Wednesday, August 31, 2011


You're catching me at 5:30am, after a splendid second visit to my latest favorite spot SUTRA bitch.
I had three drinks [smirnoff ice, rum & coke, corona] which in my world = tipsy. So therefore that's what I am at this very moment.
Last time I stayed mostly upstairs on the hip-hop floor, but this time my lively dancing partner and I decided to work it out downstairs [mostly because the upstairs was muggy and playing like 70s soul music]. I had a fantastic time on the "reggae floor"... reggae always lifts a girl's spirits, and I needed some lifting after fucking Irene and then catching a wack cold ya dig.
But something interesting/amazing happened tonight. Someone recognized me from the internet! More specifically, twitter/tumblr. Like to the point that her and homegirl were whispering next to me trying to figure out if it was "me". So then the homegirl taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I'm on twitter, and I say yeah and give her my screename, and then the main girl is like, yeah you follow me on tumblr, you have blue in your name and you're from New York and I recognize your hair and I was just like "Cool" because in my head I was like "Is this a practical joke?"
And then I was like goddamn why am I so cynical, I should have been nicer to her, she was just being nice/starstruck or whatever.
I have fucking arrived.
Anyways, after hours of grooving to reggae and my saying hi and bye to random people, and apologizing for bumping into folk and then saying hi to Steve, a bouncer I recognized from this other venue, me and my girl friend left and went to Velselka where I gave my business card to random diner, and me and my dancing partner blabbered on and on to this sweet waitress who just wanted to go home.
If you're wondering what my business card looks like, it looks like this:
So fresh and so clean.
Goddamit I love this city.
Anonymous sutra admirer, reveal yourself.
p.s. - You do not even know the amount of spell checking I did on this shit... okay.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

C'mon Irene

I am pretty much prepared... now I'm just waiting. Here are my latest tweets:
  • I never thought I'd be saying this, but NYC is actually NOT the place to be [right now] #HurricaneIrene
  • I'm glad I am vehemently drug free... Or else I'd be getting high out of my mind right now.
  • BTW guys, find the brightest color T-shirt you have and put it on. Easier for helicopters to see you if you have to get on the roof.
  • I'm one of those people that always has back-ups and travel size everything. I'm feeling mighty smart right now.
  • Don't forget the baby wipes!!! Wipe your dirty ass down on day 3 of no power/water.
  • Again... I blame the illuminati for this #Irene
  • The time feels like it's just inching by...
And now for some Hurricane Music!!!

This is your victory music. Listen to this, get your light saber, and get ready to fight this thing.

And this is your... "Farewell, I'm dying" music. *tear*


Friday, August 26, 2011

Hurricane Irene

Irene is coming this weekend. And I'll be the first to admit, I'm scared. I'm scared because I don't know. I'm unsure what can happen. This isn't the kind of uncertainty that comes after a job interview or a date. This is a totally encompassing fear, a terror and urgency that you feel deep inside mostly because you also feel lost. You feel unprepared. You feel like your life is at the tipping point of a very unwelcome change. This hurricane is looming, hanging over us... with the ability to tip the scales any which way it would like... and none of us will know how it will play out until it gets here.

I didn't start to worry until a day after I'd heard about the imminent Hurricane activity. I was coming across articles that tossed around things like "evacuation zones" and "police force on alert" [as well as helicopters, the Navy and other government officials] and a potential "subway shut down" [supposedly in effect tomorrow at noon], and I was just in disbelief. In New York? Really? First an earthquake and now this... barely 5 days later?! New York is not used to these kinds of catastrophes. And in effect I see a lot of people, in their usual jaded and arrogant NY stance, taking this news too lightly. How can you take it lightly when you're not even sure how much damage you're going to be facing? I say, prepare now, because it's better to be safe than sorry.

