good look

on a hot, summer day, ice is always a good look.

BastardCuts

i just got the worst haircut. i just needed the end trimmed and that ho hacked my shit up. i told her to leave the style and just get the ends off. i paid $40 for a style she mangled in 5 min. i guess, she did get the ends off and then some. the only reason i went there was because my hairdresser is in New Haven and not only will i not have the time since, when i go there next week, i'm not on my time, but i also have no fucking money until next week. next Friday i'll be straight. damn it. i should've waited. i really have to work on this patience thing.

i never stress out over my hair. i'm just not that kind of girl. i've had fucked up cuts before, but it's hair. it'll grow back. this shit is painful to look at. the really suck thing is that she put lots of layers in. i had just a few in the back because i do so much with my hair that i ends split like the Red Sea. this is going to suck to have to grow out.

i hope it grows out in time for my brothers wedding next month. now i have to spend another $40, at least, to get my hairdresser to fix this. so wack.

Sarah McLoser

[This is a brief guest blog]

So, I'm at the gym tonight and I remember that earlier today, I'd p2purchased the latest Sarah McLachlan CD, Afterglow, and put it on my iPod. I start it up, and instantly, I'm bored. I mean, Jesus Christ. It's almost like, instead of shuffling through the songs, the iPod is looping the same boring, granola-infused drip-hop acoustic garbage over and over again, interminably.

And the songs aren't even interesting. I've often listened to artists who sound boring and droning, but who say things that are interesting enough to warrant paying attention. Fuck it, that's all emo is. But Sarah's dull, pablum-rich inspirational tunes are like listening to a "Hang in There!" poster repeated 10 times. I wanted to pour the idea of Sarah McLachlan into an ice tray, put it in the freezer, and then pop it out three hours later and kick it into a wall. Christ almighty.

So, thank God for p2p networks, and fuck you RIAA. This isn't the 50s, and listening to Afterglow reminds me of why we live together before marriage now.

and another thing:TVMA (S)(L)

not to harp on this porn shit or anything, but that bitch was nasty. i was reminded of a couple of things i had blocked out, but would be remiss not to mention. on the amazingty.com website were a bunch of pictures of what general consensus has decided are hemorrhoids. it looks like that bitch is pushing red Play-Do. it is so fucking nasty. apparently, her whole asshole was one big, red hemorrhoid. honkies.

the last picture, which is still undecided whether or not it's possible, is this Stone Cold Steve Austin looking dude putting his big, bald head in some girls' cooch.

some aren't sure it's possible. there's the arguments that woman can push a baby out, so a head can go in. first of all, babies are really small and relatively long. secondly, and more importantly, babies are soft. a grown man's fat head is big, round, and hard. not to mention the damage that childbearing causes, the body has accommodated by stretching and expanding muscles. it's had 9 months to prepare. a head in the cooch could only give you mere minutes to prepare for.

hey, i don't know if it's real. all i know is that it's nasty and only honkies will do it.

porn: TVMA (S)(L)

last night Andrea and i were on the phone for 4 hours. a good portion of that time was spent looking up internet porn. she had gotten some pop-up or email or something that was really nasty and she wanted to show me. the rest of the night was spent laughing, gawking, and squirming in disgust at the things we saw.

two things:

1:honkies are nasty. we don't mean white people. we don't even mean crackers. we mean honkies. honkies are those trailer park, two teeth, perpetual dirt smudge on their leg people. honkies have no shame. honkies stick 14" dildos in their assholes and cacti in their cooch.

the website that started it off was www.amazingty.com. that bitch is nasty. her shit is all stretched out and nasty. in one picture she's holding her cooch open and it looks like she has a mole by the nose. her hole is the size of an agape animal.

