Thursday, February 25, 2010



I've been holding on to this story since the first week of January [when all this shit went down] and I just can't wait to share it with you any longer.

I'm sure you're probably wondering what happened to my horrible house-guest and oft mentioned cousin, my old apartment [which I'm no longer living in] and my old roommate [who I no longer speak to].

So. Imma give it to you frank, and Imma give it to you real. Same shit I know. Read on. After you get through it, you'll probably be thinking "Do these bitches have a death wish?"

Well my cousin turned out to be a promiscuous and entitled ditz of the worst kind and became absolutely irritating to deal/live with. My family wouldn't take her, and my uncle who was stationed outside the country had no place to put her. After two months of my patience and her incompetence [she couldn't be bothered to clean up after herself and often pretended she didn't understand English when convenient], mooching [I shared everything with her from clothes to my phone to my laptop to my makeup and lawd knows how much I love my makeup], whoring [needless to say since she's Russian okay?] and backstabbing [her favorite hobby was whining to the roommate how "Lady Blue is such a beesh!"], I lost it and threatened her within an inch her life resulting in her moving out a day later. At that point I thought I could breathe easy, but there was still some funny tension in the house.

A few minutes after the walking venereal disease left the premises, the roommate [a vapid, unemployed party girl, with a self esteem lower than the titanic] reared her ugly head [and trust me, it was ugly]. She began complaining about something that bore no real importance to me and I, in no uncertain terms, told her so. An hour or two later; there's this slovenly, burly, middle-aged Greek man in the apartment telling my not-yet-boyfriend [while I'm in the shower mind you] that he was gonna throw me off the balcony. And supposedly the roommate was heartily chiming in with how sick she was of me and how much she wanted me out. Not-yet-boyfriend spilled all the beans while we were out, as he was livid but also quite worried for me. After I reassured myself that I wasn't in a soap opera, I laughed in amusement and took action rather quickly. I decided than an extra set of eyes would be useful in case the Spartan decided to show up in the middle of the night and off me, so I picked up a friend actress [pay attention to this] in Brooklyn and made my way back to the apartment.

I confronted my roommate, and as she groveled at my feet with an apology, she explained that she only got "back up" because she was terrified after the things I'd said to my cousin. Methinks that she was just seething because me and her acquaintance had clicked and were spending lots of time together, but who wants to admit to jealousy? It's very ugly. Either way, she dug herself a grave because she couldn't mind her damn business. I let her know that she made a huge mistake and that she wasn't going to be forgiven - ever. Then I made her call the Spartan [and she obediently followed orders] which just resulted in me telling him off like his mother never did and screaming: "If you were gonna fuck me up, you should have done it when you had the chance!!! and "I mean, if you're gonna come into my place and threaten my life you better follow through my dude!" and "The worst thing you can do is give your enemy time and you gave me plenty of it." and "If you have a problem with me again and want to address it, you know where to find me!" [I'm crazy.] By the end of the hour, both the roommate and the Spartan offered up "heartfelt" apologies, and presumably laid their heads down to sleep in shame.

You'd think it'd be all over that night. But no. The roommate called her gentrified Italian Mom for help, further proving to me that she was even more useless than I originally thought. Her Mom came to town, claws out, 911 trigger ready. Can I say anything bad about her Mom? Not anything that isn't already fact [which is that she's old, overweight, and deranged]. That wimpy move from the roommate turned my week into a tumultuous one filled with lots of tension and provoked arguing. [Wanna talk about deranged? One night after collectively badmouthing me from here to high heaven, the roommate's Mom made me dinner. I marched right into the kitchen, pushed her plate aside, and made my own meal. That non-verbal "fuck you!" probably offended her more than anything I could have said that week.]