I've experienced a hurricane once before, Hurricane Georges in the Dominican Republic, in the fall of 1998. I was 10 years old, and I was alone. [My mother had booked a flight to the states and left me behind with her extended family. Mother of the year, truly.] I remember it rained all day long and that the gusts of wind were so strong that they occasionally blew splashes of water onto the front porch of the concrete home. I remember sneaking to the patio to peer through the gates, and thinking that although I'd never seen anything like it, it didn't seem so bad. What could a little wind and rain do anyway? It wasn't until the hurricane was over and I took a ride through town that I saw the destruction and devastation that Mother Nature could cause. Georges caused 380 deaths in the Dominican Republic, and 1.2 billion dollars in damages. That hurricane was a category 4. They are reporting that Irene is the same. 

Not only am I anxious and scared, but I'm angry. I look around my adorable basement apartment and feel pride in the fact that every single item in there [including the apartment itself] is mine, because I purchased/acquired it all through my own volition. I am the only 23 year old woman I know who lives on their own in NYC and does so 100% independently. I don't have roommates, and I do not depend on my parents in any way shape or form and haven't since I was 17 years old. I am very independent, and I'm glad that that trait is inherent, because as I learned once I hit my early teens [and then full force during my late teens], I had no choice but to be. The thought of losing everything I've worked to build makes me feel angrier and more hopeless than I've ever felt.

Tonight, I'll buy a flashlight and canned goods, water and batteries, I'll tape up my windows, I'll put together a little girl scout backpack in case I have to run out of my place, I'll clean up and put all my valuables on high surfaces in case my place floods. On Saturday, I'll wake up early, have a cup of coffee, clear my mind, and get ready for this bitch to rumble.

...Oh and if you catch me on top of a hill sitting in a kiddie pool with goggles and floaties on, don't ask me any questions. I'm just survivin' man.

To all my fellow New Yorkers and East Coasters... please stay safe!!!

Thursday, August 25, 2011

The thing about being yourself

The only BlueShame in a sea of white faces

There's a lot of talk on the internet about "Being yourself", but how many of the people touting this advice even follow it? Very few, I'm sure. Why? Because it takes strength to be uniquely you. See, one crucial key to being yourself that people often forgo mentioning is strength. Strength is having the enormous courage and willpower to face life's hurdles and follow through on whatever you feel is right for you.

Why do you need strength? Take for example, me. I have always been "myself" and am very proud of the woman I have become. But for every person who has adored me, there have been five people who urged me to change. I've been called countless forgettable names, I've been told that I'm too outspoken, too opinionated, I have too much masculine energy, I should wear my hair differently, I should wear heels all the time, I should wear less makeup, I should gain weight, I should be sexier, I shouldn't be so serious, I should pick a "safe" career, I should be submissive. With all those darts [and sometimes poison] being thrown at me upon choosing to follow my own path, it took conviction to say "No thanks. This is who I truly am, take it or leave it." 

She was born this way. [Quite literally.]

For another example, let's look at Lady Gaga. She has repeatedly told the public that her hair, outfits and proper diction are who she really is, even going so far as to title her third release 'Born This Way'. And while even I [an enamored fan] have my reservations, who are you and I to say different? Who are we to say that thigh-baring get-ups and platinum blonde locks aren't what feel most natural to her? For her to do as she pleases, in front of the [critical] world no less, admittedly takes strength and brass balls.

I've always admired people who know what they want and what they're about [see: Lady Gaga, Patti Stanger, Kelly Cutrone, Tabatha Coffey, Stevie Nicks etc]. The people who can quickly and confidently say "No, that's not for me" or "Wow! I love that!" They are examples of how being yourself rocks. On the flipside, are naysayers who say things like "Sometimes the worst advice you can give someone is to be themselves" or "What if the real you sucks?" Well, newsflash! That "sucky" person isn't really you, it's merely a mirage of negative feelings that are floating around your true spirit. Sometimes negative clouds encase us for so long that we start to feel like they are intertwined with our spirit. That's when taking action is necessary. That's when a purging of all the bad needs to happen: all the expectations others have of you, all the false promises you've made, all the damaging beliefs you harbor; they've gotta go, and they've gotta go now.

