Kitty Power

The Bachelorette Life

[via Bill]

eXpressive: 5/10
Practical: 3/10
Physical: 6/10
Giver: 2/10

You are a RSYT--Reserved Sentimental Physical Taker. This makes you a Brute.

You are volatile, stormy and incredibly sexy. You have a hungry, fascinating way about you. You are a riot when you're happy and a menace when you're angry. You are strangely appealing to your target sex, and they find themselves drawn in despite their wiser instincts.

In your professional life, your type makes you a star, a force to be reckoned with, and the one people trust when they have a problem that's beyond them. In a relationship, you are a bull in a china shop, and if your partner isn't clever s/he may get plowed down. I could warn you to be more communicative with and sensitive to your partner, but that's just not going to happen. You don't ask much of your significant other, so you have no tolerance for high demands on you. For you, it's either love it or leave it.

You work hard and play hard. You enjoy a good drink. You have had many lovers and will have many more. People try and fail to get you into bed. They want you for a friend and fear you as an enemy.

This may not sound too flattering, but the truth is that because you know yourself so well you're happier in a relationship than most everybody else.

Hemingway would write about you. Maybe Hemingway is you.

Of the 35385 people who have taken this quiz, 3.2 % are this type.

City Alive

It's almost strange how you can bypass everything going on if you really want to, but when it intrudes you feel like you're stuck in some bizarro world. That happpened to me today going to Ranch 1 for lunch and seeing hundreds of cops just hanging out on the blocked off street near FIT. I had a slight moment of cognitive dissonance and then I was all "yeah, MSG is only 4 blocks away and today's the 'big' day." I had the same feeling going to the 23rd Street F stop after work and seeing a line of police bikes completely shielding the 23rd and 6th intersection. So much for figuring I was too far over to experience any aftershocks.

Something which is going to go into my memory banks of all time NYC moments will be Friday evening. Last work week was so draining, a campaign being set to run and having to do all this last minute shit that kept me chained to my desk until 7:30 Friday night. Fizzie was feeling the same, so we met up at the store he loves a little too obsessively: Best Buy on 23rd. We were standing outside chatting when I hear this strange whoop in the distance. I cocked my head to the side and looked around, but didn't see anything. And then, I noticed the trickle of bikes. At first riding with cars and then a street full just parading down 6th. Clogging up traffic at 23rd, forcing buses to the side -- just a crazy mass taking over the street, whooping and cheering. Fizzie, another bystanders, and I just stared on it dumbfounded for 5 minutes or so. Then we shook it off and left.

Later that night, I met the other Styleaholics crew that this new party they are spearheading weekly somewhere in the EVil. $20 for all you can drink, a private juke joint party spilling onto the street. (Anyone who wants to hear more about it, hit me up.) I sipped on rum punch cups and wandered into tattoo shop next door, assuring all I was only curiously looking. We traded stories of running into the bikers, but mostly stood around and chatted in a chill setting away from the madness everywhere else downtown was that night. Random cyclists passed and I smiled wondering if I'd seen them earlier. The night wound down and I was happy to go home feeling a lot less stressed than I'd been earlier in the night.

The next day was spent in the house, windows open and trying not to move much until night fell. I made an attempt to meet Jay-V in Chelsea, but vetoed when her review over text was less than satisfying. Again, it seemed like any other night in the city on my walk over to 10th Avenue from Penn Station -- except for the phalanx of cops again standing around. I mean, I know it's a security thing but packs of like 75+ just sorta hanging out in the middle of nowhere don't really seem to serve a purpose. Then again, I'm not a convention security organizer, so what do I know? Enjoy that overtime for nothing, folks!

I went down to meet up with Fizzie in the middle of his alarming webcam and My Space addiction. He needs an intervention, stat! I'll just smack him upside the head a few times until he gets a grip. I dragged his ass kicking and screaming out of the house and we ended up below Delancey in that place Abe was so fond of this summer. We, being us, were slightly tipsy and got frustrated waiting for like 10 mins for the bathroom downstairs. Fizzie was adamant that no one was in the one bathroom room that had remained locked since we'd been waiting. A bystander guy and I were amused as he threatened to pick the lock and shocked as shit when he did...to find a pair in a semi-compromising position. Fizzie proceeded to back out of the room and run like a bitch. Now, I for one would've been awed/disgusted/highly entertained if they'd really been going at it, but what were they doing instead? Bent over the toilet doing lines like the lameass sniffers they are. Coke is so cool, right? Well, why don't you just do it out in the open since "everyone" is doing it and all. No point in being ashamed if you're so "awesome." You should go Grace Jones line from one end of the room to the other big! Oh yeah, cause they're not and you're fucking lame. Bastard ass sniffers keeping me from peeing.

Anyhoo, the guy was nonplussed, the girl was mortified and frozen. The bystander guy and I just gawked before hysterically laughing. Embarassed, they just relocked the door. I went off to find that silly boy and he was outside telling the story to a group who just didn't get why it was funny. He says they were foreign, I think they were sniffers who were offended. To each their own.

Telly Torture

So, I watched the VMAs. All of it. What was I thinking?

But really, what was Beyonce thinking when she let her mama dress her in that? Your mama hates you, girl. It's obvious. It's Atlantic City Hooker Barbie with a detachable dead squirrel wig! I've got to give thanks to the VMAs for putting "Ocean Avenue" on a brain loop and making me watch heavy metal videos to get it out. I loved hearing "Prototype" live and that Andre 3000 is sick of performing "Hey Ya" as much I am hearing it live the past year. Line of the night goes to Marilyn Manson for his response to how did you get here: "I rode in on Mandy Moore." I liked the pre-show music I heard from Pitbull. And it's good thing MTV told me about voting. I would've never known otherwise.

The show really wasn't that interesting overall. I think even Dave Chappelle was less funny just by being there. Does Paris Hilton always sound like she just came from her lobotomy? And it was cute when the Yellowcard guy cried.

Some highlights from the running IM commentary Jay-V and I had going:

