Thursday, September 23, 2010
I Still Love this Song
This song is, word for word, my life in a nutshell. Well, a decent chunk of it. Its amazing. And since this is way early Against Me! and Tom Gabel was still doing the punk voice, I'll post the words below so you can really understand their beauty.
I Still Love You Julie
Last night,
A room full, drunk,
Sang along to the songs I never had
The courage to write.
Given the chance
I'd stay in this chorus forever,
Where everything ugly in this world
Is sadly beautiful
In our desperate memories.
No, we're not
Gonna call everyone on their shit tonight,
Even though the half of you won't even smile
The next time we pass on the street.
Maybe somehow
This scam will still save us all...
Still save us all...
Then I saw you
Dancing at a punk rock show
And for a moment
We walked the streets that everyone else
Had given up to 4 AM,
'Cause promises
And spray paint marking
Everywhere we went
And every direction
Only going as far
As we let it.
There's so many things
We try to do truthfully.
By the time it's through with us,
It all falls apart.
Maybe somehow
This scam will still save us all.
Still save us all...
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Bieber Fever
Its been far, far too long since I’ve posted on here! Times when I am inspired to write about the observations in my life paired with the time to actually sit down and think them into something worthy for you all to read are far and few in between. However, I was paired with such occurrences tonight, so here I sit with my laptop open and a Steak N Shake meal to my side. For the win!
Today at work was a nightmare. The manager of the IT department at work, my beloved friend boy (although it should be friend man, because he is probably a good 15 or so years older) Tom commandeered my computer to try to fix it. Perhaps it was all of the Justin Bieber that Tom and my coworker Pattie were trying to get me to listen to, but my computer wouldn’t work properly for the rest of the day- thus rendering me helpless as I scrambled to claim co-op advertising dollars and send out updated radio copy to stations in town. I personally take pride in the fact that, like Jersey Shore, I have never been exposed to any bit of a Justin Bieber song in its entirety. Maybe a minute or two, but once I wise up and realize that its not that Natasha Bedingfield chick, I quickly plug my ears with my fingers as if I were in the second grade and chant, “Lalalalalalalala!” Sexy, I know. Needless to say, my computer caught a case of Bieber Fever and quickly became useless and all I could do was mutter, "That kid sounds like Natasha Bedingfield..."
The only thing keeping me sane was my extracurricular activities that I had planned for after 5p. Though I was craving a dirty martini and a fatal head wound at this point, I still rounded up my friends Jamesson and Anthony to go roller skating at the local rink. Upon hearing my amazingly br00t4l metal voice that I’ve cultivated with Ricky Diamond, Anthony has become the Jonny Craig to my Jon Mess. Together we belted out some Dance Gavin Dance while Jamesson used my headphones to listen to his preferences.
What sparked this sudden interest in roller skating you ask? One of the things I’ve always wanted to do was join a roller derby team. What better way to practice for recruitment than to hit up the local skating rink on budget night where for $4 you can dodge little kids that keep falling down and get whizzed past by people who probably skate better than they walk. Isn’t that roller derby in a nutshell?
The three of us hadn’t been on roller skates in close to a decade. Jamesson was by the far the most graceful- we are blaming it on the PBRs and whiskey that he downed before we got into the car. Anthony gave it a fair run, having only fallen down 4 times. Surprisingly enough, I made a clean sweep tonight. That’s not to say that I didn’t take down a small child when I lost my balance at one point, however.
The music was a happy mix of retro hip hop circa 1993 as well as some newer stuff. I’m not sure why, but they kept on playing what sounded like Natasha Bedingfield. When I took a breather with Anthony, we took note that all of the women were starting to act… Strangely. They were getting excited, with a wild look in their eyes, and their lips forming the words Oh, My, and Gosh. The boys seemed unphased. Anthony
quickly deducted that we had fallen subject to a Justin Bieber attack. All hope had been lost. I was going down, but not without a fight. “You mean this isn’t Natasha Bedingfield,” I shrieked in horror. “But I have a record to maintain! Never have I heard a full song of his! I can’t get out of here fast enough!” Quickly, and in what could be considered my most br00t4l metal voice rendition yet, I looked at Anthony and howled, “BIEBER FEVER!”