Being yourself is about being the best person that you can be, the healthiest person that you are capable of being. Do not settle for an ornery state of being, a clouded spirit or a lesser version of you. Attempt to be the full you, you at your highest capacity. And if you're having trouble getting there, open up your heart and mind and the help will come. Be sincere and open in your desire to transform and the tools will be handed to you. This is not some fantastical hullaboo spiritual speak either. What I mean is, there are plenty of people out there living their best lives who would be delighted to help you do the same! And I'm not necessarily talking about gurus or corporate head honchos, this person can be your next door neighbor, your teacher or grandma. Anyone wise and sincere, and most importantly, very in tune with themselves.

Take some time to block out life's noise and talk to people, ask questions of yourself, read self-help books. Train your intuition by paying attention to when your stomach feels a little jolt, to when your palms sweat, to when your heart skips a beat. These are all clues to goodness or badness, things you are drawn to or repulsed by. Pay attention to that little voice in your head that says "Wait..." and listen closely when it says "Go!" If you pay attention to yourself, you will be well on your way to coming into your self. 

*So much for being in touch with myself... When I felt the first vibrations of the earthquake [my first ever!] on Tuesday afternoon, I immediately doubted what I'd just felt: "Is the room swaying or... is it just me?" How many of you did the same?

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Get out there


The only surefire way to get noticed is to continuously put yourself [and what you're capable of] out there. Do the work and publicize it. I have studied the ways in which many different stars have risen to fame and not one person got accolades, fame or riches by sitting at home on their ass. For the sake of this blog entry, let's not even mention the fact that Rosario Dawson was discovered while sitting on her front stoop. Okay?!

Pharrell was discovered at his High School talent show by Teddy Riley, Lady Gaga was discovered on the LES club circuit where she had performed countless times, Victoria Beckham went to a casting call for what became The Spice Girls, and many many others achieved success through impressing a connection [because let's be honest, a connection won't necessarily connect you to anyone unless you've managed to impress them].

You ain't got no Yeezy?!

Snooki is a NY Times Best selling author [I try not to use emoticons and "lols" on the blog but... O_o ...GTFOHWTBS!!!], Kreayshawn has a million dollar record deal ["Hope SONY still has the receipt" -Sophsaproblem]. It might not be fair but the fact remains that both of these girls put themselves out there and gained massive exposure in doing so. Snooki on the wildly popular MTV backed reality show Jersey Shore, and Kreayshawn through her own kre-ay-shawn, a self directed music video for her rap song "Gucci Gucci" that she also wrote. Had Snooki not shown up to that casting call, had Kreayshawn never uploaded that video there's a good chance they'd be hanging out in obscurity with all the other shy/scared fucks.

On the flipside, [aka real talent] The Weeknd has reached a nice level of fame off the strength of his self-released mixtape 'House of Balloons', a set of songs that moved Drake so much he felt compelled to tweet about it.

If you build it, they will come!

That is why I continue to write and brainstorm about my enterprise endlessly. That is why I eagerly share my blog with every single intellgent person I meet. [I just got some business cards custom made to better assist me in that.] And that is also why I urge all of my readers to share! Exposure and traffic is important. The masses won't read my blog if they don't know about it! So that's why I still continue to dream and believe and most importantly write, because I never know who's reading, and I never know how just one thing I do right can potentially change my life.

And when something life-changing does happen, I'll be playing some Busta Rhymes to celebrate. My jam!

Monday, August 22, 2011

Lady Blue vs. Spliff Star

See what had happened was:

And then, to my surprise:

I am not sure what he is even talking about for I speaketh not the slang a lang, but I am still honored/perplexed/flattered? The best part about this whole thing is, a) I didn't even @ him so it's funny that he even found the tweet, and b) he basically responded to a statement where I called him worthless with something I cannot decipher. Awesome!

I love all my random celeb interactions.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Queen

This will probably be the only time you see Nicki Minaj here

She had tried to make plans with me once before, inviting me to party one late night since she and her girlfriends happened to be in my hood. I respectfully declined, and arranged for a few days later where we made lazy plans for perhaps dinner, maybe a drink, but definite hanging out. I wore something pretty but plain and hoped for the best. She seemed normal on the phone, but who could really know? I didn't know what to expect as I rounded the corner of the block long department store on 34th street. Was she going to look anything like her pictures? Would she be cool in person? Was she even going to show up?