Jay-V: i havent seen mtv in such a long time
Jamirakid: yeah me neither
Jamirakid: the novelty of all of this is great
***
(on beyonce)
Jamirakid: turn and look at this girl
Jay-V: oh jesus
Jay-V: her hair looks like shit
Jamirakid: jesus...why does she let her momma dress her?
Jay-V: yeah i know
Jamirakid: with all that money! she's famous! she can get that shit for free!
Jay-V: and then she could get good looking shit
Jay-V: god i cant get over how bad her hair looks
Jay-V: it looks like she just took out the rollers but didnt didnt comb
Jamirakid: that outfit too!
Jay-V: the outfit i can overlook. not cause its not that bad but because my eyes are drawn to her head
Jamirakid: beyonce looked like a HBCU majorette in that outfit. she stole that from the set of drumline
Jay-V: lol that she did
***
Jay-V: okay hailey is all sorts of ugly
Jamirakid: yeah i know
Jamirakid: it's really also sad that she's the older sister and glued to hilary
Jay-V: and hillary is no dime either
Jay-V: yeah
Jay-V: hailey needs a nose job
Jay-V: hillary needs to give her one for xmas
Jamirakid: haha
Jamirakid: she's got a nose like ashlee simpson
Jay-V: lol
***
Jamirakid: hmm. i notice i didn't see justin timberdick
Jay-V: heh true
Jay-V: hes been laying low in general though
Jay-V: and hes not up for anything
Jamirakid: did you hear he refuses to get back with nsync? fucker
Jay-V: are you serious? i didnt hear that
Jay-V: could his head be a little bigger?
Jamirakid: yeah i know
Jamirakid: hate!
Jamirakid: they call him Punk Ass Bitch on fametracker. so fitting
Jay-V: heh
***
(on Mr. JLo's Kanye intro)
Jamirakid: ooh no claps
Jay-V: YES
Jamirakid: ha. and right in front of puff
Jamirakid: ass to him!
Jay-V: lol thats really funny
Jay-V: he always looks coked up
Jamirakid: yeppers
***
(on the candidates daughters' segment)
Jamirakid: jenna looks like a pig
Jay-V: i think this whole thing is really cheesy
Jamirakid: pig face to the extreme
Jamirakid: yeah really
Jay-V: lol the skinny one (barbara) has weird eyes
Jay-V: jesus shut up already
Jamirakid: yeah they need to stop
Jay-V: they totally killed the vibe
Jay-V: lol liked the lets move on part
Jamirakid: yeah really
***
(on the lil jon, et al mastermix)
Jay-V: till the sweat drips down and falls. ha
Jamirakid: oh shit
Jamirakid: vivica fox!
Jay-V: oh shit i just thought it was a video ho
Jay-V: she has no shame anymore
Jamirakid: nope
Jay-V: also does she realize shes not 28 like the rest of them
Jamirakid: with her booty hanging out those shorts
Jay-V: uh huh
Jamirakid: the funny thing is that lil jon's gotta be like 35
Jamirakid: most rappers are fucking old
Jay-V: heh
Jamirakid: except like chingy and j-kwon
***
Jamirakid: oh bruce willis
Jay-V: lol
Jay-V: i always get a kick out of seeing celebs having fun and dancing to a song
Jay-V: its like hey! they like the same shit we do
Jamirakid: oh yeah. that's fun
***
(on Jet taking forever to get to the stage for their award)
Jamirakid: eww. they need to stop making out already
Jamirakid: they were making out all the way down the carpet and everything
Jay-V: heh i know
Jamirakid: and he looks like a dick in that hat
Jamirakid: why's some skinny mofo always trying to show his scrawny chest?
Jay-V: lol
Jay-V: man you like them
Jamirakid: eh?
Jay-V: i was saying you like ths skinny white dude type
Jamirakid: haha. not that skinny
Jamirakid: ...well not all the time
Jay-V: lol
***
Jamirakid: lenny kravitz looking stupid. what else is new?
Jay-V: yup
Jay-V: though i have to say im glad the perm is gone
Jay-V: i was not feeling that
Jay-V: his perm was looking better than mine. i was like ooh girl he must wrap his hair at night
Jamirakid: haha
Jamirakid: nah, he probably had a model or 6 do it for him
Jamirakid: he looks like bam bam in that stupid outfit
Jay-V: lol uh huh

A Line In The Sand

I was kinda dreading going over to Sapph last night. It was the site of much of Saturday's infamous behavior. Fizzie and I IMed during the day about how we each were a little scared of what would happen. I was all bluster like "eh, how bad could it be? I'm more embarrassed internally and it's not like they could make it worse or anything." Again, with the famous last words.

I stopped by that pizza place at Orchard and Stanton to get the greasiest pepperoni slice I have every experienced in my life. I actually stood at the corner of Allen with my plate tilted and it would not stop running. It was so gross, but meat and cheese and crust are all I need to make me happy, so I ate it happy as a clam. I strolled up to Sapph with all the peeps standing outside.

"Hey hey," said N with a smirk. "You were sure fucked up Saturday, eh?"
"Hehe," I chuckled. "A little bit."
"That dancing. It was terrible. So off-beat. I was actually embarrassed for you."
"That really wasn't my fault. I was being led into something weird. Did you see when I fell though?"
"Oh yeah, I did! I was like, 'isn't that strange? do not know that girl.'"

They clowned me so hard. But hey, I can laugh about it. Everyone's entitled to making an ass out of themselves now and again.

I went inside to find a group of girls I knew from the fest party. It was all when worlds collide night. So, I shouldn't have been to surprised to see some vaguely familiar faces at the door. I placed them and then rage took over. Some wack ass senior fipster fuckers at my spot?! Oh hell no! Don't those bitches need to be up at Wes already? I was raging. I tried to get the doorman to charge them $10 a head (and I was only semi-joking) before Fizzie convinced me to dance and ignore them. I hope they hated it and would rather spend their time at a wack spot like Eleven or something. God knows, I'll never see them in there.

A Social Animal

Category X - The
Changeling

Witty, amusing and a bit weird, you're welcomed
into most social groups, even though you don't
'fit in' perfectly .


What Type of Social Entity are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Nuggets

A few months ago, I joked to my father that I wanted to move because I was living next door to a house of hookers. That's not so funny now. Viva South Jamaica?

Just when you thought the Washingtonienne thing blew over, here's a big old article about her. She is stirring up Monica type feelings in me. I'm gonna go on a rampage and possibly sound highly unfeminist for a second when I say: She fucks around? So what? Give the bitch a parade and send her on her merry way. I could really give a fuck about some stupid trampy bitch screwing old guys for money in Washington, or hell anywhere. Because they all reveal themselves to be lazy entitled whores who watched Pretty Women too much instead of cultivating their brains and getting a fucking real job and developing their careers. They took the shortcut that has failed for so many, a la fucking men old enough to be their daddies, because they're deluded and needy and only know the phrase "what can you do for me." And then have the nerve to be all "he led me on" and "I'm just a victim of the environment." Fuck you, honey. Wanna lie down with a dog? You're gonna get fleas. If you're gonna be a slut, you'd better at least be an empowered one with brains to keep your ass afloat when shit goes down. Your cooch is not made of diamonds. You're not the first trick that made a buck and you won't be the last. Infamy is not actual fame. Fuck off, Jessica, and go piss your money away like Monica did. Just so you can disappear faster. [via Feministe]

I love that rabid asshole Malkin was called in to add her two cents. She can go fuck herself also. Did you read the transcript (or see the video) of the smackdown she got on Hardball last week? So lovely. And I love that she has a Fametracker thread.

Ahem. Elsewhere on the net, The Vice Guide To Everything kept entertained at work. A rule I follow: "Don't ever say no to a reasonable invitation to do something that might be fun. This is a WASP rule, and one of the reasons why rich white people rule the planet." May I possibly get a corner of the earth too, oh white overlords?

And S/FJ is today's Gawker Interview. *whine* I was supposed to interview him for my Gothamist Interview guest week! Now I can't without looking like a biter! Wah! */whine*

ETA: A blog nod for Nate P's post (blogs with no comments are like so annoying sometimes). My dad grew up with the Brass Construction folks and I used to be the most hardcore Steely Dan listening 15-year old not in the '70s. I even went to their concert at PNC Bank Arts Center. I even owned the tour t-shirt. I once made a lunchtime journey to their studio as they were recording Two Against Nature to possibly meet them. I own the fucking box set. If loving them is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Fit And You Know It

This is my second fall of not having to go to school -- and I'm still not missing it. As always, I miss having my friends all in one place, but school as an institution still has me burned out. At work, Jay-V and I were listing Wes food we strangely miss (mine was everything here -- mmm wings and turkey clubs, grilled chicken with cheese sandwiches, strawberry smoothees, and carrot cake slices). I spend way too much time thinking about food nowadays. Having the stress of school out of my life has packed pounds on me. How come no one warns you about the post-college 15+? Everyone I know has gained weight. Sitting on your ass all day will do that to you I guess. The real world sucks. What's up with body maintenance and all that shit?