Throughout the week, my actress "friend" kept claiming she had my back and that we'd move out together as soon as I was ready but something in the milk didn't seem clean to me. Especially because she seemed to be having prolonged chit chats with the roommate and her mother, the content containing more details concerning "Why don't you guys like me?" than the peace she "originally" intended on keeping between all of us. Maybe it was the way she so jealously eyed my closet, or the way she would go morose anytime I relayed good news - whatever it was, she was quickly losing favor with me. She was someone who was now staying in that apartment with me rent-free, someone who just a week or two earlier was crying to me on the phone that she was homeless and in danger of being sent back to California by her wretched relatives. I practically saved her ass, calling every friend I could until I found one she could stay with [she couldn't stay with me at the time, I already had a full house]. And this is how she repays me... Alas, I am not stupid, and it took everything in me to not throw her luggage out the gotdamn window or better yet, take it with me when I finally left.

I ended up leaving after a solid week, with my dignity intact and visions of a much, much cuter apartment. As far as my cousin and ex roommate go? If they were afraid before, then damn, I wonder how it must feel to know the person you tried to scorn knows where you live? Hmmm, must not feel too nice. Good luck to all of them because they're gonna need it. Especially the actress [indeed] who so slyly [or so she thought] casually let me know she'd nabbed my room the day after I left. As if we both had no idea that was her plan all along. There's a special place in hell for her [especially since she never returned my copy of The Coldest Winter Ever and my favorite pair of LaRok sweatpants!], and I would certainly see to it that she got there... if it didn't already seem as though she was well on her way.

5 arguments
4 ex "friends"
3 disagreements
2 phone calls to 911
1 police report

And 1 blogger who's delighted that she had a great story to tell.

The world is a small, sick place, and I'm 100% sure that my cousin, ex roommate and the actress have all buddied up [probably along with another ex-friend of mine; a near 30 year old, balding, gay-but-doesn't-know-it-yet slacker that I can't even begin to get into right now]. Since the only thing they seem to have in common is disliking me, I'm sure a "We hate Lady Blue!" fanclub is steady in the works.

"If you've got 14 haters, you need to figure out how to get the 15th by summer!" - Kat Williams

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

My Life's Desires

Since figuring out my next move career-wise has been on my mind for months now, I've given a lot of thought to life and what I really want out of it. I've been hearing a lot of talk about simplifying your lifestyle and finding your true purpose. And I just recently asked my friends on facebook "Have you figured out what you want to do with your life? Are you doing it?"

I got a lot of simple run of the mill answers, but the truth is, most of us want something simple. Shoot, even I, Miss picky bratty snobby wah wah no one understands me, wants something relatively simple.

I want a house, a loving partner, perhaps some kids. I want to travel, I want a cool job, and I want to be financially sound and comfortable. I want to do things that make me happy everyday, every week, every month, every year.

More specifically:

I want to own a small property in NYC [a loft or a brownstone], since it will no doubt appreciate in value over the years. Plus I'd love to have a little place to come back to once I leave the city for good and want to visit. I'd love to also own a house wherever I plan on settling down [or raising my kids]. If I'm lucky I'll have three places in total, one in NYC, and one in a warmer locale so I can escape brutal NY winters, and something semi-mine [like a rental] that falls somewhere in between.

I want a loving partner whether we're married or not; and if that doesn't happen, then I'll be just as happy surrounded by a circle of genuine friends. Obviously, I'm not traditional [nor desperate].

Kids are a maybe. It's one of those things that hey, if it happens it happens, if it doesn't, I'm not going to run down the street screaming. I don't believe in the ticking biological clock. If it doesn't [or can't] happen, and I'm in my 40s [aka too old to be having kids], I would certainly consider adoption. If it does happen, then you know I can't just have one! Two boys and a girl, preferably in that order, and preferably with the boys and the girl a few years apart. I just want it all, don't I?

I want to travel starting now. Gosh, there are so many places I want to see, and my list gets bigger every year. The most exotic being: Greece [Santorini especially], Bali, Rio de Janeiro, Dubai, Capetown. The more mundane being: Paris, London, LA, Chicago, Miami, Tokyo. And I just heard of this place Antwerp, and I know nothing about it except that it's a fashion capital, but it sounds fucking hawt.