Before I could pull my phone up to my ear to make the obligatory “I'm here, where are you?” phone call, I saw her. She was of average height, with smooth brown skin, waist length black hair, lips coated in bubblegum pink lipstick, eyes concealed behind large, gaudy shades. Her body was curvy yet toned, supple thighs peeked out of her black short shorts and a perky chest poked out beneath her blousy top. Her voice was soaked in a heavy Dominican accent and her tone was soft, tender almost. She was one of those glamorous “hair done, nails done, everything did” types, the type of girl who strutted with so much flavor, she made the necks of men and women snap back like rubber bands. [I remember thinking that seemed like a lot of work.] In short, she looked like a Black Barbie. I almost felt tiny and demure against her commanding appearance, but even still, she made me feel pretty comfortable.

It's Barbie, bitch!

We exchanged greetings, the requisite kiss on the cheek and half-hug; and then caught a cab together downtown. She said she had a favorite place she wanted to take me to, so I blindly obliged. I remember we didn't speak much in the few minutes that we rode, but I remember pulling out my wallet to split the fare when it was due and her waving my hand away like “I got this”. She then fumbled with the credit card machine as I sheepishly assisted her. We stepped into Cafeteria, a restaurant that I find largely unremarkable, but often dine at anyway. She said she was craving fried oreos, meanwhile I just wondered what this girl was about. We decided to sit outside in the sun, in order to people watch and catch up all at once.

And so it began. She was engaged in our conversation but quiet, and when people are quiet, I find myself talking enough for the both of us. Every now and then she'd pipe up and say something really smart or introspective, and I figured that she was one of those people who only spoke when she was sure of something. I liked that. Although she was quiet, I felt a warmth emanate from her that was rare from girls nowadays. We ate and talked and laughed and drank, all the while she waved her generous hands around urging me to order whatever I liked. She made it clear that everything was on her. In between bites, sips and giggles, I found myself wondering which parts of her persona were contrived, and which were real.

I couldn't resist.

She was 20 years old when we met, a native of Brooklyn [believe it or not, Park Slope], and a bad-ass who damn well knew it. We had lots in common, and shared many of the same views and ideas, but I couldn't help but feel a little out of my element around her. Our heritage, gender and chosen city were the same, but everything else about us seemed worlds apart. I think it was culture shock for me: one of those fly girls I always saw on the street was right in front of me and lil ol low-maintenance me didn't know what to make of it. And perhaps she didn't know what to make of me either. Here I was, this light-skinned, light eyed, articulate and outspoken Dominican-American girl, one who was completely unlike herself and her friends.

After she graciously put the exorbitant dining bill on her credit card, we walked a few blocks to the train while sharing stories about our pasts. I listened to her as she told me what I already knew, girls had always given her a hard time [especially in High School], and even in the present day she found herself dissatisfied with her friendships [hence our meeting]. She told me about fights, about her desires to move out of Brooklyn, and all throughout her speech was an undercurrent of melancholy. A sliver of disappointment that in an ideal world, no one should've had at her age.

Not too long after, I checked her out online. Although she wasn't an actress, model, singer or actively promoting anything, she had quite the media presence. Online I saw a totally different side of her. An arrogant, glib, overtly flashy, vulgar, presumptuous personality she put on all throughout her twitter feed - which boasted over five thousand followers by the way. Her facebook was at capacity [they cap you at like 5000 friends or something reasonable like that], so of course she had created another for the carryover fans. I was turned off and became suspicious of her whole modus operandi: Where was her endless spending money coming from*? What did she do with all her time?** What was her real name even? And what was with the throng of followers?

Things weren't adding up, my curiosity was waning and my apprehension growing. I turned down every one of her invites out until one night she tired of my flakiness and let me know a little something in simple Spanish: “Te borre.”

