Sunday, August 30, 2009

If I Could Walk Away From Me...

I had a very good day today. It was magical. I slow danced for no particular reason to "Candy Says"by the Velvet Underground and "My Funny Valentine" by Nico with my beloved. We were listening to some mixtape I jacked from Jean-Marie, I guess he made it for his girlfriend and when they broke up she gave him all the stuff he gave her back. It had all these love songs on it. And they were all really slow and lovey-dovey. It was really sweet because after some French ballad, "Candy Says" started and it got all mushy between Pauler-Bear and me.

He, though he pretends to act all cool and distant, is such a mushy, emotional sap. And I really like that.

Saps are OK... Really OK. Like totally amazing. Like the greatest, coolest, bestest people in the world. 

Thursday, August 27, 2009

I Give You My Blessing.

So, there's this blog that has absolutely no followers other than me and one other person. This blog is 

Chalee, the owner, has featured me on the blog twice. One interview, and one little bit about my club. Check it out and follow it even! Also leave a comment or two on my interview, which should be the most recent post. 

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Teenagers Are Stupid. (Prepare for a Gross, Gynecological, Realistic Post)

Why am I discriminating against myself? Because it's true. The general population of teenagers are fucking dumbasses. Yes, I do stupid things, but not as stupid as not putting on a condom right or at all.

"Oh I can't get pregnant on my period." "Oh he'll just withdraw before he comes." "Oh we can get married and live happily ever after." Those are all myths.
1. Yes. You can get pregnant on your period.
2. Sure, that could work. But what about the pre jizz that comes out to lubricate the penis? That contains too semen.
3. No. Having a baby will not save or help your relationship. It'll most likely destroy it. Take Sara Palin's daughter. She was engaged to her baby daddy but they broke up.

Why are my peers so stupid that they would ruin their lives with, and I'm being excruciatingly blunt, a parasite that drains you of everything? Why can't my peers do something as simple as put on a condom right? Why must they risk everything by not using a condom at all?

Uh yeah... I know quite a bit about that birth control, babies, sex, and the anatomical side to all that stuff. And yeah it's weird, but if writing doesn't work out, which it without a doubt won't I'm going to go into gynecology, preferably preforming abortions. Because a few months ago, on May 31, George Tiller, MD, was killed by anti-choice radical Scott Roeder for providing late-term abortions (abortions after twenty-one weeks) at his clinic.

George Tiller was operating one of only THREE women's health clinics in the USA that provided late-term abortions. And he was murdered by people that couldn't just live with the fact that abortions were being preformed for women who needed them.

George Tiller's death affected me and the way I think greatly. Because of him, I find a calling to open my own women's health clinic, preferably on the south side of Chicago (those crazy racialists would never go down to the ghetto), that provides late-term abortions. I am willing to risk life and limb for that cause, even though I'm a cowardly, whiney, complainer.

OK, enough with the weird random vag talk.


Why did my parents sneer at all the happy kids at the block parties that were having "fun for the whole family?"

They made me jaded and just like them. Fun for the whole family is stupid and forlorn. Especially when you're sitting on a curb with cunt written on your Converse and a Reefer Madness t-shirt on underneath your motorcycle jacket waiting for some to rescue you and take you away to their place where you will sit there for an hour watching their new copy of Forbidden Zone. But of course stupid Jean had to take his sister down to Aurora for some lame reason... even though he knows I haven't seen the Forbidden Zone in ages and I'm willing to murder to see it again.


Friday, August 21, 2009

Since I Know Nothing of Fashion.

I'm writing a story. You guys probably know of it, seeing that I posted a little expert from it on my blog. I finally, after all my years of writing, make a young (fourteen), pretty, fashion obsessed character. She's the little sister of the main character James. She's precocious and has like five pairs of Louboutins thanks to her mother's friend's connections all over the world.

Since I know nothing about fashion and only get my information about fashion from my Grey Ghost, what do I do with Edith-Paul Frances Glore? I send her away to Paris for a year with the fifty-two-year old poet from France that she has a huge crush on because she's going to intern for Chanel (I try to be as far fetched as I can when creating fashionable characters. Isn't that what fashion is all about? A fantasy world? Something that teases you with a simple design and a hefty price tag?). Why? Because I know music. I know art. I wish I knew fashion. But I don't. I know what looks good, I know what is to die for. But other than that, I'm clueless.