I want to have a job that doesn't feel like a job. One that doesn't require me getting up at the asscrack of dawn, slaving away for pennies or answering to an ignoramus of a boss for 8 10 hours a day. Oh and I don't want to work 10 hours a day either, unless it's my own LLC. In that case, rock on! And I'll need interns. You know, to fetch coffee and make me feel important and stuff. I want to run my own business one day. I sometimes think that jewelry design or product development [like lotion and makeup and stuff] would be up my alley, but I may just end up writing and marketing my own brand, a la BlueShame. I know you've probably heard this before because we know everybody wants to be somebody nowadays, but I'm not "being" somebody. I am somebody. And that's the vital difference my friends. Anyone who is somebody and can say so and still have some real humility in them gets a high five in my book.

And last but not least, I want to be financially wise and comfortable. I want to have 6 zero's in my savings account but I also want to go on nice vacations. Is that entirely possible? Not tomorrow it isn't. But eventually yes. If I just believe it... I can surely do it. Shit, R. Kelly once believed he could fly. He believed he could touch the sky. Because he thought about it every night and day. [And eventually he avoided child pornography charges.] That's how it's done folks!

All in all, I just want to be the baddest bitch in New York. Period. Haters rejoice!

Saturday, February 20, 2010


After 2.5 years, I've decided I prefer the New York City of my fantasies.

I took the Do you belong in NYC? test from Time Out New York and this was my result:
Yes, but sometimes you wish there were a better option. You do love New York, and you fit in here better than you have anywhere else. You’re committed to the city, and you take advantage of all of its amazing food, culture, nightlife and arts. But you have nagging doubts about this relationship. Spend your whole life here? Not sure about that. Sometimes you wonder about that farm in your fantasies or even just a smaller city. But in reality, you know there’s nowhere better.
This captures how I feel exactly. I struggle with the idea that NYC is the best city in the world. The reality is, it lost its edge years ago and it has bad weather. Disneyfied Times Square anyone? Exorbitant real estate? Starbucks on every corner? [Some of them are practically next to each other.] Mom and Pop what? But as much as I detest it, what am I gonna do? Where else can I hear world renowned DJs spinning the finest sounds, while I boogie till 4am?