Where I fucked up was the month or so leading up to The Closet when I just kinda stopped going to the gym. Hi, 5 extra pounds! I kinda looked at myself from the neck down in the mirror one day and screamed. My eating habits suck. I strangely don't eat much candy, cake, sweets, salty crap, and other bad things much, but I'm all about the pastas, breads, cheeses, and the like...and going back for seconds because I love them so much. And obvs, I spend too much time in front of the computer.

I've been hitting the gym with a vengeance. What pisses me off is that I'm as fit as I ever was, just carrying a little extra weight around. I want visible results! Immediately! And that's just not going to happen. In just a week or so of laying off the sandwiches and chicken and pastas from Ranch 1, the pants are loosening and I'm not so quick to hide my stomach. Keeping myself in check will be the hardest part. Must. Resist. The. Double. Cheeseburgers. I like to eat. I just need to make sure I'm sticking with the right things. It's like a process and stuff. I just want to keep the breasts. Is there some sort of non-chest working exercise I can do? Gotta keep some fat after all.

Late To The Party

I've been on a massive new to me music kick this weekend. I'm beginning to feel like I've been under a rock for months.

I had a Friday night in, downloading massive amounts of reggaeton just looking for "Dale Don Dale." Strangest part of my new fascination is that it didn't resonate with me until Thursday night at Sapph when the DJ dropped a miniset. Even the Times knew about it before I did and that's saying something. And the "Get Low (Merengue Remix)" is so hot to me right now. Like I commented over on Abe's take, it's really the only thing I've heard lately that gets me pumped. Why the hell have there been no real dance songs this summer? Everything's all thug shuffle music. And that includes "Lean Back" and my fave "Got It Twisted." Why are you playing "Why?" at a club when it's not danceable? Why are you playing the same old songs that Fizzie and I like to call "the best of Reggae Gold '98?" I mean, jesus, they're playing "Chi Chi Man" like it's new or something. The dancehall sets piss me off. Don't they listen to the radio?

Randomly browsing my Amazon music recommendations reminded me I totally slept on The Sea and Cake EP, Glass. What I want for Christmas is a new Sea and Cake album. Someone needs to put the word into the guys. I am so in love with Lisa Shaw's voice. Whatever happened to her album? I want that too.
And I'm so obsessed with Since We Last Spoke -- and Through The Walls still makes me want to kill.

A Postal Service mp3 that Fizzie sent me and that episode of Six Feet Under with the tripping art students and stuff has gotten me into "Transatlanticism." I'm just starting my Death Cab listening. And believe it or not, a recommendation from Shady got me into Tiga. "Hot In Herre" is on the blast list. Fizzie's review on IM: "that's terrible. what's really terrible is that it sounds better than the original."

And VH1 Classics is so awesome. I saw the "Everybody Hurts" tonight. And just found out that they do a show where they show old and new videos of artists. Imagine a "Mr. Telephone Man" and "Hot 2 Nite" (meh on the song. Poor Ralph is looking rough. Johnny is still fine! Ricky still gets no face time. Anyone remember his one solo single with the 60s variety show type video? What is that song? I liked it the one time I ever heard it.) double play! Plus The Alternative is such a great show. Vintage live Echo and The Bunnymen! My new favorite song, American Music by Violent Femmes! I should request "Bela Lugosi Is Dead" or something. I should make a viewing diary too.

And I've updated the music page because I love you.

She Wants To Move

Fuck I'm boring. I need a bender or something

That right there at the bottom my last post exemplifies famous last words. My head hurts more than you can imagine. Moving too much makes me feel ill. I'm gonna go back to boring and fucking love it once all light sources stop hurting my eyes. *whimper*

The high(/low)lights before I get into the thick of it: Femme Fatale is a great movie! * No Js across the Williamburg ruined my shortcut and almost my night * One day I'm just gonna flip and totally go Falling Down on public transportation. I can feel it * NBA Street 2 is damned entertaining but I suck at video games that aren't fighting ones * I left my wallet, ID, and (thankfully) ATM card at home. I'm so smart, it's scary * Pricks deserve to get cockblocked * When I said I don't pick up leftovers, I lied (and I knew I was at the time) * I had a total freshman year indoor beach party flashback, but this time I played Jay-V * For the first time ever, I vomited on someone. By accident. And yeah, eww. * New rule starting today: it might be crude and rude, but I'm no longer travelling outside Brooklyn-Queens-Manhattan with someone if I'm not getting laid * I actually waxed on the wonderfulness of Nerve Personals and Friendster before all the lamers got on. The ironic thing being I used to lie to everyone about where I'd meet these people. "Around" being the most common one.

I'll get around to the nitty gritty later. I need some aspirin first.

Aight. I slept it off. I'm good.

Friday -- minus a focus group where I got $40 for saying "your site sucks" and a dinner with Mr. Daddy where the convo basically went "Daddy, I'm so faaat!"/"No, you're not."/"Yes I am, I'm so faaat."/"No, you're not...okay, you got a little chubby."/"See...I'm faaat" -- was a bust and I stayed in to be obsessive in downloading music. Saturday dawned equally as low-key until I caught in the rain bringing home my clothes from the laundry and gave up my dream of a Central Park show. I sat down and watched some TV for a switch and came across Femme Fatale. So much fun. By then, it was time to head out. Let's note for later on that it was a good thing I wore my sneakers.

I set off to meet Fizzie to roll together. The quickest way (usually) to the LES from my way is the J, cutting across Queens and Brooklyn right over the Williamsburg. Everything was humming along until Hewes when they announced the shuttle bus and dumped us all out. I waited at Hooper with all the other rides and felt stoked that I landed one of the last seats. Until I got hit from all sides. The men sitting next to me and I were packed so close that my legs were sweating -- with the additional insult of the dick on the right sitting sideways and putting his ass on me. But really pissing me off was the utter inanity of the conversation going on over my head. There was this "artist" and this other guy I had eyed when we got on the train because he looked ultrasharp talking about how wonderful it was that the "artist" was rich (oh, excuse me that his folks were rich) and he could afford to bum around living in Malibu and traipse about the country just to hang out. Yeah, fuck that kid. Meanwhile, the bus was caught in traffic and moving slower than people walking across the bridge. I was heated by the time I got to Delancey and Essex.

I strolled over to Fizzie's place to find him dazed by video games in b-ball shorts, a.k.a. the usual. He used my answer of "I'm not sure yet" (the question being "so where are we going?") to ignore me and keeping playing while I made the drink. Major mistake. Jay-V and others can confirm that a drink made by my hand is gonna be pretty stiff since I lack the depth perception to agree on a reasonable amount of alcohol in a glass. Not quite "vodka with some coloring" but close. We had a bottle of Smirnoff in the fridge with about 1/4 left and I decided to split the difference...in two coffee cups. It was pretty strong, but we downed (well I sipped) it like pros. I nagged his ass to make it speedy on the game and he convinced me to play a round of Need for Speed. I began to rethink my PS2 in the bachelorette pad idea when it was revealed that I was too stupid to drive in a car game. See, that whole no license thing is about me protecting the little people. I gave up and went back to sipping as Fizzie played NBA Street 2. The announcing slayed me (Wes head represent!) and I speculated how exactly the recording session for that went on. Did he sit in a room just think of ball related disses or what? (Jay, got any insider scoop?) I was also thrilled to see Darryl Dawkins as one of the people Fizzie played because I met him at Newark Airport back in the day. That man was scarily huge.