*We're Dominican, so there's really no such thing as trust funds or inheritances for us. She told me she made her money through real estate and bartending, but she didn't have a real estate license and was too young to legally bartend.
**According to twitter, frivolously spending as much as humanly possible: shopping, popping bottles at clubs, cabs, dining out, going here there and everywhere, and buying gifts for/spoiling all her various friends.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Over it: High Life Edition

The whole LA vs. New York debate:
Something you need to know about me is that I'm very much a New York girl. I'm tough, I'm street smart, I prefer a classic look over a trendy one, I walk fast, I talk fast, I'm ambitious, and I'm to the point. Of course I want to travel and see the world, but deep down I know that New York will always be the greatest. I know this city. I know its grooves, I know how things go here. It's home... as much as it gets on my nerves at times. Of course I want to visit Paris, but I think I've always known I was a New York/Paris kind of girl, versus an LA/Miami one. And let's be real, the only thing LA has over New York is the weather because if NYC was consistently sunny and breezy, there'd be no fucking question. So needless to say, there is nothing to debate. End.

These new industry types in urban music, fashion, photography etc:
You know the kids/young adults who are just getting started, the ones who've assisted the assistant of the stylist who styled Keyshia Cole that one time, or the intern who happened to be in the same room that Rick Ross was being photographed in. You know. The ones who have these blogs full of “curated” quotes, with links promoting their various “talented” friends urging you to “cop” because that's “the homie” with reasons like “support talent/the hood”. The ones with tumblrs full of “insider music” and dozens of photos of their comped club nights out. The ones with twitters where every other tweet is an @ to another hanger on, or various incarnations of “rise and grind/hustling/#swaggg”. The ones who land interviews only because their best friend's cousin writes for the magazine, not because they're actually all that fucking special/talented. And my favorite is the non-answer when they are asked, how did you get here? They beat around that fucking bush so quickly they might as well be spinning. They share some anecdote about hard work, spout some story about all this starting off as "just a hobby" and then throw something else in about a mentor and then blah blah blah bullshit some more and inevitably move on assuming that the answer they provided was good; when the truth is, [because we all know the truth!], the truth is that they had an IN. A connection. A link into the industry. Everyone starts somewhere, all I ask is that you be honest about your journey, so that others do not lose themselves when they attempt to follow your path. Don't give people false hope, and say that it's all about “hard work” or whatever other nonsense you like to spout when the fact is that so-and-so dated your cousin/has a studio next to your High School/lives down the block. Very few of these cool kids have substance because if they were actually dope, no one would know about them. Because that's the way things go in this new millenium.... only garbage gets hyped nowadays. I'm sick of the flash with no substance. There's far too much bullshit and superficiality in that world and that's why I chose to avoid those industries. [Yes, chose.] The fakeness would make me fucking hurl... I wouldn't be able to stand myself. And if you want examples of whom I speak, I've got plenty.

People who go to the club to simply... stand around:

People who have kids or are married and are still heavy into the nightlife:
I immediately lose respect for people like this. Parenthood is one aspect where participation and responsibility are absolute requirements. Who is watching your kid while you are up in the club swinging around and drinking?! You disgust me.

p.s. - I wrote this while listening to Haddaway's What is love? and reminiscing about my wonderful Tuesday night at Sutra last week. Listen to the song, and if you're in New York, hit up the spot. You won't regret it!

[EDIT: Due to popular demand, I was forced to add a few more nightlife pet peeves to my 'Over it' List. Read on for the rest!]

Bouncers who love to exercise their “authority”:
I don't often experience bouncer hostility, but on the rare occasion I do, I'm reminded of the fact that if this were any other time of day, this exact guy would be trying to holler at me. But because it's between the hours of 10pm and 4am, this meat head has to put on a front and treat me like I'm lower than the dog shit on his Big and Tall brand shoe because I'm not “on the list”. Listen guy, I know you're just doing what your douchey boss wants you to do. I know you want to let me in, but the club is at capacity/closed for a private party/bottle service only/secretly racist and you just can't. It's okay dude. If all you need is 6 hours of feeling on top of the world to make you feel good, I'll let you have it.