Here are some things to know about New York that I stole from the interwebs:
  • People here care more about how you look in your clothes than out of them [as opposed to L.A. or Miami]. Dress to impress, baby!
  • You pay for what neighborhood you live in, not what kind of apartment you live in.
  • If it's less than two subways stops, you should walk.
  • The chicest person you know might be from Kansas.
  • That head-turner you just saw - there are a million more straight ahead. Keep walking.
  • Ladies, you will get bizarre catcalls at any hour of the day.
  • Empty subway cart on an otherwise packed train? Avoid it. It probably stinks, has no heat/AC, or worse.
  • Avenue blocks are longer than street blocks. Even numbered streets go east, and odd numbered streets go west [one ways].
  • Don't mock someone who has a gun by asking if he's going to shoot you.
And some of my own:
  • If you wear sandals in the summer, the bottoms of your feet will be black.
  • And in general, so will your boogers.
  • Times Square movie theaters are always packed. Try to avoid them, especially for premieres.
  • Actually try to avoid Times Square in general. There's not much there that you can't get elsewhere, it's packed as all get out most hours of the day, and honestly after you've seen it 20 times it loses its novelty.
  • In the summer you will get dripped on. It's usually [hopefully] just an air conditioner dripping down condensation.
  • Don't get caught with a fake ID. It's embarrassing. [FYI, It didn't happen to me and never will since I'm of legal age!] In that same vein, get to know a decent promoter.
  • Walk on the right side of the street.
  • On escalators, stand on the right, walk on the left.
  • Don't believe/trust anyone who says they need money to get home/kid is in the hospital so on and so forth.
  • Avoid walking over grates if you're wearing a dress/skirt.
  • Keep your bag close, put it on your lap when you're on the subway.
  • Speaking of the subway, do not be afraid to lunge for a seat. If you're forced to stand, learn to balance yourself by putting equal weight on both feet.
  • A book or an mp3 player is your best friend on the train.
  • For the trains that don't have the LCD signs, you can always take a peek out the window to see what stop you're at. It will usually be written on the pillars.
  • On every subway platform, there's a local side and an express side.
  • If you imagine NYC like a grid, those 'Northwest exit" signs actually make a lot of sense.
  • Get a pocket map for downtown NYC [below Houston it starts to get tricky].
  • Your hands will always be dirty, so wash them any chance you get.
  • Starbucks, Penn Station, Macys andddd Starbucks are best for bathrooms.
  • Broadway runs diagonally, Northwest of the island to southeast.
  • Don't look on craigslist for an apartment [just my personal experience]. Use a [non-sketchy] broker, it's worth it, trust me.
  • Make sure you have the full name and/or number of anyone you're visiting because buzzers, doormen and addresses can be tricky.
  • Parties and clubbing start LATE. I'm talking midnight [sometimes even later].
  • Your legs will get toned super fast, and after awhile you'll think nothing of walking 20+ blocks.
  • You will always be broke. Always.
  • Give yourself an extra 20 minutes to get places until you can just about figure out how long it takes you to get from point a to point b.
  • Rain will ruin your day.
  • You will become a slave to Starbucks. And Duane Reade.
  • Your style will change -- in about 6 months you'll dress way better. Heck, you may even become materialistic. Gasp!
  • Most NYC men are scoundrels. They are too busy with their career or just arrogant fucks. Don't bother.
  • People move FAST... I'm talking on the subway, on the bagel line, on their way to work. Everything is go go go. Learn to keep up with the pace.
  • You will see some of the most stylish people you have seen in your life constantly.
  • Subway + rush hour = nightmare.
  • You will step your game up, or fall under. Your choice.
  • You have to recycle here. It's annoying but necessary and good for the earth.
  • The city has a definite energy, and sometimes you will stop and feel really overwhelmed with emotion, and think "Damn. I love this place."
  • You will never meet more weirdos in your life. Honestly.
  • A lot of the gorgeous, gorgeous, men you will see on the street are gay.
  • You will see LOTS of jarring things, from wretched homeless people to vicious crimes happening right before your eyes... this city will humble you and it will make you stronger. And alas, I guess that's the magic of New York City.

Random V

I have quite the ear for music. I've learned the lyrics/melodies to a ridiculous amount and random assortment of songs rather quickly. I think I also have an ear for language, I'm currently learning French and picking it up has been much easier than I thought. Not to mention I swore I could figure out what my Russian cousin was blathering about in my living room.

I have a photographic memory and never forget a face, and can sometimes imagine places that I've been to before in my head. This helps if ever I'm lost, which is never for long since I have an acute sense of direction.

I'm lucky that my body hair is fine and practically nonexistent and that my fingernails are shiny, healthy , and have no real cuticle. It makes it easy to be low-maintenance [and naturally beautiful. Duh].

Apparently the lesson here is that I'll always be better/smarter than you.

I prefer a classic aesthetic when it comes to style. I like subtle touches of femininity and like a rocker edge but my major core pieces are classic. It's timeless, proper and so damn easy [the classic look is sold everywhere]. With that being said, I don't like pearls and have never seen Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Sometimes in my absent-mindedness I'll just put my hand in/down my shirt. I also like to scratch my head. Oh and my back. Not sure if this is TMI but they're just habits. Another one is that I rub my feet together when I'm lying in bed gearing up to fall asleep. I hear it's called self-soothing. Getting a warm chill down my spine means I'm due for a nap. Naps are the illest. What can I say! I like to sleep.

I speak fluent Spanish but a lot of people assume that I can't/don't because I don't have a Spanish accent. I don't know if I'm more mad at them or the people who have a Spanish accent yet don't speak Spanish. Wut.

I have a lip gloss addiction. I think at one point I had around 80 lip glosses/balms/sticks. I've tried to cut down but it's just not feasible. I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN! I try to get rid of them and but then stop myself thinking of how I'll miss them. This is a sickness, I know. My biggest weakness are the yummy flavored ones. Liplicious gets me every time! Damn you for taking my money!