Anthony followed suit, and then we skated up to the railing of the rink and roared it as Jamesson skating by. Jamesson just looked at us with a blank, transparent stare as he rolled away. Later I skated up to him, and he asked what it was we were saying. “I don’t subscribe to that agro bullshit you listen to,” he said as we skated along to the sounds of Bieber.
Then he added, “Wait, that wasn’t Natasha Bedingfield?”
Today at work was a nightmare. The manager of the IT department at work, my beloved friend boy (although it should be friend man, because he is probably a good 15 or so years older) Tom commandeered my computer to try to fix it. Perhaps it was all of the Justin Bieber that Tom and my coworker Pattie were trying to get me to listen to, but my computer wouldn’t work properly for the rest of the day- thus rendering me helpless as I scrambled to claim co-op advertising dollars and send out updated radio copy to stations in town. I personally take pride in the fact that, like Jersey Shore, I have never been exposed to any bit of a Justin Bieber song in its entirety. Maybe a minute or two, but once I wise up and realize that its not that Natasha Bedingfield chick, I quickly plug my ears with my fingers as if I were in the second grade and chant, “Lalalalalalalala!” Sexy, I know. Needless to say, my computer caught a case of Bieber Fever and quickly became useless and all I could do was mutter, "That kid sounds like Natasha Bedingfield..."
The only thing keeping me sane was my extracurricular activities that I had planned for after 5p. Though I was craving a dirty martini and a fatal head wound at this point, I still rounded up my friends Jamesson and Anthony to go roller skating at the local rink. Upon hearing my amazingly br00t4l metal voice that I’ve cultivated with Ricky Diamond, Anthony has become the Jonny Craig to my Jon Mess. Together we belted out some Dance Gavin Dance while Jamesson used my headphones to listen to his preferences.
What sparked this sudden interest in roller skating you ask? One of the things I’ve always wanted to do was join a roller derby team. What better way to practice for recruitment than to hit up the local skating rink on budget night where for $4 you can dodge little kids that keep falling down and get whizzed past by people who probably skate better than they walk. Isn’t that roller derby in a nutshell?
The three of us hadn’t been on roller skates in close to a decade. Jamesson was by the far the most graceful- we are blaming it on the PBRs and whiskey that he downed before we got into the car. Anthony gave it a fair run, having only fallen down 4 times. Surprisingly enough, I made a clean sweep tonight. That’s not to say that I didn’t take down a small child when I lost my balance at one point, however.
The music was a happy mix of retro hip hop circa 1993 as well as some newer stuff. I’m not sure why, but they kept on playing what sounded like Natasha Bedingfield. When I took a breather with Anthony, we took note that all of the women were starting to act… Strangely. They were getting excited, with a wild look in their eyes, and their lips forming the words Oh, My, and Gosh. The boys seemed unphased. Anthony
quickly deducted that we had fallen subject to a Justin Bieber attack. All hope had been lost. I was going down, but not without a fight. “You mean this isn’t Natasha Bedingfield,” I shrieked in horror. “But I have a record to maintain! Never have I heard a full song of his! I can’t get out of here fast enough!” Quickly, and in what could be considered my most br00t4l metal voice rendition yet, I looked at Anthony and howled, “BIEBER FEVER!”Anthony followed suit, and then we skated up to the railing of the rink and roared it as Jamesson skating by. Jamesson just looked at us with a blank, transparent stare as he rolled away. Later I skated up to him, and he asked what it was we were saying. “I don’t subscribe to that agro bullshit you listen to,” he said as we skated along to the sounds of Bieber.
Then he added, “Wait, that wasn’t Natasha Bedingfield?”
Monday, July 5, 2010
America- FUCKYEAHHHH!
Nothing says America more than Ed Hardy tattoos and pickles. Well, according to my good friends Cindy and Tiffany. After thoroughly enjoying the first 2 nights out on the town with my friends to kick off the 3-day holiday weekend, we all decided to take the 4th and keep it low key. Tiffany was gracious enough to host a few of us over provided that we all brought a multicultural dish. I was glad that I didn’t have to put much thought into it. Tiffany asked me to bring hummus and crackers, and I easily said, “Done!”