At once, I got phone calls from my friend C and FFPGINOANP (soon to be renamed when I'm feeling creative cause it's a bitch to find and paste..erm, type). He had popped up again Thursday, surprising the hell out of me. What a sneaky move it is for a guy to pop up after you're basically written him off! Everyone was in Fizzie's neighborhood and wanting to hang out. It was really like summer for a change. I hurried Fizzie out the door and we went to where C was first. And when I got to bouncer, I looked in my bag and realized a big one: I had left my wallet at home. D'oh! But, it's good to be a girl sometimes cause he just quizzed me on my b-day and let me in regardless. We chilled for a sec and with a "we'll be right back" popped over to Orchard where FFPGINOANP was with his friends.

We stroll in and I plop next to him. Intros all around. I only partially cared to hear the names of the "friends" (in quotes because it was later revealed that they weren't really), so we'll call them German and Bitchface. Fizzie and I heard that it was last call (at only like 1:30) and hurried to order lemon drops since it was just about the only appealling thing we could find. The total of that was about $14. As the bill was being divvied up, Fizzie threw in a $20 and then Bitchface had the nerve to ask us if we were putting something towards the tip! Fucker. We convinced the three of them to abandon plans to go somewhere up in Gramercy and come with us back to the other place. (I could tell you the magic word that changed their set minds, but then I'd have to kill you.)

Back at the spot, we sipped on the house peach ice teas in a group. At the corner of my eye, I noticed strange body language going on between German and FFPGINOANP and Fizzie and I did the play by play. Head tilts, little smiles -- so flirting. And then bang, the kissing and disappearing. I raised an eyebrow, amused, and we traded laughs. Definitely not laughing was Bitchface who looked pissed enough to fry an egg on his face. Someone asked me about where the bathroom was and jumped up to "show" them because curiosity has always been my Achilles' heel. (It's a kitty thing.) I think it was around then that the night began to take on a vintage Wes days vibe. The fact we were all generally drunk off our faces only added to it. Alcohol: the great age equalizer.

When I came back, Bitchface was even pissier and making his way out. He wanted me to pass on a message he left. (Yeah, no one cared though.) A minute later, back came FFPGINOANP and German. He plopped next to me and she hung around for a few mins before leaving. I smiled at him as sweet as sugar. "How's your night going," I asked. "Alright," he replied. "Yeah, it looked like it. We saw you in the back, tsk, tsk" Banter, banter -- you know the deal. I obviously wasn't mad or anything. Like I said, all very collegesque -- not that the boys I kinda liked kissing other girls in front of me happened too much in my time. I was pretty unfazed but I did put it out there that I don't pick up other girls' leftovers. Soon after, the group of us were off to Sapph.

There, we kept drinking and I proved myself a liar. About the leftover thing. I was surprised but not very. I'm prone to whims. The frat house indoor beach party flashback came when one sec I was standing next to a pillar to the side of the room and the next I was on my ass on the floor. Thank God I wore my sneakers. FFPGINOANP said later that from his perspective, one sec I was there talking and the next I dropped out of sight. I have no idea how I got there. I was straight up perplexed as Fizzie and C rushed over to help me. "What are you doing on the floor?" Fizzie asked. I replied totally confused, "I really don't know" and they hoisted me up. Thus ended my drinking. Actually, the whole group of us got cut off. Good times.

So, it's stupid late and FFPGINOANP suggested that we all hang out at his house. Fizzie was really into it until he remembered "wait, he lives in Jersey and I live 4 blocks away. I think not. Laters." Smart boy, that Fizzie. Chugging my bottle of water (that mysteriously appeared) the whole time, I went in a cab to PA to get on the bus and stand. Somewhere on Blvd East, I felt the urge to vomit. And I sorta did. Lightly. But some spilled on the guy sitting down underneath me. And his facial expression was like "is that water dripping on me?" Yeah...some of it. So, I just walked straight off the bus like a fare beater and sat on the side of the road until I felt better. Wondering where the hell I was and what I was gonna do sorta passed through my head, but I was more into pulling myself together. Up strolled FFPGINOANP and luckily we were only about 3 blocks from his place. So, we get there, I go vomit some more in the bathroom, and pass out. Lovely, eh?

The next day, I felt fine lying down, except for the sun feeling like it was melting my eyes. We worked to piece together the night before and he made the funny comment about me falling out of sight. I reminded him that yes, he made out with German, and I got the story of Bitchface trying not so subtly to edge him out and have her all to himself the whole night. Pricks deserve to get cockblocked. Lovely conversation and everything. Somehow internet dating came up and I was all, "shit...I used to be a Friendster ho! But the golden days are over." (Second part's true, the first not quite.) I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that he reminds me of what I liked about Farmer before he reemerged as Sniffer Beast Mach 5. We went for some yummy Spanish food and made plans to catch a show in a few weeks. Then I went back to NYC on the most hellish slow ass bus ride and I made that never going outside of Brooklyn/Queens/Manhattan without a payoff promise. We'll see if I keep it. I'm quite prone to hyperbole. Because after all, wouldn't I be mad if someone had that rule about me? Eh...no, not really. I'd probably thank them for being honest.

In conclusion, a jammed packed fucking weekend. I no longer feel ill and I'll probably go another 6 months without vomiting (hopefully). I've also learned some lessons: Guys surprise you when you least expect it. If you're going to overindulge on the sauce, it'd better be early. If you've got a would-be rival, you've got to be all Survivor in that piece -- outwit, outfox, outlast. And try to keep it all down.

Slow and Steady

I give up on the whole getting around to things in draft thing. It's just not gonna happen until the weekends. Blogging at work is just impossible because they're in a "give the girl a lot of work to do" kick and by the time I roll home, it's all about a tank top and shorts on the computer until I collapse into bed. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially over the hill. The highlights when I pretend to be interesting though:

• If you care, the home soundtrack has changed from grunge and '90s WNEW rock to IDM, drum and bass, and old school R&B. Upgrade or downgrade? The music for the lull period before 2004 v. 3.0.

• The Closet was great. So many things I wanted to buy, but no time to do it. And apparently when I sent out those emails to everyone and said there were no models, I was lying. (And to continue this new obsession I seem to have with asses, this one girl had one that was the most amazing one I've ever seen. It was big and round but like suspended mid-air. So awesome. I need to do my squats to get half of that.) Us girls on the credit card machine were passing the time with our Orange V vodka sample boxes, sipping it straight up like savs. It's so smooth and yummy. And we didn't fuck up a sale because we're professionals. Act like you know.