I saw Lady Gaga's vagina [link obviously NSFW] and I'm not sure what to do with myself now.

I don't drive. I'm terrified of it. I think it has something to do with the fact that for years I had a bunch of nightmares involving me and a vehicle. Also I am lazy and love to be chauffeured around. Even so I think I should learn, lest I be caught driver-less one day. I at least need to get my permit, I get tired of explaining my Idaho ID. *side eye* Surprisingly no one has yet to complain, and the BF doesn't seem to mind driving me here there and wherever. That, a good man makes.

Do I feel weird having a "boyfriend"? Yes. Do I feel weird that he is my "boyfriend"? No. Am I shocked that he continues to put up with me? Yes. There must be some kryptonite in my pheromones. Obviously I have a fear of commitment. I think. This will probably come up in every single post I write until I get over it. Hold on for the ride.

I'm getting braces next week to straighten out a pesky tooth. After two bouts of dental gear, I am hoping [shit I'm making sure], that this is my last time dealing with this shit. 10k later and I still don't have perfect teeth. Okay yes I might be a crazy perfectionist, but for that amount of money I should have gotten what I paid for and more. GODDAMMIT!

Hipsters. Beards. Long hair. Dudes in bands. People who wear glasses to be "ironic" = not hot. Hence, why I go for the urban guy.

I've been noticing a lot of hardened girls people around lately. I'm a strong woman who has gone through a lot, but I'm still bubbly and open and smiling. A part of me feels like: How are you in your early twenties and so jaded? Why? Because someone broke your heart? You knew they were a bad move before you even bothered. You're gonna let some punk have that affect/effect [sigh] over you? You're gonna let some asshole change you? Never that. You are giving them more power than they deserve. The other part of me feels like: Go move out for 5 years, pay some bills on your own, work 3 jobs and then tell me about being tired. Being a cranky, pained bitch does not equal being a strong person. It just equals someone who is sad/pathetic/miserable. Someone who is in so much pain they can't see the cloud they live in day in, day out. I wish the right people would see this.
Come here rude boy, boy can you get it up? Come here rude boy, boy is you big enough? I guess Rhianna realized going in a more urban direction would work in her favor. Can we say, duhhh. Also, does anyone really think Chris Brown was good in the sack? Anyone?

I have been on a smart-ass kick lately.

In general, I ask a lot of questions because I'm genuinely curious. Simple questions, complicated questions, but never nosy questions. [I am respectful, you see.] When I finish a book or a movie, I immediately make a mental note to check out its reviews. I like to observe how others absorbed the same piece, I like to know if they took away things I hadn't, or if anyone had my exact viewpoint. I like to know how the world works, how people think, what makes a clock tick, if you will. I think that's why I'm so frank in my opinions here. So that people can tear me apart. So that I can get a new outlook on life, if that is the need. I often joke that I should have been a lawyer because I can argue anything, and I don't fight unless I'm right.

I think there's an element in me that scares people... That prevents them from getting too close. Am I mysterious? Dangerous? Intimidating? What is it?

I think it's safe to say I'm not scared of much... But there are a few things in this world that give me major shivers. Here are some of them:
  • Bunions... I fear getting them, I shudder when I see them but I just cannot stop looking.
  • Ending up folding t-shirts at The Gap at age 30.
  • Cemeteries.
  • Driving. Crashing while driving.
  • Guys who "holler" at me with "Yo ma" or "Pssst" or something to do with my reproductive organs.
  • Thugs.
  • The Mafia.
  • Falling asleep in public.
  • Being forever misunderstood.
  • Male genitalia. Yes, it is ugly. No, I am not ashamed.
  • All the gunk that collects in the drain after you wash dishes. Bleghhh.
  • And hair in the shower [this has been a fear since childhood]!!!!
  • Wigs, weaves, all types of fake hair. Ugh.
  • Horror movies. I have never seen one and don't plan on ever seeing one. I mean, if I wanna see something scary I can turn on the news or watch Tyra or something.
  • I fear losing my mind and smacking the shit outta someone one day. And then getting arrested. But more so, the smacking. How exhilarating  *clears throat* embarrassing.
  • I fear drugs. Honestly. That's gotta be the easiest and quickest way to destroy your life.
  • Most notably, I fear looking back years from now and feeling like I wasted my best years. Feeling like I've led a life not lived.
And on a final note, I'm pretty much obsessed with vanilla. Although the only people to nail it are the geniuses at Comptoir Sud Pacifique.