Since I didn’t get up and moving about until 1:30p (gross, I know), I didn’t really have much time to make anything. I needed a shower, to get my stomach under control because I mixed liquor and beer the night prior, and to make it to another house party beforehand with Jamesson. Fortunately, I’m a fan of always keeping a few staples on-hand for time when you’re in a pinch. I generally always have garlic, lemon, rosemary, olive oil, and a can or two of white beans in the pantry. When you blend them all together, they happen to make one of the best dips in existence. Not quite hummus, but close enough.
The spread at our potluck was quite… Interesting. We had wine from Chile, pineapple to embody Brazil, and Cindy’s signature queso dip to round out south-of-the-border representation for Mexico. For European influence, we had cheese and crackers for France alongside bread with sides of marinara and alfredo sauce for Italy. Although my white bean dip was more Italian (I did snag the recipe from Giada di Laurentiis), we decided to give a random shout-out to India.
And what for America? When I got to Tiffany’s and saw the spread, I just saw a random jar of pickles. Upon further examination, I saw some stick-on tattoos haphazardly lying next to it. “Hmmm,” I said. “Ed Hardy tats. Nothing more American than that… But I’m pretty sure that pickles come from Europe.” After a few cocktails, I decided that there was actually nothing more American than bad tattoos in even worse places. Enid got a black widow and barbed wire tattoo around her arm, a la Pamela Anderson. Cindy got one down her inner thigh. Tiffany and I got them on our boobs.
Then there was karaoke. After watching the fireworks display over Lake Eola from Tiffany’s balcony, we all thought it was a grand idea to go to Cindy and Chaz’s favorite haunt Big Daddy’s for some singing. Doesn’t get more American.
P.S. I finally did lose my karaoke virginity… The girls and I sang along to Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice Ice Baby’, which happens to be the song that I sang to keep my mind off of the pain when I broke my ankle skateboarding.
Since I didn’t get up and moving about until 1:30p (gross, I know), I didn’t really have much time to make anything. I needed a shower, to get my stomach under control because I mixed liquor and beer the night prior, and to make it to another house party beforehand with Jamesson. Fortunately, I’m a fan of always keeping a few staples on-hand for time when you’re in a pinch. I generally always have garlic, lemon, rosemary, olive oil, and a can or two of white beans in the pantry. When you blend them all together, they happen to make one of the best dips in existence. Not quite hummus, but close enough.
The spread at our potluck was quite… Interesting. We had wine from Chile, pineapple to embody Brazil, and Cindy’s signature queso dip to round out south-of-the-border representation for Mexico. For European influence, we had cheese and crackers for France alongside bread with sides of marinara and alfredo sauce for Italy. Although my white bean dip was more Italian (I did snag the recipe from Giada di Laurentiis), we decided to give a random shout-out to India.
And what for America? When I got to Tiffany’s and saw the spread, I just saw a random jar of pickles. Upon further examination, I saw some stick-on tattoos haphazardly lying next to it. “Hmmm,” I said. “Ed Hardy tats. Nothing more American than that… But I’m pretty sure that pickles come from Europe.” After a few cocktails, I decided that there was actually nothing more American than bad tattoos in even worse places. Enid got a black widow and barbed wire tattoo around her arm, a la Pamela Anderson. Cindy got one down her inner thigh. Tiffany and I got them on our boobs.
Then there was karaoke. After watching the fireworks display over Lake Eola from Tiffany’s balcony, we all thought it was a grand idea to go to Cindy and Chaz’s favorite haunt Big Daddy’s for some singing. Doesn’t get more American.
P.S. I finally did lose my karaoke virginity… The girls and I sang along to Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice Ice Baby’, which happens to be the song that I sang to keep my mind off of the pain when I broke my ankle skateboarding.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Sing Along
You don't need to be in a break-up to think of someone you'd like to say over half of these lyrics to. I can name about half a dozen ;-)
Happy Friday! Let's sing along...
Happy Friday! Let's sing along...
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Little Ms. Popular
About three weeks ago was trying to find the time to write a posting on how I was starting to feel like one of those bad parents that you see in the movies. You know the ones that are always calling up the kid on their birthday (right when they are about to blow out the candles on their cake) and telling them, “Sorry honey. Mommy can’t make it to your birthday party because work/forgetfulness/drug addiction came up.” That was me. Except I was telling friends that I couldn’t make it to their event that they were promoting, their concert, or their poetry reading because I was tied up with something else.