Andrea noticed that she had a wedding ring on and we were postulating on what kind of man would marry her. i mean, with her shit that wide open, any normal dude would just be swimming around. it's got no grip. he couldn't feel the walls or the bottom. then we figured she was married to one of the guys on www.megacockcravers.com. maybe she's married to the "15" rocket cock."

now, it may seem fucked up, and maybe racist, for me to say that, but if you go to any hardcore fetish website, there's not a black chick around. now, black people do some nasty, kinky shit, just like everybody else. there are just some places black people won't go. what i'm saying is that we're already brown, so scat fetishes is not our thing. you'd be hard pressed to find a motherfucker that would let you shit on them. maybe it's metaphoric. maybe black people get shit on all the time, so there's no way we'd ask for it, let alone be turned on by.

as a side note: the only people on the scat website were crackwhore looking white girls and pencil dick white boys. i'm not kidding, the dudes balls didn't even hang they were so small.

2:where do you have to be in your life to be featured on www.explodingcunt.com? or www.wiredpussy.com. i like my fair share of kink, but i'll be damned if someone's gonna hook up electrodes to my stuff. there will be no cable wires on my ass or...look, my stuff is not going out Matrix style, that's for sure.

at what point in your life do you a) know that that's an option and something you'd be into, b)need to be stimulated by electricity, and c) allow yourself to be bound, gagged, strung-up, and shocked in a studio with photographers for public consumption?

perhaps i'm fortunate to have a doting, emotionally, and financially supportive father, and mother who loves me, so that i'll never have to know what that kind of depravity looks like. not even that deep, though, where do you have to be at to be double fisted with a huge dildo up your ass?

i don't know where that is. i'm a girl who certainly loves to travel, but i hope to God i never find that place.

Nicky D

an old friend of mine sent me a message on friendster last night. i came home from work and called andrea. we're talking as i'm checking my email. i see that "Nicholas" has sent me a message. i didn't know a Nicholas, but i clicked to see a picture and there he was- Nick fucking Diamond, a.k.a. Shinin' Diamond, a.k.a. Nicky D.

i started yelling "Holy Shit!" it was so random. i havent' seen Nicky D. since my first year of college. after that first year he bounced and i haven't heard anything about him since. there were no Diamond sightings or a friend talked to a friend that talked to him. he just disappeared. i love Nick. he is, by far, my favorite white boy. he was just so fucking chill. he basically lived in our house. he had this nasty, old, tweed, 1972-looking chair he loved to sit in. he looked like a preppy skater, but would walk around with a 40oz. in a brown paper bag. i don't know. he could rock it. he was peoples. we used to watch football together. i used to watch it all the time with my dad and it was more about hanging out with my dad and less about the game, but i do like football. when i got to college, there was no one to watch it with...except for my Shinin' Diamond. we always had the best time with him.

my girls and i always wonder about him, but none of us ever knew where to find him. now, here he is. i called Cuz and she started screaming. i mean, we are his biggest fans. we love us some Nicky D. I can't wait to tell Massandje and Denise. they're going to lose their shit. i'm hoping that he'll come to my birthday party. by "party" i mean whatever club we end up at. it would be the best fucking birthday. my girls, my brother,Vegas, Sarah, and Nicky D. i'm stoked.

life is definitely on an upswing.

quotes of the night

Cuz: I just had an exciting day of organizing.
Me: An exciting day of organizing?
Cuz: [laughs]
Me: I don't know about you, but that sounds like my own personal hell. Clearly that's your idea of fun.

Me: Oooh Sch-nap
Cuz: That wasn't even "schnap" worthy
Me: What do you care? It's not in style. What do you care if it's used appropriately?

Cuz: OOH, because I have ADD, do you think Ginger Peach would be good as an ice tea?

shame

i think the single most important thing for a parent to instill in their kids is a healthy does of shame. not so much that they become self-deprecating and socially retarded, but enough so they know when they have gone too fucking far.

umph. triflin'.

inventor extraordinaire

there's no debating that i'm weird. so, it stands to reason that i come up with some weird shit.

i want to be an inventor. the first three things i'd invent, if i could:

1: the Polaroid Head. i hate when i see something that's so funny or ridiculous or amazing that it sucks balls no one is there to witness it with you. how cool would it be if your head was a Polaroid camera? very. your eyes are the viewfinder, your lids the shutter, and your mouth the dispenser. all you have to do is blink really hard and the picture comes out of your mouth. so, the day i saw a man walking through Brooklyn in a bright, yellow, feather coat that made him look like Big Bird I would be able to share it with the world. Voila!