• I was solo because Fizzie went West for a long weekend (and is now heading back there for good. How sad.) I went out big time last Friday, hitting up that place I've outgrown, followed by a nice stay at 419 (where I got the warm "long time no see" from my boy the bouncer and enjoyed a nice glass of Taylor's 10. Still love that stuff) and dancing my ass off at Francopalooza. I'd forgotten what it's like to be around things but not of it. It felt like old times minus the sheer manic urges that used to propel me. There's a certain energy I used to have when everything was new and I liked to see what adventures I could get into. I feel like mentally I've aged 10 years in the past year or so. I just can't hang like I used to. I'm just tired of the run around and how everything was so fast-paced. I want to run at the slow and steady speed. I've accepted it. It's just more fun to be grounded and with my friends at the end of the day. Life is a lot less interesting, but I can live without the drama.

• Saturday night, I hung with Rissa, the most beautiful girl in the world, newly returned from Brazil. We chilled in Astoria which looks so beautiful to me. There's an energy about that neighborhood I just really like. We'll see how it all pans out. The nightlife can be better -- we went to this club on Broadway that reminded me of Trust plus pool tables. It wasn't the typical Queens nightlife but nothing to write home about for those Manhattanesque drink prices. And I can live without the old men trolling the place. But Brazilian night and no cover was nice.

• The newly returned Fizzie and I went to The Art of Shooting show last night. We love the band and will see them at Lit Saturday night at 9pm(/end subtle plug), but the sound at Rothko was terrible. And we had the worst time finding the bathroom. That's two bad visits to that place. We'll pass on it for future reference. Kelly TAOS and I did a little deja vu by running into each other post-set on the street again. I did my part to connect like minded musicians to each other. After the show, we meant to go to check out Abe's bday extravaganza part 1, but it was past our bedtime.

Fuck I'm boring. I need a bender or something.

Damn Skippy

You know me, always trying to go somewhere and do something. This RSVP reply email put a smile on my face:

actually we closed the list but I'll put you down + 2 cause kittypower is real!

Take One

*An entry liberated from draft mode about events on or close to 8/05/04*

Instead of blogging, I've been chained to my desk and being a masochist. Farmer Attack has been in full effect much of the past two weeks. The symptoms included emotional rollercoasters, dramatics, self-hatred, moping, and occasionally moments of bliss. Life, however, moves on and I've been doing the pen and paper writing thing to process.

But what I'm really supposed to be doing is littering downtown with flyers for The Closet. A major hinderance to that has been a) I've been depressed b) I hate people, so going up to strangers and shilling up my event wasn't looking so promising. Last night though, I sucked it up and dealt (?dealed? My English major brain is failing me!) because it's my job.

The irony of last night was that yesterday at work, I had been working on a "men on the streets are shits!" post. I dragged my carcass out of my warm and comfy bed around 11 and really had to force myself to go forth and publicize. I felt miserable with so many I sat down in a corner seat on the J and took out my old black & white to pass the time during the ride. Since the MTA tends to be dicks after 10, that train was out of service and I sat on a platform bench to wait for the next one. Up walked a transit worker bursting out with game which put a smile on my face but left me cold because dude was like older than Ms. Mommy and stuff. I pleasantly chatted for a while, then the train pulled off and another one got on at the next time and picked up the mantle. I raised an eyebrow and noncommittedly chatted with him also. Was there something in the air? Were their latent animalistic senses picking up the "not fertile" pheromones? Who knows. I went back to writing.

I got off at Essex and strolled up Rivington with the thought of chatting people up and handing them flyers turning my blood cold. I beelined for Sapph and hung out with the folks. Everyone was clowning poor Fizzie for the week before. I chuckled and hung out for a while building up some liquid courage before going on flyer duty. I tested my nerve by sprinkling some around the bar and found myself casually and confidently responding to questions. So far, so good.

I went out into the big bad world and gave them to cool looking folks on Stanton. A group of 3 guys with vaguely Euro accents crossed my path and one took a flyer and asked if "I'd be there." I smiled patiently and replied in the affirmative. He was all "wonderful! I'll be there!" and gave me goodbye kisses on the cheek that were just a little too enthusiastic. Back up off me, stranger.

I wandered down Ludlow where I ran into two guys talking in front of some bar or another. One started chatting me up and I was neutral yet amused by him. Sometimes that's all it takes really. He was enthuasiastic about the event --and me -- and we exchanged numbers, somewhat unwillingly on my part.

I'm a big resistor which is why I end up having nothing happen or being in hot water. I've been trying to figure out for the past year or so where this pseudopassive thing developed. A byproduct of opting out of the game and being unsure of how to proceed outside of those boundaries I suppose. Underneath a fairly easy-going nature hides eyes that take everything in and a brain that hates to let go. I'm a type A- in disguise, the low-grade control freak.

But that night, I gave the number and I shut the probabilities and calculations off for a min. Even if I lost interest in him by call 1.5, there's nothing wrong with a little possibility now and again.

I Am

[via Jay-V]

MARCH:
Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate. Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors. Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

Pick your birth month and cross (strike) out what doesn't apply to you. (Unlike me because everything applies.)

JANUARY:
Stubborn and hard-hearted. Ambitious and serious. Loves to teach and be taught. Always looking at people's flaws and weaknesses. Likes to criticize. Hardworking and productive. Smart, neat and organized. Sensitive and has deep thoughts. Knows how to make others happy. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Rather reserved. Highly attentive. Resistant to illnesses but prone to colds. Romantic but has difficulties expressing love. Loves children. Loyal. Has great social abilities yet easily jealous. Very Stubborn and money cautious.

FEBRUARY:
Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but those not show it. Dislike unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizing dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

MARCH:
Attractive personality.sexy. Affectionate.Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors. Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

APRIL:
Active and dynamic. Decisive and haste but tends to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people's problems. Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Emotional. Aggressive. Hasty. Good memory. Moving Motivates oneself and others. Sickness usually of the head and chest. Sexy in a way that only their luver can see.

MAY:
Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and highly motivated. Sharp thoughts. Easily angered. Attracts others and loves attention. Deep feelings. Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint. Needs no motivation. Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to dream. Strong clairvoyance. Understanding. Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves literature and the arts. Loves traveling. Dislike being at home. Restless. Not having many children. Hardworking. High spirited. Spendthrift.

JUNE:
Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having lots of ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Abiding. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.

JULY:
Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people's feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

AUGUST:
Loves to joke. Attractive. Suave and caring. Brave and fearless. Firm and has leadership qualities. Knows how to console others. Too generous and egoistic. Takes high pride of oneself. Thirsty for praises. Extraordinary spirit. Easily angered. Angry when provoked. Easily jealous. Observant. Careful and cautious. Thinks quickly. Independent thoughts. Loves to lead and to be led. Loves to dream. Talented in the arts, music and defense. Sensitive but not petty. Poor resistance against illnesses. Learns to relax. Hasty and trusty. Romantic. Loving and caring. Loves to make friends.

SEPTEMBER:
Suave and compromising. Careful, cautious and organized. Likes to point out people's mistakes. Likes to criticize. Stubborn. Quiet but able to talk well. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal but not always honest. Does work well. Very confident. Sensitive.Thinking generous. Good memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Must control oneself when criticizing. Able to motivate oneself. Understanding. Fun to be around. Secretive. Loves sports, leisure and traveling. Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Very choosy, especially in relationships. Systematic.

OCTOBER:
Loves to chat. Loves those who loves them. Loves to takes things at the center. Inner and physical beauty. Lies but doesn't pretend. Gets angry often. Treats friends importantly. Always making friends. Easily hurt but recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does not care of what others think. Emotional. Decisive. Strong clairvoyance. Loves to travel, the arts and literature. Touchy and easily jealous. Concerned. Loves outdoors. Just and fair. Spendthrift. Easily influenced. Easily loses confidence. Loves children.