Just wanted to mention that. I really like that character. She reminds me of me when I was her age, minus the insanely gorgeous wardrobe. I always went for the guys waay too old for me and I was always a favorite of all the gay men that work in the jewelry industry (my mom sells fancy watches to rich fucks on Chicago's equivalent to 5th Ave.). I just was pushing myself with making her so fashionably aware that I frightened myself and sent her to France. Fashion isn't my forte. My usual outfit is skinny jeans, converse, motorcycle jacket, sunglasses and a band t-shirt. Not an Alexander Wang t-shirt, insane high heels, tight leather pants (Though I do have a pair I wear with a turtle neck and a blazer) and a Chanel purse.

Heres the expert from my story that describes Edith, "Edith, like the rest of the family was lanky and tall. She had dishwater blonde hair she wore to her chin with bangs. She had big, big navy blue eyes. She still had freckles sprinkled across her nose. She was pale, and I don't think ever had a zit. She had my mother's mouth, cheekbones, and nose. She always dressed stylishly. She kept up to date with all of the trends. I'm shocked that boy said no to her." Edith also collects fur coats and action figures. She's the only one in the family that is allowed to call James "Jimmy."

What do you guys think of Edith? 

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

I'm Sorry, but I Don't Care about You, Your Money, Your Family, or Your "Cutting Edge" Look.

England is a great country. I think it's beautiful, rich in culture, and has an amazing music scene. Yet, over the course of about two years, there has been some strange... happening there. And I hate to call it a happening because happenings, at least the way I learned of them, are great, amazing gatherings of people coming together to form a core group inspiring a generation. This happening is generally just that, at least at first sight. Wild, carefree, punk-looking kids running wild around London, causing a scene, catching attention seems like a great, amazing thing. But it only seems to be a great, amazing thing.

After a while, those kids become washed up, annoying, and over-glorified. Those kids are hipsters. Not just any random hipster like the ones coming from Lincoln Park, but rich hipsters only famous because of their rich mommies and daddies. They're seductive, yes, with half-shaven heads, motorcycle jackets, and ripped leggings. They seem interesting, like they know their shit. But, chances are, they don't.

They're dubbed "grunge" and own the label, but they don't know shit about grunge. They know "Nevermind," which, of course, is an amazing album, inspiring a generation, but that's not the only grunge album. Nirvana (though they are my favorite band) is not the only grunge band. And "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is not their only song

I understand the "Think rich, look poor" philosophy, Andy Warhol came up with it. It's a great philosophy, but only in moderation. No one likes posers. No one likes kids that say "Oh... I make all my own clothes. I'll never buy a pair of jeans all ready ripped" but that sneak into some high end, trendy department store to get their cutoffs. They try to be punk, grunge, and everything inbetween, but they aren't truly what they think they are. Punk and it's offspring is about being a voice for the downtrodden. Punk spoke to kids that thought they had nowhere to go. Punk saved lives, and to mock it by pretending to be punk when, at the end of the night, you drunkenly stumble into your posh little loft on the ritzy, trendy side of London that you paid for with your rockstar daddy's money is a disgrace to all those kids that found themselves through punk.

Grunge wasn't about being beautiful. It wasn't about being a model, that, if they didn't get the job, they'd just have mommy and daddy pay for their brand new Birkin bag. Grunge was about making something out of nothing. The "Gods of Grunge" (as my beloved refers to them) came from broken homes, trailers, the muddy banks of rural Washington. They had nothing but a guitar and something to say. Grunge today, is generally nonexistent. Yet, there are some kids that like to keep it alive. The kids that are poor and connect with the music. And those great, fun, smart, downtrodden kids are being mocked by those fucking limey hipsters when they walk around London town with a fucking Balmain jacket with a flannel screaming "Oh I'm SOOO grunge! Look at me in my flannel I got from Harrods! Oh look at my bright pink Dr. Martens! They're SOO punk rawk! Oh look at my 1000 quid motorcycle jacket! I'm SOOO badass!"