2: a Natural Gas-Powered car. the converter would be in the seats of the car. you power the car by your own natural gases. everyone has gas...some a regular gas factories. all i'd need in this life of sin is some Chinese food and a bag of apples. The Wok Express would be the new McDonald's. i'd see the world. Who wants to drive to Chile? Bean Pie, my brotha? man, if i had a car like that, the first day of my period i'd drive forever. shit, get Vegas in on the trip and we'd drive to the Steppes of Central Asia- via The Bering Strait- in no time at all. the best part? no smell...and excellent intestinal health.

3: a back lotioner. i hate that middle spot i can never reach.

fuzzy Jell-O and other kitchen adventures

a few fun facts Andrea and i have picked along the way:

:after two months in the fridge, Jell-O molds. it's not the green mold, but the white fuzzy mold.
(courtesy of Andrea)

:margarine molds. i was going to butter my toast this morning and found this little tub of margarine i had forgotten about. everything was ready to go...even the ring of mold growing on the inside. who knew?

:mushrooms left out in a summer kitchen for two weeks smells like ass. (Andrea and me)

:a fresh carrot left in the crisper for long enough can shrivel to the size of my pinky.

:potatoes left in the bag for a month and a half start to weep.

:apparently a McDonald's hamburger left in the pocket of a coat, a year later, will look and smell exactly the same. that's just nasty. (Andrea read)

our kitchens are regular science experiments. learning is fun...and skeezy.

lame

i invited my ex over to talk. he walks around all dejected, with his mopey look on his face that's bordering on emotional blackmail. i'd noticed him staring at me, so i figured he had something to say, but didn't know how to approach me. granted, i can be difficult to engage and, considering his egregious behaviour, i can see how it would be particularly difficult for him. i also had a few things to say to him. not in that, "you son of a bitch" way, but in that "i want you to understand why" way.

i thought it would be good, for educational purposes, to have him fully understand why i'm not talking to him. i think i would be remiss should i not try to prevent this in the future. it's not a good look. anyway, it's not because we broke up. i don't care...well, that's not true. i did care. i mostly cared how he treated me. it's one thing to leave. that's fine. everyone has a right to leave a relationship and we had established a long time ago that we were entirely too different to really stay together. so, that was fine. it's the way he conducted himself. he was not only horribly disrespectful to me, but he was recreant to our friendship.

i thought it was important for him to know that and to distinguish the difference. i wasn't a scorned woman. i was a wounded friend. anyway, so i talked to him last Thurs. and we agreed that he'd call me when he got up on Tues. so, yesterday, i wake up and think, "there's no way he's going to fuck this up. i haven't talked to him in about a month and i see him, at least, three times a week." yea, he fucked up. he never called me.

today, he waits until we're alone and then comes to apologize to me. he said that he "woke up late" and "didn't have my phone number" because he'd gotten a new cell phone. right. i may be a lot of things, stupid is certainly not one of them. you're telling me that you've known me for a year and a half and was sleeping with me for, at least, half that time and you don't remember my phone number? i doubt it. just for arguments sake, let's assume you did forget my phone number, not only am i listed, but you could've stopped by. it's true that i abhor people stopping by. it may very well be the single most intrusive thing anyone can do to me. i hate it with the burning, white fires of hell. however, he had always been the only person i'd never minded- in fact encouraged- to pop in...that's why he had my key. granted, he currently is not my favorite person, but given the situation, it would've been allowed. even if he ran the risk of taking me aback, at least he tried. so, he was apologizing and i told him, "it doesn't matter...but you'll never get that chance again."

later on, i went to him and said, "i realize it seems like i'm being really unforgiving and i am. you have to understand, it may very well have been an honest mistake, but i haven't talked to you in weeks and yesterday i was willing, and you never called. as far as i knew, you were blowing me off. there are ways of getting my number or you could've stopped by. i have been, rightfully, mad at you and i don't have to forgive you. i've got nothing left. so...suck." and left.

i'm so tired of him. i think the whole thing is finally done. even torturing him is too much effort. it's too much effort for me to actively hate him. i guess i'm a little surprised that he didn't capitalize on the opportunity. then again, he has been on a very solid fucking up streak, so why change? it's important to establish continuity and remain consistent.