NOVEMBER:
Has a lot of ideas. Difficult to fathom. Thinks forward. Unique and brilliant. Extraordinary ideas. Sharp thinking. Fine and strong clairvoyance. Can become good doctors. Dynamic in personality. Secretive. Inquisitive. Knows how to dig secrets. Always thinking. Less talkative but amiable. Brave and generous. Patient. Stubborn and hard-hearted. If there is a will, there is a way. Determined. Never give up. Hardly becomes angry unless provoked. Loves to be alone. Thinks differently from others. Sharp-minded. Motivates oneself. Does not appreciates praises. High-spirited. Well-built and tough. Deep love and emotions. Romantic. Uncertain in relationships. Homely. Hardworking. High abilities. Trustworthy. Honest and keeps secrets. Not able to control emotions. Unpredictable.

DECEMBER:
Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Loves to socialize. Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to be loved. Honest and trustworthy. Not pretending. Short tempered. Changing personality. Not egoistic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions. Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical.

Bowing Down To The Goddess

*This post has been liberated from draft mode and speaks to events that occured on or near 7/29/04 - 8/1/04*

Fizzie and I did the typical Thursday overindulging. Same bat time, same bat location. In some ways, we might be a little too well matched on the hanging front. Our typical pre-fun convos sound a little like a Pinky and The Brain episode: "So, dude, what are we up to tonight?" "The same thing we're up to whenever we hang out: get some fucking drinks!" Though, I got dragged over the line that night when he uttered the six words I'm beginning to dread: "Let me open up a tab." I, the professional, paced myself after a deep breath and Fizzie plowed through them. He ended up so super social that our boy the bartender cut him off and the bouncer shook his head in amusement as we walked off. I convinced us to get some Turkish food on Houston and he waited by sitting face down at the table. He didn't have to twist my arm too much to convince me to crash at his place which was infinitely closer to work in a little under 5 hours than home, still an hour away.

I woke up in a panic at 9:30, a.k.a fucking late, and walked around screaming "fuck! fuck! fuck!" as Fizzie did an impression of a log. I tried in vain to convince him to get up, but after a while let him be and went to work in a panic. I think the rushing and semi-hysteria burned off the hungover cobwebs because work wasn't that painful and my brain on ultrafocus mode. I settled myself into nice groove in my two-two-two-jobs-in-one mode and left there without wanting to scream for a switch. I also went straight to bed without passing go and didn't even feel (too) ashamed about it.

I celebrated a good night's sleep and nice outside weather the next day but putting out a skirt (don't gasp too hard -- it was of the poof 1950's housewife variety that I've had for about 2 years now) and my new shoes to go traipse around P.S. 1. I'd only been there once before with TrendVickster back in the day when I convinced her to check it out and we were turned off the pre-hipster painfully "cool" atmosphere. I'd vowed then to never return and I was good on that promise until I found myself with thousands of flyers to get rid of and vaguely curious about what were these Scissor Sisters everyone was talking about.

Off I traipsed to Long Island City and as I do with every new neighborhood in a nice location, also scouted out some real estate. I was really into the brownstone places a block or so past the place and made a mental note to look the place up in the listings when I got home. (I'm so in love with this place I can barely stand it!) I waited on the long ass line, paid my $8, and remembered to always trust my impressions. Oh, the Scissor Sisters: Elton John's voice in Terry Hall circa Fun Boy Three fronting Wham circa 1983 with Bathhouse-era Bette Midler doing co-vocals and banter. Double plus gay. Gayer than the Pride Parade. The songs are catchy but bad sound and the overpowering urge to beat skinny rude hipsters down and the fact that wood bottomed shoes don't yield for shit had me annoyed. Saw some Wes folks (surprise, surprise), didn't see Bono which is a shock since I walked around that place at least 100 times during the course of the day -- then again, I didn't see Mac either, so perhaps I'm just blind. Totally possible. I did give an honest review to a friend of theirs in line and he was all "well, the sound sucked. They've been better" and get pissed off when a couple had some "quality" time in the bathroom room when I was next on line and had to pee really bad. Fuckers.

Post-show, I went home and took a damned nap because I was worth it before changing into jeans and sneaks to hang with Fizzie. He had just gained a new roomie, K, and I went over to meet and greet. All the moving and such had tired her out, so Fizzie and I went off into the night with her friend, H. That girl was a hell of a character. She enlightened me to her theory of dating musicians: their first love is music, so they're looking for a woman who can be the embodiment of that "spirit," for how long depending on their attention spans and the like. So, every time they're with a woman, it's like being at the shrine of Music, bowing down to the goddess. Interesting, eh? We strolled down to Rothko and I ran into a Blng Kong cheerleader and got a new button. Yay! Then we were off to Chinatown and the always criminally empty 169 Bar before heading our seperate ways.

I made the mistake of hanging with Farmer and his sniffer friends and alternated between livid and sad the next day. I stopped in the Duane Reade on Delancey on the way to Man Man show # 874 at the Mercury Lounge and discovered that the cashier only had $5s, $1s, and nickels because the place had been jacked and the manager maced (!) not 5 minutes before I got there. Fucking wild. My mood hadn't improved when I got to the show and I spent my time either on the phone or really hiding in the dark. You know it was great. I don't have to say it. The most amazing part of every show is the "WTF is going on?" expression people get on their faces. This one guy was so excited that he bought the EP and was all "you guys are awesome!" to the extreme. I was that guy. I am that guy. There's something nice about just being a non-cynical fan for a change. (There's a slightly funny other story connected to the show. I'll tell it to you off blog if you ask nicely.) I was just hanging out and caught the acoustic set of the guy that came afterwards -- I swear his name on the Mercury site is just wrong but he was awesome with just voice and guitar. On hand were the Trachtenbergs to support their friend. The music, however lovely, was sad and after awhile, I wanted to run off and jump on the J and cry or something. I ended up chatting with Ryan and Tom Man Man out front and Tom was amused by my Man Man shirt and my deadpan Dariaesque statement of fact that I'm always at the shows. I mean, sheesh, I'm the shill. Where else would I be? Granted, I don't do full out plant in the crowd "this is the most awesome band ever! woo!" like I did for Alex and the guys in DC back in the day, but I'm singlehandedly keeping the black girl population in the crowd to at least 1. It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.

I Wasn't Kidding

Don't be alarmed. I'm on an updating frenzy -- which will probably end now that I mentioned it. Ah well.

New music on the mp3 page. Shill alert! Shill alert!

Re-rewind

I'm stuck in a time warp. I simulataneously feel 16, 19, and 23. I blame it on the sorry state of my life in Summer 2004.

I possess 4 main flaws: 1) flightiness 2) an obsessive memory 3) laziness and 4) a short attention span. All of them are highlighted unfavorably in the Farmer episodes. With him, I'm so stuck on some awesome moments from the 2003 era that I forget every rule/ill word I've made about him since and get temporarily sucked back into the maelstrom. Because he's kinda "bad" and that's a lot more exciting than me (my 16-year old self); he's so deep and sensitive, man and you just can't see it like I do (my 19-year self); and fuck it, if I'd rather make my dumbass mistakes now than in my 30s (my 23-year old self). What I have noticed is my progression in fallout reactions. I might've still obsessed for a day (or two or a couple of weeks. Who's really counting after all?), but I'm getting better at shrugging things off as time moves on. It really isn't that deep after all and nothing got hurt but a little ego. Luckily for us all, he's off again to flit about the east coast and midwest for some unspecified amount of time. Perhaps I should just find like a hobby or something before he pops up again. You know, to save Jay-V and Fizzie and PrincessNella and everyone else the grief. I was sure for a while there that they were gonna just take me out and shoot me if I kept mentioning his name.