Sure, grunge is a fashion statement. It's a statement about not needing the fancy brands and the hottest shoes. I hate all those fucking twats from England that go to clubs every night dressed in cutoffs they got from some high end boutique pretending to be grunge. They aren't. Grunge is Madam Satan smashing their guitars. Grunge is working hard to say something. Grunge is about slapping the general population smack dab across the face. Grunge is about marginalizing the public to do your own thing. It's about alienation. Not rich mommies and daddies. And I know this rant won't do much, but it's to let it all out. British hipsters mock people that are lost without punk. And it breaks my heart when I see some fucking socialite running around trying to act tough and punk when they are really living the good life. Posers are the enemy. Trendsuckers are the enemy. British hipsters are the enemy.

I hate Alice Dellal, the Geldofs, and all those other bitches that are rich and from England. I still love England, I just hate that little scene.

They can all go to hell. But can they just stop annoying and mocking the real music/music history/music meaning snobs? Because, seriously, I hate featuring Satan #1, 2, and beyond on my blog.

I guess England truly is dreaming now.

Monday, August 3, 2009


I am now growing tired of the Tom Verlaine and Mark Arm hair that my Edie Sedgwick-esque haircut grew into. I loved the look of looking like the lead singers of two of my favorite bands (Television (Tom Verlaine) and Mudhoney (Mark Arm)), yet it gets tired very easily. And it is full on boy hair. Meaning it gets oily more easily and my own mother mistook me for a boy from behind when I was riding my bike in my VU t-shirt and sunglasses. I'm also getting those ramshorns. It's a genetic thing where, over the course of a few hours, the oil in your hair wears your hair down creating a flip in the whips of your hair by your neck. It happens to people when their hair gets to my point.

That's why it's time to let go of my sometimes Ms. Brady shag and sometimes my Tom Verlaine/Mark Arm hair. I've been looking over pictures and decided on a look: The YSL Fall 2008 haircut. My own personal gay Grey doesn't think it'll work on me. Yet my hairstylist says it'll look great on me if we make some adjustments to the look. I think Grey's just jealous because he's regretting his crew cut and is dying to have his beloved Morrissey haircut back. I wanted the Fall 08 YSL hair since the collection came out, yet at that time I just got a Debbie Harry in the Atomic video-esque cut that grew out into a really bitchin' Mick Jagger look.

Yet, if I get that hair cut, I fear it won't grow into my Mark Arm hair, and that's always the desired look when my hair grows out from a short cut. It might grow out into a Johnny Ramone look, which would be fine, yet annoying because then it'll get all Farrah Fawcett-y throughout the day. And there are as many cons to that hair as there are pros. First con: My boyfriend would give me that deer-in-headlights-look he always tends to sport when anxious, pissed off, weirded out, and/or embarrassed. He likes my hair just fine and would rather me get the usual Edie cut (We call it "The Edie") yet I would hate my hair to be longer then his. I swear, if I get the YSL, he'd say "Al, what's with the Rhys Webb haircut?" and then promptly ruffle it.

Another con would be the fact that it is a bowl cut. Bowl cuts + me isn't always a good mix. I just happen to be cursed with that horrifically Irish round face. But, as my hairstylist said, I'll be getting a similar style that is suitable for my face.

Yet, a very, very, very nice pro is that I'll the only girl in my class with the look, yet I'm the only girl in my class that rocks short hair.

And I like the look. I think I'd look good with it. And if I don't, I'll get a pixie. Hair grows back. And it's worth taking risks with.

There are definetly more cons than pros with the YSL cut, but I'll go with it.

What do you guys think? Should I go for the YSL or stick with my beloved, usual "Edie turned on, tuned in, and dropped out" haircut?

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Current Obsessions.

"Campus" by Vampire Weekend. - Being a prep school girl myself, I can do nothing but relate to this song. Especially about a certain ex of mine, but I'm soo not into him anymore.

"Touch Me, I'm Sick" by Mudhoney. - Yes, the obsession is still going strong.

"Very Ape" by Nirvana. - Reminds me of my beloved. He tries to act tough and differential, but he's a softy.

"The Soul of Patrick Lee" by John Cale and Terry Riley. - It's AMAZING. The vocals by Adam Miller are to die for.

"She Belongs to Me" Bob Dylan. - My beloved did a cover of that song for me, though it's about the Catholic Church, he says there some things in that song that just scream me. Excuse me, my ego is huge right now.

"Puss" by The Jesus Lizard. - It's hard, fast, and violent.

"Heads Will Roll" by The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. - I'm not much of a Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs fan, but I LOVE this song.

That's it. Check them out, leave you opinions.