I've been on a roll! BBL.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Random IV

I heard this question and couldn't believe it was actually being asked: What's the difference between a model and a prostitute since they are both selling their bodies? Uh, hello?! Models sell an image meanwhile prostitutes sell an experience. And needless to say there's also the penetration/insertion aspect. People are so dumb.

I was watching Hoarders the other day and I heard something along the lines of "suffers from chronic disorganization". I was like "Huh?!" Suffers from being a lazy ass pig is what! I'm tired of people glossing over what is just plain crazy. Narcissistic personality disorder my ass! Clean up and humble yourself you cocky pigs! Also, the two days they allow for cleaning up on the show is NOT ENOUGH.

Saving money is hard. I've been doing it little by little, but putting aside whole paychecks? No. I can't get behind that whole "work hard now, enjoy yourself later" way of life. I can't be certain of what will happen later, but I am sure of what's happening now [You are in one of two places. You either in the current moment or you are nowhere since the past and the future do not exist -Baron Baptiste]. I think balance is key. Shit I might die three years after stacking my money away, and my only thoughts on my deathbed will be "Damn I should have taken that trip! Who's gonna bury me with my moneyyyyyy?!"

I enjoy being alone. I think people who don't have the deepest issues of them all. Cause I mean at the end of the day, you've got to look in the mirror and realize that "It's just me and you baby!" I do that, and then I smile.

I'm lucky to have some nice hair. It's curly and soft and relatively easy to style. I just went for a haircut this week [nothing too crazy], I kept it chin-length but I'm thinking of letting it grow long again [after about 2 years of the short stuff]. The maintenance that comes with longer hair terrifies me, but I think I have a better handle on my hair now than when I was 16 and confined to mid-back length hair I didn't know what to do with because of my dud of a mother. Holy run on sentence.

I think I need a tumblr for my one sentence ponderings, favorite quotes and tons of photos but - how many creative outlets do I need?! Plus, I'm afraid it will take me away from my real creative outlets/talents: writing, drawing an dancing. I've thought about dabbling in photography and videos too [flip mino anyone?] but that's just asking too much of life!!! C'mon now Lady Blue, you need to organize your closet and stuff! [Let's not talk about the fact that I haven't drawn in years either, okay?!]

My current guy is a cool character. I guess that's to be expected - he comes from the land of Gods and geniuses [Greece]. *side eye* Being in a relationship with someone who truly cares about me is teaching me a lot of things about myself. I'm learning about my faults and really thinking about what I need to improve. I know my negative characteristics well, but some of them are more severe than I initially thought, and some of them are outright brand new to me. I'm more impatient than I believed myself to be, I'm a perfectionist to a fault, I'm a worrier [so much so, that I'm able to easily send myself into panic mode], I'm a brat, I'm a snob; and in somewhat shocking news to me, I'm very judgmental [although I blame this on what I know others perceptions will be, not on what I necessarily believe at first glance]. I realized that I really love my independence and freedom and would never feel right if a relationship took that away from me. What I mean by that, is I'm not asking if I can go out with the girls, I'll just tell you. Obviously the guy has a lot to contend with, but he has no plans to shape or change me, and that's a good thing for us. He knows I'm a smart and considerate cookie so he has no need to worry. In the end, I'm all for examining myself and seeking ways to improve, so this should be interesting.