The real problem is that I'm bored. Everything's so static. I feel like there's been zero haps in the past year and change I've been back in NYC full time (with the months after April being especially brutal) minus money in the back and about 15 extra pounds. Work is the biggest life killer in the fucking world. Though, I'm pretty awesome at it and don't hate it as much now that everything's picked up. (And if I may toot my own horn for a min -- guess who got a perfect score on her review and was basically told that she's top notch and headed for good things in the dept. Moi!) I've been researching the career trajectory and like what I see, but I've still got it in my head that I want to do the writer thing. Then again, what the fuck do I know? I'm the typical confused liberal arts grad.

The summer can be summed up in one word: disappointing. Everything that seemed sort of promising a few months ago either got the brakes thrown on or petered out. I'm still out here in the boons with Ms. Mommy and the cat (one still wandering the mean streets popping up occasionally). Being home has awaken some long buried teenage angst I forgot existed. And I don't only mean the return to grunge that's been going on musically. I've listened to Alice In Chains more in the past 2 months than I have since the '90s. We're still looking at apartments and I'm so utterly over the process. Isn't there some sort of magical genie that can get me a fly 2-br (+) in Long Island City, Fort Greene, Astoria, or "Clinton Hill" for under $1700 without wanting a fee for it also? I mean really!

The nightlife spark really just hasn't come back for me. I'm so glad that I became friends with Fizzie because even though together we only trade off being bad influences and spending up each other's money, neither of us would get out the house and be social otherwise. Plus when it's really terrible out there, nights in with vodka tonics and House Party do just fine. I'm bummed that stuff on the boy/whatever front hasn't panned out. FFPGINOANP and one where stuff was moving painfully slow and not alluded to (much) seem to have run its course. There was a guy I met in the course of running around with my flyers that seemed open and cool that just ended up a little too clingy and sad sackish with my negative reaction only magnified by the fact I had zero time to deal with drama where there should be none. I feel like I'm growing more and more cynical by the day.

I propose a rewind to coast for the next 4 months (jesus christ, why is Thanksgiving in plain sight right now???) of the fall/winter months. When I cut out the excess to give my all to the job hunt, I don't think most of my life really recovered. It's hard to go from hardcore hedonist to shut-in cold turkey. I propose checks and balances: the return of my intrepid spirit but not breaking the bank, healthy living but not totally cutting out the greasy goodness or killing all the curves that I've really grown to love, remembering to smile and be social but not leaving myself open for whatever snake that'll slither up to me. I need some fun dammit. That's my end of the year resolution.

A Little Like Normal

Minus a heapload of work on my desk at the office, things are back to normal in Kitty Powerville. I've had a few good nights of sleep, I've returned to the gym, I'm back to enjoying going out -- things are looking up. Now I can move on to masterplanning the Kitty Power/Extra Medium Nightlife Collabo and adding another band to my shill list -- though I didn't even know it until today. Kitty Power loves The Art of Shooting, especially since they're the only ones who comment besides Jay-V.

I'm strangely fascinated at how this "if you mention them, they will come" aspect of blogs works. If someone can get Scott Herren around these parts (and move along destiny a little bit...woo hoo...just a little joke there), you might get firstborn naming rights.

And to be random, Since We Last Spoke has really grown on me, but the hate I feel for track 11 is blinding. The brilliance of the last one almost makes up for it. Almost.

Nuggets

The "I'm getting paid to sit around in my PJs all day if I feel like it, bitches!" edition. I'm loving the day off and not trying to rub it in at. all.

Why I love Fametracker, reason #4,782:

Why big butts are such a turn on eludes me. What are you gonna do with it?

The question should be, what won't you do with it. I would dress it up, take it out to dinner, make up little nicknames for it, pet it, take it to the beach, smack it, undress it, show it off...hours of fun! It's kind of like asking why some people like big boobs. They're just good, is why.

I'm A Shill 4 U

What I've been working on (partially) with the other Styleaholics. This'll be up top until the day of August 10th. Come through, it'll be an awesome time. Support indie designers and chicks on the wheels of steel!

And while I'm shilling, Man Man at Mercury Lounge this Sunday. Passed already. And if you missed it shame on you.

Welcome To The 21st Century

I'm what is known as a night owl. My mother has countless stories of me acting like a vampire baby, waking up as the sun went down and closing my eyes as the pesky thing came back again. I think my brain actually kicks into gear around 10pm. But I have yet to find a career path that befits my liberal arts office lackey training that would have me keeping me own crazy ass hours, so I've got to be chained to a desk during the daytime from 9amish to 6/7pm...and god, do I love it so (in that not sort of way)!

On the last Monday in July, I had a Farmer reunion involving 3Bs I love and one I tried to avoid like the plague (for the record: burgers, booze, banter, and blow) that got me about 2 hours of sleep and home in just enough time to take a shower and go to work. The to-work train nap did not cut it and I was sitting at my desk with a massive cup of coffee really wondering if I crawled under my desk and just disappeared for a few hours, if anyone would actually notice as long as I didn't snore. I was doing my daily "yeah, I'm not working today"/"Me neither, but here's something funny online" IM chat with Jay-V and I cried out that if I had a fucking nap, I might be able to get on with the rest of the day without falling face down and drooling.

Then a light shined down on me from the heavens and I remembered this place I had read about and at the time tucked away for future reference: Metronaps. Hallelujah! I was saved! I told Jay about it and we both made appointments for that afternoon. I had brought my lunch, so I heated it up and ate it real quick so the -itis would make the nap that much better before traipsing the 7 blocks over to the Empire State Building.

The Metronaps office is all futuristic looking. I felt like I had stepped into Total Recall or something. The cute little too skinny (but aren't they all?) desk guy welcomed me with the most beatific smile I've ever seen. I was tempted to say, "is there enough room in the whatever for you to sleep with me. I like to cuddle when I sleep" (which is a big lie, btw). He led me to my Jetson pod that looked like a Lay-Z-Boy outfitted with a roof with lights and handed me my blanket. I put on the headphones at first before I realized that those "relaxing" sea sounds were giving me the creeps and took them off. I turned onto my side, thinking that the white noise machine was kinda loud and I'd never get to slee...

And the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and looking at him again, ultra disoriented. I blinked a few times and got up. I had apparently been sleeping so hard that I had ignored the lights and/or vibrating chair wakeup mechanism, so I got the walk up shake. I got up and took a stretch, walked over to the Wake Station and spritzed myself and then amazed at how fucking great I felt. I was like a whole new person. Jay was coming in as I was leaving and I babbled something or another about how wonderful it was before strolling back to work. I felt so nice that the slow moving cows on 6th Avenue didn't even bother me for a change.

Of course, work sucked the life back out of me in no time, but I at least wasn't yawning as much. Always nice to have a magic trick to make the work day a little bit easier.

(And for further reading, Jay's experience. And no, this isn't an infomercial.)