quote of the week

Atief: "wouldn't it be funny if there really was a "scat" class at Julliard?"
Me: "yea, and there'd just be shit all over the walls."
Atief: "not cool. error."

bob's talking furniture

i saw a commercial that made me laugh outloud today. it was for Bob's Discount Furniture. now, normally, I can't stand his commercials. he has the cheesy, irritating, "come on down" voice that angers me. it's magnified when his wife is there. their voices in unison grates the ears. anyway, so the commercial i saw today didn't have either of them in it. instead, it had the dresser drawers opening and closing as they sang their jiggle in barbershop quartet style. at first it was just weird, but it kept going. by the time it was over, i was heartily laughing to it. i don't really know what made it so funny. i think, when the slats in the headboard starting lighting up, a la "Beat It," i was done.

control

people are fucking strange up here. i'd like to think that i command a certain amount of respect with my personality, but i'm not crazy. i don't think i strike fear in anyone...or, more to the point, i shouldn't. i'm definitely a loose cannon...well, certainly my mouth is a loose cannon, but i'm relatively harmless. i'm a loose cannon in the way of stopping along the side of the road during a long roadtrip on a hot summer day and taking a swim in the nearest river. i'm a free spirit. sure, my cold shoulder rivals the fierce February Arctic wind, but so what?

it's amazing how much influence i have over quite a number of people up here. some people i understand. there are a couple of well formed and cultivated friendships and one strike of lightning. i get that. i matter to them because they matter to me. outside of those few, i shouldn't have any influence at all. why should they care what i think about them? who am i? why are they working so hard for my approval? i guess there's the standard overestimation of their importance and that's fair, i guess. they don't that they don't matter to me....some intentionally stick their fingers in their ears, screaming the theme song to Daria to drown out my words of contempt. other people know i don't give a shit about them, but still they're concerned. i don't know. years from now, when i'm long gone to New Haven or Ulaanbaatar or wherever the wind takes me, i won't even remember their names.

all i know is that you should never give random people that much control over you.

best quote of the year...hands down

I'm really pissed about my Snatch being missing...that was a really bad sentence, wasn't it?

-Andrea talking about losing her movie

simple pleasures

these are a few of my favorite things:

:Rec
:Rec unabashed excitement when he sees me
:the smell of Rec after he's been hugging on me all night
:the sound of my girls laughing in the other room
:a wind on my saturated eyebrows
:R Kelly's trapped in the closet videos

...more to come.

just for record

the era of niggas and fur is over.

teach me

i wish someone would show me how to post a link without it being the actual URL. instead of http://www.badassed.blogspot.com, it could just write Badassed and people would still be able to click it and have it go to the same page. technology is great...if you know what the fuck you're doing; and i don't.

[enter: the brother]

badassed!

whee!!

ultimate

my brother loves playing Ultimate Frisbee. he's lived in NYC for a few years and i haven't seen him happier since he found some people to play Ultimate with in Central Park. i know a couple of people who really love it. if i liked running, or were not in fear of my breasts knocking me out, i'd give it a go. it seems like if you're into it, you're really into it...much like Sifl and Olly.

i was talking to him last night and he was telling about the history of the game. i was a bit surprised there was an actual history, considering all you're doing is throwing a plastic disc around. clearly, i'm only scantly familiar with the game and he showed me this website to educate me. fascinating stuff. not enough for me to sprint for hours up and down a field, but interesting nonetheless.

see. you learned something new today.

enjoy.

http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Ultimate_Frisbee

baby drop

i got out of the shower a second ago and there's this baby drop of water hanging off the very edge of one, single eyelash.

Rachel Yamagata

a friend of mine made me this mix cd of songs she loves. i knew she really liked Rachel Yamagata. listening to this mix reminds me of when my brother, his fiance, and i went to see her in concert...well, it was at a coffeeshop/bookstore in Chelsea, i think. my brother really likes Rachel and i came down to NYC to see him and go to this concert.