I saw Lady Gaga at The Monster Ball concert a few weeks ago and it was an exhilarating experience. It was hard to feel down or unloved at Radio City and I even got to see her arrive before the show began! She's a tiny, pallid, gentle little thing, and she so endearingly stroked the hand of the gentleman in front of me who was crying for her to please touch him. What a doll. I mean really. She also shouted out Dominicans before belting out "Alejandro" which gets a "Hallelujah" from me since I'm always delighted when someone realizes that another type of Hispanic outside of Puerto Rican and Mexican exists! She didn't perform "So happy I could die" which is one of my favorite songs on her latest album, but I sung, danced and waved my little light beam stick around all night anyway!

One thing that's frustrating about typing is how I can wipe out a whole beautiful written passage and Ctrl+Z can't save me. For example, I wiped out a whole enlightening passage about Lady Gaga's Monster Ball and then segued into celebrities and all the ones I've seen in NYC and then boom, one wrong move and I deleted the whole damn thing, I don't even know how. LORD! [For someone who doesn't believe in God, I sure do shout out the man quite often. That's why he hates me.] Ugh, it chaps me. The good part is I got over it quickly. And plus, word includes spell check, although the only two words my mind can't seem to get right no matter how many times I write them are: independant and beleive. You see?! Sometimes I prefer writing things down [such as to-do lists] because I like checking things off as I go or because I don't want to forget what my handwriting looks like.

I'm totally addicted to cafe con leche.

I need to write some fucking poetry.

I need to remember that I can always live a charmed life because all the components are there.

I recently watched The September Issue. Anna Wintour might as well be dead, she's so cold and empty. At least she practices what she preaches though, since in every segment she was perfectly coiffed and outfitted to the nines. I can't say the same for Grace Coddington and some of the other Conde-Nast employees I saw on film. It was an interesting documentary but it kind of makes me sick to observe the amount of money and nitpicking and creative effort that goes into something so unimportant and ultimately insipid. In the grand scheme of things, they aren't saving the world and I am disgusted and saddened that they are treated as such. One thing I noted was that it was repeatedly stressed that Vogue is Anna's magazine. Which in effect, proves her to be elitist, vain, self-righteous and racist, all but a few of the reasons why I've never picked up the publication. Apparently she's a very powerful woman, and I don't think she needs another ass kisser.

Sometimes I feel like the odd woman out because I'm very aware of how different I am from my peers. I would never ever ever want to trade places with any of them but I'm just saying. I know that I'm much wiser and much more mentally secure than they are by light years. My life doesn't revolve around pointless college majors,  my boo [or worse, my kids], getting high, getting wasted, hating my dead-end job, what tattoo I'm gonna get next, how to piss off my parents, pulling all-nighters studying for a class that has nothing to do with my degree, writing long-ass papers for uppity professors, attending frat parties while making sure to get a picture of myself holding a red plastic cup so I can run home and upload it onto facebook, partying with my homegirls at some run of the mill club in my spandex forever21 dress, and then puking my brains out the next day, fucking guys whose last names I don't know without condoms, and then running to the drugstore in a frenzied panic trying to get Plan B, worrying if that recurring itch might turn out to be an STD, or trynna fall in love at the club. I don't get wasted on the weekends. Shit, I don't touch alcohol in general. Or do any of the rest of that stuff for that matter.

And now, some parting words from my favorite Lady:
Interviewer: What are some of your hidden talents?
Lady Gaga: I'm really good in bed.

More later.

Friday, February 12, 2010


Is it common to feel like you're a rarity?
Is it common to know that you are one?

Sometimes I feel like a wilted song. Other times the crescendo in the middle.

I think about this often because I get frustrated. I get frustrated when it comes to clicking with individuals and creating lasting bonds. People often envy my position because I look the girl who has it all. Well, the girl who has it all is rare. And rare people have a hard time meeting others similar to them. Rare people are used to dealing with what's below them, subpar, bottom of the barrel. And they get sick of it... and most need to vent about it.

I do it the best way I know how. By writing.

I'm not saying it's impossible to meet someone and have something amazing. Just rare. I cherish and hold dear to my heart all the rare people I know. Thank you for showing me I'm not alone!