Street Warfare

If there's a news story that leads "young woman shanks man with her housekeys. 'Bleep-er deserved it, she says with no remorse,'" that's most likely going to be me when I finally flip out on a bastard on the street.

The streets put me on warrior mode. I walk around with selective vision and bitchface. Very point A to B oriented. No time for bullshit. I suit up before heading outside. I'd rather not show much skin (as if I do anyways) because I think of the sidewalks like a safari walk. They are hippos or elephants, throwing their weight around and making a lot of noise. I am a lioness in a gazelle suit. I may look lithe and smooth and slightly inviting, but if you fuck with me, I'll cut you.

Despite many males friends, I don't understand male street psychology. I'd like to debunk a myth: you will not meet a woman by yelling crap at her on the street, despite the urban legend of your boy's cousin's friend meeting his girl that way. Unless she was a psycho chickenhead that has since been ruining it for the rest of us. And especially don't pretend that you're being so deep when you're hollering. You're not complimenting me on my ambition and very big brain. You might like my hair/clothes/style, but you've got a snowball's chance on the equator because you might as well be a predator. Especially with the "rack of lamb on a plate" look. No matter what you say, I saw that. Everything said gets an added unspoken disgusting conclusion. "Hi, beautiful...bitch, I want to strip naked and parade on the street like a dog." Not in this lifetime.

Enduring the stares, the comments, the general hyperaggressiveness that I have to put up with has led to a change in my behavior. I use to think that I've got on my coverups and blinkers, so it'll be okay and I can ignore them and get on with my life. And then I realized that I'm getting bothered even more with my baggy clothes. It's a strange thing that women have to internalize street harassment as having to change their behavior so they will no longer be wrong. When they are wrong for making me uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm an attractive woman with a good figure, confident in myself and dressing how the fuck I want for me and no bastard with home training is going to intimidate me out of going wherever I want.

At the last blogger function I dragged myself out for, some women and I were displaying our "street mode" faces while talking about the annoyances we have to deal with. I was showing it to P. Frizzie and he remarked that my bitchface had a hint of a smile. I called it the "I wish you would, motherfucker" smirk. The tomboy in me has made me tough. I'm not a small woman, though I'm only 5'5". I've got big ass bones and weight and have been in enough fights in my younger years that I know I can hold my own. I may mentally want to fight every guy that cross me, but I'd probably just Mace him and run away if push came to shove (and if I had a can of Mace).

A couple of weeks back while working down my work block, a dirty old man puffing on a cigar was walking towards me on the street. I noted him but thought of nothing more than my chicken parm on a hero waiting at the deli. As he got closer to me, he cornered me at this storefront in construction and tried to shove his cigar at me, mumbling something unintelligible. I tensed up and sidestepped his touch, disgusted. One of the girls from my job was walking my way and saw the expression on my face and we conferred about how dicey it looked for me from her perspective.

A few days ago, I was riding the J train home. I was sitting in the conductor's car and I guy plopped himself down diagonally from me. He wouldn't stop staring, despite me giving him a few narrowed eyes looks and playing with my nails while wishing if I possibly ignored him, he'd just disappear. When the conductor left the car because the doors were opening on a different side, he made his move. He slithered across the aisle and made moves to sit down next to me when I pushed past him and walked down the car before getting off and switching to the next one.

Last night, I was standing on the corner of Parsons waiting for the bus. I had a soda and a snack to pass the time. It was around 3:30am and there were a few other people around also waiting, but I was the only woman. A man in a minvan pulled up and gestured with his finger for me to approach. I openly sneered, "you must be out of your fucking mind."
"Oh, come here, baby," he cooed.
"Fuck you. What do you think this is?"
He looked a little hurt. "Well, I just wanted a piece of chicken."
"You have got to be kidding. What do I look like? But, the store's right there, jackass."
He looked at me another a few seconds, mildly surprised, and drove off.
The guy standing closest to me, smoking a cigarette, asked me if I knew that guy and I responded, "fuck no. He's obviously crazy though."
He seemed puzzled about the whole incident. "So, you didn't know him and he didn't say hi or anything. He just gestured. That's weird."

Indeed. A lot of weird shit happens on the street. Personally, I think if male bystanders helped a girl out by administering beatdowns, things would change considerably.

You Snooze, You Lose

In a big further "fuck off" to spammers, I'm trying to close comments on all posts 15 days or older with the curently proving impossible mt-close. What am I doing wrong???I fixed it. I'm so smart and shit.

And I'm working on blogging for real, dammit. I swear. Don't yell at me. And I so did too. Where's my cookie???

Back To Regularly Scheduled Programming

Whew...I'm back. Over the alternate schmoopiness and fit of pique (I blame the hormones) and returning to the lovable little cynic you seem to enjoy popping in on. It's gonna be touch and go on the post front because I'll barely have enough time to think over this next rollercoaster week leading up to my first paid day off ever (unless they hate me and won't let me take it).

Still, on deck are: last weekend's hijinks including the Scissor Scissors at PS 1 (in a nutshell: Elton John circa 1974 fronting Wham circa 1983 with a junior Bette Midler circa the Bathhouse days...wasn't impressed), Man Man show #874 (birthday shout to Ryan!), and sharing with you the most interesting craziest theory about musicians I've ever heard on Saturday night plus a Nuggets post and some other stuff. Cause I love y'all for reading when I don't even got shit to say...you know which is like all the time.

He Hate Me

Mother Nature is doing me a favor today. Overcast and rain. I'm really loving it because I'm feeling a bit deranged...and very 1999 because I keep (and I'm about to again) putting song lyrics and shit. It's back to my OG Geocities type posting apparently.

What a fucking week! I've been through the ringer really. Bring on the Man Man show! I really need that boost right now. Meanwhile, the extended post is what's been playing around in my head besides "gotta finish my article and stop bullshitting like 15 mins ago!" If I break a glass on someone's face and/or start screaming uncontrollably, know that Orgy is the soundtrack.

And gotta love Quiz Diva giving me the scoop on what's painfully obvious:

There's No Way He'll Commit Maybe you haven't known each other long... And that's why he's acting a bit sketchy But if you've been together for a few months, Then you've got to let him go. Because he's not looking to put a ring on your finger - ever. This guy's not going to change for you, or any other woman.

Hi, my name is Candice and I'm an addict. I enjoy dysfunctional relationships with irredeemable characters. Screaming matches, cursing, and dramatic episodes really float my boat. But, actually it fucking doesn't and if I have to deal with another assclown, I'm gonna put myself out of my misery. One is too many and a thousand is never enough.

If it stayed, I'd never leave it
If that turned around
I'd grieve the special dirty things that we used to talk about
I mean that loving you is strange
And adored by me throughout
Oh no it's you again

Someday soon you'll find that someone
Waiting for the chance to beat you
Drooling on the set to feel you
Blessing you with every kiss

Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill

Such the patient one who needs me
The spoiled one who wins
So shocking where's your sense
Don't you know i hate you, oh
Unsatisfied, you little girl.

Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill

Rolling dice and seeming queer
Bastard love, a sick affair
Let's see what new disease you'll fetch
I mean that fucking you is strange
And adored by me throughout
Oh no it's you again
Blessing you with every kiss

So precious
You know this hate of mine exploded
I'm so deranged you know
I will never be the same

Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause your the death of me
So precious loving the thrill
Tie yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause your the death of me
So precious loving the thrill