Bottle Service and all the posers who fall for it:
Bottle service, like so many other elements of the nightlife industry, is an unnecessary ploy intended to do nothing but put more money in club owners' greedy pockets. You'd think no one would actually pay for that, but oh people do. And those people are idiots. You think Diddy is really paying for all the bottles he's poppin? No. Clubs usually give celebs a few bottles gratis, because hey, it looks good for them when it's splashed all over the papers the next day. People who sign up for bottle service are often paying an exorbitant amount over what the bottles actually cost, all in a futile attempt to look important and cool. Meanwhile anyone with any shred of sense knows that you're getting ripped off. Clubs continue to make a killing off of this friendly service because “A fool and his money are soon parted.”

Sketchy Promoters:
This should go without saying but I will say it anyway: I don't need a text about where you're gonna be everyday, I don't need you trying to grind up on me any chance you get, I don't need you to drive me home, I don't need you not-so-subtly asking me for sex. Just no. What is the point of promoters anyway? Just hire a good DJ and the club will be full week after week.

Speaking of DJs... I really can't stand DJs who play nothing but Top 40 music all night, or the ones who play that horrible HORRIBLE shit I classify as “dubstep meets techno meets jungle music” that no one but rhythmless white folk can realistically dance to. I was subjected to a few hours of that this past Saturday night, and when I looked into the crowd I could see we all shared the same look of visible discomfort.

And I'm not over this per se, but I just have a question. Why has cranberry juice & vodka become the club drink of choice? That shit is like the mainstay of nightlife.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Urban Entrepreneur

This is what I did on Monday afternoon:

Thanks to 100 Urban Entrepreneurs and the flawlessly crafted business proposal I submitted to the organization two weeks ago, I was chosen as a semi-finalist and had to present a 60 second pitch to not only a panel of judges, but a room full of spectators. I had barely 24 hours to prepare for my big moment. And when the time came, it was pretty nerve wracking. Not because I fear public speaking [it's actually not that bad] but because I felt so out of my element. I initially said no, because I'm vehemently against any kind of "fame", and having my face "out there" behind anything other than BlueShame made me feel queasy. But I acquiesced because I felt that turning down an opportunity like this would hurt me more than it would help me. So I swallowed whatever was holding me back and faced the challenge head on.

I didn't win... My new friend Alyxaundria did. But I was truly okay with that because I knew I wasn't going to win going in. It wasn't negative thinking, I just knew deep down in my gut that my idea was too ambitious for the 100UE organization. I got the idea that they were looking for business ideas that were safe and very profitable. A social network for the moodiest people on the planet artists is hella risky and may even seem unnecessary to some. But how many people believed in Facebook when Zuckerberg ran with the stolen idea? Love it or hate it, we all know how Facebook turned out. So of course The Urban Art Wall is a risk and a gamble, but rarely is a business free of all that.

I learned a lot from the event though. I learned that nerves and fear are useless. I learned the importance of an "elevator pitch", which is basically what me and the nine other contestants did in front of a room of 200 or so people. I learned how important it is to identify your ideal customer and figure out your intended audience. It wasn't until I walked offstage that I realized a social network was not an ideal investment for the older crowd I was presenting to. I learned that taking risks is beneficial because putting yourself out there brings about new opportunities. I learned that there are many other young minorities out there with huge ambitions like me, no matter how different we and our end goals are. And of course, I was reminded that networking is, no doubt, king.

In the end, 100UE decided to award all 10 contestants with mentors. I can't wait to meet mine and I'm crossing my fingers that they are knowledgeable enough to teach and influence the all-knowing Lady Blue. Because you already know what will happen if they aren't on point... *drops the mic and walks away*

The day wasn't all "disappointment" though. On my way home, I got a call from a major TV network who expressed serious interest in collaborating with me and my blog. What major TV network you ask? The one we usually refer to as the acronym for Music Television.

Yes... Yes really.

I have nothing else to say about that except... Holla at me.