I was always running late! Either I was jetting from one event to another, or being held up by a friend before I could even get out the door. All the while I would be scrambling to make it before the guest list cut off. However, it’s dreadfully tacky at the same time to be furiously texting your host as you stomp down Orange Ave. begging them to make sure you can still get in for free at 11:40p when the list stops at 11:30p. It’s also shameful to tell your host that you can’t make it at all since you missed the cut-off. I try to do both as little as possible.
Events aside, I feel as though I’ve also been the crutch for my friends as well. Maybe something is in the water here, but it seems as though everyone is going through some major issues, and they all seem to want to resolve them downtown. I’m pulled in a million directions via texts and Facebook status updates that I’ve been tagged in. I’ve looked at my notifications to see that apparently I’m slated to be at Independent Bar on a Tuesday night for Grits and Gravy, even though I have work the next morning and Diana Ross makes me want to slit my wrists. As much as I’d like to say no thanks, it’s a little hard to do so when you’ve got five people who have already started posting comments that they can’t wait to see you out… Even though I just saw many of them the night before, and the night before that one, and have already had two conversations via text with them that same day. And then there is my favorite line: “It’s not like you have to drive 45 minutes home anymore. You live downtown now!”
I’ve never been the ‘popular’ girl my entire life. It’s quite flattering to me that someone thinks that my presence will make or break their night out on the town. It’s fun to walk up to a group of people and hear one of them squeal, “Bougie’s here!” But here is the true reason why it’s all irritating me so: Surprise, surprise- I’m going through a lot, too. I’m trying to tackle issues that come with being an adult- bills, work, and attempting something called ‘dating’ but I have long since given up on that. I live in a shell of an apartment that I’ve barely felt connected to since I moved in nearly two months ago, because guess what? I’m never here. When I’m out, I’m not allowed to have feelings either. I’m not allowed to just sit back and take in the scenery with a water in my hand. Someone is always coming up to me shoving a drink to my lips, or asking me why I look melancholy. Yet before I can answer, I’m being told that I’m not allowed to be- not tonight, because Bougie is needed.
All I’ve wanted to do for the last few weeks is go home (wherever that is), throw on my NOFX t-shirt and a pair of boxers, crank the Greeley Estates on my iPod and relax on the couch after I organize more of the things I need to unpack around the apartment. I just want to be Heather.
Tonight I hit up Shari’s sushi happy hour (try saying that one five times fast) in Thornton Park with my good friend Dru. Over $3.75 cocktails and sushi rolls, I described how two weekends ago I lost my iPhone at Back Booth. I’ve broken down into tears over it several times since then, as well as nearly pulling a Naomi Campbell by smashing my previous BlackBerry into a million pieces because it won’t receive text messages or show me calls I’ve missed. Although my perfectionism is numero uno on the list of why I’m so distraught over losing my phone (I’ve never lost a phone- ever- let alone anything worth more than a few dollars) , the second reason I’ve been so torn up is because I feel completely disconnected from the world. When I’m bored at work, I can’t just shoot a text to my friend Lauren and have some of her wit hold me over for a few more hours. I can’t catch up with people via Facebook chat while I’m walking down Central Boulevard. I can’t watch a movie and IMDB it when I have an inquiry.
My friends have treaded lightly around this topic with me, but all have stated clearly that this is a good thing for me. They, as well as any guy that I’ve attempted to have a relationship with in the last 2 years, will say that I was always on my phone. Always. By now I’ve finally gotten over most of the anxiety associated with me losing it, and I’m agreeing and seeing this as one of those funny coincidences that makes you scratch your head and trust that things really do happen for a reason. Its funny how when you're least connected to everyone around you, it makes shutting the world down so much easier. Fancy that.
So here I sit, wearing my Devil Wears Prada t-shirt and A Day to Remember on the iPod, typing away from my favorite spot on the couch. I feel like I have finally come back to my center. Heather finally feels at home.
Oh, and my closet looks fabulous now that it’s not filled with random bags.
I was always running late! Either I was jetting from one event to another, or being held up by a friend before I could even get out the door. All the while I would be scrambling to make it before the guest list cut off. However, it’s dreadfully tacky at the same time to be furiously texting your host as you stomp down Orange Ave. begging them to make sure you can still get in for free at 11:40p when the list stops at 11:30p. It’s also shameful to tell your host that you can’t make it at all since you missed the cut-off. I try to do both as little as possible.