Rachel's sort of this indie/rock, mellow, folky chick. i like her stuff. that night was hi-larious. we got there and there was an opening band. few things are worse than the opening act for a indie-folk singer. quickly realizing this, he and i started playing a game: bands worse than the opening, from A-Z. so we went through the alphabet naming bands that truly and eternally suck. we were on the balcony of the bookstore and were walking around looking at books. he's standing there and puts his palm on the shelf to lean on it and it came toppling down. these shelves were, literally, balanced on the two or three -out of four- pegs it was resting on. it was so funny. so we're scrambling and trying not to laugh to loudly as we put the shelf back and try to arrange the books. so silly.

then Rachel came on and i swear she was drunk. a lot of her songs seem to be about one relationship and how the guy screwed her over or something. it so classic. in between songs she would talk and her speech was slurred and she would say things that were random and maybe a little too personal. during her songs is sounded like she was crying. not knowing the artist at all, i was just laughing. it was so funny to watch. i'm certain if i had known her work, it would've been poignant and deep. i don't know about deep, but it sure was entertaining.

the whole night was fun. for the rest of the night, my brother and i kept playing the A-Z game. the topics were things like: songs that suck; artist who are gay, but swear they're not; favorite bands, etc.

good times.

off to work i go.

seasonally inappropriate drinks and sleep

it's 10pm and i'm sitting here with some organic, Moroccan mint tea and a sliced Gala apple. it's 75 degrees outside and i have piping hot tea in front of me. i really enjoy tea. i''m not much of a coffee drinker. i particularly like it before bed. i have these ridiculous bouts of insomnia and over the years i've had to develop strategies to fight it. two tried and true tactics: classical music and hot tea.

the classical piece i'm most fond of for bed is Allegri's Miserere. usually, by the second track, i'm gone. there's soft choral singing to lull me to sleep. i really love classical music in general. i think it's because i'm such a live wire. even as a baby, that was how my dad got my brother and me to calm down and ready for bed. now, it's this Pavlovian reaction no matter where i am. when i was about 12, i went to this concert at Lincoln University, where my dad teaches. i slept the 30min car ride over and, honestly, wasn't tired. i got through the first bar of the Beethoven's Fifth before i was knocked out. i woke up at intermission. to this day my dad is amazed by that. he was surprised by the fact it was live, but more because he always says that that opening is one of the loudest he knows; second only to the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky.

i've even fallen asleep in the middle of my own sentence.

tea is just soothing all the way around. i let it sit for a bit and inhale the steam and aroma. even the look of the steam dancing away from the cup is relaxing. Moroccan mint is, by far, my favorite tea. i discovered it in college. there was this little cafe called Blue Moon i used to love. i partially loved it because of its name. it always made me think of the song Blue Moon by The Marcels. i love singing that song. anyway, i'd go in there all of the time for baklava and Moroccan mint tea. so good. especially since i, generally, don't take sugar in my tea, so the honey from the baklava would sweeten it up. they had paintings on the wall you could buy and these mosaic table tops.

i like drinking seasonally inappropriate drinks. i don't know why. though, i'm more inclined to get a slushy in the winter than a hot chocolate in the summer. summer nights, though, i do like hot tea. i'm just weird like that, i guess.

time to do some reading while sipping on my perfectly cooled tea.

little ditty

I wanna make....out with you
Just you and nobody else, but you

I wanna make out with you, alo-o-o-one. Boop-boop-bi-doop.

funny

i saw this car today that made me laugh outloud. it was this red, hatchback station wagon. on the front it said "Mac Mobile." i think the duct tape on the hood was supposed to represent racing stripes. the guy driving it was the best part. he was this white dude wearing a truckers' hat with the hair mostly in his face. i think it's pretty safe to say that he hasn't successfully macked in his entire life...unless he works the pity/dork angle.

i was in the store and something happened that, really, only happens in movies. this guy and his very elderly mother were in line in front of me. the woman wanted some cash back and wanted to write a check to cover the groceries and the advance. the checkout girl is telling her $73.50, the woman keeps wanting to write $93. the son is repeating $73. the girl is trying to mouth the total while the son is saying it. eventually, the son literally screams $73 into his mother's ear. she finally gets it and then says," You didn't have to yell in my ear, Stephen."

