being wittier than you
Dream car: Cooper Mini
Type of car you drive now: Haha...drive? In NYC? Haha. Two words: Learner's Permit.
Words or phrases you overuse: "What's the matter with you?"/Shit
Most romantic moment: Last year, first anniversary with Mr. Sailor. Woken up by a rose and breakfast in bed. I was so surprised that he was so sentimental and knew that he was a keeper. Oh wait...never mind.
Are you a hopeless romantic: Ridiculously so.
Do you get along with your parents: More often that not
Favorite town to chill out in: Washington, DC strangely enough
Favorite ice cream: NY Cheesecake from Edy's
Favorite alcoholic drink: Amaretto Sours
Favorite soft drink: Sprite/Sprite Remix/7-Up
What's your bedtime: Varies according to the night's activities and level of boredom
Favorite song: Outkast, "Hey Ya"/Weather Report, "Teen Town"
Last record bought: Whew...it's been forever. Probably "God's Son"
Favorite website: TWoP/Fametracker/Gothamist
Adidas, Nike, or Reebok: Adidas
What's on your mouse pad: I don't have one
Favorite smell: Jasmine or Cheesecake or Lasagna
Least favorite smell: Chocolate. Death food!
Least favorite food: Liver or brussel sprouts
What's your idea of hell: Being poor and unemployed for the rest of my life
Favorite perfume or cologne: Currently VS's Riviera Sun/Chanel Allure
Favorite Movie: Dead Alive/La Dolce Vita/Daughters of the Dust
Favorite sport to watch: Basketball
Favorite sport to play: Football
Most humiliating moment: That stuff usually rolls off me, but pieces of NYE 2003 stands out as pretty harsh
What is the first thing you think when you wake up in the morning: Another hour!
What do you look for in a significant other: The ability to keep up with me.

In Other News

To continue my Halloween roundup, last night was low-key wanderings with PrincessNella, though the craptastic G train still made us get in pretty late. Today was laundry day. Life can't always be exciting here at KP.

Freelancing as a career is shitty as far as I'm concerned. That project I've been working on is taking forever to pay me. Their contract fine print was payment within 30 days and at Day 17, I'm feeling the pressure. Oy at loan payments and credit card bills and transportation costs and food. I'd say oy at scenestress activities costs, but truthfully I don't pay that much. I hang out at certain places for reasons other than just the crowds.

The funny part is despite the financial pain, I've decided again that I want to branch off. Actually, I had planned to use this money to take a trip if it had come like a week ago, but now I'm wary about blowing a huge stack to go overseas despite how much I love my kids across the pond. Ms. Mommy is bugging me in a way that parents will when they choose to be oblivious to the stress you're under. PrincessNella and I have been talking about the irritation of spending four years wholly independent only to be back in a little old room with four years worth of shit. As well as mothers being cool but really not that cool. I'm in a total "why should I stay" mood especially since I know that when I am truly self-reliant with shit that needs to be taken care of post haste is when I go into the resourceful determined mode I've missed. Being in the nest is like limbo. It's too mentally comfortable. I'm ready to really sink or swim. But mostly because I'm sick of living in the middle of nowhere. Buses to trains is not where it's at. This Brooklyn kid doesn't even really like Queens to start with. There's something about the borough that encourages being stranded.

Then again, I'm just dreaming. I've got to get my money first. Then I can master plan.

Boo Night

First a song because I'm currently obsessed with it. I gotta say I love a song that's talking about something deeper yet propelled by a good beat. It is impossible not to at least tap your feet when this shit comes on. It gets in your bones, man.

Ya'll don't want to hear me
You just want to dance
(Hey Ya.. Hey Ya
Hey Ya.. Hey Ya
Hey Ya.. Hey Ya
Hey Ya.. Hey Ya)

Oh oh!
Oh oh!
Don't want to meet your daddy (Oh oh!)
Just want you in my Caddy (Oh oh! Oh oh!)
Don't want to meet your momma (Oh oh!)
Just want to make you come-a (Oh oh!)
I'm (Oh oh!)
I'm (Oh oh!)
I'm just being honest (Oh oh!)
I'm just being honest

Hey! Alright now!
Alright now, fellas! (Yeah!)
Now what's cooler than being cool? (Ice cold!)
I can't hear ya!
I say what's, what's cooler than being cool? (Ice cold!)
Alright! (15x)

Okay now, ladies! (Yeah!)
Now we gon' break this thing down in just a few seconds
Now don't have me break this thing down for nothin!
Now I wanna see ya'll on ya'll baddest behavior!
Lend me some sugar!
I am your neighbor!
Ah! Here we go! Uh!

Shake it, sh-shake it (Oh oh!)
Shake it, sh-shake it
Shake it, sh-shake it
Shake it, shake it
Sh-shake it (Oh oh!)
Shake it like a polaroid picture
Shake it, sh-shake it (Hey ya!)
Shake it, sh-shake it
Shake it, shake it
Shake it, sh-shake it (Shake it sugar!)
Shake it like a polaroid picture

Anyhoo...

To keep it brief: I felt like a freak for having the guts to wear a costume (only my wig was really visible) on the way out. I mean, *gasp* who the fuck wears costumes on Halloween?! Sorrry. Flavorpill party with TLL. Good times and free booze. VHS or Beta were pretty fun and Lindsey Caldwell is a kick ass DJ. Remembered fun fact: breasts are good for attention. Then again, I don't like attention. Cockblocked with cruelty. That home girl will never know how close she was to getting punched out. Alas, I'm resilient and moved on. Ended up at Sapph, where the party was still going as I left at 6:30ish. They don't quit in that piece. Another observed fact: I seem to send out a druggie pheromone. I listened to "Hey Ya" four times in a row. I got home at 2:30pm and I'm still going out tonight. Where is this energy coming from?