Events aside, I feel as though I’ve also been the crutch for my friends as well. Maybe something is in the water here, but it seems as though everyone is going through some major issues, and they all seem to want to resolve them downtown. I’m pulled in a million directions via texts and Facebook status updates that I’ve been tagged in. I’ve looked at my notifications to see that apparently I’m slated to be at Independent Bar on a Tuesday night for Grits and Gravy, even though I have work the next morning and Diana Ross makes me want to slit my wrists. As much as I’d like to say no thanks, it’s a little hard to do so when you’ve got five people who have already started posting comments that they can’t wait to see you out… Even though I just saw many of them the night before, and the night before that one, and have already had two conversations via text with them that same day. And then there is my favorite line: “It’s not like you have to drive 45 minutes home anymore. You live downtown now!”
I’ve never been the ‘popular’ girl my entire life. It’s quite flattering to me that someone thinks that my presence will make or break their night out on the town. It’s fun to walk up to a group of people and hear one of them squeal, “Bougie’s here!” But here is the true reason why it’s all irritating me so: Surprise, surprise- I’m going through a lot, too. I’m trying to tackle issues that come with being an adult- bills, work, and attempting something called ‘dating’ but I have long since given up on that. I live in a shell of an apartment that I’ve barely felt connected to since I moved in nearly two months ago, because guess what? I’m never here. When I’m out, I’m not allowed to have feelings either. I’m not allowed to just sit back and take in the scenery with a water in my hand. Someone is always coming up to me shoving a drink to my lips, or asking me why I look melancholy. Yet before I can answer, I’m being told that I’m not allowed to be- not tonight, because Bougie is needed.
All I’ve wanted to do for the last few weeks is go home (wherever that is), throw on my NOFX t-shirt and a pair of boxers, crank the Greeley Estates on my iPod and relax on the couch after I organize more of the things I need to unpack around the apartment. I just want to be Heather.
Tonight I hit up Shari’s sushi happy hour (try saying that one five times fast) in Thornton Park with my good friend Dru. Over $3.75 cocktails and sushi rolls, I described how two weekends ago I lost my iPhone at Back Booth. I’ve broken down into tears over it several times since then, as well as nearly pulling a Naomi Campbell by smashing my previous BlackBerry into a million pieces because it won’t receive text messages or show me calls I’ve missed. Although my perfectionism is numero uno on the list of why I’m so distraught over losing my phone (I’ve never lost a phone- ever- let alone anything worth more than a few dollars) , the second reason I’ve been so torn up is because I feel completely disconnected from the world. When I’m bored at work, I can’t just shoot a text to my friend Lauren and have some of her wit hold me over for a few more hours. I can’t catch up with people via Facebook chat while I’m walking down Central Boulevard. I can’t watch a movie and IMDB it when I have an inquiry.
My friends have treaded lightly around this topic with me, but all have stated clearly that this is a good thing for me. They, as well as any guy that I’ve attempted to have a relationship with in the last 2 years, will say that I was always on my phone. Always. By now I’ve finally gotten over most of the anxiety associated with me losing it, and I’m agreeing and seeing this as one of those funny coincidences that makes you scratch your head and trust that things really do happen for a reason. Its funny how when you're least connected to everyone around you, it makes shutting the world down so much easier. Fancy that.
So here I sit, wearing my Devil Wears Prada t-shirt and A Day to Remember on the iPod, typing away from my favorite spot on the couch. I feel like I have finally come back to my center. Heather finally feels at home.
Oh, and my closet looks fabulous now that it’s not filled with random bags.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Like what you see?
Then please, Please, PLEASE vote for me for Best Local Blog (and vote for 14 other categories!) for Orlando Weekly's Best of Orlando edition!! I don't expect to take 1st, but they do a Top 3 which I'd like to crack into.
Thanks guys and gals for the support! Keep reading, laughing, and commenting :-)
P.S. If you really want to go out on a limb, you can vote for me for Best Local Writer, but I can name so many others!
Thanks guys and gals for the support! Keep reading, laughing, and commenting :-)
P.S. If you really want to go out on a limb, you can vote for me for Best Local Writer, but I can name so many others!
I think we've all felt this way about Orlando at one point...
Ricky Diamond got me listening to this song last night... And yes, I spent the better part of my morning dancing in my underwear while getting ready for work to it.
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