last night i was talking to Andrea. she lives in an assisted living apartment building. she's disabled and has lots of physical health problems and had surgery very recently. so, because she lives where she does, she runs into all sorts of characters. last night she's coming home and sees something that drained her well of composure. in the common area downstairs there were a bunch of retarded people singing karaoke. when i say retarded, i mean "this is by back"/special olympics/ short yellow bus retarded. so, there's that. the best part is the song. they were singing "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer. that, my friend, is comedy. i may have retarded kids for laughing, but that doesn't stop it from being funny.

old navy

i hate Old Navy. it's a well-known fact. bastards. anyway, so i was bamboozled into going in there yesterday. ok, maybe not bamboozled, but i begrudgingly went in. admittedly, i did find some comfy pants and shirt i bought. the pants turned out to be much too big, so i went back today to buy a smaller pair and look for more shirts. i ended up buying, along with the comfy pants, those terry cloth pants. they were on clearance and they only had them in neon orange or white. i'm entirely too clumsy for white, but the orange was blinding...though, come to think of it, i could've saved some money on my light bill if i'd bought them.

i just took a shower and put the terry cloth pants on. they are fabulous. they use two standard tricks for making white girls' asses bigger: big bulky pockets on the back and a low waist. the best thing about them is that it's like drying in my towel. i like to air dry. i think that's why i'm late for most things. i can't stand drying off with my towel. there's an overall dampness after towel drying. air drying is so relaxing and complete. so, i'll sit around in my towel for, at least, 20 min. it just feels good. so, these pants are like that and i don't have to keep readjusting it. whee!!

only in Vegas

there are times when someone does something or says something that reconfirms everything you hold true.

maybe it's not that serious, but it's close. i've made some bad calls with men and i have based dating choices off of very flimsy evidence. this one, however...i swear...is different. maybe the most important factor is that i'm not dating him. were i on the prowl and would i think i had half a chance of having him look my way, i'd be white on rice with that shit.

anyway, i've dated men because they can recite The Princess Bride or because they love Fight Club. now, these are good gauges, but by no means should they be the actual litmus test...as i have recently and repeatedly discovered. the thing is that everyone knows The Princess Bride; maybe not all of the words, but what's not to love? even if you didn't care too much for Fight Club, everyone knows that it's one of the cinematic tenets for coolness of our generation. so, really, where's the challenge? the things that really are the test of compatibility for a relationship, be it romantic or platonic, is the obscure.

all i have are two words: Danger Mouse.

roughly 95% of the time, when i mention it, i'm met with blank stares and furrowed brows. today was different. he knew. not only did he know, but he'd seen it and dug it. i haven't met anyone who remembers that shit. i fucking dig that. obviously, there's more to him than Danger Mouse, but what a good look.

Vegas. the man is Vegas. you never know what you're going to get when you're with him. sometimes you'll break the house and spend the evening bathing in Krug's Clos du Mesnil and eating strawberries. other times you'll be turning over the deed to your house and car as your kids pack to go live with grandma. there's just no telling with him. most of the time, it's very cool. even when he's being a dick, it's entertaining. though his mouth does get him into trouble and i don't talk to him for much of the day. Vegas.

Danger Mouse is just one thing in a laundry list of things we have in common and that i like about him. the man is just a well of fascinating idiosyncrasies. along with the perpetual delight i take in him, he makes me laugh. my God, he makes me laugh...even when he's driving me crazy. i can't count how many times he's had me doubled over and crying with laughter.

he's moving at the end of the month and, although he can grate my nerves, i'm mostly sad about that. well, that's not totally true. i'll be moving where he's going in a year or two and i go there all of the time anyway. i'm just going to miss the everyday things. i'll miss going out and seeing him or coming to work eagerly braced for a day of sparring. i worry that in time he'll be lost to me. i worry that i've made no lasting impression and was "cool enough" to hang out with while here, but not enough to breach the outer wall. i worry that he'll forget me.

at least, for 6 full months, i laughed harder and more often than i have in two years. there's something familiar about him. there's something fundamentally soothing about him. i've felt more like myself when i'm around him than i have in the entire time i've lived here. so, i guess, even if i lose it, at least i had it.

"so shines a good deed in a weary world."